The Thirteenth Date

Sadly it didn't happen on Friday the 13th, and you may be able to guess how it ends but I'm hyper and awake and it's past midnight so what else is there to do but post?! Here goes!

The Time: Tuesday, August 10th, 2010, 8:05pm
The Guy: "Phil" met on Okcupid (where else?!)
The Place: Gleason's Gym, 77 Front St, Brooklyn, NY
What Creative Time Says:  Like all lockers, this one is yours as long as your lock is on it.

This post is, perhaps, too far removed as it happened one week ago and the buzz of the after glow is not coursing through my veins as I already know how the story ends. I skipped to the last page of the book and found that Charlotte died (ok ok, it's not that dramatic but you know what I mean!) and some of the fun of Wilbur's adventures are thus lost (and if I've lost you, well then, you seriously need to reexamine your childhood). But we forge on in blogging as we do our quest for love and so I will share my tale of "Phil" with you all.

In another twist of my usual style, I think I've found my metaphor before I've even begun. Usually, I write these posts and connect the dots towards the end, finding, I hope, a clever way to sign off which ties in the date and the man and the experience when I am almost finished writing but I think with "Phil" I've got it all figured out ahead of time: I had my boxing gloves on and my fists up before we even began. "Are you saying you wanted to fight, L.A.?" you may ask, but you would ask wrong, instead I was so covered and protected and ready to be beaten up that I didn't allow myself to really shine through. "Phil" (and I am going to stop using quotes now, you all get it's not his real name, yes? though he never did choose that pseudonym) does movie/tv/editing/I'm being purposefully vague work in Manhattan and has the greatest curly hair and the warmest smile in the universe. He caught me working on my cell past 8pm outside my all time favorite photo bookstore in DUMBO (yes my favorites here get that specific, I have a lot!) Power House Books. Part avante garde photo house, part camera shop, part gallery and performance space, pH has it all and tonight I awaited my first date with Phil (well, until my client called my cell, really need to do something about that) while listening to a half puetro-rican half irish woman describe growing up in the 70's in brooklyn. This is what I love about NY, you can't pass a corner without stumbling upon something that will make you smile.Apparently dumbo is extra magical in this sense. Phil mentioned he had heard music and we tore off in the direction of trombones until we stumbled upon, yes, a HIPSTER marching band. Ladies and Gentlemen, it brought tears to my eyes.

Gleasons Gym is a hot smelly wonderful sweatbox full of tough looking men and the women who beat the crap out of them. I felt like I stepped onto an actor's immersion set of some Rocky Balboa pic where the blood aint' fake and the tears don't come till you're alone in the shower. Men staged fights that must incur at least 15 bruises a minute on classic blue and red rings and here I was, little pixie in her hipster red t shirt and work skirt, holding out a key.

The locker, in its glory, revealed jump ropes (I did a double!) and hand tape (we couldn't figure out where our thumbs went!) and signs telling tourists to "go the F* away". Ha! Adventurous, giving, mean and playful, maybe here was my perfect man? Phil and I fake-boxed each other, took pictures of famous people and incredible 80's haircuts, and bought water to replace the gallons we had sweated out in the 15 minutes we were in the gym. Just try and tell me that's not a cute beginning.

And I felt I liked Phil, I really did! He was funny and cute and smart and playful, even if he was maybe too ashamed to be on a date with the key girl and didn't want his picture taken. But here was the problem! I had become The Key Girl. I had turned into that story that your friends read about and here he was on a date and here I was, feeling like I needed to be bouncy (which I was) and happy (which I felt) and refuse a second cup of coffee (which I did) because of what I felt someone else knew about me. And I was detached! I felt it! I tried to be charming and myself but I couldn't stop talking about the project and dating and I am sure I didn't make Phil feel as special as he totally is (the man has shook Obama's hand, enough said)  when he had dinner at the delicious and delightfully concepted Rice restaurant (but skip the lemongrass salad, it was lacking in flavor!)This project, which was meant to put the FUN back into dating, and make the rejections hurt less, has perhaps provided me with a little too much extra padding (and not just because I've been eating too much good food, Ba-dum CHING!) No, instead, I've become prepped for the dates themselves to fail, ready to just love the date, enjoying from a distance before I could even get close to the fire.

Which is why it's not surprising that I received the following email in my inbox a few days later (Phil, if you read this, don't kill me!)

Hey Lauren
Hope the rest of your week has been good and you werent too tired at your early morning court appearance. I had a nice time with you tuesday night– that boxing gym was crazy, and the random hipster marching band? funny stuff. That said, I dont think that we should go out again, but i look forward to following your project on your blog and wish you the best.
Cheers
Phil

Which, you know, equals total bummer. And I am sure it could have been any number of things but really, it's probably that I have become too protected by the project. Too much of an outsider, too much of an observer. I'm living my life, to be sure, but am I living the dates and the connections with the men? As of now, unclear.

So guess what this gal decided to do? On Friday, I went on a date with a guy and didn't go to a key site (hit up one of my favorite first-date spots, Gowanus Yacht Club, which is uber cool and cheap and has pirogi!) and I didn't even tell my date about this project at all. And he still told me I seemed detached! (ok, maybe I was a little too invested in analyzing the couple next to us but who doesn't do that right?) Hmmm.

So that is how I found myself lying on my bedroom floor, surrounding by bathing suits, searching fruitlessly for my cutest purple bikini, in preparation for my big saturday date. A date like no other I had tried before. A date that would break all the rules. A date which you'll have to find out about by reading my next post. :)

Trying to take away the gloves and see what's on the other side!

L.A.




P.S. In case I don't get around to blogging my next adventure soon, here's a little preview: