It may seem, from reading this blog, that only crazy girls happen to me. This may be true, and I am ready to accept this fate - but it doesn’t mean that I only meet the nutjobs. But after thinking about it this past week, I think I might have indirectly found my calling. Here’s where Brownstone postulates on the absurd, so get your shit-filters ready prior to reading this mind-fart. Ok, so here’s the theory:

Brownstone was birthed to this great world to thwart evil. Evil, you ask? Surely these women exhibit modicums of undesirable traits, but evil - isn’t that a little harsh? Big, fat NO. I may, in fact, be the saviour of all mankind. I think after these women get through with me, they are changed, forever. Whether it be five minutes of flirting, or even years of dating resulting in marriage, Brownstone is altering the space-time-crazy continuum by simply being there. Whether these ladies remember me or not, they carry the legacy with them — they too knew Brownstone. And as a result, I save the next unsuspecting soul that they would have preyed on. Yes, I have that power. My presence is so wonderful and positive that I am injecting a semblance of good in all these loonies! Brownstone, the saviour. Has a nice ring to it, eh? A ring that didn’t cost me a quarter of my annual salary! / End of shit filter.

But like I mentioned before, they are not all nutjobs. There could be a gem here or there -OR- I could be completely off my rocker, blinded by a well-acted personality and killer legs. Or, better yet, there could be an estrogen-laced conspiracy against the likes of yours truly in motion. Anything is possible at this point. But the faith in me still holds to the belief that gems could still exist.

I met one of these potential gems back in March in a bank by where I live on the Upper West Side. She opened my business account and was flirting with me - and I was flirting back. I got the impression (for whatever reason) that she was married. Don’t remember if it was something she said or whether she was wearing something very blingy on her left-hand. So I did not make much of it. She has a curious first name that is synonymous with the word “bright” and it gives her character. For the purposes of this blog, we’ll just call her Wit. Being that the bank is a block from my home, I did run into her quite a bit over the next several months, in passing. A couple months ago, we struck up a light conversation while I was withdrawing cash to go see Slim Faster (shocker) and it occurred to me that I may have misinterpreted her status/situation because of yet another reference that contradicted being in a serious relationship. Also, during this exchange she noticed my tattoo on my left arm and was asking me about designing one for her (she remembered that my primary business was graphic design when setting up my account) so we began emailing each other on and off since then. I dropped by the bank the other day when I saw Wit in the window waving at me. So I took the opportunity to flirt with her some more and get her phone number. I am going to take her out sometime next week (we already agreed to this) in hopes that I can prove myself and this whole blog wrong.

Or, I could be saving one more future guy from the evil that lies ahead . . .

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A few more exchanges with Shy over the weekend reinforced my concern that she was just playing games with me. Now don’t get me wrong . . . I completely understand the whole thrust-and-parry of the typical courtship dance. I know things don’t happen overnight and I should exercise the upmost equanimity in the wake of a developing situation. But really . . . COME-THE-F*CK-ON. I really don’t have patience for this kind of back-and-forth BS. I am glad others have chimed in and agreed that she may not be interested at all. That makes me feel better as I am about to cut her off completely and I don’t want to feel as if I am making a mistake.

Who wants to take bets that she will be back in the near future asking me whats up with everything? I love this blog. It keeps Brownstone in check, ladies and gents. And I love you guys for throwing your two and a half cents into the spiel as well.

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Shy is definitely pushing buttons with me. Here’s a recent email exchange between her and I:

Brownstone: What do i have to do to get you out for lunch / dinner / cake / anything ??

SHY: Gotta get to know me a little better! lol Send me some emails or chat with me on AIM or something I guess.

Brownstone:
Alright, lets see.. things I know about you so far:

1. your name is #####
2. you are shy
3. you are from Texas
4. you are impossible to get a hold of via IM
5. you give complete strangers your email address at bookstores.

How many points does that get me? what can I trade them in for?

No response thus far. I hope this doesn’t drag on, because I’m no good at just hanging around in silence, twiddling my thumbs. Any word of advice from anyone reading this would be sweet. My patience threshold has certainly reached the brink.

