Where I Conduct an Unscientific Experiment of Appearance

Some posts are just so hard to complete. I walk around for days or weeks with an unfinished post – a few sentences or thoughts here and there – on my phone, in a notebook, or saved as a draft on my blog.

Perhaps because certain topics are too complex or vast, while others are thoughts that are not fully formed in my head yet.


In the spirit of simplifying matters.

I want to conduct an unscientific experiment. The above is a wig. Yes it is.

I would like to see if I am treated any differently if I am out at a bar, lets say – wearing this wig. Also, do I feel differently?

Let’s see.

I intend to take it for a test drive this weekend and see what transpires.

I have some hypotheses which I shall share will you when I share the results of my experiment with you.

Until then, if you are inspired to share how important you think appearance is when choosing a mate … I would love to hear.

Until I date again!



Another One Bites The Dust

Aaaah Paris in July.

Probably my last post on Paris guy, unless of course I hear from him again.

So I told him to fuck off after another round of bullshit texts where he accuses me of expecting a certain answer, taking umbrage when I don’t get it. Blah blah and more blah.

Yes yes I know. Why do I even bother?

Because I am a student of human psychology and find certain behaviors intriguing.

If you have been following Paris guy saga, you know that I had no interest in him except to see this thing through and see what was the end game with this pompous ass of a guy.

Well, the experiment is now over since I told him to fuck off. Maybe I shouldn’t text before I am adequately caffeinated.

Que sera sera …

Until I date again!

You Didn’t Just Say That!



“I was at a party the other night and a girl hit on me but I told her I was married.”

“Why? You are not married.”

“I don’t know I got so nervous and that’s all that came to mind.”

“I see.”

“Besides I don’t want to date anyone till you and I meet because I feel that we will along famously.”

“That’s sweet,” I texted back with a tiny pang of guilt that I had no such rule for myself. But who am I kidding – not really.

“We should meet soon then,” I added.

“Yes, sweetie – let’s shoot for this weekend.”

Later that night we spoke on the phone and I asked him once again why he didn’t accept the advances of the very pretty girl at the party.

“Well, she appeared very high maintenance by the way she was dressed. She was really beautiful. Since high school I have stayed away from the most beautiful girl.”

I said nothing.

“I would rather go out with an average looking girl.”

I want a medal, dear reader – I said nothing!

By this I don’t mean that on my most delusional, unicorn riding day, do I think that I am the most, or even close to the most beautiful girl in any room – but as he was speaking I was thinking if I would say the following:

I picked you because you are just average, not so handsome at all… but you’ll do.

This man has many good qualities and so I can overlook this tiny faux pas – but I was just compelled to share that sometimes we all speak without thinking – I know I do.

Until I date again!


An alternate way of using dating apps

An alternate use of dating apps such as tinder and bumble, I have realized is making friends. Where else can you swipe right on a photo, the other person does the same and voila you have a friend. Conceivably. Not always. But often. I like that. It’s hard to meet people as an adult and when you meet someone randomly and become friends – well that’s a boon. 

This happened to me recently. I even wrote about him in a previous post. 
After deciding that we could remain friends even though we weren’t a romantic match, lit really happened. We have since been out half a dozen times, text everyday and talk nearly every day too. 

This is so much better than having a half assed one night stand which are inevitably unsatisfactory to me. A friendship can potentially last for a long time if not forever. 

This paradigm shift in my head is exciting and empowering. Using dating apps to make new friends. 

What do you think? Like the idea? Had a similar experience?
Until I date again!

Because I don’t care any more 

Me kissing yo ass goodbye 

I wrote a post about how I went on a date and came back with a best friend. He was my friend for four years. A dear dear friend. 

Well, it didn’t end well. After I wrote the piece and before I published it, I sent it to his girl friend and told her of my intent. She read it and said it was fine. There was nothing in there that she didn’t already know. I published it and my friend freaked out. 

‘It was not your story to tell,” he said. 

“Really? It happened to me and so it’s my story.”

“No. Take it off. And you showed it to my girl friend. You never think, do you?”

“Maybe sometimes I don’t think but in this case I did and so I shared it with her. If anyone should be upset in this scenario, it should be her and she wasn’t. And so…”

There was some more exchanges along this line, via text and i stopped answering. We were repeating ourselves and going in circles. I thought we shall go into our corners, cool down and things will be back to normal soon enough. 

I had no intention of removing the post but I also did not do this to get a rise out of him. This was a unique thing that had happened to me- that I would end up making such a beautiful friendship with someone on a dating site and so I wrote about it. I was always amused and thankful for the serendipity of the events that made us BFFs. 

I am often wrong. In this case I couldn’t have been more wrong. 

A couple of weeks went by with no communication from either one of us. One day I got a text from him about something random. I thought it was his way of telling me we could now move on from the incident. 

I responded in kind and told him I missed him, then asked him how he had been. 

Little did I know that I had received a mass text and didn’t hear back from him. 

A couple more weeks went by and I wrote him an email. I repeated to him that I didn’t write the post about us to get him upset. Moreover, there was nothing in there that was untrue or derogatory towards him. I also never identified him. The only people who would know it’s him already knew the story. I continued that he was very dear to me. He had been there for me and that I missed him immensely. 

Not even a second after I hit send I got a response. 

Wanna know what it was?

It took my breath away. 

It shocked me. 

It hurt me. 

I realized I was so wrong. Not about what I did but what I thought I meant to this person. 

The answer my friends, was instant, succinct and shut me up forever. 

“Fuck off,” he wrote. 

That was that. I was dumbfounded. It broke my heart. I said nothing. 

I retreated. I did exactly what he said. 

I fucked off. 

Until I date again!

I Am a Grown Ass Man but am Afraid to Talk to you on the Phone

Either I am the most patient person, a person who has too much time on her hands or someone who goes the distance for a story.

Depending on the day and who you ask – all three may be true.

Remember the Paris guy? A reminder: https://datinginnewyorkblog.wordpress.com/2017/06/26/come-to-paris-with-me/

We have been talking – which really means texting for the past 3 weeks or so. He comes back to New York in a week. I now feel that I have invested so much time with him, that I have to see it through till I see him in person.

Even though my patience is wearing extremely thin and on more than one occasion I have wanted to say Fuck it – he is so not worth it. I know at best this will be a friendship and nothing more than that.

On the average day he will text me in the morning and it is clear that he just wants to text because he has nothing better to do at that moment. If I have time, I will text back. The communication hasn’t been fulfilling at all. He mostly wants to talk about what he wants to talk about and can go off on tirades with the smallest or almost no encouragement from me.

I feel like he thinks he is a professor and is talking down to me.

This morning wasn’t good at all (but hey, I got a post out of it – so it wasn’t all bad).

He is taking baking classes in Paris and told me he made croissants in class. I asked if they made puff pastry from scratch. He took this to be the opportunity to tell me that puff pastry isn’t even a thing. And it’s a manufactured thing.  What one makes croissants with is dough with butter.



I only went to a French cooking school myself and now actually train others to becomes chefs. But what would I know.

“I don’t care I said. And I am cranky today,” I texted back.

At first he took the right approach and told me that we should talk when I feel better.

But no, we can’t stop there – can we.  That would just be too simple.

He is in white and I am green.

There are some texts I am not even bothering to include in here.

You may think I am crazy and you wouldn’t be wrong for even dealing with this man at all!

I am gong to hold on for the next week. When he comes to New York, I shall meet him and report back.

Unless of course he reads my blog and is conducting an experiment of his own 🙂 then we are surely out of luck.

Until I date again!

Unreciprocated Lust


“Now let me tell you a story,” I said after I was no longer angry from his story.

This is that story: https://datinginnewyorkblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/13/let-me-tell-you-a-story-about-a-girl/

I didn’t see the point of remaining angry. Everyone you like cannot possibly like you back in the same way as you do. At least we were still friends and I cherish his friendship.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Once you told me, before you withdrew that you wanted to kiss me on every inch of my body. That was an amazing thought and I fantasized about it often.”

“What kind of story is this?” he asked rolling his eyes.

“It is my story. I listened to yours with very few interruptions – now I want you to do the same for me.”

“Okay – go on. I’m listening,” he said.

“But you must not look at me when I tell it.”

“What kind of rule is that?”

It’s a rule I just made.”

“Fine, he said and put his head on the pillow and looked up at the ceiling.”

I took his arm and put it on my chest.

“One day I was coming home from work on the subway. I found a corner seat and sat down, feeling my body relax from a long day. I closed my eyes and started to think of nothing at first and then my mind went to you. It was the middle of the night where you were and I imagined you sleeping peacefully under the covers. I then thought of myself slipping under the same covers and holding you from behind. You stirred a little. You were so warm and cuddly – my body was still cold. I slid my leg between your legs. You stirred a little more. I couldn’t tell if you liked this disturbance or were annoyed. You groaned and took my arm and put it on your chest – just like I have your arm on my chest right now.

Your chest was warm, as was your back upon which I rested my face. I love snuggling with you. I could feel the hair on your chest and my arm getting warmer with your warmth.”

“What kind of story is this? And how long is it?”

“Why? Do you have something to do?”

“No. Go on.”

“Now you broke my momentum and spoiled my mood.”

“Go on please. I can’t wait to hear it. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t believe him entirely. I could hear the sarcasm in his voice but I didn’t care. I liked all his moods. Moreover, I heard his story. He could listen to mine.

“Let me recap,” he says. “I am sleeping peacefully and you come back from gallivanting from God knows where, and disturb my sleep and put your cold body on my furnace like bod. Riveting.”

“Well, I wasn’t gallivanting. I was feeding orphans and petting kittens. Also, this is my story, when I slid in with you under your covers – you were kinda happy about it.”

“This is a rather interactive story, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have to be if you just listen.”

“You are crazy, you know,” he said looking at me and then looking away as I had instructed.

“I know that and your point is?”

“Nothing,” he sighed. “Go on please.”

“I’m in the subway, imagining myself pushing into your body which is now as warm as yours. We lay there for a few minutes and you turn around to face me. ‘How was your day?’ you ask in your sleepy, sexy voice. ‘My day was great but,‘ I put my finger on your lips. You kiss my finger.

“May I make a request?”


“Can you say him instead of you because it is distracting and I keep thinking about myself.”

“Hmmmmmmm – I suppose.”

“… he kissed my finger. I ran my finger on his cheek and I felt the stubble. I looked at the silhouette of his face in the light that was creeping in from the gap in the curtains. His eyes were closed and he was smiling from one side of his face.


“A little. But when did all this happen?”

“It didn’t. I’m telling a story! I am in the subway thinking of you.”

“Yes, yes I know. Just checking,” he laughed. “Okay, you are feeling the stubble on my – I mean his face. His eyes are closed and he is smiling from one side of his face.”

“Yes! You are so difficult. HE is so nice and you…”

“Sorry, please don’t stop,” he laughed again. “There are other ways of telling a story you know,” he continued.

“I know.

I am a woman.

I am complicated.”

“Don’t I know it,” he groaned in jest.

“I moved my finger from your cheek, his cheek, to his neck, down to his shoulder. He pulled me close and hugged me. I think he just wanted to sleep. I didn’t.”

“Why do women not let men sleep?”

“Why don’t you sleep with men? This way you both can sleep in peace all day.”

“Now that’s just a silly thing to say. Okay, lets hear this story.”

“He wanted to sleep but I had something else in mind. I remained in his hug for a few moments, and then moved my leg up his leg and my hands down his back. I sensed a stirring. A welcome stirring 🙂 Maybe I could convince him to play after all.”

