By Nancy Slotnick, on Tue Feb 12, 2013 at 8:30 AM ET “The only way you could meet my crazy was by doing something crazy yourself.” –Bradley Cooper as Pat in Silver Linings Playbook
We all bring our crazy to a relationship. Silver Linings does a beautiful job of writing a relationship where both participants are crazy but they take turns. They meet each other where they’re at. They end sentences with a preposition. They scream and throw dishes in public. They hug people whom they have a restraining order against or from. They end sentences with a preposition again. Did I mention that people call me crazy? They think I’m dreaming my life away, just like John Lennon wrote.
I struggle with how to let people into my life without letting them take over. How to embrace my crazy without getting caught up in it. How to recognize someone else’s crazy when they’re telling you it’s you. And when it’s also you. So complicated.
Spoiler alert- I’m going to talk about Silver Linings some more- I just loved it so much. It is rare for a romantic comedy (nay, romantic comedy/drama) to get it right without being trite. One of my favorite scenes was at the diner. Tiffany (Jennifer Lawrence) opens up about herself and seems to be having a moment with Pat. She offers to help her out and then he insults her by not wanting to be associated with her in the context of his ex-wife.
 Rather than crying and running out of the restaurant (at first, at least), which I would have done, she balks. That’s the best word for her face. She looks at him, condescendingly, and says; “You actually think I’m crazier than you.” Not in the form of a question, but as a statement of disbelief. It’s great. I admire that. I wish that in the midst of a heated argument I could have the composure to do that. It was awesome. And then she smashes all the dishes off the table in one fell swoop and runs out of the restaurant, crying. I kind of wish I could do that too. The dishes part. The crying part I’m good at.
The beauty of it is that Pat realizes in that moment that he’s crossed a line and then he comes to the rescue on her crazy. They go back and forth on this as their relationship blooms. And that gives new meaning to the phrase the “dance of intimacy.”
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Nancy Slotnick: People Think I’m Crazy
By Nancy Slotnick, on Tue Jan 22, 2013 at 8:30 AM ET I never would have thought, when I was single, that those 4 words could sound so sexy. “We’ve got an hour.” With a raised eyebrow it becomes a full-fledged turn-on. At least I have the hour. Usually.
As I prepare to fully enter the world of new media when my iPhone 5 arrives next week, I find myself sad to retire my Crackberry. Those little keys on the keypad are so easy and so soothing. I can get so much done. Or nothing at all. When both my husband and my son started complaining that I was so addicted to my Blackberry that I didn’t notice them, I knew I had a problem. I had just thought I was a Blackberry Girl.
So I started realizing that how I spend my time might have some impact on whether I am reaching my goals. I know I’m always busy. Emails, texts, constant communication. But maybe I’m just running a treadmill?
Ironically, they had a marathon of Ground Hog Day on TBS or something last week. (Yes, they played it over and over. Lol.) Like a sucker, I watched even though I have seen it many times before. (I watched in between emails, anyway.) I didn’t see the end but I asked my friend who is a huge Bill Murray fan: “What finally got him to the next day?” It was when he started focusing on the people in his life in a helpful and vulnerable way. He wasn’t concerned about what he was getting from them. But he still was going after what he wanted. (i.e. Andie MacDowell.)
 I want to recommend to you, if you are single, to be Bill Murray. Try to be Bill Murray in the last go ‘round of Ground Hog Day, not Bill Murray in Caddyshack. (The pond is not so good for you.) Bill Murray in Lost in Translation is not bad either.
What this means— There’s a guy who was in the papers this week because he has spent $65,000 on Matchmakers and has not gotten a mate. I have not worked with him but supposedly I might be approached next. (at least that’s what the Yahoo reporter said when she quoted me)
Here’s what I would tell him: I run a matchmaking company, Matchmaker Cafe, but I don’t consider myself a matchmaker because finding love cannot be outsourced. It cannot be figured out on paper nor by an algorithm. You have to meet. Emailing and texting is only useful to the extent that you use that technology to set up a date. At Matchmaker Café we facilitate dates because you are busy and you may need a concierge. We don’t promise to find the person for you. You have to collaborate with us, to have some skin in the game. We know that you don’t need endless email noise and phone tag. You don’t need to spend thousands of dollars on matchmakers and your iPhone (or Blackberry!) is not going to help you that much. You need to have a date. And you need to show up for it. It’s as simple as that. But over and over. Until it works, like Bill Murray.