On another note, I blew a potentially excellent exchange I had on the train earlier today. I am not one to believe in magic, but if my memory serves me correctly Monkeypants had some success in the Missed Connections section of Craigslist and it completely inspired me to hammer out the following lame post (Since CL posts have expiration dates, I will copy the body here for archive purposes) :

This is going to sound loopy, and I feel crazy doing this (as if that isn’t cliché enough).

So earlier this afternoon around 1:30PMish, we both got on the uptown #4 train at Bowling Green and I got off at Union Square (not sure if you did too, but it appears as if you were - when I turned my back to you) — this was mistake #2

Mistake #1 was not telling you how radiant you looked when you smiled at me. This is after I told you that you had something underneath your right eye on your face, like a stray lash. You wiped it off and smiled. That smile stays with me the entire day.

If you are reading this… I have hit gold. Write me back, please. I’d love to talk.

We were both wearing black…

I am on a roll with solid Fridays. I will be hitting up a going away party for a friend in Chelsea tonight. Hopefully, I’ll have something more positive to write about next time.

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I feel very slouchy of late and need to drop some weight. Ever since I have moved (from Queens) to Manhattan, I have taken the opportunity to walk home from work when the weather has been cooperative and temperate. Last week, during the unseasonly 70’s we were blessed with, I did it again a few times. The tail-end of my usual jaunt from Union Square is accented with the tree-lined nirvana of Central Park — a modest escape from industry, pavement and every other reminder of my daily life in this crazy city. To get to this poor man’s garden-of-eden from where I’m at, I have to go through the madness that is Midtown. With an iPod handy, good tunes or even better podcast, that nasty leg of the trip is not all that bad. Not all that bad, until you see a girl you dated briefly smack center on a billboard near Times Square.

There she was, huge, in all her glory. SlimFaster is a plus-sized model, which in everyday-speak is also known as “regular-sized woman.” If she is plus-sized, I do not want to know what they call obese people. But that’s hardly the point here. My jaw dropped checking the ad out, though I should not have been surprised. So I thought to myself, this would be an opportune inspirational moment to write about my time with her.

I met her in the midst of looking for a lawyer for my divorce several months ago (on Craigslist, of all places). As it turned out, SlimFaster and I were going through strikingly similar ‘ordeals’ and she referred me to the lawyer that I wound up hiring. With the things we already shared in common and general bullshit posturing out of the way, SlimFaster and I went out on a couple of quality dates. She was great. I was happy to meet someone I could share great stories with and good laughs without the worries of being judged for my ‘baggage’ and history. On our second date (could have been third, but the first time we met was brief at a café where we both made sure we weren’t Craigslist psychopaths), I took her to a party a friend of mine was throwing and to cut out all the pointless particulars, ended up at my apartment later in the evening. Winding down an evening of coy flirting here and there, I took upon an opening to make a move on her. Things are going smoothly (in my estimation) until she stops for a second and says:

“What took you so long?”

Whoah . . . hold on there, mama. A blur of facts flashing through my head like 80s-sitcom-flashbacks: 1) We are only on date #2, and I have barely spent any significant time with her. 2) We are both in the midst of divorce proceedings - things are a bit ‘fresh’. 3) I wasn’t sure she was really into me, tiny flirtations aside. Here we were, and I wasn’t about to be one to thwart any touchy-feely-fun with a heady debate. I should have just shrugged my shoulders or said “I dont know.” Instead, brilliant Brownstone feels like he is being judged for something all of a sudden and becomes compelled to say:

“Some might think we didn’t take long at all.”

Doh! Rally Killer! This nonchalant statement, of course, cuts the momentum and pretty much ends the ride as things quickly got awkward. She was probably turned way off and was out of my life shortly after. Of course, as soon as she got in her cab I realize that my words could have easily translated into indirectly calling her a slut, which was clearly not the intention. When trying to reconnect she simply thwarted my advance citing similarities between myself and her ex-husband to-be.

