if you want to be in the Scuba Squad, you have to be smart

Sometimes you get a craving for something different... whether it is those killer heels instead of your usual ballet flats, matte red lips instead of glossy nude... the analogy can extend to most facets of life - there are times when you just want to put your toe over the line, test the waters so to speak and add some spice to the equation. Sometimes this can be rewarding and sometimes it can remind you exactly why you stick to the familiar. Unlike the wise decision to invest in Chanel's Fire lipstick years ago, my foray into the wide world of diving had me gunning for surface.

Scuba Steve and I texted back and forth for roughly a month before deciding to get together. Having found each other online (ah the modern equivalency of the bar scene) I was hesitant to actually bring the virtual to life. But after stalling and batting the idea back and forth, I finally decided "what the hell" and asked if he wanted to grab a drink. I picked a middle of the week date night figuring this would be innocuous and that I could easily excuse myself if need be. I also followed up with a very public meeting spot - figuring if it turned out badly I could just get lost in the crowd and walk away.

The day of the date approached faster than I would have liked, and I can honestly say readers; I did not want to go. Something in my head just kept repeating that this was a bad idea, he used all lower case letters in his emails, he made up words sometimes, he texted at odd hours, he sometimes wrote texts like he was tipsy at 12 noon... on and on this little voice kept persisting. An hour before the date I found myself in a diner on the east side with my longtime friend J. "Give him a chance." "I really don't want to. I know that sounds awful, I really only agreed on a date so it would break the monotony of the texts from him." "Well, give him the benefit of the doubt, you might have fun, and stop bogarting the fries."

We met at 6 p.m. on crowded museum steps. I was pleasantly surprised at first glance. Well dressed, polite, blonde, blue eyed, southern accent. Okay I thought easing my shoulder tension this could work. I should know better than to be fooled by pretty packaging. We decided on a walk through Central Park over to the west side. It became apparent rather quickly that we had absolutely no common ground, our interests didn't synch and he actually seemed bored when I brought up what I studied and what I did for a living. I suppressed the feeling and decided to chalk this up to a mismatched first date. We reached the other side of the reservoir thirty minutes later. He had practically ran out of that park because he desperately needed a cigarette. It would be the first of many; this readers was a chain smoker. When I questioned the habit (his dating profile had listed him as a nonsmoker) he explained he had lied so he could get more dates. Charming. After finishing his first and lighting his second, he glanced at his watch and asked if I was ready to grab a drink. I directed him to a small neighborhood bar that was crowded but had a fun atmosphere. We grabbed two stools right up at the bar and our evening officially got underway.

Within an hour of being there (I was still nursing my first drink), Scuba Steve had thrown back his own body mass in shots and had switched to scotch with beer chasers. The alcohol was coming off of him in waves and his true colors were starting to bleed through. The more intoxicated he became the more obnoxious, homophobic and racist he became as well. This was all the more concerning because the bartender on shift happened to be gay. I was embarrassed to be there, embarrassed to be near him. And quite frankly a little concerned over the anger of his mood. I made the choice then that the only way out of this date was the fake bathroom visit exit. While he busied himself finding the bottom of the bottle, I grabbed my purse and made a motion for the ladies. Instead I turned quickly and walked straight out of the bar, ran up two blocks and hailed a cab home. Safely in my apartment I looked down to see two missed calls and a slew of angry text messages that aren't worth retyping.

I turned all my locks that night even though he had no idea where I lived and tried my hardest to block him from my memory.

"The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them." - Maya Angelou

Safe to say I am done with online encounters for a good long while.

New York City (3)/ The Exit Strategy (0)

the diver...

you've been down too long in the midnight sea

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when you know better, you do better...

Our tale begins in the midst of the first NYC Blizzard for 2011. Our heroine after rushing through her morning routine of hitting the snooze button and yelling at the coffee machine - managed somehow to make it out the door and in a suit and "sensible" heels no less, to the Upper East Side for her 10:00 a.m. interview with "Insert Prestigious Teaching Hospital Here". Shaking snow from her hair and tipping the cabbie for not killing her on the treacherously icy drive across the park - she slid and skated her way into the lobby.

