There are times, like today, when I’m not so in love with New York City.
Apparently torrential rain and violent wind fell upon the city before dawn – I slept through it – but it was bad enough to bring it to a complete stand still. Of course, it had to happen the day I had to be in the office for 8.30am for a very important all day meeting when I had to present to a bunch of eager and overly smart Senior VPs.
I absentmindedly heard something on the radio, when I was getting ready, about the subway being a “little” disrupted but thought that setting off at 7.15am would leave me plenty of time to get to work (at the other end of Manhattan) for 8am.
I took the short walk to the subway outside my building, Ipod firmly in place with uplifting music on, only to find that my subway station was closed. I walked to the next stop (79th- I live on 86th-) and it was closed too. I thought that maybe the A or the C (I normally take the 1 & 2/3) were still running and walked across to the Natural History Museum, a couple of avenues west… where I managed to get on a train that stopped at 72nd and refused to go any further.
I walked to Columbus Circle (57th) but soon realised that there was absolutely no subway trains going downtown at all, anywhere in the city …
I started to walk down 7th avenue, along with hundreds of other people, and it was weird knowing that there was nothing we could do but just walk and sometimes hold our arm out (to no avail) when a taxi came into view. We all live in one of the most sophisticated cities in the world and yet we were all stranded and helpless. All the taxis were taken and all the buses were crammed. There was no way to get anywhere in the city, regardless of status, gender or age … Manhattan never felt so big.
I walked for many blocks hoping that I would chance upon an empty cab… until I finally reached Greenwich village when I realised that I was so far down that there was no other option but to walk all the way to work to the World Financial Centre.
What I haven’t mentioned is that today was one of the hottest (35C) and most humid day of the year. In the end, I walked about 120 blocks, which took around 3 hours, drenched in sweat (not an attractive sight, but then everyone else was the same), before I made it to the office in time for my presentation at 11am. By that time, I was too exhausted to even remember my name, let alone explain “Steph’s Grand Plan” as it has become known …
To add insult to injury, I had been to the gym the night before and ran 5 miles on the treadnmill, so a 7 miles walk in tropical weather and kitten heels was not what I needed …
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Back in Blighty
Being back in London was a strange feeling. It felt like I never really left, although I realised when I was there that I've been away for 6 months already.
It was wonderful seeing everyone and picking up right where I left off. I was constantly on the move, staying with close friends in Streatham, Primrose Hill, Mill Hill and finally Kingston over the course of 10 days. I never had time to unpack but I quite like being a nomad anyway.
London was very much unchanged bar the odd buildings having been torn down in Victoria. I spent an unreasonable amount of time in Topshop and Marks & Spencer (just admiring the perfectly arranged vegetables, how sad!) - guess I missed those shops more than I realised.
I was freezing cold though, having ignored most people’s sound advice about packing plenty of jumpers. I had optimistically taken a few summer dresses with me, which obviously never saw the light of the day.
The main change really was the smoking ban, which the city seem to have taken extremely seriously. It’s almost fanatical actually – I even had a complete stranger tell me on the street that I was “too beautiful for that cigarette’! As any girl would do, I decided to take the compliment and ignore the insult.
Special wardens seem to have been given the specific role of shooing away people who attempt to smoke outside of office building or from outdoors areas that happen to have a tiny bit of a roof over them – I decided that it must be some kind of job creation scheme. There were also constant announcements in Victoria station reminding evil smokers that they were not allowed to do the deed anywhere inside or near the vicinity.
It’s a positive thing though, but not just because of the obvious reasons (death and other bothersome health conditions for example) … it means that almost every single bar and restaurant has now managed to find outdoor space on pavements or courtyards I didn’t even know they had to set tables outside. It struck me how much it now looks a little like New York and that therefore a lot of the alfresco areas here are designed to accommodate smokers. I think it creates a lot more atmosphere and livelihood, right in the streets.
