Remember the Older Dude from the Circular City Week events, with whom I drank to escape Phabio? (By older, I was assuming early 40s.) He and I professionally kept in touch, and got coffee a few weeks later. Then, in May, he invited me to grab day drinks in our neighborhood. Unlike my friends, I wasn’t sure if he meant it as a date; but just to be clear that it wasn’t, I wore no makeup and told him I had to go grocery shopping afterwards (which I did!). Despite a lower-back-touch that I had to quickly wiggle away from, and a declined invitation to continue drinking on his roof, I think I did a pretty good job of establishing our friend zone. I deflected a few follow-up invites, and then didn’t hear from him again until he asked me to get drinks last weekend. He’s cool, and I assumed our age difference was enough to solidify the friendship boundaries, so I accepted. (His age has since been confirmed as 46.) Unbeknownst to him, we met up after I’d spent the afternoon drinking multiple tiki drinks at my friend’s party, but I think I managed to come off as deceptively sober. After two cocktails that I definitely didn’t need, he walked me to where I was meeting up with some other friends. He left, and we girls got ice cream! It was a perfect day of friendly socializing.

The next day, he texts me:

Nice to see you last night. How was the rest of your night? So, the few times we’ve met it’s been in this somewhat professional zone. However, I’d like to take you on a proper date sometime. You’re lovely company :)

Before you say “aww,” you should know that he has a roommate—an automatic loss of points for anyone trying to date me. Plusssss, I have the rest of my life to date 40-somethings—and only an ever-shrinking window to cradle-rob 20-somethings!

I responded:

That’s very sweet, but I have to decline. I’m interested in someone else right now.

He said:


And that was that!

Who am I actually interested in? The Psychiatrist (31), who won’t text me back or make plans to see me again—of course!


This past Friday, I went out with the psychiatrist I met while #dancingonmyown. We had texted sporadically over the past 5 weeks (mostly him initiating—ha!), and he finally asked if I wanted to get a drink when he came into the city for a haircut and a change of scenery as he studies for the boards. I had already scheduled a bikram class before our date, and I only had time to shower before meeting him, which means I was fairly dehydrated and hadn’t eaten since 2pm. He chose a bar for its live music (woof), but it ended up being a surprisingly great time. When the music ended, I’d had three beers (and water!), and told him I had to stop drinking and start eating. He suggested I also start smoking, so once again we ended up back at his friend’s abandoned apt (which he cleaned!!!) to smoke, listen to music, and eat pizza.

Every smoke session is a roll of the dice with me, and this time I was decently awkward. At one point, I played Pizza Day by The Aquabats for him, which killed any semblance of a mood (at least for me, haha). He didn’t try to kiss me until right after the pizza arrived, and I had to shut him down after less than a minute because I was starving. Aside from correctly guessing many elements of his birth chart (double Virgo, Venus in Cancer), we didn’t get too intimate and I eventually went home.

Reflecting the next morning, I felt unsettled by the fact that we hadn’t “progressed” on our second night together (in fact, I’d say we regressed), and I got anxious about whether or not he would text me. Reflecting on THIS, I realized that I’m not used to *not* rushing into sex, and I subconsciously assume taking it slow (which is apparently more than 2 dates) hurts my “chances.” Chances for… I’m not really sure what. Sex? Love? Maintaining their level of interest? I had apologized when I stopped our makeout, and he told me I never have to say sorry for that—[pause to swoon]—so, logically, I’m not worried; but psychotically, I’m convinced I “messed up.” As a supposedly progressive, feminist woman, all this introspection has been quite the mind-fuck—especially when all I’ve been wanting for the last 6 months is a body-fuck. Or have I???

If I do see him again, would it be inappropriate for me to lay all this on him and get some professional feedback? :)

#92 Oh, What a Night

There was a Scorpio full moon last night, and what a wingwoman she was.

