Category: Dating

The Family that Hired Me Takes Note of My Love Life

On By KathleenIn Career, Dating1 Comment

My Boss and I have an unusual relationship: we mutually respect and like each other. A lot.

Sure, whenever an exhibition nears opening time, I broadcast a less-than-praising  text message to whatever set of eyes I think will listen. But generally speaking, I really dig the woman that hired me and signs my paychecks. However, there is a catch to the somewhat familial relationship with my superior: in the time I’ve been her protege, she’s taken a keen interest in my personal life.

Signing me up for young professional focus groups.

Sending me to regional business development meetings on her behalf.

Introducing me to the “social media coordinator” for the nearest BMW dealer.

Whenever an opportunity to throw me in front of eligible, single, high-income, young (and local) bachelors arises, my boss is quick to act and sign me up.

She’s no dummy. Get me settled and happy with a boy who can keep me clad in Diane von Frustenberg and I’m more likely to stay happy right where I am as her Gallery Director. If I had to bet, I’d say she figures getting me off the single-girl streets is a win-win for everyone.

When I strolled into the office the Monday morning after my college 5-year reunion, I was notably still groggy from a weekend of catching-up with old schoolmates. The massive multi-tonal blue temporary tattoo of my college’s mascot on my right bicep was a sure indicator that it had been a good time.

Her first question the day after my college reunion: Did you meet any men?

“How was the reunion?”

“Fun!”

“Did you meet anyone?”

“Yea! I caught up with some friends I haven’t seen since graduation. Met some of their friends… it was a great time and good networking.”

“No. I mean did you meet any MEN? MEN!?!”

I quickly moved my hand to my neck and brushed my hair around to the front. There was an ambiguous bruise that needed hiding — one that could as easily have been a result of last week’s fencing practice as evidence that yes, boss, I did meet a man at the reunion.

“Ummmm…. yes. I met one.”

“Only one?”

A few weeks later, she caught me in the office with a shopping bag, indicating that I had made more than good use of my lunch hour.

“You went shopping without me! What did you get?” (my boss likes my taste in clothing/jewelry and frequently suggests we go on shopping excursions together, despite our obvious salary differences…)

“Nothing interesting.”

Luckily, my boss is no Meryl Streep a la The Devil Wears Prada… at least not when it comes to me. Unluckily, she’s keen to play matchmaker.

“Common! What did you buy?!?!”

“Underwear.”

“Oh! Is there a new boy?”

“Not a new one….”

She raised her eyes and gave a fist pump.

“Boss, this has nothing to do with him. I needed new underwear,” I replied, but I doubt she heard me.

“Is he interesting?”

Pause.

“Very.”

My eyes and single-word response must have been telling:

“Well then! Good. But don’t do anything brash without talking to me. I mean don’t run off and elope or anything.”

“I’m more likely to run out and buy another pair of underwear.”

“Good. Of that I approve. Get something slinky. Now, where’s that sponsorship proposal you were working on?”

If You Give a Girl A Flower…

On By KathleenIn Dating, Love7 Comments
In my mother’s day, the flowers a boy would send you would become keepsakes…

A pile of flaky dust fell from the pages of my mother’s 1961 college student handbook and course listing as she pulled it from the shelf.

“What the hell is that!?” she cried. “I just vacuumed. Goddammit.”

“It looks like flower petals.”

She examined the bits more closely before brushing them into the dust pan and determined that they were, in fact, the fragments of a carnation.

“One day, when we were first dating, your father pulled off the side of the road on his way to pick me up and bought me a bouquet of carnations. I hate carnations. But they were such happy little things and I was thrilled. So I tried pressing them. We did things like that in those days. Pressed the flowers a boy gave us so we could have it as a keepsake if we ever got married. Of course, most of them turned out to be bastards. The boys, not the flowers. But I always did a shit job, totally mangled them, and usually forgot what book I used.”

“Case in point.”

When it comes to women, a well-picked bouquet from a fella goes a long way.

Which is why on Wednesday, along with my sneakers, a cluster of sunset-hued roses wrapped in damp paper towels and the cellophane from my 3AM room service order passed through the x-ray scanner at LAX.

An elegant birthday bouquet from a class act kind of guy.

My birthday had been only a few days earlier and these roses had been the feature of a bouquet that greeted me on that July 1st morning. Despite the resort’s legendary service, the elegant arrangement, I would soon learn, was not courtesy of my 5-diamond resort, which had also sent a cake. Even better – the flowers were from my new flame.

5-diamond concierge fail.

New flame home run.

The SoCal sunshine may have mellowed the east coast gallerist, but the roses from the boy who set my heart a flutter with just a glance put an indelible smile on my face for the duration of my “birthday week.”

“Did you go to a wedding while you were out here?” my flight attendant asked when she saw me wedging the roses gingerly into the seat pocket in front of me.

“No. They were a birthday gift.”

“From a beau?”

I nodded with a blush.

“Looks like he’s a keeper to me. Those are stunning.”

Thousands of miles and several changes in cabin pressure later, the roses looked a little worse for wear. Despite the suggestion, I elected not to press them. Much like my mother, home crafts and remembering where I put things are not my forte. I think for now, I’ll leave the act of preserving memories to my Canon… and a moleskin notebook.

… too elegant to leave to the cleaning staff, I valiantly tried to carry the roses cross county, neatly tucked into the seat pocket in front of me. Call it sentimental, call it futile, I call it a noble “thank you.”

Promises to My Future Fiance

On By KathleenIn Dating4 Comments

It’s wedding season, and that means my weekly serving of Sunday Styles is healthier that usual. It’s also the year of my first milestone college reunion. This means I’m officially hitting that life phase when it’s not only strangers announcing their marriages in the Sunday Styles, it’s my friends.

As I watch more and more people I know prepare to “take the plunge” and as I plan my dress-rotation for the upcoming onslaught of receptions and nuptial exchanges, I’ve decided I’d better take note and make some lists for when it’s my turn…

Dear Future Fiance,

I will not make you sit through a staged engagement album photo-shoot that makes us look like a straight-from-the-pages-of-a-Brooks-Brothers-catalog-couple named Chip and Muffy.

This will just never be us.

I mean, yes, it would be nice to have some professional, candid photos of us for the requisite “save the date” cards or NYTimes wedding announcements, but none of that jumping in the air, fake laughing at something “cute” the other person said while wearing polo shirts, khakis and pearls stuff.

Let’s keep it real, baby.

I will not post every dress/hairstyle/shoe idea for our wedding on a board on Pintrest.

My Pintrest page is for everything, except my wedding.

I’m kinda obsessed with Pintrest. That recipe for the “skinny” chocolate-chip scones. The Burberry Prorsum dress I dropped 2 paychecks on. My favorite painting in that exhibit I went to last week. Sure — that’s all fair game. But when it comes to weddings, it’s about decisions… and excel spreadsheets or powerpoints are more useful for that. Besides,  if you can’t see my wedding dress until I walk down the aisle, no one can.

I will ask your opinion about the color scheme. And what color tux you should wear. And where we should have the reception… but I’m not asking for your opinion on the flowers.

You’ve never been great at buying me flowers, so let me pick those out for our wedding.

Let’s be honest — whether the centerpieces are cascading roses or submerged orchids probably doesn’t matter all that much to you. I organize events,  so those sorts of details do matter to me — whether it’s a wedding or a gallery opening. But it probably does matter to you where we celebrate with our guests — our friends and our family — and what breed of penguin you look like.

A wedding is about Us, after all, not about a 5-year old girl’s fairytale fantasy.

I won’t partake in the annual “Running of the Brides.”

Even though I’ve been contemplating joining the roller derby, this will not be me when I go wedding dress shopping. I promise.

As endearing as you find my competitive streak and my knack for trash-talking opposing teams, the last thing you want to see me do is shop for my wedding dress roller-derby style.

I won’t give you “that look” when you tell me the “boyz” have booked tickets to Vegas for your bachelor party.

That’s fine. I’ll even pack the suitcase for you. Because, baby, I’ve got plans of my own…

Just don’t come back married to someone else, with a tattoo on your face, or with anything communicable. If you don’t remember what happened, that’s probably for the best… but please check in with our GP before our honeymoon.

