Finger Licking Good
What is a deal breaker for you? This is what my neighbor and I were discussing over a bottle of wine there other night. I shared with her the details of a recent date at an upscale but casual French restaurant. My date was cute, had a good style about him, funny, smart, well-traveled and a Brit. He made me laugh more than I have in the entire month of January. Generallyshutterstock_26298190 speaking, I could see myself sleeping with this guy- a hot and heavy make out session at the very least. And then just  we were finishing up our meals, I looked over at his plate of quickly disappearing duck and I saw it. In a flash I saw the fingers from his left hand on his plate. They quickly pushed the bits and pieces from his Moroccan Tangine dinner onto his fork. The fork was held not the way it should be but low down on the handle half way between the tip of the tines and the top of the handle. You know, like a young child would hold a fork. I asked my friend how she felt about the fingers on the plate pushing the remnants of his meal on to his fork.

“Fingers on the plate? Nope. No way. Not acceptable.”

“What if you really liked him, he was hot and you thought the sex would be great?”

“Well then, he’d have to be a “stay in” guy not a guy you take out. You can’t take anyone out like that. Imagine if your family saw him eat like that?”

“He’s spent a lot of time in North Africa. Do you think that has anything to do with it?”holding-a-fork2

“He’s in America now. I’m guessing he knows the difference between eating in a hut or at a French restaurant.”

I had to agree with her.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I went on a date and the guy was licking his fingers?”

“No, which guy was it with?” I asked.

I think I told you about him, he had season tickets to the Clippers. We saw the game and went for a late dinner. And then he licked his fingers.”

“What did he have for dinner?”

“How the hell would I remember? He should have used his napkin!”images-2

“Well, I have to say if it were fried chicken or ribs I might have to let it slide.”

I didn’t tell my friend, but if I hear from the guy again. I think I’ll recommend going for Japanese on our next date. Perhaps he’s better with chopsticks…


Noble Loser



He called from Paris and Riyadh. He Skyped me from Dubai. He really wanted to meet me. Although exhausted and jet lagged he rallied the evening he arrived back home. I was date #28 for him. According to him, each of the 27 before me all wanted to be in a relationship with him but he wasn’t interested. I didn’t tell him that he was date number #82 for me.

He was attractive, well dressed, (great jeans!) very fit, super smart – in a Big Bang Theory kind of way. He spent a lot of time traveling to the CDC, the NIH, lectured all over the world and had both an office at a prestigious university and one in his impressive home. He ate well, exercised and swam daily. I like a smart man, an educated man, a well-traveled man and staying fit is very important to me too. Not that I keep a list of what I wanted or anything but this guy was check, check, check and there was chemistry. Ah, the illusive chemistry we all seek!

While we looked over the menu. He told me, “I will not eat Octopus. They are one of the most intelligent animals on the planet. It would be like eating a human.” I don’t eat octopus so that didn’t bother me. Then he told me both of his parents were psycho-analysts but “I’m very normal” Every person I ever met who had a shrink for a parent was a mess, this guy had two parents who were shrinks! Red flag? I hoped he was the exception to the rule.


As we ate he told me about his work. He casually dropped into the conversation that he had hoped he would have won a Nobel Prize by now. He mentioned it again a few minutes later. “I get the feeling it’s still bothering you,” I nudged him in a caring manner the way a therapist might. His response, “I’m not political. I could never win.”

Hmmm… Doesn’t do well with disappointment. Thinks he’s smarter than past recipients. Places blame on others. Red flag number two?

I let it slide because I was enjoying my dinner and the lovely bottle of french wine when he asked, “Would you be able to eat sheep eyes?”


“Sheep’s eye? No, never. I don’t even eat lamb. Why?”

“When I’m in Riyadh if I brought you to dinner you would have to. It’s considered an honor. You cannot insult people… especially people I work with.”

Had I just failed his test? I sat there quietly for a moment and wondered would I be able to eat a sheep eye. I didn’t eat lamb because sheep are so cute. My diet is 90% vegetables and spicy food kills me.

As the date came to a close, the world-famous doctor/researcher I was sitting hip to help with said, “Don’t call me tomorrow. I want you to think over what we talked about tonight. Wait a few days. Think if you could really be in a relationship with me. You know what I have to offer.”

I never called.  BAZINGA!

The Big Bang Theory is on CBS on Thursdays at 8PM EST


Robert Redford – Not

His profile pictures looked like Robert Redford. The younger Robert Redford we know and love. We had many interests in common and he had lved in Paris, my favorite city in the world.


He was waiting for me in a nearby sushi place. From the empty plates on the small table it appeared that he had a few rolls and a sake, maybe two, while he waited for me. He sat low in the chair, his legs stretched out and resting on the window sill. I thought it was strange that he didn’t stand up when I entered the restaurant. I sat down. Although it was the first time we evere met in person, we chit chatted easily but he was a little squirrely. It became worse. He was moving around in his seat as he changed topics of conversation at lightening speed. Clearly he was smart but this guy had, as my mother would say, “ants in his pants”.

“It looks like you’ve had dinner already. Should we get out of here?”

“Lets hang here. I have to pick up a prescription around the corner.”

“Something for ADD?” I said it as a joke but I kind of meant it.

He was surprised at my question and made an awkward joke. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. After an uncomfortale silence I asked him about his dog. He was nuts about the imagesGolden Retriever puppy. He could saty focused and talk for hours about her.At 6:00 his phone pinged. The prescription was ready.

“Come with me and I’ll walk you home.”


He wrapped his grey plaid scarf around his neck. It was an older scarf, and a little scraggily – wahed too many times. He put his Parker jacket on. It had a bedraggled fake fur trim. Suddenly Robert Redford wasn’t quite as hot. He certainly was not the 5′-11″ he promised in his profile. Now, generally speaking I have no problem with men shorter than myself. In this particular case I am ashamed to say I had this man, based on his photo, profile and pedigree, on a pedestal.


