it’s not you, it’s me

Not surprisingly, I caught some flak for my insinuation that Philadelphia men come up short when compared to men from the Big Apple (hey, if you’re not prepared to be the center of a little controversy every now and then, don’t be a writer).  Those readers that I talked to seemed very upset that I would characterize men from Philly as inferior to those from New York, and suggested that perhaps maybe the problem isn’t with them, but with me.

While it’s that “It’s all your fault” attitude that keeps people like my therapist in business, I’m game enough to accept a gauntlet when it is thrown before me. So go ahead, Philly guys – tell me what I should do to attract your attention. Tell me about the kind of girl who catches your eye in a bar, in a store, on the sidewalk, and what she does to make you approach her. Any guys from New York, or anywhere else, feel free to weigh in as well. Could be interesting to see if what attracts a guy varies geographically (although I’m fairly sure T&A works everywhere, so no need to point that out, fellas.)

where have all the good men gone?

New York City, apparently.

Seriously, in my recent experience, every time I meet a guy who is friendly, engaging, and not a complete tool, he’s from somewhere on or near Manhattan island. What’s up with that? Is it something in the water? Does living in a city of 7 million people give you better manners towards women? Is the thought of potentially getting some foreign Philly pussy that enticing? I don’t know, but I do know that Philly guys, you need to step up your game.

in which krissy gets hit on by a dude old enough to be her father

Really, what more can I say than that?

Ok, I guess there is more to the story than that. Last night my friend Julie and I met up for drinks at local watering hole Good Dog. Seated at the table next to us were a young man and woman, probably in their late 20s, early 30s, and an older man, late 50s-ish. Fine, whatever. Didn’t give them a second look or thought. Julie and I had a pleasant time catching up over beer and sweet potato fries.

When the check came, I went up to the bar to get change, and as I was going back to my table, past our neighbors, the older guy came up to me, pressed a folded-up napkin into my hand and said, “If you’re interested, give me a call.”

There is not much in life that renders me speechless, but that certainly did. I looked at the guy as if he had lobsters crawling out of his ears, stammered an “Ok,” and scurried back to my seat where I tried to pretend that the last 30 seconds of my life didn’t happen. But they did. The balled up napkin with a name and phone number scribbled on it currently residing at the bottom of my trashcan is a testament to that.

But, I mean, seriously?! The first time I’ve been hit on in a bar in I-don’t-even-know-how-long, and it’s by a guy who was already middle-aged when I was still in diapers? This is what my life has come to?

The only thing that made me feel better was when I got a text from Ang Brockman telling me about how she too had been hit on last night – by the guy dressed as Santa at Dave & Buster’s. As she said, “There is no winner in this game.” I think I have to agree.