Now that the Mango / Brownstone ride seems to be in full swing and has thus far been nice and quiet (aside from some ex-boyfriend drama which I might choose to detail later, pending interest), I hardly think that there will be any more entertaining dating stories to share (knock on virtual wood). And just like Model Behavior says and Ha Ha Sound agrees, we are indeed falling into the “gross happy couple” bracket.

That said, I refuse to let this blog die and look equally gross. I do have quite a backlog to share so I will try and recount as much as possible to keep this going. I started this project with a purpose, and I have yet to share all of my zany mishaps - so fear not! I will not let my limited and faithful viewership down.

Picking up the Dating Spree momentum after the entire Chutney debacle, I began re-corresponding with a young lady I had met in a grocery store downtown a few months prior in the midst of the first Mango ride. The communication was pretty erratic at first and because I was seeing someone, I was not pursuing anything.

Frenchy was a mulatto theater-chick with a husky voice and kinky hair. Orginally from France, she has been hitting the NYC pavement for the past three years. Her dad was a Sudanese businessman living with her Parisian mother who desperately tried to talk Frenchy out of a career in theater. She would not have it.

Frenchy was, in a word, eager. I had a quick dinner with her in Midtown to get to know her a little better outside of the produce aisle. She began asking a barrage of questions about my marriage / divorce and I unapologetically covered anything she shot at me. I thought for sure that it would be a turn-off, considering the fresh nature of circumstances (at the time). I was wrong. She was unphased. Two nights later she MSN’ed me a cannonade of propositions that led to her coming over my place for “drinks and fun” - her words, not mine. And drink she did. Though I am not sure she had enough to get shitfaced and slobber all over me the way she did. Did I mention she was in theater? She began removing her clothes and some of mine (hey, was I going to protest this - being unnattached at the time?). In the midst of the clothes flying all over my pad, she took a couple swigs of my glass of whiskey (on top of whatever she was drinking that night) that undoubtedly got her moving faster and sloppier.

I must have looked utterly mortified because she stopped at least 3-4 times asking me if she wasn’t performing well. My response was a clear “don’t sweat it - and just keep going.” Maybe I should have stopped it altogether because what resulted was the most awkward and slack tryst of my life. With the first Mango-meltdown and my divorce fresh on my mind, I didn’t help matters any either. Let’s just say there was no adequate release point.

Actually there was one release. And that was Frenchy from my life. A day after the slopfest, I get the following message in my inbox:

Good morning,

I just wanted to apologize for the other night, it really wasn’t appropriate, definitively not sexy and I hope I didn’t act too crazy. And I know you were late for work because of me, I’m so sorry about that and hopefully it didn’t mess up your plans.
 
Have a nice day and I’ll talk to you soon.
 
Frenchy

I wish Frenchy a good career in theater. Though, I will advise her to stay far away from l’alcoolisée.

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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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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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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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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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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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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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