Dreaming of the Caribbean

My plans for the evening changed abruptly. A guy from Plenty of Fish cancelled our date because, he says, he had a last minute meeting at work. He begged me not to hate him.

I won't hate him. If he calls to reschedule, we'll take it from there. He won't be at a loss if he does. Not only am I a self-supporting attorney who won't dig his pockets for gold like other women but I'm also a pretty good cook.

I took advantage of this sudden change of plans to finally stop procrastinating and write a new blog entry and to begin making the marinade for a salmon recipe I found in Women's Health Magazine that I have been dying to make. I'm having it Friday because as a practicing Catholic I can't eat meat then as it's now Lent.

Last Friday we got a snow day at work. I was planning to make the recipe then, but my apartment is out of the way from where I wanted to buy the fish. I'd planned to go right after work, but it just wasn't meant to be. I ended up eating Chilean sea bass at a local restaurant in Garden City.

And today there were a few flurries. It's already March. There shouldn't be snow. I was so frustrated. The past few days I was dreaming about my next Caribbean vacation. This year I spent Valentine's Day weekend in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic at an all-inclusive resort by a beach with clear water. I had such a great time even though I went by myself that I want to go to the Caribbean again next winter.

This recent trip was so last minute. I just said to myself, "Let me just go. I need to get away." I had wanted to book a Caribbean vacation for months. Initially, I'd planned to go to the Bahamas with my singles group, but I missed the time to submit a deposit back in November. So, that was out. I'm glad I didn't end up going there. Someone I know who just got back said there were chilly days. I think it's because it's just off the coast of Florida where they got some unusually cold weather.

I foresaw Valentine's Day as a single woman in the dead of winter on the horizon. And at the same time, several of my girl friends were newly engaged. I dreaded the thought of being at home alone in the cold. I could have gone out for a fancy dinner. If a guy wasn't going to do the honors, I was going to treat myself like a special lady. The down side of that is that I could easily run into an ex-boyfriend proposing to his girlfriend on bended knee. And then I would look at the empty seat across from me at my table and lose my appetite.

No, my mind switched gears. I'd be positive like Woodstock in a Peanuts cartoon I watched as a child. He didn't have a dance partner, so he just danced alone and was happy. I decided that it would be okay to be alone on Valentine's Day. But if I was going to spend that romantic holiday all by myself it was going to be in beautiful weather with me going swimming every day, sipping the Pina Coladas I would thoroughly enjoy and walking on clean white sand across from clear turquoise water that is characteristic of the ocean in that region.

I booked the trip a mere two weeks in advance. The airfare killed me because it's a penalty for procrastination. Still, I didn't care. It was worth it to get away. I asked the travel agent what would be the best place in the Caribbean for a single woman traveling alone that would be both fun and safe. She suggested Aruba or Punta Cana.

I don't know about Aruba being a great place for a woman to travel alone after all that coverage on the disappearance of Natalee Holloway who was with friends when she met up with locals. But on that note, I thought that if I kept to myself and only spoke to other tourists I would be fine on any Caribbean island.

The resort in Punta Cana where I stayed was very family friendly - a lot of married couples and their young kids, but I didn't mind. I certainly wasn't there to pick up a guy. Some of the people insisted on speaking Spanish to me, so I used whatever I remembered from taking the language in school. I'm not as good at it as I once was, but I got by.

One day by the pool I saw this Spanish speaking man in his 50s or 60s laying out with his wife. He had on a hot pink women's T-shirt that read, "This shirt would look good on your bedroom floor." I wondered at that moment if he just didn't know what it meant and someone ripped him off and sold it to him as an unsuspecting consumer. He acted too stern to realize how he ridiculous it looked. He appeared to take himself so seriously. I was trying not to laugh.

There were some people who wanted to have fun with the fact that English was my first language. A couple of busboys at a resort restaurant who looked no older than eighteen or nineteen or so stood by my table speaking Spanish. I was able to pick up a few words from their conversation and translate them in my mind. They said something about me being an American woman by herself, and then they looked at each other with devious sneers and said in Spanish, "Let's go talk to her."

These wise guys quickly switched to the English they must have been learning in school. Still sneering, they asked me where I was from. They wanted to know if I liked the beautiful weather and the clear blue water. They moved closer as their smiles grew. Finished with my meal, I walked off without looking back. I'm no cougar.

Those precocious kids must have noticed I was the only one without a husband - or children. I met one single mother at the resort with her little boys. She said it was brave and admirable of me to travel alone to the Caribbean for a weekend as a single woman.

As I reported on Facebook before the excursion, I spent Valentine's Day swimming with the dolphins at the animal park. My friend commented that I was safe with them. At least they weren't going to break my heart, she said. I laughed.

