I’m Sorry, Friend, I love You, But I Don’t Care About Your Boyfriend

On November 14, 2011 By KathleenIn Dating, Family, Love, relationships1 Comment

I have an aversion to telephones, just like I have an aversion to another story about your boyfriend.

I have an strong aversion to telephones. It might even be classified as a phobia. Someone asks me to make a phone call, and I start to have a panic attack. I’ve learned to control it to a degree over the years, but still, it’s something of a handicap.

I blame Erin for my problem. When we were 12, she used to call me every day after dinner to talk about Dan — the boy she was “dating.” We were 12. It was the conservative 1990s. We listened to the Backstreet Boys and wore our hair in braided pigtails. We really had nothing to talk about when it came to relationships, but somehow she found a way to spend 2 hours a day gushing over how cute his hair was, or how he waited for her at her locker, or how jealous Libby was.

The novelty of a friend with a boyfriend wore off. I quickly stopped giving a sh*t.

There’s a great scene in an episode of Sex & the City when Miranda, in a fit of frustration, scolds her gal pals — we’re 4 smart women with careers and lives, she says (I’m paraphrasing, here), why is it that all we talk about is men? Surely, there’s more to us than that!?!

Crushes, first dates, budding romances, heart aches, and their aftermath are all things our friends help us navigate through. When it comes to matters related to love, we seek the approval, advice, and empathy of our friends, hoping they’ll knock the sense into us or share our joy — whatever the situation requires.

sometimes we have to remember, our girlfriends are there because they love us, not because they love our boyfriends.

But even when friends are willing listeners, it’s important to remember, your friends are friends with you because you’ve got more going on in your life than your boyfriend.

Eventually, the novelty of your relationship wears off. For your friends far sooner than it does for you.

Not every conversation is a door opener to another reason why you and your boyfriend are so cute. Puppies are cute. Once that guy is your boyfriend, he’s not cute. He’s someone else we’re competing with for your time. So when you’re with your friends, we want you with us. We’re not an alternative to his company. For better or for worst, we were there first. It’s you we’re interested in, honey, not your boyfriend.

Odds that the Next Guy I date Will…

On November 7, 2011November 7, 2011 By KathleenIn Dating, Love, relationships1 Comment

Have a tattooed sleeve: 1 in 2

tattooed sleeves — David, did you borrow my lace top again? Oh wait, those are your tats!

From the chef with the butcher’s map of a pig tattooed from this wrist to elbow to the Frye Boots specialist with the Man Ray photograph etched into his left forearm, it seems every man I share a drink or afternoon with is a painted gentleman.

According to a survey published by the Pew Research Center in 2008, 4 in 10 Millennials (the young adults of the early 2000’s) sport tattoos. Within this group, more men have tattoos than women.

Sometimes, I find the tattooed sleeve disarming — what’s he doing wearing my Zara lace top? But on the whole, I don’t mind it. I guess it’s a good thing I’ve always found a lil ink to be very sexy.

Live with his mother: 1 in 4

The most recent census revealed that nearly 6 million Americans between the ages of 25 and 34 lived at their parents’ homes last year. I was one of them. But on the whole, young men are nearly twice as likely as women to live with their parents. Of the last 5 guys I’ve met in this age group, 3 have lived with their parents.

trey's mother2 — These days, if he lives with his mother, it's not a strike against... it all depends on when he decides to tell you

Statistics and personal experience show, if I’m dating in my age group, a romantic night in, cooking dinner for him at his place, might entail cooking dinner for his mother (and father? and sister?).

So, in 2011, is it a strike against if a guy lives with his parents? I guess it all depends on a number of factors. But in this day and age, if all other signs of adulthood are neatly intact, it’s hard to call him anything but sensible.

Have traveled outside the US: 1 in 3

For the 2008/9 academic year, 260,327 students studied abroad, according to the Open Doors Report on International Educational Exchange. With NYU as the leading sending school in the US, this means odds are pretty good that a Manhattanite has traveled and even spent a significant time outside his homeland.