I had a wonderful but exhausting week, very much burning the candle at both ends – I’ll be back at Christmas doing it all over again though!
It was wonderful seeing everyone and picking up right where I left off. I was constantly on the move, staying with close friends in Streatham, Primrose Hill, Mill Hill and finally Kingston over the course of 10 days. I never had time to unpack but I quite like being a nomad anyway.
London was very much unchanged bar the odd buildings having been torn down in Victoria. I spent an unreasonable amount of time in Topshop and Marks & Spencer (just admiring the perfectly arranged vegetables, how sad!) - guess I missed those shops more than I realised.
I was freezing cold though, having ignored most people’s sound advice about packing plenty of jumpers. I had optimistically taken a few summer dresses with me, which obviously never saw the light of the day.
The main change really was the smoking ban, which the city seem to have taken extremely seriously. It’s almost fanatical actually – I even had a complete stranger tell me on the street that I was “too beautiful for that cigarette’! As any girl would do, I decided to take the compliment and ignore the insult.
Special wardens seem to have been given the specific role of shooing away people who attempt to smoke outside of office building or from outdoors areas that happen to have a tiny bit of a roof over them – I decided that it must be some kind of job creation scheme. There were also constant announcements in Victoria station reminding evil smokers that they were not allowed to do the deed anywhere inside or near the vicinity.
It’s a positive thing though, but not just because of the obvious reasons (death and other bothersome health conditions for example) … it means that almost every single bar and restaurant has now managed to find outdoor space on pavements or courtyards I didn’t even know they had to set tables outside. It struck me how much it now looks a little like New York and that therefore a lot of the alfresco areas here are designed to accommodate smokers. I think it creates a lot more atmosphere and livelihood, right in the streets.
I had a wonderful but exhausting week, very much burning the candle at both ends – I’ll be back at Christmas doing it all over again though!
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Call me Indy
I must give a quick update on the “skyline” thing I did with my dad, which was not quite what we expected … We thought it consisted of a few adrenaline fuelled jumps from trees on a cable-system but it turned out to be some hard core training which would have surely left Indiana Jones weeping like a girl.
Two and a half hours of walking on single ropes, on moving logs (sideways and lengthways), uneven & broken steps, Tarzan style jumps into nets, climbing and crossing rivers while suspended on a steel cable – all of this while at least 12 meters in the air.
The result: rope burns in places I didn’t think you could get them (under my arms before you ask), bleeding hands, bruised and scratched legs …
I have also learnt that I do not possess the essential skill of being able to do a Tarzan swing from a rope, should I find myself stranded in a tropical forest (although I can do everything else).
But I absolutely loved it! It was scary and exhilarating. I cursed my adventurous spirit more than once but I would do it all over again – well, after nursing my wounds that is …
Two and a half hours of walking on single ropes, on moving logs (sideways and lengthways), uneven & broken steps, Tarzan style jumps into nets, climbing and crossing rivers while suspended on a steel cable – all of this while at least 12 meters in the air.
The result: rope burns in places I didn’t think you could get them (under my arms before you ask), bleeding hands, bruised and scratched legs …
I have also learnt that I do not possess the essential skill of being able to do a Tarzan swing from a rope, should I find myself stranded in a tropical forest (although I can do everything else).
But I absolutely loved it! It was scary and exhilarating. I cursed my adventurous spirit more than once but I would do it all over again – well, after nursing my wounds that is …
La douce vie
My life in France couldn’t be more different than my life in New York or London. Of course, my parents have a big house and garden in a relatively peaceful small town in the Loire region of France - hardly a hub of urban activity! I also only go there 3 times a year on holiday so I am in a different state of mind.
But my days here have a marvellous and soothing routine to them …
They start with breakfast on the patio outside and must involve lashings of Nutella on any kind of toasted bread. My mum makes all kinds of wonderful jams from fruits we pick in the garden or the forest, but I need my fix of the nutty chocolate paste every time I’m home, much to her despair.