Outside the pharmacy, he leaned me against the cold granite wall and kissed me. The kiss was warm and wet and tasted like sake and ginger. He was a good kisser. Taken by surprise, I was immediately turned on. He slipped his hands under my coat and began to feel for my waist. He continued to kiss me. The wall was icy and his hands were cold. The combination sent a shiver up my spine.

“Let’s go to your place?” he whispered. I thought I had misunderstood him for a moment. I had known this guy for all of 45 minutes. “Is anyone there? At your place?”

“My housekeeper.”

“Tell her to go home. You don’t need her.”

“I can’t do that! I do in fact need her. It’s Thanksgiving tomorrow and she’s scrubbing everything so the place shines ”

“Do you have a back door? Sneak me in.”

He kissed me again. This time roughly pushing me against the wall hard, jamming his hands down my pants. I was wearing boots with heels and realized how much taller I was then him. I could see the top of his head. He was getting rough. Too rough. My head hit the granite wall and I could feel his nails in my lower back pushing down into my jeans towards my ass.

“Excuse me.” a woman pushing a stroller with a couple of kids ssai. We were now blocking the entrance to the pharmacy. He dropped his arms to his side and stepped away. She smiled at me as if I was lucky to be with such a passionate man.

“I have to go,” I blurted out wipping my mouth and closing up my coat.

“No wait, I’ll come with you. I’m really having a good time. Aren’t you?”

Part 2 to follow.


Grin Fucker


_63032369_63032368I don’t usually go to brunch but he was rather insistent, We were both in the city for the weekend and the weather was still warm. I had plans that evening but my day was free. I let him twist my arm. I don’t like brunch for a number of reasons: I prefer my own eggs made the way I like them, I don’t put milk in my tea so its always too hot to sip, I don’t drink during the day and worst of all, some men think since they take you to brunch you will spend the ENTIRE day together. I like men but I like my free time more than most. 90 minutes of my time on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon is all you’re getting unless I love you.

He texted me in the morning:

Does 12:30 work? I’ll make a reservation

followed by

Can we say 12:45?  I’m running a little late. 

just as I was on my way out the door. Grrrr… I decided rather than go back inside and catch up on emails I’d use the time to tackle a few errands. I bought a fresh Snob lipstick at MAC and was on my way to the post office when I got a third text.

I’m here. Just come now.

It was 12:35. I generally try to be pleasant on a first date so I forgave him but at the same time my brain was telling me :this guy seems controlling and will make you jump through hoops for him. I told myself to relax. I was constantly talking myself out of men even before I met them. I wasn’t going to do that today. I would be kind and forgiving. And just go with the flow

I met him outside of Isabella’s, a Mediterranean style restaurant know for brunch on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. He was tall with a boyish grin. He was also a Brit – did I mention that? He was wearing a sports jacket, turtle neck and a fine plaid scarf. He rode his bike from the east side – I liked that! So far so good.


The hostess directed us to a table outside. He asked “Can we sit there instead?” pointing to a corner table. “My legs.” he explained. He was very tall. When the server came over with water he said, “This table is too noisy. I feel like we’re eating in the kitchen. Can we move?”

We were directed to the other side of the outdoor cafe. I sat down in the new location.”Actually can we sit over there?” I got up and moved to the now third table.The table was wobbly. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice but he did. I leaned down and fixed it with my newspaper. Mission accomplished. I popped back up and he said, I kid you not,”Can you sit here? I like to sit at a 45 degree angle.” Thinking he was joking I didn’t move. He said, “Here just come sit here in the corner.” I was not enjoying this. Then he said,

“I like your earrings. Who bought them for you?” When I looked at him in disbelief he said, “You heard me. Who bought them for you? Husband? Lover? Boyfriend?”

“I bought them for myself.”

“You did not.”


“I most certainly did and why would I bother to lie about such a thing?”

He shut up just as the server placed my meal in front of me.”You’re not going to eat all of that, I bet. I’ll just wait until you’re done and then I’ll finish it up.”

I was furious. I asked myself, do I make an excuse and leave? Do I go to the bathroom and disappear?Just say I don’t think this is going to work and take off. No. Stupid, ever so polite, me stayed.

I didn’t want to make a scene and leave. I didn’t want to be as rude. I sat there barely able to eat because I was so disgusted. I picked at the goat cheese on my salad and ate a few candied walnuts. I did not ask him one single question. He bombarded me with questions that I answered as though I were jumping rope. He asked me three times where I went to school. I pointed this out the second time he asked. He said, “Maybe I’m running out of questions.” I just smiled and said “Maybe.” When he asked me a third time, I just started making up shit. Lots of shit.

I think he realized it. He began to talk about his children. “Do you know what a ‘grin fucker’ is? That’s what my daughter is.”

He explained, “she will smile to your face and say she wants to be your best friend and then she will fuck you behind your back. My daughter is a bitch. Just like her mother and her grandmother. She runs Princeton. I don’t mean she runs it but she has everyoneno-coffee running around for her.”

Next he was on to his son,”My son is a basket case. A real fuck up but he’s a hell of a nice kid. Everyone loves him. He’s a mess.”

I finally  did speak up, “I’d rather have a fucked up kid with a good heart than a beautiful bitch for a daughter.”

The waitress came over and asked,


“No thanks,. I’ve got to dash. Cheerio.” I crossed the street and never looked back.

Isabella’s is located at 359 Columbus Avenue (corner of 77th Street) 212-724-2100

It’s a great place to eat, just don’t go with an asshole.