I dwell. In fact, I am an expert dweller. I make an art of it.

While it’s not my style to dwell on past relationships, there is always one that just sits in the pit of your stomach that is torture to let go of. For Brownstone, the object of dwell-dom was, and is Mango. This is a long story, so I will have to break it up into parts - the inspiration for this being my anonymous-blog brethren, Ha Ha Sound (check his blog - he’s awesome) whose multi-part posts sets precedents in the blogosphere. (Edit: Ha Ha has alerted me that it was Model Behavior who was the inspiration behind his multi-parts, so I have to give a shout to her as well - and she rules. Must read blog!!)

Anyway, back to the story: I met Mango a couple weeks after my wife and I had separated resulting in my move to the Upper West Side. Clearly, the last thing on my mind was meeting anyone new let alone getting serious with them. A mutual friend had introduced us at my company’s holiday party and for lack of better words, we took to one another rather immediately.

It frightened me at first. How was it possible that I could be interested this soon? Was it genuine? Was this just “the rebound” ? What resulted was perhaps the most tumultuous five weeks of my life. On top of dealing with a pending divorce, a move to a different borough / apartment and a heart-attack that hospitalized my grandmother, Mango was there as my lone bright spot. We had great rapport and a very strong physical chemistry. She just felt right in every facet. I couldn’t believe it. She was responsible for jumpstarting the pep in Brownstone’s step. I saw her a lot, almost any chance that we were afforded. She really made these difficult days tolerable, and I hardly saw her as the proverbial “rebound.” I saw something special, and I was convinced that I could make this work.

The drawback was that the young lady who had introduced us got heavily involved in watching us progress. She was so enthusiastic about the pairing that she became over-zealous in her prodding for updates. There was nothing inherently wrong with this, but it rubbed Mango the wrong way. Mango began to question how genuine my intentions were, believing that my hand had been forced. She had every right to believe this given the timing of the entire tryst, despite my unending protests.

This mess led to Mango and my friend’s falling out in a very catty exchange over the phone. Shortly after this, Mango and I wrangled over the nuances of our feelings. She was overwhelmed to the point of agitation. My defensive stand coupled with an intense plea for understanding was invariably our undoing. We fought, and it was over as soon as it began. I reached out to her two times shortly after, hoping that tempers subsided but to no avail.

And thus began, the cycle of dwelling. Initially shell-shocked and battle-worn, I wanted nothing more to do with relationships. I had a difficult time getting through this, refusing to accept that something so good could be destroyed so effortlessly. This paved the road for my crazy dating spree, all in an effort to have fun and forget Mango, and all in hopes that what I just experienced was not uncommon. In hopes that she’d become a quick afterthought.

I tried. I failed. Failed because I dwell with the best of ‘em. I should start a support group for dwellers, as I surely can’t be the only one. I started this blog to really get my thoughts out of my head and eventually revisit this chapter of my life. Well here it is, in a summarized mess - amongst all of my other misadventures in the past six months since I last spoke with her. Six months, and I foolishly still held a torch for Mango. I held faith that one day we’d speak again, even though the hope and prospect was dim.

“The Art of Dwelling” written by Brownstone Cool.

Dwelling does no good. Trust me, I know this. I really do. In recent months, I have been getting better about suppressing the appetite to dwell. And then of course, last Tuesday evening, my MSN notification alert on my desktop relayed five words that sent my heart into a school-boy frenzy and awoke the dwelling behemoth inside:

“Mango is online. Hi, Brownstone.”

to be continued . . .

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Twelve days after I last hear from her, Wit offers up this gem via e-mail this afternoon.

Hey Brownstone,

sorry i didn’t write to you earlier but I haven’t been here for a week…I was out in Queens last week doing some training… how’s everything on your end?

- Wit

I think I am going to let this one sit for a while. I need a break.

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Model Behavior suggested in a comment on one of my posts that she knows someone that swears by Match.com. That statement pretty much epitomizes exactly why I have veered away from paid dating sites. The whole thing stinks like the filthy C train. I am not going to suggest that Match is a lose-lose situation as I am sure people have met the love-of-their-lives on those kind of sites. But something just isn’t right when I hear that others swear by it.

Here’s what I mean: If you swear by it, you are suggesting that you have seen multiple successes. If you alone had multiple successes, are they really all that successful being that you had to try multiple times? Unless, of course, you call serial-dating a win. Then by all means, swear away but leave Brownstone out of it - because I don’t believe that to be a success. I guess the only argument in favor of swearing by Match that I can think of is that the person met someone significant and he/she also knows many others who have met someone also significant with a small window of failures. Otherwise, it is hardly something to swear by, dont’cha think? And what’s with their purported money-back guarantee? Has anyone excercised getting their money back? Surely not everyone who uses that site lands someone significant within their given time-frame. What gives? How do they know you haven’t met anyone? Something is fishy here.

I may be stubborn, but I believe that most of these sites are prominently filled with two kinds of people:

1. The Socially Awkward Male - the guy that just can’t initiate a conversation with a woman in public and needs a facade like a (not-so) clever profile to lure an unsuspecting female to going out with him. The female then learns the guy has zero social skils when exposed to his real-time game.