Only 30% of Americans have a passport, but odds that my next date will have traveled abroad are still pretty good.

But what about non-NYC educated folks? Or what about the possibility of meeting someone who’s seen the world without the help of academic programs? The numbers suggest my next date will have at least a willingness to journey in a foreign land.

Of the 308 million-plus citizens in the United States, 30% have passports. Owning a passport, of course, doesn’t guarantee that it’s been put to use. CNN posted some interesting stats: There were 61.5 million trips outside the United States in 2009 and about 50% of those trips were to either Mexico or Canada.

And yes, Canada is a foreign country, eh.

Have a graduate degree: 1 in 9

On eharmony, you can limit your dating pool according to education. If it’s a priority that your mate have at least as many degrees as you, then check a box, and the logarithm will take care of the rest.

As of 2003, approximately 25% of all Americans could boast a bachelor’s degree or higher. In a region like the North East, odds of landing a date who’s graduated from college is probably closer to 1 in 2. But a graduate degree? Well that gets tougher.

commencement 2009 048 — Only 9% of Americans have a masters degree, but New York is not America.

Only 9% of Americans can say they have an MA or MS or MBA. But again, New York isn’t America. New York City has the most post-graduate life sciences degrees awarded annually in the United States while Columbia University alone currently has approximately 17,833 students enrolled in various graduate programs.

Looking at these regional statistics, along with the contemporary reality that an increasing number of people are turning to graduate school as an alternative to a sucky job market, it seems the odds of finding a guy with “at least my level of education” would be in my favor… eventually.

There's nothing classy about a Red Sox fan.

Be a Red Sox Fan: 0

The Red Sox nation has a surprisingly strong representation in New York. It’s uncomfortable, and I won’t deny, I have a terrible habit of falling for fans of my team’s arch-nemesis.

But the chances I’ll actually allow myself to date one? Not a shot in hell.

Things You Wish He Hadn’t Said

On October 31, 2011 By KathleenIn Dating, Mr. RightLeave a comment

things he shouldnt say — one pitch and 2 strikes...

Sometimes, it’s a piece of information you just don’t need to know about him. Sometimes, it’s a poorly chosen pick-up line. Sometimes, it’s pillow talk gone uncomfortably awry. Sometimes, it’s his misconstrued version of a compliment. Every time, you wish he’d never said it.

The following list has been culled from a variety of friends and media – text messages, late night bar meetings, first dinner dates, 3^rd dinner dates, pre and post romps, phone calls, etc. Enjoy, and feel free to add your own “things I wish he hadn’t said” in a comment!

#08: “How much money do you have left?”

#12: “You remind me of my half-sister Liza-Sue.”

#25: “My ex ripped my heart out and stepped on it. Totally trampled it. Would you like to have drinks tomorrow night?

#58: “So I went on a date this past Thursday with this other girl…it was really fun.”

#102: “I’ve been chaste since I broke it off with my fiancé 3 years ago.”

#113: “I can’t wait for you to come over, baby – I’ve been practicing spanking watermelons.”

#146: “I don’t usually date girls with a few extra pounds on them, but you’ve got beautiful brown eyes.”

#189: “One time in juvie…”

#215: “Look, my coat check tag is 69! I think we’re going to have a good time tonight. Hi, I’m Dave, by the way. So, what are you doing later?”

#257: “You’re the most famous person I’ve kissed… which I guess, doesn’t say much for who I’ve dated.”

#278: “Does chloroform turn you on? Cuz, it turns me on.”

#301: His chosen pet name for you is “Moose”

#355: “Hey luv my date for Sat wuz canceled my cock is urs all weekend now”

#403: “Look we can go for drinks if you want, but while you sit there prattling on, I’m just going to be picturing you naked in a hotel room. So maybe we just shouldn’t bother.”

#418: “Damn girl that is a phenomenal ass, looks like two hams fighting for position. mmm! That’s baby makin’ music.”

