A Return To Speed Dating

Last night, I headed down to East Village bar Sin Sin for HurryDate – my first speed dating event in well over a year.

Sin Sin: Not nearly as inviting as it looks here

Of the handful of times I’ve participated in HurryDate, this was the most lackluster in terms of logistics. Sin Sin’s downstairs lounge was dark and poorly ventilated. And the friendly hostess was having such a good time that she inadvertently gave the same number to multiple men – a mistake that could’ve led to missed connections because of incorrectly filled out scorecards.

Fortunately, all of this proved to be a good icebreaker during my 12 four-minute dates. It was a very international crowd, with men from Europe, India, Mexico and Hong Kong. And, much to my great relief, I enjoyed meeting most of them.

Handsome Italy-born Paolo and I chatted about Columbia University – my alma mater and his current employer. Charming Brit David impressed me with his dry wit and shared my opinion that London and New York are sister cities.

Of the American born and bred, former Milwaukee resident and book publishing exec John was far and away my favorite. Especially after I discovered that he was one of the men who’d received a duplicate number.

A few minutes after our date, the frazzled HurryDate host came over to tell me the number to which John had been reassigned.

“He told me to make sure you know,” she said.

Meanwhile, soft-spoken New Yorker Assim and I commiserated over our shrinking pools of single friends. Upon informing him that my favorite wingwoman recently married, Assim sighed empathetically and said his go-to buddy is now forever lost to domesticity too.

Of course, there were a few HurryDaters who didn’t leave a great impression. Like the one who said I sound like I’m from Brooklyn (trust me – this is not a compliment). Or the guy who said abruptly—

“You don’t have a lot of free time, do you?”

When I asked what prompted this observation, he said--

“You speak very quickly.”

Not surprisingly, I can’t remember his name.

All in all, for $35 and one hour, not a bad deal. I met a dozen men and enjoyed two glasses of wine for the price of one. That’s my kind of recession-friendly fun!

A Taste Of France With Friends

Last week, I joined my friend Katherine for an intimate gathering at her French beau Bernard’s rooftop terrace.

Along with easy conversation, we enjoyed some French delights, from a selection of cheeses to chilled wines that included a heavenly Bordeaux.

Rooftop Fun: Katherine and me enjoyed a balmy night under the New York sky

A handful of Katherine’s charming and, to my great delight, single male friends were on hand, namely two charismatic Brits, Mudi and Nick.

Nick and I talked about our respective careers in PR – happily discovering Nick has worked with one of my best buddies in London and a mutual affinity for Australia. I learned he’s been Down Under seven times. I said that, for me, four times and five months in Sydney simply isn’t enough.

I also hit it off with visual artist Claire, recently back from making a splash in Venice and having her work featured in the New York Times. We mused about the allure of trying on other destinations for size and the perils of dating in NYC.

Mudi disputed my assumption that men in Gotham have it easier based upon the lopsided male-female ratio here. I was surprised, given that he has the additional advantage of an irresistible accent.

Yes, singlehood in the Big Apple has its ups and downs. All the more reason to be grateful for fabulous friends who throw impromptu parties where singles can commiserate or, ahem, connect.

A Festive Valentine’s Day Downtown

Saturday night, my friends Tiffany, Prince and I headed down to Woolworth Tower Kitchen in NYC’s Financial District for Jon’s birthday bash.

Jon, 31, is a real estate guy I went out with a few times last summer. He recently resurfaced on – of course – Facebook – and I couldn’t resist the invite to his soiree. A true social butterfly, I had a feeling he would attract a decent crowd despite the fact that it was Valentine’s Day.

Sure enough, about 100 people filled the restaurant over the course of the evening – most of whom were single, many of whom were men.

As for the birthday boy himself, he greeted me exuberantly, admitting he’s been a “flake” about keeping in touch. I, meanwhile, was more interested in mingling – an activity Jon graciously helped facilitate for those of us in attendance who knew him and no one else.

A live band, belly dancer and DJ made Jon’s party a lively affair

As an energetic (albeit ear-crushing) Israeli band and DJ kept the dance floor packed, Tiff and I joined Jon and several of his buddies at a table, where we ended up sitting next to Aaron, an adorable West Point friend of his with an impressive resume (well traveled, athletic, job he’s passionate about, etc.).

While we were absorbed in conversation, Jon interrupted to tell Aaron how “amazing” I am. Later, when Jon spotted me by the bar, he asked me -- in a curious-like-a-girlfriend kind of way -- what happened with Aaron. I laughed, appreciating the irony of tapping into a former date’s social circle.

After braving the crowded dance floor to shake my booty with Tiffany and Prince to the Gipsy Kings’ “Bamboleo,” I continued chatting with Aaron.

I was a bit disappointed that he didn’t ask for my number when we said goodnight. Still, I couldn’t help smiling – about my fabulously festive Valentine’s Day, one that reminded me you never know who's going to cross your path when you least expect it.

The Merits Of Being A Ski Bunny

Much as I love the idea of being in a winter wonderland, I've never been much of a skier. The last time I hit the slopes was fourteen years ago this weekend, during a Poconos jaunt with my California-based then-beau Mark. Recent events have me reconsidering the merits of being a ski bunny.

During a winter weekend in Vermont not too long ago, a good friend of mine found romance on the slopes with a Boston engineering whiz. Now immersed in a full blown long-distance romance, the two are about to take their third trip together.

Apparently, skiing is to men what spas are to women -- perfect for a getaway with friends. At a party the other night, I found myself sitting next to an adorable New Yorker recovering from a rare injury on the slopes. Turns out he's regular on the mountains of upstate NY.

I think it may be time for me to brush up on my skiing skills. Even if it means having to squeeze into a jumpsuit again -- something that was a lot less daunting back in 1995.