Husband Hunting in New York City

You and your future husband are both crazy about Vagner and Bryn Terfel. One magical Saturday night, you both arrive at the Metropolitan Opera house solo and ready to ascend to the nosebleeds. (Otherwise knows as Family Circle.) When you finally get there, you realize you’ve left your glasses at home. It’s impossible to see much of anything onstage now, but you can still see your future husband, who’s sitting just two seats away and sneaking glances at you in-between arias.

You and your future husband both dabble in photography and are drawn to the International Center of Photography’s latest exhibit. He recognizes you from the Chim exhibit last year. You were too transfixed to notice anyone else but you discuss the exhibit in detail and find you felt the same way about it.

You and your future husband are die hard baseball fans. You are a Yankees Fan and he’s a Red Sox fan all the way. When the two face each other at Yankee Stadium, you’re both there, cheering your respective teams and protesting violently when things don’t go your way. Despite your differences, you both get hit with the same giant cup of warm beer when an even more emphatic fan decides to make his grievances known to all. Cupid’s “arrow” has struck.

Your future husband is that guy here for the live music with a healthy beard and tattoo half-sleeve. Which guy with a healthy beard and tattoo half-sleeve, you ask? Good point. Allow this Guidespotter to begin again. Your future husband is the guy with a healthy beard, a half-sleeve and NOT sporting skinny jeans tighter than yours. No, your future husband’s masculinity is concealed from public view and in fact, he’s planning on shaving tomorrow so that his visiting hometown friends can tell him apart from his four other loftmates. This is what he tells you (after treating you to a lager) in that self-deprecating way that makes it all okay. You decide it isn’t going to rain after all and he suggests taking the conversation out to the back yard. Pete’s Candy Store is where your new Williamsburg togetherness begins.

This is no shi shi New York City lounge. This is what they call a “bar bar”. (Who calls it that? “They” do.) Your future husband has just come from The Duplex down the block. He wondered why all of the men were staring at him and all of the women seemed more interested in what Broadway ballad they were going to pull out of their binder. At Kettle of Fish, your future husband, a Wisconsin native, feels at home in this Packers-loving bar, and decides that a Jack Daniels and a song or two on the “legendary” jukebox are just what the doctor ordered. When you discover that you both share a love of the band Cream and bars with decent jukeboxes in general, one of the most important conversations of your life has just begun.

Your future husband will be on the outskirts of the dance floor, marveling at late night revelers with the key to the City for at least one night. You haven’t arrived yet; you’re still in line for the loo. The bathroom is filled with women in Bebe dresses who are too intoxicated to flush the toilet, let alone tip the attendant, so you tip the attendant double on their behalf. After purchasing a $15 French martini from the bar, you make your way to the back. The DJ will be spinning a fairly predictable mix of house, hip hop, and 80’s to make each representative of this 20’s and 30’s crowd comfortable. Your future hubby will rescue you from a complete braggadocio in a cardigan who elbows you for effect, spilling your overpriced beverage and not offering to replace it. You leave with your future husband’s number just before the crowd turns into a pack of vampires.

Its name suggests someplace your future husband might go after you were married some years but surprisingly, the Galway Hooker – a monster in Midtown East bars – is host to many innocent birthday parties, happy hour conversations prior to MetroNorth departures, and large-scale business events. After meandering through this large, appropriately raucous bar, you’ll find your future husband in the very back room playing his first game of darts since college. Don’t judge him for trying to find an activity in this monochrome wonderland; his resourcefulness is something the two of you share in common. Stick to beer and spirits at the GH; wine is just not “it”.

Your future husband is tall, dark and handsome. He’s a busy man who loves to eat and he knows the value of a dollar. At Malecon in Washington Heights, where orders are shouted into loudspeakers and tables for two are covered from corner to corner with giant platters of rice, beans, half-chickens, and sides of steaming yucca, there is plenty to go around and plenty for breakfast, lunch and dinner for at least the next three days. You take a sip of your papaya shake and decide to ask your future husband how the steak is here; you’ve never tried it. He appreciates a confident woman. You appreciate each other even more over coconut cake. Shake! Steak! Cake!

Your future husband works on Wall Street and he’s seen better days. At 7 a.m. he’s running at breakneck speed on the treadmill at Equinox Wall Street because it’s one of the few successes he can be certain of this M-F. You, on the other hand live right around the corner in a high rise and you’re uncharacteristically early because the neighbors upstairs decided to have a break-of-dawn tiff. You and your husband each place a high value on health and physical fitness, and that means things are looking up!

Forget $4 spring rolls; this is Pan-Asian Cusine plus Lower-East Side Cool. Your future husband is downstairs, attending a private party in the cavernous, set-decorated lower lounge area, while you are indulging in a mouthwatering Hanger Mignon and a cocktail with friends upstairs. You meet at the ATM at the top flight of the staircase. You bring up the challenge of eating edamame politely and the ultra-laid back waitstaff; he mentions that he’s heard the owner of China 1 got all of the furnishings from China, and goes on to discuss his own adventures in Shanghai. He’s a businessman with a penchant for travel and poetry. This is not a bad start. Not at all.

Bowling in New York City is expensive. Especially once you throw in a pitcher of beer. And let’s face it; everyone is peeking into everyone else’s lane to see how everyone else is doing. Luckily, you and your future husband are hamming it up at Bowlmor Lanes and couldn’t care less about your scores. You get more attention for your reaction to a teammate’s gutter ball than you do for your own left-handed, no-look spare. Especially from your future husband, who’s looking for an excuse to grab a drink somewhere in his own shoes.

Your future husband is in town on business and – at the suggestion of one of his more obnoxious work buddies – decides to “try something different” this time at the oh-so-hip Hudson Hotel. Oh it’s different all right. You’re at The Library Bar, having a glass of wine and reading a book in an attempt to shake this chilly New York vibe. A book in a bar? Well, it is a library bar and this isn’t Jake’s Dilemma. There’s actually a decent collection here. Your future husband is intrigued; where he’s from, he’s lucky if bars have any imported beer on draft.