My first night in that NY apartment, after a long, arduous move and after unpacking and setting up all of my furniture (I'm a freak like that- give me one day and I'm settled in), I laid there in bed huddled under my blanket with my two cats. We were all nervous and shaking. The sounds of the nearby ambulances blared and pierced through the thick summer-in-the-city air. The street noise from Second Avenue was absolutely unbearable, even though I had double-paned noise-reduction windows. It was a far cry from the tranquil 1.6 wooded acre property on Long Island from which I had just moved. I kept thinking my parents might have been right and I just might have made a mistake moving to the city. Maybe I'm not a city girl at all, I thought. I love nature; the quiet atmosphere and the sheer joy and harmony felt being surrounded by plant and animal life.
I felt so lonely that night I actually thanked my cats for sticking by me. Well, they didn't really have a choice but nevertheless, they were there when no one else was. My poor kitties have moved with me 7 times in the last 14 years.
In a way, I was excited to start my life over but at the same time I was desperately trying to figure out where it went wrong. My marriage had ended, my singing career was at a standstill...It was a pity party, for sure, though I was the only (human) guest in attendance.
I began dating a bit as any newly divorced woman living in The City of Eternal Bachelors would. I used to go out to restaurants by myself where I would sit at the bar and have dinner. Pathetic, you say? I say not so much. I met some really great people that way. It forces you to talk and meet people if you go out alone. It's actually fun if you allow yourself to be open. And if there's no one interesting, the bartender is always open for a good discussion.
I went on a bunch of dates and mostly (in my own predictable fashion) went out with men whom I already knew; high school friends, co-workers and colleagues. I had met this one guy through a mutual friend. He was a musician like myself and he was also really, really cute. He was actually impossibly sexy. We had made plans to have lunch though we never made it out of the apartment because after about an hour of talking we began making out and the kissing quickly became much more important than a turkey sandwich. We had a great time and had a couple more dates. I called him to confirm a date once and said, "Hi, it's Jenn." He proceeded to have a conversation with me that didn't make sense until I realized that he had mistaken me for another "Jenn" or "Jen" he must have been dating. That was the red flag. I didn't run because why, do you ask? He was one of the sexiest men I had ever met. And that's enough of a reason, okay? Good. I'm so glad we have this understanding.
He had asked me to have dinner on a Sunday night and though it was possible he thought he was asking one of the other Jenns or Jens, I accepted. A few hours before the date he called to tell me that he had come down with the flu and had to cancel and I could tell he was being sincere. I felt so bad because I knew what it was like to be in NY alone and to be so sick, so I offered to bring him some supplies to help him feel better. He was brutally sick so he quite happily accepted my generous gesture. I (gulp) offered to come over and make him homemade chicken soup from scratch. The recipe is that of my great-grandmother's and it takes 4 hours to make. I have since learned the fast 20 minute version, but I digress...I was out of my mind. I hardly knew this man! That's me, though. I always make a big effort when I can.
I really went overboard that day. I went to the best butcher and the best fruit and vegetable store in NY to obtain my ingredients. I dressed in a tight white minidress and wore white shoes to play the part of a sexy nurse. I toted a gigundo soup pot and bags full of groceries from NYC to Brooklyn...in heels. I enjoy helping people which is occasionally a problem because I tend to go above and beyond the call of duty and when you don't know me and know that I behave like this all the time, (Im a giver) you just might get scared off.
So, I went over and I made the soup. It took such a long time that he pretended to be asleep. I think he was hoping I would get the hint (I did) and leave to end this torture but I felt bad leaving him with a giant pot of half-cooked chicken wings on the stove so I saw it through to the end. When the soup was finally ready, we sat down together and ate it in an uncomfortable silence. I didn't finish mine and I abruptly got up and washed the dishes before I left. I told him I hoped he would feel better soon and I went home feeling sick, like I had done something wrong. He didn't call me the next day. I probably should have called to see how he was feeling but I thought I would leave it to him to contact me because I felt I may have blown it. A day turned to a week and I didn't hear from him so I broke down and emailed him. I asked how he was feeling and also asked when I could come and pick up my soup pot. That thing was over 200 bucks! I also mentioned that he had hurt my feelings by not calling for a week. I mean, he could have said thank you or...something. No, instead he thought I was a nut and aside from a couple of emails back and forth over the subsequent week, we never spoke again and I never got my pot back.
Looking back, I can see so many mistakes here. First of all, guys like women who play hard to get. He wasn't feeling well and cancelled. I should have left it at that. Secondly, my Florence Nightingale routine can be overwhelming even for someone who knows me well. Thirdly, I was an idiot. This guy was so ill and I intruded on his personal space for 4 hours because that's how long it took for the soup to cook. I should have dropped some Theraflu by his door and left at the most. Seven years later, (a few weeks ago) my mother gave me one of my grandmother's special soup pots. My soup is delicious and my daughter appreciates it when I make it, so I guess all is well.