Breakfast is then followed by an energetic 2 hours mountain bike ride with my dad on the small paths along the riverbank. Although we are breaking with the cycling tradition tomorrow as my dad and I will be trying “skyline”, which involves swinging between trees, above the river, while hanging on for dear life on (hopefully very strong) ropes – Dad & I are the adventurous ones in the family, so I can’t wait! (click here for more details on skyline: http://ghettolocker001.free.fr/forezaventures/)
Lunch will obviously be taking place outside too and will last for a minimum of 2 hours as we tend to linger over a full platter of cheese and afterwards a few cups of coffee (with a small piece of dark chocolate). Lunch time in France (or certainly in my family) is the perfect time to talk about politics, global warming, unemployment - generally how bad the world is basically (the French are a pessimistic breed) - or the latest news about our extended family & friends. As we tend to all have different opinions, these conversations are never dull.
In the afternoon, we’ll all don swimming suits and try to catch some rays while reading our books, apart from my dad who will have found something to fix in the house/garden/computer (or even in a neighbour’s house) and will be busy attending to it. Today, there was nothing to fix, so he made alcohol – “Verveine Liquor”… pretty handy to have my dad around …
If my sister & I are feeling brave, we’ll play squash for an hour and work out any deep seated frustrations we may have – I may only be 5’3 and her 5’1, but when we play together, there is no mercy and we’re like tigers!!
At some point in the afternoon, we’ll be foraging the garden in search of the latest young courgettes or tomatoes that seem to grow overnight so that we can cook them in the evening.
At around 5pm, we’ll all start thinking about dinner, debating whether to grill the fresh sardines or the huge prawns on the bbq tonight or would it be too greedy to have both? We’ll have an aperitif or two (Martini for the girls, Pastis for the boys) and enjoy a leisurely dinner on the patio again, sometimes carrying on with some of the heated debates we started at lunch time …
To say that it is pure relaxation is an understatement. Nothing is required of me apart from being there, lending a helping hand from time to time and generally be happy.
I am amazed at how I feel equally at home here, in London & now in New York considering the immense difference of lifestyle in each places … perhaps I have a multiple personality disorder I am not aware of …
But my days here have a marvellous and soothing routine to them …
They start with breakfast on the patio outside and must involve lashings of Nutella on any kind of toasted bread. My mum makes all kinds of wonderful jams from fruits we pick in the garden or the forest, but I need my fix of the nutty chocolate paste every time I’m home, much to her despair.
Breakfast is then followed by an energetic 2 hours mountain bike ride with my dad on the small paths along the riverbank. Although we are breaking with the cycling tradition tomorrow as my dad and I will be trying “skyline”, which involves swinging between trees, above the river, while hanging on for dear life on (hopefully very strong) ropes – Dad & I are the adventurous ones in the family, so I can’t wait! (click here for more details on skyline: http://ghettolocker001.free.fr/forezaventures/)
Lunch will obviously be taking place outside too and will last for a minimum of 2 hours as we tend to linger over a full platter of cheese and afterwards a few cups of coffee (with a small piece of dark chocolate). Lunch time in France (or certainly in my family) is the perfect time to talk about politics, global warming, unemployment - generally how bad the world is basically (the French are a pessimistic breed) - or the latest news about our extended family & friends. As we tend to all have different opinions, these conversations are never dull.
In the afternoon, we’ll all don swimming suits and try to catch some rays while reading our books, apart from my dad who will have found something to fix in the house/garden/computer (or even in a neighbour’s house) and will be busy attending to it. Today, there was nothing to fix, so he made alcohol – “Verveine Liquor”… pretty handy to have my dad around …
If my sister & I are feeling brave, we’ll play squash for an hour and work out any deep seated frustrations we may have – I may only be 5’3 and her 5’1, but when we play together, there is no mercy and we’re like tigers!!