When I took another look at my Caribbean brochure, I suddenly wished I was in a relationship again. They have these cool couples only resorts I'm dying to try. Coupled or not, I want to hit the Caribbean again next year. Maybe Barbados or Jamaica.

Cooking for One Single Attorney

It's freezing in New York tonight. They say it's in the 20s, but I swear it has to be below zero. At least that's how I feel when I take in some fresh air these days. I really don't like to go out be it to a bar on the island or in Manhattan when there's precipitation or even when it's too damn cold.

So I opted for doing one of my favorite indoor activities tonight: cooking. My college roommate once told me I would make a great wife because I love all things culinary.

Law books and cookbooks encompass a large portion of my literary collection at home. For months I was using the deep fryer I bought to make fish and chips and fried chicken as a makeshift skillet for homemade marinara sauce from "The Sopranos" cookbook. I didn't want to eventually wear it out. The skillet my mother passed on to me deteriorated, so the other day after work I went to the mall to look for a new one.

In some ways, I'm so proud of myself for staying true to my diet. I didn't stop by Godiva for my weakness - dark chocolate almond bark. Maybe I just couldn't make it over there because the Cuisinart skillet I bought was so heavy I had to take it straight to the car. I added two Asian cookbooks to my shopping bag as well. Thank God I parked close to the entrance by the Disney Store, near Williams-Sonoma. So my arm muscles got a brief toning.

Afterward, I had to pick up some groceries. I parked my car outside my apartment building, but I couldn't leave it there overnight. My town forbids parking on the street between the morning hours of two and six lest the cops slap the owner with a $25 fine. In this economy, it adds up. I had given up my space in the parking garage because not only was it too narrow for me to park, but I wanted to save another $65 a month for groceries.

The tradeoff is a long distance to walk from the public parking lot. I brought my car to the door because I would either way have to make more than one trip. One for the skillet, the other for the groceries. Besides the companionship and the intimacy, this is another moment when a serious boyfriend or better yet a husband would be very nice. He could have driven my car to the lot while I prepared dinner.

I wasn't done with shopping. As I scanned through the recipes the past few nights, I decided that Saturday night I would stay in and make tangerine beef. I made another trip to the store for new ingredients. It was delicious. I made enough beef and rice for two. How's that for dinner on a cozy winter night?

I love a glass of fine wine, but I don't enjoy drinking alone. I ordered three bottles of Opici Barberone after my girl friends and I had some at an Italian restaurant. I loved it so much I had the waiter tell me what it was. I am inept at using my bottle opener, but if I had company to share my tangerine beef tonight I'd open up a bottle of red.

If He's Not Asking You Out

In the beginning of the movie He's Just Not That Into You, the girls keep obsessing over why a guy is not asking a girl out. And it's in a few different languages with a lame excuse for each dialect. He's not asking you out because he's scared of your emotional maturity. He's not asking you out because he's intimidated by your professional success.

When I was a preteen, a classmate repeated to me these lines that she probably heard from a female adult mentor, maybe her mother or aunt or an older cousin. Men are intimidated by attractive, intelligent women. That's why they don't want to ask us out. So that was why the boys at our school were idiots who didn't show interest in her and me. Of course, this was before the days of books like "He's Just Not That Into You" and "Act Like a Lady, Think Like A Man" that made women wiser. I had plenty of years to date. I didn't sweat it at that young age.

As a thirtysomething woman, I don't understand why women would sweat it if a guy has never even asked them out. I've been out with girl friends and they will say to me, "That guy just smiled at you. He likes you. Why don't you go talk to him?" I leave that to the guy. I don't read too deeply into a smile. People smile all the time to be friendly. If a guy smiles at me, I don't automatically view him as a prospect just because a well-meaning girl friend tells me he likes me. It saves me a whole lot of disappointment.

Years ago when I was very naive about men and dating, I would construe little conversations as a sign that a guy was into me. I've graduated from that years ago. But when I was eighteen and immature, I had my whole life ahead of me and all the time in the world to dream about the impossible.

I met this attractive Yale University senior at a party when I was in my first year at a prestigious Massachusetts liberal arts college. I don't remember what brought him there, but I think he was visiting friends at my school. He approached me and we had a long talk about things 18 to 22 year olds find interesting. I've been removed from that age group so I don't exactly remember what about. He majored in some social science and I was debating between Economics and Latin American Studies, eventually settling on the former.

He walked me to my dorm and we talked the whole time. I enjoyed myself. I assumed he did, too. He then asked some students for directions to get back and bade me farewell.