"We're so sorry Hun,' the front desk clerk said turning back to her blinking phones, "the Principle Investigator is running behind due to the weather and the R.A. who will be interviewing you is running about an hour late as well. But you are welcome to have a seat." She finished the last part in a no nonsense tone that indicated that questions would not be tolerated and slide the glass partition closed. Separation was automatic and cut me off from the business end of things leaving me adrift in the waiting area. Have I yet mentioned that this particular waiting room was in the Psychiatric area of said hospital?

Taking a seat in the desolate room of chairs and outdated magazines, I tried to make myself presentable and will my toes to turn back to pink from the bluish tinge they were beginning to develop. I sat squarely with my back to the wall in the far corner opposite the door, anyone entering or leaving would be in my purview.

Cue Norman. I know that it isn't nice to coin him Norman Bates - after all he was far from Psycho, but it's rather to capture the humor of the situation. That is his moniker- go with it. The first time I saw Norman he entered the waiting area with a draft of icy wind breaking around his tall frame. I am sucker for tall men so I admit I eyed him up as he brushed the snow from his dark brown hair. He appeared to be in his twenties, in relatively good shape and was dressed in that nondescript New York style men adapt to in the colder months - namely a black peacoat, jeans and boots.

He waived at the receptionist in a way that made it seem they were the oldest of friends and after scanning the rows of vacant seats, decided to sit directly beside me. I busied myself with the forms I had brought for the meeting and kept my eyes trained on them. As I hunched deeper over my paperwork, I attempted to ignore the small ice breaking grunts my new companion was making.

When his less than obvious "ahems" caused him to start all out coughing. I finally resigned myself to look up. He smiled behind the fist politely shielding his mouth. "Sorry" he muttered.

I will admit dear readers, I was a bit taken with what I saw. Dark hair, a bit of scruff, and gorgeous blue-green eyes. "Not a worry." I responded neutrally. Thinking better of the situation, after all I didn't know him from Adam and while he was good looking I had an interview to get on with. I pleasantly shifted in my seat and returned my eyes to my forms.

Norman was not to be brushed off so easily. "So, what brings you here today?" he inquired. I smiled, referenced the pages in my hand and said "an interview" leaving a nice wide berth of anonymity between us.

Now readers, my mother is huge fan and advocate of anything Oprah Winfrey ever uttered and is famous for spouting her succinct little firecrackers of wisdom whenever given the chance, and before the conversation commenced further, it was these words that briefly flitted through my mind "when you know better, you do better." Well Mom, I guess I should have known better - but your daughter it would seem had not learned that key lesson in not speaking to strangers. So a conversation did in fact develop. While I never learned why Norman was in that waiting room, it did become clear that he was a. from NY, b. a college graduate and c. interested in whatever it was that I uttered. Somehow within this short dialogue we exchanged numbers and a noncommittal vow that we would "hang out in the city". At which point my interviewer arrived and I was lead away into an office.

When I reappeared roughly an hour later, excited, because I would be starting a week later in the very position I wanted, the waiting area was vacant once more and there was no sign of Norman. Buttoning up my jacket I trudged back out into the storm and by evening had promptly forgotten about our meeting all together.

Then 2 a.m. happened. I had just fallen asleep when my cell phone went off with that annoying chime - you know, the one I know I should change because it is so startlingly loud. Thinking it was a friend with an actual emergency I rolled over and groped for my glasses. And there was a text with the three most asinine words I have ever read at 2 a.m. on a Monday evening (caveat -they were not from my best friend who lives on the West Coast where 2 a.m. is merely midnight). "Hey, you awake?" I knew I should ignore and try to go back to bed, but we have already established I don't do better even when I know... so I responded - "Kinda, just ready to fall asleep though." There I thought, to the point, nice, but basically indicating now was not a time for texting. So imagine my annoyance when I received back, "Oh, Kool." Readers, "KOOL" is not a word. For my male readers - never text a girl "kool" the word is "COOL" with a "C". "Yup, goodnight." I responded and put my phone on vibrate. Only to have it go off in my hand. "So, whatcha doing?" Honestly! He asked what I was doing. "Trying to sleep - talk to you soon." Only to receive an immediate bewildering response.

"Oh ok, I was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite 2 eat 2morrow?????"Apparently this was a five question mark question. I don't know what compelled me, maybe it was thinking I could get him to stop texting, maybe I am just an idiot (very likely), well for whatever reason I returned the text. "Sure, that would work." And was graced with this as a reply "AWESOME!" Terrific! I grumbled at myself, but the phone finally fell silent and I fell back asleep.