At some point in the afternoon, we’ll be foraging the garden in search of the latest young courgettes or tomatoes that seem to grow overnight so that we can cook them in the evening.
At around 5pm, we’ll all start thinking about dinner, debating whether to grill the fresh sardines or the huge prawns on the bbq tonight or would it be too greedy to have both? We’ll have an aperitif or two (Martini for the girls, Pastis for the boys) and enjoy a leisurely dinner on the patio again, sometimes carrying on with some of the heated debates we started at lunch time …
To say that it is pure relaxation is an understatement. Nothing is required of me apart from being there, lending a helping hand from time to time and generally be happy.
I am amazed at how I feel equally at home here, in London & now in New York considering the immense difference of lifestyle in each places … perhaps I have a multiple personality disorder I am not aware of …
Sunday, July 15, 2007
My very own NYC dining out guide
I have been to so many restaurants and bars since I’ve been here that I feel compelled (and justified) to publish my own reviews and recommendations.
These are not all the places I’ve been to … just the ones I have something to say about.
I’ll start with Soho, the West Village and the Meat Packing district and will post about other areas later …
* Café Noir - Grant & Thompson
Bustling tiny tapas restaurant with a great atmosphere. I recommend the pitchers of excellent Sangria but take no responsibility for your actions after consuming a couple of them – they are lethal.
* Balthazar – Spring Street, between Broadway and Crosby
The place to see and be seen. Don’t be put off by the hour long wait for brunch (spend it browsing the great MoMa shop across the street), you will feel like you’re in Paris once you’re inside (minus the rude waiters). The place is decorated like a bistro with huge mirrors and tables crammed too close to each other. The food is excellent – I would recommend the eggs Benedict (best I’ve had in the city so far) and a glass of champagne. New Yorkers really know how to brunch.
* Jane - West Houston, corner of Thompson
Another great brunch spot in the Village. No queues, great food and they didn’t mind Joe & I staying & chatting over many glasses of champagne for over 3 hours (there’s a recurring theme here I fear). I recommend the enormous French Toast, drenched in maple syrup. Yum!
* Garage - 7th Avenue and Grove Street
Quite odd looking – like a large pub with a fireplace. But they have live Jazz and make the best Espresso Martini in the city! Don’t go for the food though. Just sit at one of the stools lining the oval bar and enjoy the music and the cocktails.
* Tea and Sympathy - Greenwich Avenue, corner of Jane Street
Fantastic for nostalgic Brits. A tiny little tea shop with an eclectic décor where you can get your fix of cream tea, cucumber finger sandwiches, beans on toast and Shepherd’s pie. The owners have started a petition to nickname the area “Little Britain”. I hear it’s catching on.
* Jerry’s - Prince Street between Mercer & Greene
I’ve loved Jerry’s ever since my first visit to NYC almost 10 years ago. It’s an upscale diner, complete with leather banquettes and excellent eggs benedict. Unfortunately, over the years (going there has been a ritual of mine every single time I’ve visited the city), the quality of the food has gone down hill but I still love the atmosphere and it will always hold a special place in my heart as my very first New York institution.
* Slane - Mac Dougal Street, between Bleecker and W3rd
A very nice, laid-back bar where the bartenders learn and remember your name. For dinner, pop into Ciao next door for some simple, great Italian food. Sit at one of the tables outside and soak in the atmosphere of this bustling corner of the West Village.
* Hotel Gansevoort – 9th Avenue at 13th Street
One of the coolest place in the city – great rooftop bar where you can drink until 4am (and then you can catch a limo home, long story …). The restaurant, Ono, is wonderful – think Japanese fusion - and “Garden of Ono”, the downstairs bar is also fantastic ... landscaped Japanese gardens, a compelling water-feature (just remember not to put your handbag on the ledge, another long story …) and eye-wateringly expensive drinks ... the perfect NYC night out.
