212s/646s/718s and Heartbreak

After living in NYC for almost 7 years, I've learned that heartache is par for this particular course. I've heard theory after theory from friends stating that NYC is the last place to come for love-unless your a rat. And despite the number of romantic comedies that take place here, it's starting to not only appear true, but freak women out. After all, those movies aren't real life. I know, shocker.

The city is beautiful, seems picturesque for falling in love, and it is, but only for a select few. Hell, the city has done me proud when it comes to dating, but the only serious relationship I was in was with a guy from my home city, soooo. Bogey.

The reality is that there are just too many damn hopefuls (ie women) here. Even though all these colorful red and blue maps have been published stating that NYC is actually a prime mating ground city (with which I have no beef, but mating doesn't mean dating these days), it still seems to be full of whiny twenty-to-forty-somethings complaining that all their friends are getting married sans them. Even if I look at my married-in-NYC friends, I immediately recognize that the overriding commonality isn't love, but the fact that they met before coming to the city.

Now, of course there are those that met and married here, but I've never met them-seriously! That's scary! What's happening in the city that never sleeps together forever?

I believe it has to do with a few factors. One being location, location, location. Aside from the fact that we're all smashed on an island, which I think makes everyone slightly frantic, NYC is one of those places where you can have whatever you want at any time of day. We are spoiled beyond good reason, so if I can have take out from a different culture every night of the week and never repeat a restaurant for three thousand years, why can't I have the same type of variety with dating? I never have to commit there either-score! The possibilities of meeting someone "better" is about as prevalent as a new IT restaurant opening below 34th street...or above it for that matter.

With so much drama in the NYC, it's kinda hard being w-o-m-e-n (sorry Snoop, that didn't quite work, but I tried). There are just so many of us. And every one of us is looking for love. Even the crazy, stock following, suit wearing, espresso addicted chicks are looking for a good man between the DOW and NASDAQ. And as soon as everyone finds one (if they do), they run off to Connecticut or New Jersey to raise families and hide their good fortune from NYCers, aka husband snatchers.

It's not a secret that people don't move to NYC for love, no movie ever centered around someone running off to this city to find their one true love. Even Prince Akeem came to QUEENS, not Manhattan, to find his wife-they have lawns for goodness sakes!- and everyone thought he was an idiot for that one too because in all honesty the night club scene with Peaches and her breasts represents the dating world far more than Lisa McDowell.

There's just too much to do. Too many career ladders to zip up, too many belt notches to make, too many mismatched genders to settle on just one. So, while there are exceptions to the rule, as there are to all, is New York a love wasteland? A graveyard of broken hearts destined to buy one way tickets to Iowa to put a ring on it? Surely it's easier there with all those potatoes...oh, wait, that's Idaho. Well, hell, go there too. As long as you avoid this island like Shutter Island.

That bitch stole my line

Xoxo,

Blackie Collins