High Maintenance

Fresh from my double New York Rangers rejection, I am walking down Central Park West and someone shouts my name. I turn around and I see a good friend of mine, who is a tall, fabulous, and very gay real estate agent to the stars standing in front of 15 Central Park West. We chat for a minute while he is waiting for his client with a $20,000,000 budget to show up - and a chauffeured, black Escalade crawls to a stop moments later and a really young looking guy in a great....like really great - outfit emerges from the back seat. He was the client. Not his Dad, not his boss, him. Wow - now I officially feel like a loser as I think he and I are about the same age and he is buying a place that is maybe $18,000,000 more than I could afford. So much for feeling like a success - when you have someone like this guy to remind you that you are not. I say goodbye to my broker friend and I am literally trying everything in my power to get over the fact that I was stood up the other night by Fatso on Ice. I stroll through the bizarre mall like setting of Time Warner Center. I peruse the aisles of Whole Foods and I even popped into Barnes and Noble - so that I could flip though "He Is Just Not That Into You" because I lost my own copy and I am feeling too cheap to buy another. I should have just bought the book again. It has such pearls of information.....like "Don't give him a chance to reject you again"; "You are not easily forgotten. Let him find you when he's ready." and "No answer is your answer." My God, that Greg Behrendt is my guru when it comes to dating. He really is.

Meanwhile, by the time I get my nose out of the book I am borrowing - so to speak - my broker friend had left me a couple of messages. His client was apparently more taken by me than by the $20,000,000 apartment! Wow - that is quite a compliment - well, by New York terms, at least. The client wanted permission to ask me out on a date. According to my broker friend, he runs a huge hedge fund; he is a Yale grad; and his charm and sweetness far exceed his tremendous bank account. Gulp. I'll take one please! Things really can change in a day. Permission granted.

Dough Boy with a stick - consider yourself forgotten. Officially! Nothing like a cute hedge funder to erase my memory of you completely. Whew!

Puck You!

I called my baby faced New York Ranger back two days ago and left a message and wishing him lots of luck against Dallas. Yes - you read that right. I now follow sports. In fact, over the Thanksgiving weekend - I pretty much studied the history of the New York Rangers, memorized the names of every current Ranger, and I even can name all the coaches (Tom, Perry, Mike, and Benoit!) I have stopped in my new found obsession only short of walking around Manhattan sporting an oversized-blue jersey. I have come quite a long way in the last week with my comprehensive hockey knowledge - but I certainly don't want to come off as completely clueless when we start hanging out.

A few hours after Dallas beat the Blueshirts, I didn't get a call back - but I did get a text. "Wht r u up to?" Ummm....I was actually in the middle of "Googling" his head coach in between commercial breaks on 60 Minutes, but I replied "Not much, you?" About ten text messages later, I had found out that he was quite busy playing "Guitar Hero" in his apartment post-game (a regular past time of his, no less) and wanted me to come over the next evening and hang out while he catches up on all the reality T.V. shows that are backed up in his TiVo. Wow - these Rangers are quite the Casanovas! Clearly, in Tom Renney's bio - there was no paragraph that he was helping his clueless young things when they were off the ice - like with "Dating 101", for instance. What is with all the invitations to watch television from these guys? I suppose sometimes you just need to try to go with the flow and see where it leads? I am really not good at that, but I said I would come over and we could discover the joys of "The Amazing Race" together. Once I was there - then I would certainly start dropping those "Let's go skating in Central Park" hints within hours, if not minutes. I may be a lot of things, but easily deterred - I am not.

Needless to say, yesterday I spent the day "prepping." Manicure, blow out, cute/casual outfit...my manicurist, hair stylist, and Barney's sales girl were all quite impressed that I would be hanging out that night with a New York Ranger. I sent him a text saying that I was looking forward to tonight and what time would be good for me to come by. No response. At 7:30 p.m. - I sent another text admitting that I didn't actually know where he lived exactly. Still no response. At 9:15 p.m. (my dignity just got up and walked out the door at this point), I sent him a third text...admitting that I might have gotten the night we were supposed to meet up on wrong (even though I know I didn't) to give him an undeserved out. And finally, at 10:30 p.m. - I threw in the towel, removed my carefully applied make-up, and jumped into my own bed - quite sure, when I had gotten un-ready that I would hear from him with a massive apology. But I didn't.

He totally stood me up for the worst date ever. A fat, "Guitar Hero" playing, 24-year old with a G.E.D. stood ME up. Oh my God. He was literally the cultural equivalent of a truck driver who happened to be good at ice hockey - and he rejected me. Now - this - will take a bit of recovery time. Ouch.