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Nancy Slotnick: We’ve Got an Hour
By Nancy Slotnick, on Tue Jan 15, 2013 at 8:30 AM ET The new buzz word in the world of tech entrepreneurs is cherry-picking. It’s used as a verb, as in “You can cherry-pick your customers based on targeted demographics.” These MBA types like to have shared lingo because it makes them sound smart. I like to learn it so that I can pretend to fit in. I never really do fit in, but it got me thinking about cherry-picking and where that expression came from.
I believe that life is a bowl of cherries. Lately I have been affirming that belief on a daily basis with the intention of creatively visualizing a brave new 2013 for me. So far it’s working. But often when I get all excited about a goal or a new year’s resolution it goes through the following cycle: Hope, Action, Reinforcement, Bold Action, Rejection, Defeat. Repeat.
I’m trying to break that cycle with my “no fear” new year’s resolution. I suspect that cherry-picking may be part of the problem. If life is a bowl of cherries, and that is the symbol of beauty in the world, then it must hold true that
Cherry-picking = Nitpicking.
Aha, there’s the rub. I picture some lesser version of myself going to Whole Foods and literally picking out cherries one by one to get the best. But they are all cherries at Whole Foods! Granted the cherries at this store could be dubbed Whole Paycheck but they’re going to be delicious and it can’t possibly be worth my time to pick them out one by one.
I tell myself- “Just buy the bag. Enjoy the cherries. Don’t be nitpicky.” It’s not even as unpredictable as Forrest Gump said about the chocolates. You do know what you’re going to get- a cherry! If it’s no good then you spit it out along with the pit and you move on. (Do those of you out there who are dating see where I am going with this?) You still have a bowl of cherries.
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Nancy Slotnick: A Bowl of Cherries
By Nancy Slotnick, on Tue Jan 8, 2013 at 8:30 AM ET “You never don’t know” is what my mother-in-law says when she means “You never know.”
It must be said in a Polish accent with the conviction that only a Holocaust survivor could pull off while using a double negative. So by the theory of transitivity, “You never don’t know” equals “You always know.” I’m going with that theory.
You always know.
If you can tap into your instincts, and distinguish them from anxiety, you always know. “Is he the One?” You know. “Should I have that opening line?” You know. “Should I write that email to reach out?” You know, but you don’t always listen to your gut. You talk yourself out of it.
Do you expect greatness to come your way or mediocrity? Or disaster? Murphy’s Law is more about Murphy than about a law of nature. I think Murphy attracted bad luck because he’s always expecting bad luck and it feeds on itself. Of course if you want to attract good luck you have to do the work. There’s plenty of good luck out there and it will come your way sooner or later. You just have to be prepared to seize your luck.
Here’s how: Let’s say you’re on a train traveling for the holidays, like I am right now. Let’s say you’re single and you secretly wish that the man of your dreams would sit next to you. You do hold out the hope for good luck. But you also dread the fat lady who talks your ear off or the crying baby that blocks the audio of Gossip Girl Season 2. Even though you’ve already seen it. You are tempted to just put your backpack up on the seat next to you, put on your headphones and go into “Do Not Disturb” mode. If you’re lucky, then the train is not sold out and you will get two seats to yourself. But is that what you really want?
If you know that you want more, you may have to put your “Cablight” on, as I call it, and try to show that the seat is available for the right guy. There is a strategy you can employ. Put the backpack up as you scope the crowd passing by. Choose your target. He may not be your Brad Pitt, but pick the best one of the lot of train travelers with your mind’s eye and start your training to attract what you want in life.
As he gets about 2 seats away from you, move the backpack and look up. Make eye contact. This will be hard. Be vulnerable for a second and make it visible to him in your eyes. Then look away and go back to Gossip Girl so he doesn’t think you’re a stalker and he knows that you aren’t going to be annoyingly forward. Let him come to you. This should work if you do it right, with confidence and humility at the same time. It probably won’t though. Law of averages.
But if it doesn’t, get up and move seats. Why? Because you still have hope that there’s a better guy in another car. Because you’re willing to give up the comfort of a window seat near the Café car for the chance of finding something better. Someone better. Like Deal or No Deal with the universe. You believe that the banker has something good in store for you in that briefcase and you’re willing to take risks.
In the Harry Potter adventures, they say that the wizard doesn’t choose the wand. The wand chooses the wizard. What it means to turn your Cablight on is that you have to be in an open mindset for the wand to find you. And even if it finds you, you’ll have no idea how to use it unless you train. Train yourself to be bold and push past your comfort zone. And take the train. The only person you will meet if you’re driving in your car is the toll-booth operator. Really?!?