I had been wanting to check out this monthly dance party at a nearby bar, so I invited a slew of different friends to ensure I’d have someone to go with. But, reminiscent of many a birthday party, nobody showed. Still, the moon had me feeling some type of way, and I knew I was going regardless. I leisurely pregamed, primped, and showed up around midnight, where I waited in line behind a guy who was also alone; though I assumed he was meeting people inside, like a normal person with friends (NOT ME, THANKS GUYS). But actually, thank you—I ended up having the best time, and I’m now convinced you’re all cockblocks! (Please still hang out with me though :))))))

I paid the $5 cover and ordered a Tecate (#ad). As I tied my jacket around my waist, a stranger tapped me on the shoulder and said I dropped this. He was holding a crumpled $20 bill. I told him I didn’t think it was mine, but he gave it to me anyways. So, despite having zero friends and paying a cover charge, the night was already profitable.

The party was bumpin’ and it was dark and crowded enough that I didn’t look crazy for being there alone. But really, who needs friends when you’ve got beer, a vape pen, and some funky beats? I was having a great time, but definitely being a full-on Scorpio creeper as I lurked in the shadows watching everyone dance.

After a while, I noticed that the guy from the line was indeed there alone, fully focused on the DJs and strictly there for the tunes. *swoon* It became my mission to eventually get close enough to strike up a conversation and/or dance-off. While I was boppin’ and schemin’, a cute guy started talking to me. He was cool, and we went outside to hear each other better. It came out that I was there by myself and he congratulated me on valuing my time enough to do what I wanted, with or without accompaniment. I agreed and said, “on that note, I’m actually gonna get back to the party, but I’ll see you around.”

I went back in and got to groovin’. (I think it was at this time that a girl got on stage and started dancing with her top off. #scorpiofullmoon!) I didn’t have to deal with creepers grabbing on, which was nice, and I politely declined one guy’s invitation to dance. I was on a mission, remember! At one point while I was off to the side, I could feel a guy near me working up the courage to make a move. He pointed out that we were both drinking Tecate and asked if I wanted another one. I said no thanks and he backed off. He was cute, but I actually didn’t want another drink (I had been intermittently refilling my can with water #stayintheblue). I felt a little bad about shutting him down so fast, and decided that if I ran into him again I would give him another chance. About 20 minutes later, he respectfully approached me while dancing. I really do not love dancing with guys, because they usually can’t keep up and/or just want to rub their dick on me, so it’s kind of a big deal when I allow a man to touch me on the dance floor. He wasn’t as bad as he could have been (which I told him), and we were having a good time. Then we start making out, and my inner monologue just cackles away at how well my solo night out is going.

He lives on Long Island for his psychiatry residency (originally from LA), but was staying at an out-of-town friend’s apartment nearby. I hadn’t had a decent shtupping in almost a year (DCD), so I mentally prepared to see this ridiculous night through to its most Scorpionic conclusion. (I had even shaved my legs for the first time in many weeks thanks to the fresh spring weather.) We went outside for air and decided to go to “his” place for weed and Artichoke pizza. I made him promise not to murder me (doctors make the best killers after all), and texted a friend my whereabouts because safety first! He apologized in advance for how messy it was, and thank goodness he did. As we smoked and waited for the pizza to arrive, I told him I couldn’t have sex in that apartment—no woman could—and to relay my feedback to his friend. [While I clearly didn’t mind having sex with Diet Coke Dealer amongst pounds of cat hair and a sink full of dishes, this place was waaaaaay too messy, the couch was uncomfortable, and I wasn’t going anywhere near the unmade bed.] He was nice and said he wasn’t expecting anything (even though I had been, sigh), and we chilled for about an hour until I went home, virginity intact, at 3:40am.

Remember when I said I had to stop smoking weed with guys because I get too weird? I’ve recently changed my tune on that, and think guys kinda need to see the high me to know and appreciate the real me. Can’t decide if that’s tragic or not, but it definitely allows me to be more “authentic.”

In conclusion, if you really want to go do something but don’t have anyone to join you, go fucking do it anyways.