From the Mouths of Babes

So, it is Thanksgiving weekend and my only invitation for the weekend was to go to my ex-boyfriend's estate in the Hamptons. He is a 40-something year old tycoon with two ex-wives, three children, and one very hot girlfriend that he has been dating for about a year. I don't even seem to rate on the "hot-o-meter" to these people, so no one - including the current girlfriend (who is with her own parents for the holiday) seems to care that I am spending four days in the country with the Tycoon, children, and full staff of maids, nannies, and a chef. Clearly, I am not viewed as a threat - just more of a table filler and entertainment for the kids. However, I don't really mind how I am viewed....because spending four luxurious days lounging at an impeccably decorated $25 million dollar estate certainly beats staying at home, alone - and I just happen to find my ex-boyfriend hysterical. He was a nightmare when I was dating him, but he has been a terrific ex. A sort of Jimmy Carter of ex-boyfriends.

On Friday night, all of the boys in the house are in the library watching a scary movie and so six-year old Lucie and I are in the den watching "Hannah Montana." I am quietly realizing that both of the New York Rangers that had taken my number had actually not called me. Scottie from Alaska has thrown out the lame Sunday night football offer and never called back with a follow up offer and baby faced Ryan had never even called at all. Out of sheer curiosity, I convince Lucie to let me change the channel to the Rangers vs. the Florida Panthers game to see if I can read into anything on their faces as they skate by. Lucie - by far, the smartest and savviest six-year old I have ever met in my life realized that I had either lost my mind or that I needed to explain how ice hockey could possibly compare to watching Miley Cyrus. I admitted - due to lack of having any good girlfriends to talk to at that very moment that I think I have a little crush on numbers "44" and "19"....and that she needed to look closely at the television and tell me which was the better one. She squinted her eyes at the T.V. and complained that they were going a bit too fast and finally decided that I should not go for either one. "Why?" I asked. She looked totally irritated and said that I should be going for "Number 1." However, there was no "1" on the Rangers. She then looked at me as if I was an idiot and told me to find another team then. God, she is good. Children from Manhattan are really scary. But I get it. I really need to find a number one. Who knew that I was watching hockey with a four-foot tall philosopher?

Coincidentally an hour after the game, Ryan sent me a text asking how my Thanksgiving was. I looked over at Lucie and told her that number 44 has just texted me and she told me to ignore him - because "it will make him wonder." Seriously, I wasn't kidding when I said children from Manhattan are freakishly good - but you know what? I'm taking the kid's advice. Number 44 can just sit and wait.

Careful, danger....it's the Rangers!

Annie and I showed up early at the Wall Street location where Amy Sacco's charity "Free Arts" was hosting a massive Thanksgiving dinner for underprivileged children and their families. We were perfect little soldiers doing everything from hauling bags of ice to setting the tables. We colored with children and refilled people's glasses and handed out "New York Rangers" stickers to the little boys...and we were having a great time, actually. I am not quite sure that Amy remembered who we were exactly, but that was fine, as she was busy with her celebrity volunteers that ranged from Alan Cummings to Miss Jay to Parker Posey.

A little more than an hour into the event a group of hot guys showed up that Annie and I were more than happy to see. The event was up and running and we were hard pressed to find any extra errands until clean up time, so we made our way toward the pack of gorgeous men who were standing in a tight group - glancing uncomfortably at the children - and frankly looking a little bit lost. We introduced ourselves....and if I have them straight: there was Ryan from California who was a little chubby, but with a baby face and great floppy hair. Scottie, a Hispanic guy from Alaska with huge doe eyes. Sean, great bone structure with a scar across his face and sexy green eyes. Then Jason - a total fox, who must have been about 6'4" on a short day and finally, Henrik from Sweden....the best looking out of all of them, but the most difficult to talk to - he was actually, almost, a mute. I swear.

A voice behind us called out "Finally...the Rangers made it. Follow me, guys, I will show you where to put your coats and then I will bring you over to Amy." Rangers! Well, I have I have found my new favorite sport. Hockey it is. Wow. Seriously, hot. If I had known that athletes could be this good looking, then I could have paid more attention a long time ago. Better late than never, I suppose.

Toward the end of the event, Annie and I made our way back over to the Rangers. We were literally baffled by choice for once in New York City. They were just a veritable catalogue of men - something for everyone. Short, tall, bald, curls, blue eyes, American, foreign.....they literally were a buffet of options - but time was short...and Annie and I had to make a decision on who to focus in on. We actually pre-planned the ultimate date with the two of our choice - ice skating in Central Park with men who could actually skate. Almost too good to be true - well, that is, of course if we found any Rangers who had any interest in us and who wanted to take us skating? Small detail, but not insurmountable, right?

Annie zoomed in on Henrik (the goal keeper), but he was either not into her or he had difficulties with the English language and was unable to express it. Personally, I found him to be a bit of a cold fish despite his exterior perfections. I liked Sean, but I got the total player vibe off him....so I directed my attention instead toward Scottie from Alaska. He lives about five minutes from my apartment (totally geographically desireable), he had a great soft and scratchy voice, and a real sweetness to him. He asked for my number and said he would call me later. Goal! Little chubster, Ryan, also asked for my (or our?) number a little later....and he was heading off with Jason to see Dane Cook perform that night, so he would call me during the week - but I was hoping to pawn him off on Annie, so we could each have one.