* Pastis – 9th Avenue, corner of Little 12th Street
Another “see and be seen” place, where celebrities hang out (although I haven’t seen any myself). Good food, but nothing to shout home about. It’s more about sitting outside, watching the world go by.
* Soho House – 9th Avenue, corner of 13th Street
Apparently, I should feel privileged to have been to Soho House, the New York offshoot of the famous London members only club. I had a really wonderful evening there but it was more to do with the company than with the food. Still, they have a smoking room complete with a pool table (very cool and almost unheard of in New York), as well as a small cinema and rooftop swimming pool. All you need to get in is someone with a membership! Easier said than done ...
These are not all the places I’ve been to … just the ones I have something to say about.
I’ll start with Soho, the West Village and the Meat Packing district and will post about other areas later …
* Café Noir - Grant & Thompson
Bustling tiny tapas restaurant with a great atmosphere. I recommend the pitchers of excellent Sangria but take no responsibility for your actions after consuming a couple of them – they are lethal.
* Balthazar – Spring Street, between Broadway and Crosby
The place to see and be seen. Don’t be put off by the hour long wait for brunch (spend it browsing the great MoMa shop across the street), you will feel like you’re in Paris once you’re inside (minus the rude waiters). The place is decorated like a bistro with huge mirrors and tables crammed too close to each other. The food is excellent – I would recommend the eggs Benedict (best I’ve had in the city so far) and a glass of champagne. New Yorkers really know how to brunch.
* Jane - West Houston, corner of Thompson
Another great brunch spot in the Village. No queues, great food and they didn’t mind Joe & I staying & chatting over many glasses of champagne for over 3 hours (there’s a recurring theme here I fear). I recommend the enormous French Toast, drenched in maple syrup. Yum!
* Garage - 7th Avenue and Grove Street
Quite odd looking – like a large pub with a fireplace. But they have live Jazz and make the best Espresso Martini in the city! Don’t go for the food though. Just sit at one of the stools lining the oval bar and enjoy the music and the cocktails.
* Tea and Sympathy - Greenwich Avenue, corner of Jane Street
Fantastic for nostalgic Brits. A tiny little tea shop with an eclectic décor where you can get your fix of cream tea, cucumber finger sandwiches, beans on toast and Shepherd’s pie. The owners have started a petition to nickname the area “Little Britain”. I hear it’s catching on.
* Jerry’s - Prince Street between Mercer & Greene
I’ve loved Jerry’s ever since my first visit to NYC almost 10 years ago. It’s an upscale diner, complete with leather banquettes and excellent eggs benedict. Unfortunately, over the years (going there has been a ritual of mine every single time I’ve visited the city), the quality of the food has gone down hill but I still love the atmosphere and it will always hold a special place in my heart as my very first New York institution.
* Slane - Mac Dougal Street, between Bleecker and W3rd
A very nice, laid-back bar where the bartenders learn and remember your name. For dinner, pop into Ciao next door for some simple, great Italian food. Sit at one of the tables outside and soak in the atmosphere of this bustling corner of the West Village.
* Hotel Gansevoort – 9th Avenue at 13th Street
One of the coolest place in the city – great rooftop bar where you can drink until 4am (and then you can catch a limo home, long story …). The restaurant, Ono, is wonderful – think Japanese fusion - and “Garden of Ono”, the downstairs bar is also fantastic ... landscaped Japanese gardens, a compelling water-feature (just remember not to put your handbag on the ledge, another long story …) and eye-wateringly expensive drinks ... the perfect NYC night out.
* Pastis – 9th Avenue, corner of Little 12th Street
Another “see and be seen” place, where celebrities hang out (although I haven’t seen any myself). Good food, but nothing to shout home about. It’s more about sitting outside, watching the world go by.
