Last night I went to a popular ballroom dance studio at the suggestion of friends thinking it was a good venue to meet men. I've tried so many a thing and have discovered almost unanimously that the singles events and meeting opportunities are devoid of men. And last night, the universe quite blatantly told me to give up on an intentful search.
Because there were no men, we were instructed to pretend as if a man were poised before us, New York Style, I thought. So my left arm was stretched out perpendicular to my torso, my left hand tilted upward and cupping the imaginary male bicep, as we were so instructed. My right arm was extended at a right angle, breaking at the elbow, so I could meet an imaginary forearm and an imaginary palm against my own. I merengued to the left this way and then mergengued to the right. I then gestured with my arm above my head to be twirled by my imaginary man. And as if it weren't already an absurd enough situation, we had to twirl our imaginary man counterclockwise!
I wanted to be twirled into another time, is what I wanted. Spun right out of New York's soiled bed of male entitlement, and spun into a time when women were pursued as a priority. New York men have the luxury of living as independently as they please while casually dating to no quantifiable end, because the male to female ratio is in their favor. In New York City, there are apparently 79 single men for every 100 women and a total of 211,000 more women than men. This census does not account for either sexual orientation or desirability, so you do the math. Either way, it's not good news.
Men don't really pursue women anymore. Simply put, men don't ask women for their phone numbers. A dating coach I recently spoke with said that it is, as required by the times we live in, my responsibility to take a man's number. Not even my responsibility to give him my number without him asking, but for me to ask him for his number. The coach explained that I should take his number, but then pretend that I wasn't going to use it. If I were in a position where I had to ask a guy for his number, because he was too aloof or emasculated to ask me for mine, why would I be so thrilled about getting his number???
But this is the state of the non-union in New York, as I report it truthfully, from my own experience, shocked and bewildered at every attempt to make a difference in my personal life. How 'bout I let you in on this? I got the imaginary number of my imaginary salsa partner last night, and I'm pretending not to call it right now.
Written August 24th, 2010