With Love,

Kathleen

I’ll be Your Government Hooker

On By KathleenIn Bio Pics, Dating1 Comment
It's not easy being the Good Wife to a Bad Politician.

“How do you feel about being a politician’s wife?”

My eyes bugged out and my first instinct was to laugh. But when I saw his face and realized he was dead serious, I paused to consider the weight of what he was asking.

“If you’re worried that I might take a naked picture of you while you sleep and post it on the internet, I can assure you, I have more tact than that…”

His “Phew!” was followed by the necessary tension breaking laugh.

“I promise, any naked pictures I take of you will be for personal use only.”

He stopped laughing.

I hate men that can’t take a joke.

It was our first real date but our third meeting — mutual friends had played matchmaker at a party and then tricked us into joining them at a group outing. Their theory was that you couldn’t fashion a better power couple than the girl who wanted to be Director of the Museum of Modern Art and the boy who wanted to be President of the United States. Indeed, we had comparable pedigrees — he was military turned Ivy League Lawyer — and comparable ambitions. We liked people. We both appreciated the necessity of networking at cocktail parties. Neither one of us could deny that, when together, there was enough Jack & Jackie + Barack & Michelle to make us a formidable pair.

And so we agreed to a solo dinner.

Yet, while the idea of walking in Michelle Obama’s shoes certainly wasn’t unappealing, the truth was, why would I want to be a First Lady when I could be president?

More importantly, I don’t have the stomach for an American political life. I hate the way American politics is played out in the popular media. In particular, I hate election years. I hate watching mud-slinging and dick measuring on television. I hate the way feminism is revived, racism is reevaluated and then both are forgotten come December. I hate the way rhetoric and ignorance put words in the mouths of our founding fathers.

At the end of the evening, it wasn’t because I wasn’t willing to be his government hooker that Mr. Future Councilman and I weren’t going to make it, though I can’t say I have plans to be any politician’s Good Wife…

The Men Who have Come/Gone/Stayed and our Fictional Couple Alter-Egos

On By KathleenIn Bio Pics, DatingLeave a comment
We read like a Jane Austen novel... except for the fact he's marrying someone else.

“Your relationship with Greg reads like a Jane Austen novel,” Dani observed. “You’ll probably end up with him. In an over-sized, creepy stone house in the English country side.”

Greg and I did sound a lot like a Jane Austen novel — Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, to be precise. A meeting that started with a snub. But eventually unavoidable interaction, blinding prejudice and wounded pride gave way to inescapable endearment and genuine affection. But 3 years after our romance began to bloom, Greg is a successful Boston-based consultant engaged to a lovely Harvard med student. Their professionally-photographed facebook engagement album makes me throw-up a little every time I look at it.

It was Greg’s engagement album and the subsequent flashback to that remark from Dani that got me thinking: if Greg and I were Lizzy and Darcy, then for every relationship I’ve ever had, there is surely a corresponding fictional couple.

A Former Prospect: Kathleen Kelly & Joe Fox, “You’ve Got Mail”

It started online. Like Kathleen & Joe, we share a love of books, old and new. I’m the firey, independent shopkeeper. He’s the business man with a golden retriever and a hidden mushy side. Through emails, we slowly became trusted confidants.

We were a Joe & Kate, right down to the central park meeting. Luckily, his gallery didn't put mine out of business

And then one day we met in Central Park.

“I hoped it would be you.”

Cue tissue box.

In the movie Kathleen and Joe were the total antithesis of each other outside their protective digital bubble, — he even put her out of business. Luckily, my Joe’s gallery won’t put mine out of business.

A Recent Fling: Carrie & Mr. Big, “Sex & The City”

He was the several years my senior high-rolling businessman with a predilection for runway models and a chronic commitment problem while I’m the curly-haired, fashion-focused relationship blogger. To my friends, he’s known as “My Favorite Mistake.” All signs pointed to a train wreck, and yet, we couldn’t resist each other.

Unfortunately, much like Carrie and Big, neither one was very good at saying “no” to the other… even if he is a republican. Luckily, it didn’t take us 5 years to figure out we were a deadend.

