If one more Israeli asks me “Did you come here alone?” and then reacts with absolute shock and disbelief when I answer in the affirmative, well, I will just have to throw myself into the Hudson river and call it a day.
Wait a minute.
I will throw myself into the Jordan river, if only I knew where that was, exactly. Near Aroma?
It's funny how different hanging out as "friends" versus hanging out as "potential life partners" (no pressure, ahem!) can be.
Which is another way of saying, I couldn't stand the guy on our official date.
But when he invited me over for a glass of wine for a "non date date," he suddenly didn't seem so bad. He even seemed sort of good. And except for the nasty smell emanating from somewhere in his apartment (blech!), I might have even been open to him.
I didn’t mean to tell the lady sitting across from me on the NJ Transit to Newark Airport my whole love story, but maybe that’s what happened.
All I said was I was headed back to Israel and perhaps mentioned that I came to New York to test out a romance.
And, well, is it my fault that when I told her how I had spent a lovely and intense five days with a certain someone, that even though it was very sweet and nice, in the end he could not tell me whether he felt we should continue.
“You know when you’re watching a horror film and the girl is about to head into the shed because she forgot her sweater? And you’re sitting there watching the whole thing and cringing, saying, ‘No, no, no!! Just don’t go into that shed! Just forget about your sweater!’”
“Well, that’s how I feel when I read your dating columns.”
This from a friend whom I saw at a party on the Upper West Side. Which is another way of saying, this is the first I had heard of the “Abby as singles’ horror columnist” before.
“I’m just feeling so happy and optimistic about my dating life,” I told my friend as big, fat tear drops splattered onto my cheeks.
I had just finished reading the very sunny dating book, Meeting Your Half-Orange: An Utterly Upbeat Guide to Using Dating Optimism To Find Your Perfect Match” by Amy Spencer, and I was feeling, well, Utterly Dejected.