The Smythe BBQ

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Just returned from the standout BBQ of Ari and Alison Smythe—friends, neighbors, proud Rotarians. Big thumbs up to the chicken (crispy, as I like it), the macaroni salad (Alison’s specialty) and the fruit salad (I had at least five bowls).

I absolutely love summer BBQs. They really capture the season—the equivalent of sleigh riding in winter or jumping in a big pile of leaves come fall. They also usually result in some quirky discussions, one of which I was graced with this afternoon:

Spent much time speaking with two singles in their mid-to-late 30s who bemoaned (to be polite) the solo life of professional New York City women. As a guy who is married with two kids (and, ahem, a friggin’ dog who just dropped something proper on the kitchen floor), I found the talk sort of painful, in that, well, life ain’t fair. As my picture surely indicates, I’m nothing special. I can’t dress, my left eyelid is a bit lazy, I wear deodorant every, oh, third day, my gas stinks, I’m clumsy, etc (My wife will be happy to fill in the rest). So why am I so damn lucky, while these wonderful, smart, successful, attractive women have to go through the bullshit motions of eHarmony and JDate (Oy) and Eight at Eight, only to find themselves frustrated by the lack of decent options (I will sum up the one woman’s Eight at Eight experience as so: One of the men began performing magic tricks.)?

I suppose, in a sense, the answer is relatively simple: Guys (myself included) are scum. Once we reach our mid-30s, we don’t want to be reminded of the fact that we’re getting old. So those of us who are single start prowling the local colleges and hip coffee shops, seeking out the 20-something gal with the ill-advised-yet-undeniably-sexy tattoo above her ass crack (aka: The Tramp Stamp). We don’t seek out women with professionalism or 401K plans or (God forbid) maturity and decency, because how can she compete with the Ponce de Leon-inspired Fountain of Youth we all crave? We want fake blondes with fake breasts who shake their booties to Yung Joc (even if we don’t know who that is). In many ways, we want something that doesn’t exist. But we’re men—dumb, immature, blinded by fantasy. So we make poor decisions.

Anyhow, that’s my damnation lecture of the day. But if you’re a single guy in New York City with all his teeth, decent breath and a good heart, today I met two wonderful women who are probably over your heads.

But I’m willing to work the hookup …

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