“So manipulative!” he said.

“I know you are jealous – because there are stirrings in him and not you.

“Oh you don’t know of my stirrings right now.”

I smiled. He took his hand away from my chest and I turned to him – continued my story looking at his profile.

“The subway stopped in between stops. I opened my eyes to see some of my fellow passengers hemming and hawing at the announcement that there was congestion ahead and that ‘MTA was sorry for the delay.‘ I closed my eyes again and went back to my fantasy. ‘You don’t want to tell me how your night went,’ he said opening his eyes. ‘Not particularly.’ ‘Sleep then, he said.’ ‘No I don’t want to.

I moved closer to him, kissed him and put my head between his face and shoulder. He held me without moving and then began kissing my face. He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my closed eyes and my chin. I waited to feel his lips on mine. I didn’t feel the kisses on my mouth but everything felt so good.

I clung tighter to the bag on my lap and heard another undecipherable announcement in the subway.

He was now hovering over me and I felt kisses on my neck, my shoulders, gradually down to my knees.

No words. Just touch. Just his kisses exploring the inches of my body.

There was no sound except the intermittent sounds of pure pleasure coming from within me.

When he got down to my knees, he suddenly flipped me around. I was now on my stomach and now felt kisses on my ears. Kisses on the nape of my neck.

I have dimples on the back of both my shoulders. He kissed me in the hollow of my dimples. First the left dimple, then the right and back to the left again.

The varying speed and intensity of his kisses kept me guessing, increasing my excitement to its peak.

At times I just felt the kisses. At other times I felt his body brushing up gently on my body.

Slow kisses. Fast kisses. Quick pecks and deep kisses made every part of my body tingle.

I lifted my arms over my head and he lay his arms over mine. Now I could feel all of him on me.

I couldn’t think straight. One moment my body was on fire. The next it was at ease. It was full of energy and so relaxed at the same time.

I felt a wet kiss on my neck and he lifted himself up again.

There was now a succession of kisses down my spine. I calculated about four kisses per square inch. No I didn’t. I didn’t calculate anything. I couldn’t think straight. The pleasure in every cell of my being took over all my other senses.

He reached the middle of my spine and I couldn’t be still anymore.

I felt like I was about to explode with joy and ecstasy.

He was right above my hips and I lifted myself up on my elbows.

He was relentless. He wouldn’t stop. I didn’t want him to stop. But I had reached the precipice and was about to fall any moment. One more kiss and I would be done with.

I was afraid that the electricity in my body might just electrocute him.

With one hand he attempted to push me back down.

My back was arched. I couldn’t lay back down. I could feel the blood flowing faster in every vein of my body.

I let out a loud moan from somewhere at the bottom of my throat that started from my stomach.

I felt a sudden jolt. Instinctively, I grasped on to the bar next to my seat on the subway. The train was moving again.”

“Damn woman,” I heard him say.

“Good damn or bad damn?”

“Lets just say …. D A M N …”

“I came home that evening oddly aroused and unfulfilled at the same time. I fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning I woke up with a text from you – I mean him, ‘Is your coffee ready?’ ‘No, but you should get me some,‘ I texted back, my eyes still unable to focus from the night’s sleep. ‘I would if I could… you know that but it’s dinner time here.’

I know.’

Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes. I had an interesting subway ride yesterday.’


‘Yeah – you managed to get me off on a crowded subway.’

‘I did – did I?’



I told him the whole story.

‘Mmmmmmm, he said.’

So tell me. Have I ever been the object of your lascivious thoughts? Have I ever helped you out?

‘No,‘ he said.

My eyes shot open.

I’ll talk to you later. Have to go. Gotta start my day.’

‘Toodles,’ he said.

The End.”

“What? That’s it. That’s your story?”


“What the fuck?”


“That’s not very nice!”


Until I date again!