* Soho House – 9th Avenue, corner of 13th Street
Apparently, I should feel privileged to have been to Soho House, the New York offshoot of the famous London members only club. I had a really wonderful evening there but it was more to do with the company than with the food. Still, they have a smoking room complete with a pool table (very cool and almost unheard of in New York), as well as a small cinema and rooftop swimming pool. All you need to get in is someone with a membership! Easier said than done ...
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Living in America
I’ve been watching some old “Sex and the City” episodes thanks to HBO on demand and a hangover and just texted my gbf exclaiming how much our lives were like the series. The fun, the trials, the cocktails, the no-cooking under any circumstances policy, the reliable friends, the unreliable men … and the fear of leaving the city, even for one day, for god forbid, the suburbs …
I only ever realise that I live in America when I leave the city and the experience invariably terrifies me. The big houses with a front porch, the white picket fences, the 2.1 children, the patriotic flags, the SUVs … quiet suburbia disturbs me.
The thing is I am really a country girl at heart, I love nothing more than spending a weekend in my parents’ country house in the middle of nowhere, going on mushroom picking expeditions or just walking in the forest. But I can never take it for too long and need the vibrancy and energy of a big city to feel truly alive. I need madness around me to distract me.
Of course, having watched “Sicko”, the latest Michael Moore documentary doesn’t help with my reservations about America. I was horrified by how brainwashed this country really is.
Moore, as usual, over-simplified how great things are in France, the UK and Canada but the message was clear – it’s a fucked up country, ruled by blind capitalism and Bush really is the dumbest man alive.
It made me realise that I would never, ever, live outside of Manhattan and that I want to grow old back in Europe. Of course, I am part of the lucky few with a good medical insurance policy but even that might not be enough and I don't feel comfortable living in a country with such inequality.
As usual, Moore's documentary leaves me wanting to take action and change things ... but what can I do apart from trying to convince a few thousand people to march in the streets, french style?!
Having said all this, who wants to bet I will end up with 2.1 children in a big house with a front porch living in Irvington, Upstate New York when I finally grow up? If I do, can someone please remind me of this post?
I only ever realise that I live in America when I leave the city and the experience invariably terrifies me. The big houses with a front porch, the white picket fences, the 2.1 children, the patriotic flags, the SUVs … quiet suburbia disturbs me.
The thing is I am really a country girl at heart, I love nothing more than spending a weekend in my parents’ country house in the middle of nowhere, going on mushroom picking expeditions or just walking in the forest. But I can never take it for too long and need the vibrancy and energy of a big city to feel truly alive. I need madness around me to distract me.
Of course, having watched “Sicko”, the latest Michael Moore documentary doesn’t help with my reservations about America. I was horrified by how brainwashed this country really is.
Moore, as usual, over-simplified how great things are in France, the UK and Canada but the message was clear – it’s a fucked up country, ruled by blind capitalism and Bush really is the dumbest man alive.
It made me realise that I would never, ever, live outside of Manhattan and that I want to grow old back in Europe. Of course, I am part of the lucky few with a good medical insurance policy but even that might not be enough and I don't feel comfortable living in a country with such inequality.
As usual, Moore's documentary leaves me wanting to take action and change things ... but what can I do apart from trying to convince a few thousand people to march in the streets, french style?!
Having said all this, who wants to bet I will end up with 2.1 children in a big house with a front porch living in Irvington, Upstate New York when I finally grow up? If I do, can someone please remind me of this post?
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Sex And The City
I had a slightly surreal experience today. I was working late and bumped into my boss’ boss (our Senior VP) on my way out of the office. She lives around the corner from me so we took the subway home together.
After some chitchatting, she mentioned that she had signed up to match.com a couple of days earlier. I admitted to her that I did the same thing too!
Now, one does not expect to discuss the upheavals of dating in the city with one’s big boss … but that’s exactly what we did, exchanging horror stories during our 30 minutes ride. She’s forty-something, obviously very successful, intelligent, attractive with a wide circle of friends and interests – in summary, she’s a catch!
But finding Mr Right (or even Mr Right Now) is an elusive quest, especially in New York it seems.