#444: “I’d like you to meet my imaginary friend, Hebert.”

#502: “The last time I came here with a date, she made out with the bartender.”

#504: “The last time I came here, I was with my cousin. We made out… Should I not have told you that?”

Who am I and How did I Get Here?

On October 28, 2011October 30, 2011 By KathleenIn Bio Pics, CareerLeave a comment

It was my father’s proudest moment — the morning I called to say I needed to take the tool belt and hammer to work.

The hammer and nails I've learned a gallerist can never leave home without

Forget my two university graduations. Forget that NCAAs when I made All-American. Forget the afternoon I got the phone call offering me the job at the gallery. Forget the day when I tell him I’m engaged. No, my father is proudest when I’m fixing things.

When I was 5, my favorite toys were wooden blocks (read: cut-up wood scraps from my father’s basement tool shop), a small black hammer, and nails. There was not a Barbie to be found. Instead, I built things. Tables. Chairs. Houses. They were rudimentary, but they kept me occupied and were sturdy enough to survive Armageddon.

Eventually, I went on to junior high school and wood shop where I put my hammering skills to use making spice racks and stylized end tables and rocket-powered race cars. I was teacher’s pet — when the local newspaper came to highlight our school’s “technology” program, I was the chosen spokesperson. The front page of the paper was filled with a photograph of me in a Calvin Klein sweatshirt holding up a 3D room model I designed and constructed from foamboard.

Then I discovered Bergdorf Goodman. I retired my hammer in exchange for Marc Jacobs blouses and Stuart Weitzman shoes.

It's just like the Talking Heads said, "you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?"

Every once in a while, I find myself having an almost outer-body experience in which I’m staring down evaluating the person before me. I don’t recognize myself, and before I can ask, who is that, a flood of years past accumulate in front of my eyes — a rapid-fire timeline of moments that lead me to that current instance and answer the question dangling in the air. Recently, it’s been happening often. I guess that’s the byproduct of finding myself in a new life phase.

This week’s exhibition installation — one where my childhood aptitude for driving nails into plywood proved particularly useful — inspired one of those outer-body experiences, an unexpected fit of nostalgia. Sometimes, I look at myself and say, gee, look how far I’ve come! Today, as I stood on the step ladder, employing the same hammer that was my favorite play thing as a kid, I was relieved that some things haven’t changed.

I guess I was also grateful my father thought it prudent to teach a 5-year old girl basic carpentry skills.

Why I’m Glad I Bought My Class Ring: a follow up to an earlier post

On October 23, 2011 By KathleenIn Dating, insights/observations4 Comments

blog images8 — My signet ring. I never leave home without it.

Back in January, I ran a post about my grad school class ring. In an attempt to remedy the error I made in purchasing a college class ring that resembled a wedding band, I purchased a super-sized man’s ring to mark the completion of my MA. I wanted a conversation starter. Little did I know how useful it would be…

I was sitting at the bar of the Brasserie, a restaurant in midtown Manhattan where I can say “I practically grew-up here!” It was happy-hour hour and I was enjoying a St. Germain spritzer with my mother who had just survived hours of unpleasant dental work. Her face was puffy. We both agreed champagne and elderflower liquor would be a more effective pain killer than the Vicodin in her purse. There was a group of young bank management trainees clustered at the end of the bar, awaiting an orientation cocktail party to begin.

I had yet to put in my drink order when one of the trainees slid onto the stool next to mine.

“Can I have an ice-water please?”

I could feel him looking at the side of my head — sometimes I think those crimson feature extensions I installed send the wrong message — and he crunched his ice in my ear.

“Nice signet ring. Where’s it from?”

After a several minute assessment, he had decided my over-sized class ring was his best in.

His comrades stared at us like this was a middle school dance and he was the boy dared to ask the one female in the room if she wants a turn on the floor. My mother and my new best friend Karissa, the bartender, giggled like 12 year girls.

