Things I have done since my last post: Dressed as Frida for Halloween, as promised.

Things that also happened: my being subsequently tracked down and asked out on a date by a dreadfully smug "90's era Andre Aggasi" whom I recall having met for about 15 seconds before giving up on the whole clusterfuck of a WASP party in toto.

The man was impressed enough with my costume choice to inquire after my email and ask me out but, regrettably, and rather embarrassingly, not impressed enough to muster any semblance of personality on each of our three dates (yes, I went back for more. Perhaps that makes me a masochist. More likely, it makes me a realist who knows that I'm too godamn old to not give these weirdos a fighting chance, hot though they may be and well shy of 30 though I may be). Nary a kiss ensued between us over the course of those 3 dates and innumerable emails, and my curiosity propelled me further on. When, after our 3rd date, he walked me to within a block of my apartment and not a step further, I gave up on him entirely. A girlfriend in London, experiencing a similar storyline down to the lack of kiss, nicknamed both of them the Icebergs. "Girl," she'd relay, "we are too spicy for these icebergs. We are practically melting them." Perhaps we are. But then that's the oldest excuse in the book isn't it? We are too spicy? Too good? Too amusing? Too qualified? Too accomplished, too with it, too culturally aware, too well read, too good at our too impressive careers, too loyal, too forthright, not enough of a pushover- for anyone to approach a semblance of a future with us, let alone a 4th date?

There have been others as well. The men who stand you up repeatedly and the men who call everyday for plans only hours away. How many times am I left wondering about the former, not wanting to appear remotely eager by, god-forbid, actually getting in touch and asking. And to the latter how many times must I write "Unfortunately I have plans, thanks for thinking of me- I do hope we get together soon!" before it is saved as a template on my goddamn phone?

It is pathetic.

I realize that this is stupid as all hell to harp on. The world is up in flames. That I even take the time to write about this stuff really makes me question whether I am a selfish and awful person who lacks perspective.

But then, I would venture that truly awful people don't question whether they are.

At any rate, I am tired of the whole runaround. All of the dinners and parties and networking events and gallery openings and museum galas and long days at the office and even longer days spent pondering where my life is going- the push and pull of life in New York, at most times fucking amazing, is depressing the holy hell out of me.

And hearing "It's the Most Wonderful Tiiiiiime, of the Year" every time that I leave the house, is not making it better.