2. The Female Liar / Manipulator - the woman on the site has outdated pictures, terrible adjectives in lieu of descriptions, and lies-through-her-teeth about what she wants. “I’m not shallow at all. I just want a nice guy, who will treat me well, who is career, goal and family oriented.” BS. I’m right here, ladies. I am calling your virtual bluffs. And guess what? Mah phone is not-a-ringin’.

Speaking of non-ringing phones, in other news . . .
» Slim Faster initiated playful yet sketchy notes on Facebook with me
» Wit has vanished, again.
» ST Poser looks like she is going to flake on me. What else is new?

Should I humor myself and try one of these sites (a.k.a. fork over $$ for more headaches)? Anybody with any stories (good/bad) to share about these sites? Has a creepy old man showed up at your place with the love-of-your-life and Natalie Cole’s “Everlasting Love” playing in the backdrop? Do tell.

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It figures that as soon as I decide to start a blog about my post-divorce dating life in NYC, that the actual dating part would come to a screeching halt. What a bore. For that, I apologize to my small audience thus far.

Even though Brownstone hasn’t had any dates in the past couple of weeks, lets recap what is going on in my neck of the woods and update you guys on developments (or lack there of).

Shy and Wit have both given me the typical run around. I ask them out, they dance around the question. Wit actually did get back to me last week apologizing that she had been busy and asking me when I was free. Good sign, right? WRONG. She is playing games with me. I answered letting her know which days were good for me and BAM - no response, yet again (six days and counting). I am not going to chase this one, so we are at a standstill and I am literally at wit’s end. Har har.

But not all is lost. ST Poser and I have arranged for a Friday evening hookup, after weeks of email tag and pointless posturing. My expectations are not high, given my recent string of fortune, but you never know. Will she be the next hot prospect to be Released? Stay tuned . . .

ALSO — There is a new potential candidate budding. I meet with a fiction critique group every two weeks in a public atrium in Midtown. There happens to be a restaurant situated near where we usually sit and dog each other’s stories. In this restaurant, I noticed there were two hostesses by the door that greet and seat the incoming diners. I found myself playing eye-tag with one of them for the last two critique sessions. The first time, I didn’t think much of it - she’s a looker. Who wouldn’t look at her? The second time (last week), I caught myself doing it again and her being a lot more responsive. I cannot disrupt my group sessions to talk to her but at one point I could have sworn she smiled at me and I shot her a smile back (of course, this could just be wishful thinking… but who wouldn’t love Brownstone, right??). In any case the opportunity that day passed to go speak with her and I intend on making an attempt next go-round. Hopefully there is a next go-round.

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Alright, did I jinx myself or something? I say I had a date planned this week and so far - nothing, nada, zip. No word. I left Wit a message on her voicemail and email asking her when she’d be free and she has since completely disappeared on me. I could easily go down to the bank to see what’s up, but that’s borderline stalker-like, teenage behavior. Brownstone don’t play like that. I don’t believe in leaving multiple messages like some people do - not my style. I will take this as a sign of two things: 1) I suck. 2) My life and this blog are destined for more crazies! Joy! Honestly though, I can’t see why this would happen (though I am not surprised). There was a good vibe and everything. We all but confirmed a date and time for when we would do this. I will give her the benefit of the doubt right now assuming she is blitzed by work or other obligations that came up unexpectedly. I do have to deposit a check sometime soon so I am bound to run into her unless she has vanished - I will hold off till next week for that.

The possibilities, though, are endless and it’s making Brownstone dizzy. It is possible that I am completely misreading these ladies. It is possible that I am still really rusty post-divorce. It is possible that there is a nationwide conspiracy against Brownstone (Not-so) Cool and this is all being televised closed-captioned, in 150 different languages, commercial-free, hosted unceremoniously by Morgan Freeman and directed by Ken Burns.

Or maybe, it is possible that she somehow found this blog. Argh!

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Flash can be quite piquant. Situational recap: she flirts with me daily over MSN and loves to talk dirty when doing so - all the while during business hours thanks to time-zone differences. Recently, she had been suggesting taking a break later this fall to visit me in New York, presumably for an all-out sexcapade, because I don’t think we have discussed almost anything non-sexual since I began . . . err . . . chatting with her. I know that this all is excellent, and by no means should I not have fun while I am single and unnattached. But, I find this highly suspect and I’d be nuts to let a crazed nympho crash at my place without knowing a bit more about her m.o. So in an attempt to get to know her better, I offer up this recently lovely exchange from earlier today:

Brownstone: So, are you from Singapore or just work there?
Flash: Born here
Brownstone: You said you lived in Canada as well?
Flash: Yep, I left Singapore at 16, now I’m back working here.
Brownstone: Do you have multiple citizenships or something?
Flash: I need to be f**ked

Suspect, indeed. I can’t go more than 5 lines without innuendo, or in this case - spicy propositions hopping right into the dialogue.

I need a glass of water.

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