I was on Cloud 9. There's something to say for women in their late teens through their twenties. They get so damn infatuated. So much that they think he's feeling it, too, even when there was nothing there to begin with.

My friend at school told me she had a friend at Yale who could help me track him down. It was like we were conspiring in a stalking mission. Before we embarked on what would have been an exercise in romantic futility, I told her I would pass.

But I continued to obsess over the Yale senior who I will call Yalie. He held my hand and walked me to my dorm. How sweet was it! I kept replaying it in my head. My brother told me to stop myself. If Yalie were really interested in me, Bro explained, he at least would have asked me for my phone number. Even if we were about two hours apart, Yalie would have taken it down so he could make plans with me on weekends if he were truly into me like I had hoped. That's elementary in dating basics.

My obsession with Yalie was so bad that it lingered on two months later after I had moved to a second dorm before the end of first semester. My new roommate, who I lived with for the remainder of the academic year and who I am still good friends with today, was the next victim on the receiving end of my unrealistic romantic ravings.

I had met this guy at a party in early September and had moved in with my second and last college roommate in early November. I tortured her with my desperation. During that time, Yalie could have begun dating someone in New Haven and been in a steady relationship. Two months is enough time for that to happen. And there I was still thinking about him, counting our grandkids that would never come into being. I never took it upon myself to stalk him to New Haven, but I sure fantasized about him. He was as unattainable as Brad Pitt, my Hollywood crush at the time.

My roommate repeated what my brother had been trying to get through my thick skull. "He goes to Yale. There are plenty of girls there for him to choose from. Forget about him," she told me. I eventually did.

I've come a long way since I was a stupid kid. As a rule of thumb, even if a guy asks me for my number I don't count on him calling me. I don't sweat whether or not he likes me unless and until I get that first phone call. I don't read into any conversations we have leading to the exchange of numbers. I will know offhand if he really likes me if he follows up and actually tries to make plans with me.

A few weeks ago, on the night before Hanukkah, I went to Four in Melville, NY to have dinner alone by choice. I'm independent. As an interesting side note, I heard on the radio years ago that if you go out alone you are highly likely to meet someone.

Speaking of which, I did meet someone at the restaurant that night. Landlord approached me sitting alone at my table and said that it was a shame I was dining by myself. I wanted to curse him out. I thought he was being condescending at first, but I'm a lady so I kept quiet. Besides, he would later on tell me he found me attractive.

When I was finished with my meal, I hailed the valet to bring my car over and went back inside the establishment to wait so I could avoid the cold. Landlord approached me again and we started chatting. He told me he owned a restaurant and some rental properties. I've been bullshitted so many times in my dating life I won't buy a guy's lines. He may or may not have been telling me the truth. I told him I had done foreclosures for the longest time but was now shifting my practice to Landlord Tenant matters.

He expressed to me his frustration at trying unsuccessfully to collect rent from his deadbeat tenants. And we engaged in some more small talk. We seemed to have a connection. With that, Landlord told me he would like to take me to dinner some time. I gave him my card and wrote my cell phone number on the back.

Sounded promising, right? Not so fast. I wasn't going to get myself all excited for nothing. I'd met countless men on the Long Island Railroad who asked for my number and never called. When was Hanukkah this past holiday season? Sundown on December 11? That's about right. This is early January, and I haven't heard from him. He probably got too busy with the holidays. Right? No. There is no such thing as "too busy" for a man who truly is interested in a woman. None whatsoever.

I'm not upset about it. Landlord just wasn't that into me. I can deal with that. At least he didn't take me out once or twice, tell me how much fun he had and how attracted he was to me and that he wanted to see me again and then blow me off. That would upset me. I didn't expect anything from him because he didn't even ask me out. It didn't go any further beyond that short encounter. No harm, no foul.

Women should not stress out over a guy not even asking them out to begin with. I wait to panic after he actually has asked me out. That's when the trouble starts for me. I get so excited because he's all over me and coddling me, telling me how into me he is. And then, without warning he makes excuses to avoid another date with me. In some cases he tells me he will see me again but never does. He doesn't have the balls to say outright that he's had a change of heart. And then my false hopes are dashed.

When a guy does that to you, that's when you stress. No, that's when you get seriously pissed off like I do and say, "What the fuck! Why couldn't he have told me he changed his mind back then so I wasn't following up with him for the next date he said we would have?"

It's a guy's perogative if he decides later that he doesn't want to be with me. But after he gets me all excited, he should tell me up front if he has had a change of heart. It's not rude for him to say that on second thought he doesn't think we'd work out.

But if he never asks me out, I assume he never liked me to begin with. Nothing was lost. I didn't expect anything. The ball hadn't begun to roll; it never was going to. I never had the opportunity to feel bitter.