I awoke at 8 a.m. somewhat refreshed and reached for my glasses and cellphone thinking only about making coffee (yes, I am a well established addict). Unplugging my phone from the charger I noticed it was blinking- indicating I had either an email or a text message. Turns out I had about 25 text messages ranging in time stamp from 3 a.m. right up to 7:45 a.m. all from - you guessed it, Norman. They covered a wide variety of topics from what movie he was watching on his laptop to what he was thinking at the moment. Here are some examples- "they should make a sequel to Momento", "Christian Bale looks scary in the Machinest", "do you know how to play checkers?" and so it went. I scanned through them while I sipped my first cup of joe, needless to say, I was deeply confused. Apparently, I mused Norman does not make a habit of sleeping and has a penchant for stream of conscious late night texting.

My day remained relatively quiet - a few errands in the morning, class in the afternoon. Then around 7 p.m. my phone went off. "HEY! READY FOR DINNER?!" I seriously thought about canceling. Or playing the someone is sick or my apartment is flooded card - but for whatever reason (I am going to go with his eyes and his height)I texted back that we could meet at Columbus Circle and grab a bite from there.

He was late by twenty minutes, and when he got there loped over to me the way a little kid would. "Sorry I am late, the weather..." he said, making a gesture with his hand toward the windows to indicate the wintery mix swirling in the wind. "It's ok, really" I returned. We decided to grab a bite to eat in Hell's Kitchen, which was only a short walk from CC. One thing I noticed about Norman was how quiet he had become, whenever I asked him anything or tried to engage him in conversation he replied with a weird little laugh and kept walking. Strange I thought, but kept walking alongside. We passed several restaurants and when I mentioned this to Norman he indicated there was a specific one he wanted to eat at the name escapes me all these months later. Turns out it was Thai and all in all it was a very nice restaurant. He revealed during the conversation several whoppers - a. he was part Thai (I cannot verify this fact - most likely true), b. he had only been back living in NYC since October (so basically 5 months - okay no biggie) c. he lived with his brother and sister (fine it is NYC rent after all) and d. he was 23 (a young 23). It was the 23 thing that I couldn't handle. Nearly two years younger than me wasn't exactly jiving with me. He became more talkative over dinner, saying he loved playing guitar, just got out of his first serious relationship (it was seven months long), and was loving being back in New York. What puzzled me during this entire conversation was his mannerisms, something was off about Norman. So, I brought up the text messages. How was the Machinest? I asked. He stared at me blankly for minute and then covered with "it was an okay movie, why?" Thankfully at this point the check arrived and we were saved any further exploration of this topic.

Norman decided he had to escort me back to Columbus Circle, and on the way he went back to his less than chatty self. I just couldn't understand it, since after all he had approached me in the waiting room and had blown up my phone with text messages he apparently couldn't remember. Once we arrived back in front of the Time Warner Center I felt physically relieved. Norman gave me a stilted hug and mentioned he had a nice time. I thanked him for dinner and made a motion to hail a cab (the only exit strategy needed). At which point I did a double take, Norman had walked across the street where standing at the corner was pretty much his doppleganger. The two high fived and started walking away. I chalked it up to poor vision and the snow that had begun to fall, it was a friend of his I was sure. He probably met him to go to a bar after dinner with me.

I got home, snuggled with my cat and tried to forget the weirdness of the night. When naturally my phone went off :

NB- "Did you have fun tonight?".

TES - "Yea, it was nice, thanks Norman."

NB - "Did you like the food?"

TES - "Yes, it was fine."

NB - "We should do this again"

TES - "Actually Norman, I think we are looking for two different things. I had fun, but it's not going to work out."

NB- "Really!?! Damn I knew I should have gone..."

TES- "Huh? I don't really understand that last text message Norman."

NB - "I got sidetracked with some stuff and my agoraphobia kicked up today so I had my twin go instead... I mean we are identical so I figured it would be fine..."

TES- ::DELETE NORMAN FROM PHONE::

New York City (2)/ The Exit Strategy (0)

Yup I had just come home from a date with his twin... some would say two for the price of one - for me this was just a bit too much "ick factor". But as Mama always says "When you know better, you do better." ;)

I'm back...

with more fodder for the cannon.