By Nancy Slotnick, on Tue Jan 1, 2013 at 8:30 AM ET “If we are going to survive this, you need to remember, fear is not real. It is a product of the thoughts you create. Now do not misunderstand me; danger is very real. But fear is a choice.”
–Will Smith, as a Dad to son in an upcoming survival sci-fi movie
I liken dating in the modern world to sci-fi survival in this sense. There is a lot of fear but not nearly as much danger as it would seem. People talk about the fear of meeting an axe murderer, but statistically speaking that is not likely. Getting rejected, on the other hand, is par for the course. So is succumbing to fear of rejection based on real danger or just a choice? And how do we determine where the line is?
Heartbreak is real. For some, it can be debilitating. But in dating, if you’re the one doing the rejecting and you’re never the “rejectee,” then you’re probably not aiming high enough. In true love situations, I believe that both people feel lucky. Both feel that their date is a little out of their league. And so it’s so exciting when it really happens. And so gut-wrenching when it crashes and burns.
My New Year’s resolution is to know the difference between danger and fear and to choose against fear. This is not easy; I may need some help. My stomach is no help- it would steer me away from everything. My mind is no help. I would obsess until the window of time had passed. My shame is no help. I’m letting go of shame. But acting shamelessly can sometimes leave me to embarrass myself or piss people off. Just ask the Gallaghers on Showtime.
My grammar auto-correct is green-lining “I may need some help.” Is that because I should be more sure about my needs? If I need help, it should be a definite. Maybe I don’t need help. Maybe I just need grit and determination. I also need a healthy dollop of faith, which is hard to come by these days. Luckily I have a reserve of faith that I saved for a rainy new year’s day, like a special bottle of wine in my cellar. Do have a faith cellar?
Try to find yours. Actually do not try. As Yoda says: “Try there is not. Do or do not.” Every time the universe throws you a bone- like a great date with someone who lives in another country- hold onto the good faith. Let go of the guy. Keep the faith perfectly chilled in your faith cellar until you find yourself in need of reserve. Thank the universe for giving you a taste of what is to come, rather than cursing the universe for taking it away. There’s more goodness where that came from, if you can choose against fear.
This year, make it your resolution to get rejected as much as you can. The more times you are rejected the closer you are getting what you seek. In sales, they say: “Every no leads you closer to a yes.” That is, if you can learn from your failures and improve. Do not seek perfection (that is foolish), but aim high. Disappointment comes when it comes, and it sucks as it always does. The fact that you didn’t get your hopes up doesn’t really make it better. You have to get your hopes up if you want anything good to happen. It’s your dream- make it big.
When I had my dating-café Drip and it reached its height of popularity circa 1997, customers said to me: “I’ll bet you never imagined your place would be like this!” And I was thinking: “Of course I imagined it- or it would never have happened!” I didn’t say that- I was trying to be polite. And I think that I had suppressed the fact that I had been terrified that it wouldn’t turn out how I imagined. I guess it’s like the pain of childbirth—we are programmed to forget that fear or we would never endure it again.
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Nancy Slotnick: New Year’s Resolution — Be Fearless
By Nancy Slotnick, on Mon Dec 24, 2012 at 8:30 AM ET I’m from Newton, Mass., which is not the same as Newtown, Conn. But as President Obama put it, Newtown is a town that could have been any town. It could have been any school. So it is the same. Our president also remarked that when he hears about these horrific events, he experiences them as a parent does. I did too. And besides the unspeakable grief that I allowed myself to feel but for an instant (it would have been too painful otherwise), I also felt wrath and indignation. (I may have gotten that from the Passover Haggadah — It did feel like a plague of the worst proportions.)
My indignation first went to all the usual suspects — the shooter himself, the card-carrying members of the NRA, even the inept mental health professionals who cannot identify a human ticking bomb when they see one. But then my wrath settled in on the root cause, the one that no one is talking about. I blame the mom.
I blame the mom for not knowing her son. I blame her for not seeing the signs. I blame her for not getting him help. I blame her for leaving guns in his reach. But most of all, I blame her for how he turned out. It is my belief, from what I know about psychology and what I have seen in four and a half decades of life, that a positive parental experience will not yield a suicidal psycho killer. Period. End of story.
My husband is a psychoanalyst in private practice and a clinical social worker and this is actually his theory, not mine. I have just tested it out in the real world as an anthropologist and it holds true.
