When I was asked to be a blogger for the Huffington Post Miami I was, as any writer would be, elated. That's because Miami is in my soul. In my apartment are pictures of South Beach, back in the 1950s, when my grandparents and my mother used to dance in the backyard of the Marlin and Fairmont hotels, two now iconic properties that they, along with my great aunts and uncles, once owned. I know, if only they had kept them in the family, I just might be a rich hotelier like my good friend Keith Menin (he really did a great makeover with the Shelbourne).
But, I'm not. I'm just a writer. Albeit a former Miami editor for People magazine, In Touch Weekly and cast member on the show everyone loved to hate, Bravo's Miami Social. Let's face it, I was the most bearable character on that show, which is now Dallas Most Eligible, by the way. So, please, make sure you hate that show too.
But, I have digressed. Back to why I am so excited to be writing this column. My mother came down a few days ago and she wanted to stroll down Meridian Avenue, the epicenter of random inhabitants in South Beach. She pointed out an old Art Deco building from another time that she and her friends stayed in when the hotels were jam packed with other visiting Jews from New York (better to put your family up in housing than miss a full paying guest, right?) and I had to laugh, "I tricked with someone who lives there now," I told her.
"Tricked?" she said with pure horror. "What are you an escort?" Not so much, but when you sleep with a guy and don't necessarily expect him to call you back or vice versa, it falls under the trick category.
What I am, actually, is a guy who is putting his best foot forward when it comes to dating and tired of being dismissed by Miami men as nothing but a nice body (thank you Cross Fit Miami Beach) or someone famous (that's just as bad as my mother thinking I'm an escort). So I decided to take to Match.com. Yeah, I was ready to do something legit when it comes to online dating and stay away from downloading Grindr, the gay app for instant hook-ups.
I forged ahead and made a profile with a headline that read "Sexy, cool, smart guy seeking the same." I might have done better on narcissist.com. That same week I got a message on Facebook from a guy, let's just call him Felipe, saying that I came up in his Match.com best picks and would you believe oddly that week I also came up in his Facebook "friends you may know," and he wanted to share this coincidence. Yeah, thanks for sharing.
After an intense month fling with Felipe that included commentary such as "everything just feels so right with you" to "you're a very special guy and I just know this is something special," I came to find out that I wasn't so special. On my birthday, I was unceremoniously dumped. "This is just going way too fast for me," he said at what I thought was a lovely wine-fueled dinner. "I just wasn't expecting this, I mean, I think we should get to know each other more and probably date other people." Now, I have had my dabbles with bi-polar disorder, but this was really out of left field. And then he asked if I wanted to have a drink at a gay bar? Yeah, that's just what I want to do: get dumped by you and celebrate my birthday on a Tuesday night at a gay bar. How tragic.
It took me, for whatever reason, many months to get over what happened and just when I thought I was doing okay, it happened, "You've Got Mail, Bitch!" Yes, the other morning I awoke to an email from Match.com -- a specially selected member just for me. Well, hello Felipe! Still searching for that special someone, huh?
It made me chuckle just a bit. It also made me angry and I so badly wanted to take a screen shot and email him. But I couldn't do that because I have to follow my own advice, which is the only way to get over someone is a full-on deletion. I defriended him from Facebook, deleted his numbers, permanently trashed every email he sent me, and now I have absolutely no way to contact him. Because that's the only way folks; things have to be in order to survive a break up, complete and utter absolution.
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