Hair-Flairs-Feather-Extensions_Web_VV — sometimes I think the feather extension I installed send the wrong impression.

The conversation was short. “Oh! Art History! Very, very in-te-ressss-ting. You must speak French and Italian.”

“French and German.”

I returned to my menu and minutes later, he got the message and abandoned his efforts. My mother gave me her signature smack in the back of the head.

“It doesn’t matter that he was short. Or balding. Or creepy. He probably makes as much in a week as you do in a year. You could have at least been friendly.”

I shrugged. Luckily, I was given a second chance, of sorts, the next day.

Justin was the 6 foot something, Mediterranean-colored, plaid-wearing North Face salesman who sold me my snowshoe-ready anti-slip snow boots during a lunch-break trek to the shopping district.

“Nice signet ring. Where’s it from?”

Looking at his dark complexion and athletic build, I was sold. I happily explained my course of degree with self-deprecation.

“You sound just like me!” he replied, referring to my economics undergraduate turned art history grad student.

ghost_clay_studio — "Leave it to you," my mother cried, "to pick the starving artist."

I settled on the boots and we quickly swapped life stories. He was an economist turned ceramic artist turned pro golfer. Besides an affinity for this sporting life, green tea and Hudson Bay coats, we shared mutual friends in the local art world.

By the time I signed my receipt, he had asked for my business card and promised to stop by the gallery to see our current exhibit.

In less than 24 hours, my class ring had won me the attention of two very different guys. I won’t pretend my mother wasn’t disappointed in my choice — “Leave it to you to choose the starving artist over the secure businessman!”

To make amends, I promised I’d do happy hour at the Brasserie more often… signet ring in tow, of course.

How Many Capes Does One Girl Need? The Real Question is, How Big is her Closet?

On October 10, 2011 By KathleenIn fashion1 Comment

It’s fall’s hottest outerwear trend — capes. In all colors, in all patterns. Equal parts Victoriana and Wild West, drama and practicality, free spirit and buttoned up, the cape is as timeless as it is versatile. Worn over slick, fitted silhouettes and sharp heels, they are modern and elegant (even the NT Times agrees.)

For me, the cape is nothing new. There’s always been one or two or three in my closet, in some incarnation. When the recession hit and I decided the most sensible shopping destination was my mother’s closet, I quickly accumulated a few more.

Here’s what I’ll be wearing now that the leaves are changing their coats and the temperature is dropping (note: I’m no Heidi Klum. I’m more Ben Stiller with my blue steel):

I bought this fringed poncho in 2004, when I was a student in college and in need of something I could quickly toss on as I bolted out the door to class. It’s become a mainstay this fall as my daily go-to outer layer.

A wool poncho by Aqua. Reasonably priced and a mainstay in my closet since 2004

Technically not a cape, this cloak-like draped jacket is one of the most exquisite things in my closet. My mother bought it in Ireland nearly 30 years ago. It’s bold and elegant, and the neon-plaid makes it a perfect fit for this season’s highly saturated color palette. It was matched with a royal blue tweed pencil skirt that I had re-tailored and wear separately with more understated accessories.

This exquisitely draped jacket may not be a cape, but it has all the drama

Sometimes, my inner Victorian needs some drama. A London purchase my mother made, before I was born. The high neck accented with big wooden buttons and long hemline are what I love most about this cloak, but the orange and mauve plaid make it a classic for fall.

sherlock holmes w detail — The length and high neck make this a dramatic piece worthy of a Victorian centerfold.

I’ve always had a thing for the wild west. The hooded, fringed cape is sophisticated and warm. Paired with black leggings and patent Farragamos, it’s already made more than one Saturday night downtown appearance in 2011.

It's missing a toggle, but it's made several downtown NYC appearance already this season

Purchased in Ireland in the 1980s, the lightweight navy blue wool with the plaid accents and wrap around hood is probably the most practical of all the capes I’ve inherited.

They Told Me to Find a Rich Husband

Tag: life