I know I have been away for a few months - but if anything I have been collecting field research, bringing with me more tales of the unusual and sometimes awe inspiring world of NYC dating.

I feel I should come clean now - though this blog is entirely meant to be anonymous (except for the lucky few who know if its existence) I have another blog that I write about my life and times in NYC that is more public and therefore been getting a lot more attention. Juggling the two has become something I have attempted to sort out and I think I have a handle on it now. I have devised a plan to attempt to keep both afloat. Each Sunday night from here on out I will devout to this blog. To this email address and to any and all things related to "The Exit Strategy". Like I said in the title - I am back dear readers - I am sorry for being absent for so long.

So who is next on our hit list - what poor unfortunates have spun me for a loop - fear not I have plenty in my arsenal.

For instance, there is Norman Bates whom I subsequently met in the waiting room of a psychiatry department... (yes I knew better), the Islander as in guy from Long Island who attempted to woo me using words he had made up (sexay anyone... Bueller... Bueller?), Mitch McDeere from the Village who plays more games than a chessboard in Washington Square Park), The Diver, an actual commercial diver and subsequent film buff who thinks that deep existential conversations should happen via text message at 3 a.m., and Young Cusack, once you get past the resemblance to John Cusack circa 1986, I found this guy to be pretty much 110% creepster... so stay tuned - I think you will all be pleasantly surprised!

laters <3

The Manilow

I don’t know if he technically counts as my first “odd” encounter – but thanks to the Manilow this blog came to fruition – so I guess I owe you one buddy.

There are few first dates as painful as this one and even less that have as much shock factor when I am finally able to retell them to friends. But the Manilow for good or for bad takes the cake. This is technically a two-part story but for the sake of continuity I will be putting his entire tale together as one entry.

I met the Manilow at a party for my close friend L’s 24^th birthday roughly one week after ending a six-year rollercoaster ride of a relationship. I was not looking for anything serious – and I was definitely not looking for him. My type as I have come to discover is a taller build, slightly muscular or at least fit, a great smile and deep voice. The Manilow in all fairness was maybe an inch above my 5’2 stature, was still built for puberty and was 2 years my junior. This dear readers, already was not a match made in heaven, but being as we were at the Empire Hotel bar, I had on a gorgeous black and silver cocktail dress and it was a birthday party, I let him buy me a few drinks and decided to just go with the evening. Little did I know that my behavior would equate to a future date with said person…

It was approximately a week after when I first heard from the Manilow (a nickname he has earned all on his own). He called when I was in class and unable to pick up, but left a voicemail saying how wonderful it was to have met me and how much he wanted to see me again. Being recently broken up and ready to get back out there, if only just for fun- I agreed it could be a nice evening and texted the Manilow back the same. A date was planned for that Thursday – during which we would meet in Times Square and take it from there. We met on a cold January night, and spent the earlier part of the evening walking about the shops and lights of Broadway. After spotting a cute and quiet wine bar we decided to move out of the cold street and finish our “conversation” inside.

At this point many “red flags” had already been raised - for one he had brought a camera in hopes of photo documenting the evening, umm no. Then I had to listen endlessly while he rattled off every quirk and dislike he had in his armory - which proved quite extensive – he hated democrats, the president, Manhattan as compared to Brooklyn, coconut and the linchpin coffee. COFFEE – seriously! - Yes in fact, even though he had never enjoyed a cup of life’s blood he was thoroughly convinced it was disgusting and just the mere smell of brewing beans would send him into convulsions. I can remember staring at him in awe and inquiring whether or not he liked oxygen.

After being seated and the wine list coming round, he asked me what types of wine I liked (finally a question that was neither rhetorical nor directed at the waiter)– I responded fairly generically saying that overall I preferred reds to whites. He decided to step up to the plate and ordered us a glass each of - you guessed it Pinot Grigio, a white. Clearly this was not going to work. After scanning the restaurant quickly and realizing the only exit available was right in front of our table I used the therapy tactic of radical embrace and just accepted the fact that I was locked in for at least this glass. Our waiter however was far more receptive of how horribly this was going – perhaps it was my deer in the headlights expression that tipped him off– so he frequented our table and would grant me reprieve from one of the longest filibusters of my life. It appeared that within this seemingly inoffensive companion lay a great Barry Manilow fan. He regaled me with lyrics and quips from all his greatest hits, in particular, Mandy. Oh Mandy! Indeed.

