V Squared

Let's see if I can pull this off. This entry, that is. It's just past 2:30 in the morning and I just got home from night two of Manhattan mayhem with my girl who's visiting from Phoenix. She's the little sister of the Bond girl mentioned in the post about my trip to L.A. But I actually met Bond girl through Velika who saw me as a mentor when she was coming up the ranks of broadcast journalism. She's since come to her senses and pursued a more lucrative profession but that's how we met. With me as her professional role model. I know. Scary.

Anyway, she's in town visiting her best friend- a hottie who works for www.shopbop.com. Actually, they're both hotties- Velika and Vani a.k.a Vsquared. Tonight Vani suggested we meet for dinner at Spotlight in Times Square. Other than the fact that this place was a stone's throw from where I work, I didn't know what it was. When I arrived, I was appalled to see throngs of tourists cheering various singers on a huge Vegas meets Disneyland karaoke stage. It was like every American Idol reject had found their way to a new watering hole. I was the first one there and watched with shock and awe as one Midwesterner after another took the stage to sing tired old renditions of "Respect" and "I will survive." Will I? As the minutes ticked by and "I love big butts and I cannot lie" blared over the speakers, I honestly wondered.

Finally V squared arrived and we sat down to dinner. Velika showed me the texts I sent her last night in my drunken haze. I couldn't look after "I'm a hooker." Then we went to a club in the Flatiron called Gstaad. We were meeting one of Vani's friends. As soon as I met him I knew I had seen him before but couldn't place where. Then it dawned on me that I had seen his profile online and I said as much. He reluctantly admitted that he was on the website. Because we were both Muslim and he was good friends with my good friend, I attempted to establish a rapport. But I couldn't shake the feeling that he was being aloof and dismissive. Velika told me after I walked away that his demeanor towards her was completely different. Then I tried again. This time, asking him where he lived in the city. When he said 36th and Park, I acknowledged the area by its New York pseudonym: the date rape district. Commonly known as Murray Hill, this area is ripe with former frat boys come investment bankers.

"I've never heard it called that," he said. I asked him how long he had been in the city. "Three months," he said. "But I used to come here every week for business." Well, you might as well be Rudy Giuliani in that case! I mean why didn't you tell me you were next in line to have an avenue named after you? He was really defensive which I thought was bizarre so I just shrugged and said, "I'm sorry." He responded with more protestations about both his well versed knowledge of Manhattan and denial of any of the characteristics I attribute to his new hood. Tired of the acrimony my comment may have ignited, I excused myself heading to the bar where my Palestinian friend was having a conversation with a Persian girl from his law firm.

Velika subsequently told me that he said Muslim girls were "pretentious." This only added to my annoyance. When I walked back over a little while later Vani insisted we kiss and make up. Awkward. I give everyone a chance until they piss me off. Sometimes they get a chance after that, too. But here I saw no reason to perpetuate the irksome dialogue. Unfortunately, Vani was hell bent on making sure the two Muslims she had introduced play nice. So we did but there's zero chemistry and now both of us have a chip on our shoulders against the other.

The whole exchange got me thinking about men who behave badly and then have the nerve to shrug it off when they see the error of their ways. Women are held to a much higher standard and wiping the slate clean in the case of our social transgressions is almost unheard of. Growing up, my dad was full of pearls of wisdom. Random sayings that he would convey in an effort to instill his brand of integrity. When I was languishing in the trenches of local news in one small market after another, his frustration trumped mine. He hated that I felt I needed to "pay my dues." He wanted me to "think big to be big." When I told him I couldn't just waltz into CNN and expect to be fast-tracked to stardom, he said, "You are like a wood in the water- you'll always float to the top." Sweet but not necessarily true. I mean what if I were a branch that got tangled in some deep sea algae?

Not all of his analogies were flawed. I'll never forget the time he tried to delineate the double standard between the two sexes. "A man's reputation is like silver. If it becomes tarnished, you can always polish it up with money and success. But a woman's character is like glass. Once there's a crack or a chip, you'll always be able to see the flaw." I argued that if heat were applied directly to the crack, perhaps you could conceal the damage and my mom told me to shut up and not to argue with my father.