Now I have no idea of what goes on behind closed doors in a murderer’s family, but I have seen in my coaching practice that torture begets torture. We have to start holding the moms responsible for their sons. I saw a school classmate of the shooter speaking on 60 Minutes. She said that he always kept to himself, he did not speak to anyone, ever. This is what the man-on-street interviews always say about the serial killers. But it’s always after the fact.
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Nancy Slotnick: Newtown
By Nancy Slotnick, on Tue Dec 11, 2012 at 8:30 AM ET “Don’t you know you’re my everything?” Chaka Khan sings in Sweet Thing. She is singing to her lover who is being shady and trying to run away. “I wish you were my lover, but you act so undercover.” Oh shoot- now I am distracted by “Chaka Khan let me rock you, let me rock you Chaka Khan. Let me rock you.” That’s all I want to do. Rock you. I feel for you. Chaka. I really do. But I also feel for me. Waiting for you is really hard. Chaka.
The waiting is always the hardest part. Waiting in line especially. I was waiting in line in the Ladies Room of the Empire Hotel Lobby recently and a stubborn-looking older woman was in front of me when I walked in. There were a few stalls there and one looked vacant to me, even though the door was closed. I attempted to check to see if it was available and the woman cockblocked me. Well, not literally because this was the Ladies Room but she did it in her own feminine way—by standing in front of me and blocking me!
Then in a very faux helpful voice she said “there’s someone in there.” I had fully intended to let her go in first if it was free, but being the good girl that I am, I backed off, fuming. (She did have about 50 lbs on me.) As soon as she went into her stall, I breezed into the stall that was supposedly occupied and of course it was vacant. (I do know how to peek under and look for feet!) The dilemma was that there was no move for me to make that would bring me justice. Should I wait for her to come out of the bathroom just to say: “man, were you wrong, lady!”? It would defeat the purpose. But it’s still bugging me two months later.
Don’t blow my high, that’s all I’m sayin’. Chaka. (sorry it’s going to keep coming out of me like a hiccup now.) I feel for you, and if you want to wait in line in the Ladies Room, that’s your prerogative. But don’t stand in my way, please.
Now, in a love relationship, this dilemma gets even trickier. There are times when you’re waiting in line together, driving in the same car, planning timing for your future or making big purchases together and you can’t just push Betty White out of the way. I actually like Betty White. She stays relevant for her age so that’s a bad example. But I think you know what I mean. You can’t push your girlfriend out of the car just because she’s telling you to drive slower. At least not when you’re driving over 25mph. Chaka.
So here’s what I do. Or I should say what I try to do when I’m having more than my usual patience and confidence. I rock you. I wink at Betty White and make a “shhh” symbol. I tiptoe over to the door, slowly swing it open and make a grand gesture, just like a Manhattan doorman right before Christmas bonuses. Then I usher her into that stall like the queen that she believes she is. She’ll be thanking me and I’ll be in the next stall in no time. That’s on my good day.
Or I sneak past her so fast that she doesn’t even see what happened and I pee before she has a chance to stop me. In that case, I rock me. I haven’t tried that one but I may be about to try it. Either way works though, and there are a million other creative ways to self-actualize. The fun is in the figuring them out. Chaka.
The words I say they may sound funny, but whoa sweet thing, don’t you know you’re my everything?
By Nancy Slotnick, on Tue Dec 4, 2012 at 8:30 AM ET Paper towels are my guilty pleasure. Is that pathetic or what? But I’m totally serious. Especially the Viva ones, that are so soft and absorb everything. I never have to touch a sponge. My husband wipes up turkey grease with a Crate and Barrel hand towel and it kills me. Why? I wish it didn’t. I’m trying to train myself not to care. Shalom Bayit is the term for letting sh*t go for the sake of peace in the family. It’s more than that. It’s letting go of thinking that the way I do everything is the right way. Realizing that there are many ways to skin a cat. And that some of us would never dare skin a cat. But my husband would if we were hungry enough. I respect that. He does love cats too.
So I have to pull it together when he puts the Tupperware on the bottom shelf of the dishwasher. I stole that line from Liz Lemon on 30 Rock, btw. I was encouraged to know that I’m not the only one who worries about crap like that! But a little scared to think that I’m about as sexy as Liz Lemon sometimes. I used to be sexy though. And I think I still can be on a good day. In further tribute to Tina Fey, I don’t own Mom Jeans. But I’m not quite Nancy [MILF] on Weeds. That’s probably good news for my son, as well as for the paper towel industry, but it might not be so good for me.