This whole episode rushes back to me while I stood frozen near Times Square gazing up at her ad. I thought about how I screwed shit up with one stupid line, and all of the pointless what-if’s, shouldve’s, wouldve’s and couldve’s. There she is smiling on that obnoxious Slim Fast ad reminding me of all of this. She was enormous in every way, except in person. The brief time I spent with her, months ago, was unbelievably still weighing on my mind. I walked away thinking, I really need to lose that weight.

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I get into work Monday morning and get a message from good ol’ Guam.

Oh, guess what? I am going to be in New York next summer for work.

How convenient. So, after last week’s nonsense, circumstance throws her a curveball and she decides to re-connect with me. Of course, I am not having it - shooting back with:

Too bad you don’t know anyone here.

Scoooooore! One point for Brownstone Cool. Yep, that might have sounded assy out of me, but she walked right into that one. If anyone thinks I should be nicer about this whole thing, feel free to chime in.

In other news, the weekend was a bit rough. Saturday was the one year anniversary of my wedding and I couldn’t help but feel a bit miffed about the whole situation. I wasn’t really in the mood to be social so I stayed in with a bottle of Jack and watched a slew of inappropriate flicks on my obnoxiously big, and way under-used television set. Good job, Brownstone.

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Friday is here and Brownstone Cool is dateless for the evening. Bummer! This is particularly annoying because it is a cool 70 degrees in the N-Y-C and spring-like nights in the oft-oppressive heatwave we are accustomed to are few and faaaarrrr between.

I want to take this down-time opportunity to introduce the roster of prospects that are currently on Brownstone’s virtual date-plate. Since I will be blogging about this nonsense repeatedly it would be good to have a reference to who the f#%k I am talking about without having to go into backstory. And by prospects, I mean ladies that have not completely gone nuts on me (yet) or ones I have scared off by my limitless charm.

Without further ado, I present:

Bachelorette #1 - ST Poser
Young (24 year old) Myspacer who seems to have taken a liking to my non-stop clowning. She resides on the Lower East Side. Details are a bit sketchy at this point as I am only in the “exchange-messages-via-myspace” and “random-IM-chat” phase. Reason for nickname: she has an array of photos in her gallery with “self-timed” cellphone shots of her posing as if she was auditioning for KING magazine. She looks great (to me), but admits to being somewhat vain.

Bachelorette #2 - CHICKEN PIE (or, CP)
A friend of mine who lives in my neighborhood introduced me to an old friend of hers from Thailand (my friend is from Thailand, herself). This woman currently lives in Melbourne, Australia and chit-chats with me throughout the day via IM. Incredibly nice and sweet, but I am wary of a lot of international women’s agendas so I am playing the wry skeptic without discounting anything just yet. Not sure I am all that physically attracted to her though (but I have never met her in person and only have a site-full of photos to go by). I do enjoy our conversations, so that alone will hold my interest. She has a very curious obsession with eating Chicken Pie’s daily. I don’t care how good something tastes, eating it everyday is madness!

Bachelorette #3 - SHY
Met a young lady recently in Barnes & Noble while having all kinds of issues locating a particular Charlie Huston pulp-novel that I am doing research with (for a story I am working on). She was from the south (Texas) and the southern-charm works wonders on Brownstone. She stresses that she is shy, but had no hesitation forking over her email and random networking site addresses to me after chatting her up. She has been difficult to really get a hold of - hence, the reason Brownstone is probably going to stay in tonight.

Bachelorette #4 - FLASH
Another one of those networking-site finds. She found me, much like Guam did. She is also out of the country (Singapore) so this does not do me any good for now and definitely has my spider-sense tingling (see: bachelorette #2). The other day while I was typing up my Guam post - she got a hold of me via MSN and began cybersexin’ me up. Trying to concentrate on work, a short blog-post, and a girl cybering me was too much to handle (given that I have no cyber-game to bring). On top of that she invited me to view video where she proceeded to flash me a few times and proposition me as if I had an opportunity to jump on over.

Yes, it’s a sad list. At the very least, it makes for great stories, in my opinion so that should answer the question of why I even bother. Maybe tonight I will go on the prowl for Bachelorette #5 (who could easily jump ahead of these 4) - or if anyone has anything cool going on - hit me up. Or maybe, I’ll just stay home as mentioned earlier and write. Note to self: stay away from Myspace!