Fair is fair. I would have hoped that she would have given me one of her Rangers as well if she had an extra, of course. Scottie DID call later, as promised - but with an offer for me to come to his apartment and watch Sunday night football with him!? I don't think so! First date, in a strange guy's apartment, watching sports!? That was the worst first date invite I've ever had in my life. We are certainly not off to a great start here, unfortunately. What was he thinking?

Take two, buddy.....you, me, skates, Central Park. Get with the program - before I go back to the days of not even knowing what sport is is you play! Ugh...

A Star is Born

Newsie was a man of his word. A large color photograph of me and a glowing bio about what I do was published in the New York Post - just as he had promised. My phone was ringing off the hook, my clients were thrilled, and competitors were green with jealousy.

Amy Sacco from Bungalow 8 called as well to make sure that Annie and I were still available to help her out with the Thanksgiving dinner for her charity. She promised Rangers tickets in exchange for our help, but quite frankly, I wasn't exactly sure what sport it was that the Rangers played - nor did I care? It was sweet of her, nonetheless, to offer us tickets to anything though.

And lastly...I received a call at my office from the crazy guy at the Four Season Hotel who had grabbed my arm and asked me who I was. He had read all about me in the Post and wanted to take me to dinner the next time he was in New York. He lives in Colorado and runs a hedge fund. All I was hearing though was "blah, blah, blah" because I had seen the wedding band on his finger, so Mr. Colorado can just forget it!

I have much more important things to concentrate on....like what to wear to Amy's charity event and reading and re-reading the article about myself in the Post. Dare to dream - I am so happy that I barely know what to do with myself. Yay.

Extra, Extra....Read All About It!

The Four Seasons Hotel in Manhattan is known for a lot of things. Great service, fabulous views, amazing martinis, high end clientele, and high class hookers. As a woman, one must be very careful when having a drink at the bar - to not wear anything that might indicate that you are available on an hourly rate...unless, of course - you are. I figured that after our latest Junior League meeting, my new prim young friends, Annie and Marina, would be up for sipping a $20 cocktails with me as slowly as humanly possible - and they were. Clearly, we were all wrapped in enough clothing to ward off possible Johns....and while I was scanning the room - I spotted my target. One of the big shot columnists from the New York Post. I had literally been dying to be profiled in the Post for my business and I took this as my opportunity. Sandwiched between two sweet, 20-something year old blondes....we made our move toward his table and scored an invite for a drink. Maybe this whole Junior League thing was going to work out after all?

Marina and Annie were perfect wing-women...keeping Newsie's friends busy - while I pitched my business to one slightly tipsy writer. He definitely seemed interested (in what exactly -remained to be seen), so a second and third round of drinks were ordered. Marina cut out early, as did Newsie's two friends - but Annie stayed in place, right next to me. Thank God. Her recent drinking years at college obviously served her well and she seemed to be showing no signs of needing to stop drinking any time soon. My cat was near the bag, but hardly in it at this point. Newsie suggested that we change venue's and head down to Rose Bar at the Gramercy Park Hotel...which I felt obliged to agree to and as we were heading out - a man grabbed my arm.

"Who are you?" he asked, somewhat agressively. He was handsome, but sporting a wedding band and was sitting with a bunch of guys who were all clearly from out of town. I thought he was quite rude, so I shrugged and tried to pull away without answering - but he didn't let go. Newsie and Annie appeared right behind me - laughing at this crazy guy....and Newsie looked down at him and said "Her name is Britt and she is my new star." Oh my God. Best night ever. Bye, bye, lunatic.

At the Rose Bar, the three of us did get progressively drunk - and finally I ended up in someones chauffeured car....Annie still by my side - heading to Bungalow 8 at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday night. Newsie had a hankering for grilled cheese sandwiches...and apparently, Bungalow 8 serves them. Who knew?

An hour later - we have all been terribly over-served and I can't remember how many grilled cheese sandwiches I had scarfed down, but I am quite sure that it was one too many. Newsie is explaining to Amy Sacco, the intimidatingly statuesque owner of Bungalow, how Annie and I are in the Junior League...and what good girls we are - which is hardly what we appeared to be at that exact moment in time. Amy called us out on it though and said that she would love to have us help her on Sunday morning with feeding underprivileged children at a pre-Thanksgiving dinner - since we are such good girls. Was she serious or was she making fun of us?

We said yes, in any case. Why not? We had pretty much eaten this woman out of her own nightclub with our voracious grilled cheese appetites, so it was the least we could do. Besides, Amy Sacco doesn't exactly seem like the type of person that one should say "no" to. She might not even call us. It was, after all, the middle of the night when this conversation took place. The only thing that I was hoping would be remembered was that Newsie had offered to make me a star.