About an hour in I glanced at my empty wine glass and my watch and decided it was now or never time if I hoped to evade further discussion as to what the great Manilow really meant in such ballads as Look to the Rainbow and My Moonlight Memories of You. Righting my blouse and straightening my hair I fixed him with the most serious expression I could muster and lowered the gauntlet. “I am terribly sorry, but I have to go medicate my cat.” For a minute the world froze and you would have thought I had said something as strange as “My ears are filling with blood and I have go… away….” In the pause I made a play for my purse and offered to pay for the check, something I have come to realize is a first date faux pas but one that facilitated the easiest exit. As the Manilow signaled for the bill I felt a slight twinge of empathy for the little guy, obviously this had been his attempt at opening up to me, essentially handing me the keys to his inner psyche and monologue, he reached for the wine list once more and I just as quickly suppressed it.

“No, really I do have to go.” “Oh, to feed your puppy? That is fine.” I gritted my teeth against the use of puppy to describe my gorgeous tabby but said nothing. “Yes, exactly right, if you are ok here I am going to head out, it is important that his medicine is spaced correctly.” He made a slight nod of his head, I took this to mean, yes, of course I am capable of finishing up, I realize this wasn’t going anywhere you are free to go. So, I grabbed my coat and purse and bolted. Ran up Broadway and descended into the nearest subway platform. On the ride back uptown I thought to myself, if I never see him again it would be a day too soon. Finally calm, I looked around at other young couples holding hands and cuddling on the train and smiled to myself, incredibly relieved I wouldn’t have to experience that level of intimacy with the Manilow.

FLASH FORWARD TWO WEEKS

It is now Valentine’s Day eve. I have not heard hide or hair from the Manilow which is fine, I have been out of some other dates which will all have their turn of being recounted here and was gearing up for a round of midterms. When out of the blue sky a text pops up on my phone. “Hey, just wanted to say Happy Valentine’s Day, hope you are doing well.” After reading it twice to make sure I was actually seeing it, I sent back this very non-committal response “Thank you and same to you, take care.” I changed into pajamas and set up my study spot on the couch -getting ready for a big mug of coffee and the textbook note taking that was about to commence. I never received a further response from the Manilow and brushed it off as him being a nice guy.

Perhaps an hour later my doorbell started ringing incessantly like someone was leaning on the buzzer. Alarmed that my favorite door person was in distress I threw on a sweatshirt and flip-flops and beat feet down the stairs, I got to the lobby in record time and N my door lady looked at me like she had seen a ghost. “You ok girl?” “Yeah N, are you? My buzzer just went off and you are the only one who ever rings for me.” “Nah, wasn’t me, there was a guy by the bells but he must have pressed yours by mistake.” I accepted the answer and turned back to the stairwell, I checked my phone – no other texts had arrived and as I was coming to my landing turned and dropped my keys. Standing on my Welcome mat was the Manilow apparently trying to see through my peephole. “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked after the key dropping on marble had announced my presence. He broke into a wide grin – I came in from Brooklyn, I wanted to give you roses on Valentines and I texted first to see if you were around. Umm now the “red flags” were back. “How did you get my address?” “Oh, I did a bit of facebook stalking and figured it out from there, here.” A dozen red roses were thrust at me and I was so startled and scared that I didn’t know what to do.

“I would let you in but I really need to study and my cat doesn’t like visitors” I lied, putting on my teaching voice trying not to come off as shaken as I was. “Oh that is fine I have a pretty bad case of pneumonia anyway (eww) and should be going” was the response I received. I directed him toward the stairs and waited till I heard him descend the first flight. Calmly walking around the hall to the incinerator, I watched the brilliant bloody roses fall deep into the black, ran back to my apartment and locked every bolt and put up the chain. All I could think, was what the hell just happened here? Does he have a screw loose? I gave my cat a pat on the head and settled back into my study spot. As I put on a netflixed season of Angel, David Boreanaz’s character began singing karoke and how about this for uncanny; the song was Mandy. I sang along and laughed off the entire ordeal. New York, was this the beginning of the end?!

teaser...

well you came and you gave without taking
but I sent you away...