I was always one of those “stop making New York a character in your story!” type of people. But alas, here I am and I’m about to make New York a character in my story.
Because New York fucking deserves it.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m an LA girl. Born and raised. I love Los Angeles. There aren’t many people that can claim the title of native here and hold it. I proudly proclaim LA my home and have no desire to change that.
I’ve done it all. I’ve seen it all. I’ve lived 2 blocks from Kevin Costner. I’ve gotten high with Steve-O. I’ve run into Ice-T and his possy of classless women and I’ve seen Gary Coleman eating at a Black Angus. I’ve run into John Lithgow and half the cast of The L-Word (which I watched religiously wondering if it might be easier living as a lesbian). I’ve seduced drug counselors while intoxicated, worn cuffs because I was good and bad, fucked cops while on duty and worn a strap on. To put it mildly, there isn’t much that I haven’t done, seen or tried.
Then I met New York.
It took me 33 years but I finally made my way to The Big Apple. Suddenly, I was naïve, inexperienced and vulnerable. Weak, shy and afraid. Completely lost amongst a sea of lights, never ending buildings and high rises surrounded by people talking to themselves. It was outstanding.
But the one thing that stood out the most to me? I didn’t see one woman running around the city in Manolo Blahniks with flower broaches the size of a baby’s head. Not sure if I was disappointed or relieved. I had anticipated that I might stick out since I help pay to keep the lights on at Old Navy and make it my custom never to walk into a clothing store that sounds French or uses the European size chart. My sexy comes out when my clothes come off, not on.
While there, I saw a hilarious play, visited several bars, drank obnoxious amounts of alcohol, ate insanely good food and met some of the most amazing people that any one person has any right to meet. Having only really had three full days to soak in all that the city had to offer I still didn’t get to do and see 1/10th of what I’d wanted to see or do.
I also met “him”.
Amidst the glitz and glamour, tourists in petticoats and booze induced awe over the sheer awesomeness that is Times Square, there he was. Off to the side, standing guard and keeping watch ready to fight crime should it suddenly arise in the city that never sleeps. Dressed in blue from head to toe with four little letters embroidered onto the neck of his turtleneck. NYPD.
Having already taken half a gazillion pictures with any man in uniform I could find I almost passed up the stunning 6’2” man in uniform. It’s not like we could actually exchange phone numbers, go out on a date and spend the next 16 hours in bed. Wait, this is me we are talking about. Of course we could and that’s exactly what we did.
My initial greeting went something like this:
“You are stunning. When do you get off work? Can I have your number? I’m going to marry you.”
I’m lucky I didn’t get arrested.
He just smiled, asked if he could also have my number in return, posed for a few pictures and I was off to go visit a neat little tequila bar 49 walking miles from Times Square. The next night he picked me up after he got off work and we spent the next 16 hours together. Mostly naked and it was amazing. His lips were my kryptonite and we were both avid disciples of the Kamasutra.
Having sworn off cops I find it somewhat ironic that within five minutes of meeting one 4,000 miles from home I was proposing and professing my undying love and affection. But the most amusing part of it all were the questions from friends asking how I had met him and what I had done to obtain a date with such an obvious catch. Such an interesting question really. Having 87 years of dating experience under my belt and being told in countless books by countless “dating experts” to follow certain rules I did the unthinkable. I had simply gone up and talked to him.
I’ve been home for a little less than a month now and we have still been in daily contact. He plans on visiting me sometime in the next month or so and I eagerly await his visit. Not in the last 10 years have I met a man that has had me so utterly flustered, smitten and willing to swear off the dating market than my Mr. NYPD.
I’ve heard it said many times before that you know whether or not you want to sleep with someone within minutes of meeting them. Within minutes I knew that I wanted to marry him. I’m fully aware that my crazy has yet to come to the surface and I’m certain he has demons of his own. You don’t make it to your 30’s without obtaining a few.
Realistically, I will probably never see him again. He’s a New Yorker and I’m a So Cal girl. Long distance relationships are hard. I’ve have issues dating men that live an hour away in Orange County. But, fuck it. I may be a realist but deep down I’m also a romantic and I’m going to ride this train as far as it will take me. If that means acquiring a new zip code and switching to public transportation then so be it.