If we’ve learned one thing from Manhattan-based sitcoms, it’s that living and dating in the city presents a unique set of problems. You have no time. You have no money. You have all your teeth, but–though this may have given you a leg up in Tennessee–it means nothing when you’re surrounded by actual models. You need at least two more roommates to make your rent, and those bedbugs that came with the apartment don’t count. Charles Shaw has replaced Ben & Jerry as the man in your life because “Two Buck Chuck” is the fiscally responsible choice when a pint of Cherry Garcia costs $7 at the convenience store on your block. And if you drink enough wine it tastes like love.
Supposedly by living in a city of 8.5 million people, the law of numbers works in your favor, but I was never any good at math. Sure, you can scope out Bumble, but keeping plans with people you actually know is hard enough. What are the chances you’re going to make time for a stranger? Is there such a thing as love at first swipe?
Almost everyone I know has met someone through a dating app, and each of them has a takeaway tale, ranging from tender one-liners like, “Show me dem titties,” to classic signs of affection like Ye Olde Dick Pic. Because it turns out creating a profile on Tinder is tantamount to soliciting nude photos. It must be in the fine print.
But men aren’t the only offenders of these dating faux pas. My boyfriend narrowly escaped my sloppy advances by jumping out of a cab on our first date.
…and people say romance is dead.
Personally I steer clear of online dating though. I met my man the good old fashioned way: drunk in a bar.
I’ve also heard the gym is a good place to pick up guys, but being on bae watch while you’re working out sounds like way too much effort. On the rare occasion that I’m motivated enough to drag my fat ass to New York Sports Club after work, I gotta focus on my fitness.
And let’s say you do have that fairy tale moment, where you’re walking along the reservoir in Central Park and you meet real-life Mr. Big. You think your love knows no borough, until you come to find out your hot new piece lives in Astoria. What brings you so far from the NQR, bruh?
One of my girlfriends was called “shallow” for rejecting a guy because he lived in Staten Island. You want to step out of your comfort zone, but you have to draw the line somewhere, and it’s up to you to decide if “somewhere” falls north or south of Battery Park.
I thought I was done with long-distance relationships, yet I frequently find myself searching Google Maps for the quickest route to 94th Street–but more on my (Upper) West Side Story later.
Does it count as “long-distance” if we’re both on the island of Manhattan? Either way, couples who live on the same subway line are real #relationshipgoals.
Thank god for unlimited metro cards and audiobooks. But Sarah Koenig, if you’re reading this, please hurry up and release season 3 of Serial because it will make my 47-minute subway ride go much faster.