Update: I have started compiling a comprehensive reference index of bachelorettes post-divorce! Yes, it gets sadder.

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The cool thing about the various networking sites that I am signed on to affords me the luxury (?) of meeting a wealth of people online. I used to have a young lady from Guam that wrote to me twice a week for several months earlier in the year. Last night, I log on to one of these networking sites to be met with one of those birthday alerts for this young lady. Seeing that I haven’t exchanged emails with her for a few weeks, I send her a nice small birthday greeting. I get to work this morning and check my inbox and I have a message from her that reads:

“Who are you?”

Huh? Did I miss something here? Are you kidding me? She sought ME out, and she is asking who I am??? Completely left-field. Of course in my typical irritated retorts I fire back . . .

“I’m the best thing to never happen to you.”

Later, Guam.

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A few weeks ago, one young lady - let’s call her ‘Cult Jam‘ (don’t worry, I promise there will be a reasonable explanation for this) - began chatting me up on Myspace. I am not averse to these type of scenarios as I make myself very available with a decent charm, a pretty moderately sized network and overall positive personality. She found me through a fringe-reality-tv-celeb that I had on my ‘friend-list’ who for some reason decided to place me as one of her top-friends.

Cult Jam is a pretty African American girl with a large social circle (or, so it seems), a very talkative, out-going personality with a wide-range of interests and a peculiar fascination with 80s pop-culture. Seems like a fun girl, right? I thought so, too. After a series of emails back and forth, we decide to meet last week. We had a casual, fun evening where she unceremoniously whooped my ass in a couple games of pool in Chelsea, and a nice long stroll to the meatpacking district downtown where we both took the train going to the Upper West Side (her folks live a few blocks away from me, apparantly). All the better. I felt good about the evening as everything went smoothly with lots of laughs and great stories exchanged. In all, a promising experience.

The following weekend approaches and I get a message from her inviting me to a small company convention weekend getaway in Pennsylvania where people can bring family and friends along. I was on the fence about this because I knew very little about her but I wasn’t about to pass up what seemed like a golden opportunity to learn more about her.

Brownstone: gimme more details about this thing - how do i know i won’t end up tied up in a dungeon with some perverted contraptions? ;D
Cult Jam: you know you wanna go.. take long walks in the creepy woods with me… play volleyball… eat bbq… you know you wanna

Good food, nice girl, away from the chaos of NYC… is there a catch? No way, this is sweet!

Not so sweet. As soon as the van picks us up, the agenda smacks me in the face. Cult Jam is trying to recruit me into one of those MLM (multi-level-marketing) schemes that falls a couple silly non-sellable products away from being a full-fledged pyramid scheme. And her fellow wide-eyed culties are along for the persuasion-athon. What they didn’t realize is that they just picked up an irritable debater that will go to great lengths to get his way and still have fun.

Here, folks, is a sample of some of the exchanges that highlighted the weekend:

Cult Jam: First, a learning seminar, then we get awards
Brownstone: When do the human sacrifices start?

Fearless Cult Leader: Money equals a stress-free life!
Cult Jam’s Cronies: Yea, wouldn’t you love financial freedom?
Brownstone: Not sure how money erases stress.
Cult Jam: You are thinking too much
Brownstone: You are thinking too LITTLE

Oh.. and the BBQ sucked! A grill surrounded by socially-awkward MLM drones with tiny weenies (literally) wasn’t going to get it done. And don’t get me started on the generic fruit punch and orange soda. Financial freedom, indeed.

One of the glaring particulars I noticed at this “company convention” is that virtually all the folks that were being showered with recognition awards for hitting sales milestones were minorities - while the inspirational, fist-pumping, chest-bumping keynotees were - you guessed it - Wonder Bread WHITE. Clear as day. They were all being taken advantage of while these fools were running to the bank with their money. The mass brainwashing was genius, and heartbreaking at the same-time.

When I was returned to my safe NYC haven the following evening non-brainwashed, unscathed, and hungry, I easily convinced Cult Jam into having WHITE Castle with me. I laughed myself to bed, though I did not sleep well.

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