The good friend: Kermit the Frog and Fozzie the Bear

They're a classic combination

“I had a dream about the event,” he said to me. “I don’t remember what happened, but I remember running around trying to find you because I needed you to fix something.”

“Are you sure it was a dream? That sounds an awful lot like  last Tuesday.”

He laughed, and we continued to discuss plans for the redux version of an old collaboration.

“I feel like Kermit getting the band back together!”

“If you’re Kermit, does that make me Fozzy?” I replied.

“Wacka, wacka!”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

The One I’m Holding out For: Nick & Kate, “No Reservations”

Nick thinks Kate’s the best chef in town and is happy playing sous-chef to her executive chef. Their styles are somewhat conflicting, but their partnership is deliciously well-balanced perfection.

Just like Kate, I'm holding out for a partner in crime like Nick


Inside the Mind of an Online Dater on a First Date, Part 2: The Countdown

On By KathleenIn DatingLeave a comment

The following post was written by the exceedingly funny and insightful Brooklyn-based guy behind the blog “Datestable” (apparently, there are some good things happening in Brooklyn.) You can read about his dating experiences by clicking HERE or following him on Twitter: @datestable.

Enjoy!

___________________________________________________________________________________________

T-Minus 1 hour... better make sure to get that out spinach of there

In the sometimes too-predictable world of online dating, there are those pleasant surprises when the script gets thrown out the window, and two people enjoy a totally spontaneous, organic connection full of laughs, meaningful glances, and prolonged silences pregnant with ineffable feeling…Unfortunately, most online dates are nothing like that. Instead, they go something like this, at least for me:

  • T minus 3 days: Date/location set.
  • T minus 2 days: Phone numbers/other means of contact exchanged.
  • T minus 1 day: A text confirmation is dispatched. Hopefully the other party confirms.
  • T minus 12 hours: I make sure my teeth and hair are brushed, hygienic products and olfactory enhancements are applied, presentable clothes are worn.
  • T minus 6 hours: I remind myself to resist that pile of onions in my Halal cart order lest I risk social suicide.
  • T minus 1 hour: I look in the mirror to make sure there’s not a giant booger hanging out of my nose, or a big splotch of toothpaste on my chin. If there’s toothpaste, I remind myself to check that at T-12 hours and curse all the people who have seen me throughout the date who chose not to point this out.
  • T minus 5-10 minutes: I arrive on location comfortably but not pointlessly early. If I’m at a bar that fills up quickly after work or on a weekend, I have time to grab some seats, which she is sure to appreciate (or, at least it solves a minor but unnecessary first-date problem of awkwardly waiting for comfort).
  • T minus 2 minutes: I peruse the beer/wine list, preparing myself to wow her with my vast knowledge of spirits. At this point I may also start to wonder if those weird angles in her photos were intentional.
  • T plus 2 minutes: I glance at my watch and a few at the door, curious about how she will make her entrance and how I will look to her. This might also be a good time to check on a few near-certainties (is my fly zipped, etc.).
  • T plus 5 minutes (pre-smart phone era): I start to get annoyed, checking my watch and phone more frequently.
  • T plus 5 minutes (post-smart phone era): I feel slightly more relaxed, launch Words with Friends or Draw Something.

Date Late

  • T plus 15 minutes (pre-smart phone era): I am now fully annoyed at not getting a heads-up, wonder if this will finally be the time I get completely stood up, start to get annoyed when I’m asked if I want to order a drink for the 3rd time, contemplate passive-aggressive text, decide against it and end up calling or texting to voice my concern.
  • T plus 15 minutes (post-smart phone era): Getting frustrated with a bad board in WWF or not being able to guess what my friend’s squiggly lines are supposed to be. Forget all about date, fail to register vibrating/ringing of phone as she sends an SOS after being mugged in the adjacent alley.

Date On Time
Showtime: You size each other up nervously, hug or awkwardly shake hands, and proceed to judge one another physically for a few seconds while ignoring what the other person is saying. If you’re both satisfied, a lovely evening may commence. If one of you is much happier than the other, one of you will be really frustrated very soon and the other will have some grievances to air with the friend who thought this was a good idea. If both of you are equally dissatisfied, you might be on to a beautiful friendship.