Peking Duck and the Brooklyn Bridge

I had a wonderful date in a lovely city. Too bad the man was not to my taste. We've been on five dates, I believe, and he treats me like a princess. Which I am, so I guess it's just my due.

We met in Brooklyn and walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, which gives you a beautiful view of the city. Have I mentioned that I love this city?

Then he suggested a restaurant in Chinatown that he believed was a must-see of NYC. It was called Peking Duck, so you can guess what we ate. The dinner special was soup, and appetizer, duck, entree and fruit. Quite a lovely meal in theory. But I don't care for duck or sea bass, which is what F wanted to have for the entree. I made a half-hearted offer to pay, but he said not worry about it. The meal was $80, plus tip. I spend less than that for two weeks of food.

We kissed goodbye on the train, as I was switching to the L train and he lives in midtown Manhattan.

It never seems like it's that hard for me to meet a man that will treat me like something precious. The problem is I've always been more interested in the ones that play games with me and break my heart. I'm trying to change, to date the right type of man, but I find it so boring after the drama of the heartache. No one who knows me wonders why I'm single.

Man, when will my feet stop hurting? I think a little bone that I broke in my foot years ago never healed properly.

All's Quiet on the Western Front

McKibbin Street is actually turning out to be not that bad. My roomies are quiet and so are the neighbors. I've heard some band practice going on, but not late at night and not for very long. I've walked home twice now in the middle of the night and haven't felt like I was in any danger. I think the most disappointing thing about my new home is the fact that the local Thai place makes sub par green curry.

I guess the trick now will be to find a job.

Moving to NYC

I think I need to change the direction of this blog. Sure, I could brag about my conquests and all the awesome people I know, but really, who hasn't read about that already?

Instead, I'm going to focus on what's happening now. Which I just discovered is pretty interesting. A week ago, I packed up two duffel bags, a suit case, a carry-on bag, a book bag and my dad's garment bag and hopped a train to NYC. I arrived to the open arms of a charming man and his charming west side studio apartment in Manhattan. Then a week went by and he told me get the hell out (he said it nicer than that).

So I looked for a place to stay. I found a charming room to rent in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. You would have loved it. Two days before I was supposed to be out of the charming man's apartment, the subletter called to let me know she was ripping up my check and renting the room to her roommate's friend instead.

What ensued next was a mad dash across Craigslist and across Brooklyn via the L train. I found one place, but it was only available for a month. No way was I moving again at the end of February. I found a great place I could have rented from three months to whenever, but then I got a call a few hours later saying they were renting to someone hipper than me. I finally found a place available for three months and dirt cheap.

In the heat of the moment, the place was perfect. It was furnished (mattress on the floor, though relatively new, an "armoire", a "chair" and a bedside table the perfect height for a mattress on the floor), it was cheap, my roommates were a gay dude and a sweet guy, and the room seemed pretty secure.

In the sober light of day I realized that kids play drums in the apartment late at night, that there is a real possibility of getting jumped coming home at night and the sweet guy is actually a lesbian (though still sweet).

I think I will take this experience as a lesson: I am not as hip as I pretend to be. I am a middle class attorney, not an artist, and, though not afraid to die, I am afraid of pain and getting my money stolen.

Please stay tuned for whatever next comes my way.