I have yet to meet any of the guys who have got in touch with me through match.com. I’m not sure I actually really want to. I signed up on a whim rather than with a purpose – so much of my life is facilitated by the Internet that I thought I could at least try to meet people that way too!
But it has been an interesting experience already. I find reading people’s profiles fascinating and hilarious at the same time … from the 30 years old cute widower, who didn’t bother writing about himself and instead stated that he was looking for older women with big breasts (I guess that’s one way to cope with grief)… to the guy who emailed me saying “It must be nice to be the kind of woman who enters a room and turns every heads” (nice try, not like you’ve emailed that same line to every women on this site!) … to the 5’4 “lovingly cuddly” geek who thought it was a good idea to admit to a love of computer games & sci-fi books …Oh, and of course, there was the freak who posted an intense, very long love letter to his future wife, littered with complicated and poetical words he clearly didn’t know the meaning of!
Anyway, I’ll stay on match.com for the entertainment value if anything. I’ve realised that dating in your thirties is harder because we have more expectations and more baggage than in our twenties. We know what we want and what we don’t want. We have mostly achieved our ambitions, built a great network of friends and traveled all over the world … We don't need someone to define us anymore but we start looking at everyone we meet and think “is he/she the one?” and “can he/she fit into my busy life and add to it?”. We tend to forget about just having fun and taking things slowly.
In New York, it's like a race with too many contenders - apparently, there are 185,000 more single women than single men in the city so the grass always seems greener on the other side ... for men!
I have to say, the more I watch “Sex & the City”, the more I realise how realistic it really is and how we all have a bit of Carrie/Samantha/Charlotte/Miranda inside of us … only wish we had the same wardrobe too …
After some chitchatting, she mentioned that she had signed up to match.com a couple of days earlier. I admitted to her that I did the same thing too!
Now, one does not expect to discuss the upheavals of dating in the city with one’s big boss … but that’s exactly what we did, exchanging horror stories during our 30 minutes ride. She’s forty-something, obviously very successful, intelligent, attractive with a wide circle of friends and interests – in summary, she’s a catch!
But finding Mr Right (or even Mr Right Now) is an elusive quest, especially in New York it seems.
I have yet to meet any of the guys who have got in touch with me through match.com. I’m not sure I actually really want to. I signed up on a whim rather than with a purpose – so much of my life is facilitated by the Internet that I thought I could at least try to meet people that way too!
But it has been an interesting experience already. I find reading people’s profiles fascinating and hilarious at the same time … from the 30 years old cute widower, who didn’t bother writing about himself and instead stated that he was looking for older women with big breasts (I guess that’s one way to cope with grief)… to the guy who emailed me saying “It must be nice to be the kind of woman who enters a room and turns every heads” (nice try, not like you’ve emailed that same line to every women on this site!) … to the 5’4 “lovingly cuddly” geek who thought it was a good idea to admit to a love of computer games & sci-fi books …Oh, and of course, there was the freak who posted an intense, very long love letter to his future wife, littered with complicated and poetical words he clearly didn’t know the meaning of!
Anyway, I’ll stay on match.com for the entertainment value if anything. I’ve realised that dating in your thirties is harder because we have more expectations and more baggage than in our twenties. We know what we want and what we don’t want. We have mostly achieved our ambitions, built a great network of friends and traveled all over the world … We don't need someone to define us anymore but we start looking at everyone we meet and think “is he/she the one?” and “can he/she fit into my busy life and add to it?”. We tend to forget about just having fun and taking things slowly.
In New York, it's like a race with too many contenders - apparently, there are 185,000 more single women than single men in the city so the grass always seems greener on the other side ... for men!
I have to say, the more I watch “Sex & the City”, the more I realise how realistic it really is and how we all have a bit of Carrie/Samantha/Charlotte/Miranda inside of us … only wish we had the same wardrobe too …
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