I must channel my inner MILF. Okay, excuse me, there’s something I need to go do.
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Nancy Slotnick: You Sexy Think.
By RP Staff, on Tue Nov 27, 2012 at 3:00 PM ET From Emily Frost of DNAInfo.com:
UPPER WEST SIDE — Nancy Slotnick has been setting people up in New York City for decades.
But now the longtime Upper West Side resident is bridging the gap between online dating and traditional matchmaking with a new concierge dating service called Matchmaker Cafe.
Slotnick has spent the last year building a database of single people, now 3,000 members strong, who can browse each other’s Facebook profiles before requesting a meeting that Slotnick and her team help orchestrate.
Matchmaker Cafe fights the inertia that Slotnick said usually accompanies online dating, where two people end up talking online for a while but never meet. Her service “cuts to the quick,” she said.
“People have more of a tendency to put [a meeting] off or to stand each other up without the matchmaker,” she said.
Slotnick picks what she calls “hot spots” that lend themselves to easy transitions from coffee to drinks or to a longer meal, or to meeting other singles if the date doesn’t go well. She then meets both parties at the arranged spot and introduces them. The meeting serves to reduce the anxiety and awkwardness of a blind date, she said.
“It adds the hand-holding through the process,” she said.
Matchmaker Cafe has been in beta mode since 2011, but this month Slotnick launched the paid model, in which clients pay $39.99 a month for the ability to request meetings with other members.
Women tend to be more passive on the site, creating a membership for free and then waiting for others to ask about them, Slotnick explained. However, she said that anyone serious about finding love should devote 15 hours a week to the search, which means going out to traditional dating spots like bars, but also becoming open to interactions at places like gyms, grocery stores or even the subway.
“With careers, people don’t have qualms about strategy, but with dating it’s supposed to magically happen,” she said. “You do have to have [finding love] on your radar screen as a goal.”
Behind the scenes, Slotnick makes herself available to customers with advice about how to make it work, an added service that she said distinguishes her model from existing online dating companies.
But, “I don’t believe you can outsource [the work of creating a relationship],” she said.
Slotnick spends part of her time moving around the city scouting new locations for dates. She said she hopes to eventually create partnerships with these dating hubs.
Slotnick once owned one of these hubs herself, when she started Drip Cafe on East 83rd Street and Amsterdam Avenue in 1996 as a place devoted to helping people find relationships. In the pre-internet, pre-online dating era, cafe customers could spend time flipping through binders of hand-written dating profiles, and then Slotnick would help them schedule a date at the cafe. She said that at any one time, 20 to 25 dates were happening at Drip.
During the cafe’s eight-year run, “we made hundreds of marriages,” Slotnick said.
Drip had a liquor license and offered counter service, which Slotnick believes are essential elements for creating the kind of freedom of movement that promotes interaction among guests.
Though Slotnick believes the Upper West Side went through a period when many of the neighborhood’s residents, and Drip’s customers, settled down and started having children, there has been a resurgence of singles in the area lately, she said.
“The Upper West Side is getting single again,” she said, noting the many singles moving to the Lincoln Center area.
One of her favorite places to arrange meetings is the lobby of the Empire Hotel. She said she also sees possibilities at the new restaurant The Smith in Lincoln Square.
Click here to read the full article.
By Nancy Slotnick, on Tue Nov 27, 2012 at 8:30 AM ET  “You never don’t know” is what my mother-in-law says when she means “You never know.” It must be said in a Polish accent with the conviction that only a Holocaust survivor could pull off while using a double negative. So by the theory of transitivity, “You never don’t know” equals “You always know.” I’m going with that theory. You always know.
If you can tap into your instincts, and distinguish them from anxiety, you always know. “Is he the One?” You know. “Should I have that opening line?” You know. “Should I write that email to reach out?” You know, but you don’t always listen to your gut. You talk yourself out of it.
Do you expect greatness to come your way or mediocrity? Or disaster? Murphy’s Law is more about Murphy than about a law of nature. I think Murphy attracted bad luck because he’s always expecting bad luck and it feeds on itself. Of course if you want to attract good luck you have to do the work. There’s plenty of good luck out there and it will come your way sooner or later. You just have to be prepared to seize your luck.
Here’s how: Let’s say you’re on a train traveling for the holidays, like I am right now. Let’s say you’re single and you secretly wish that the man of your dreams would sit next to you. You do hold out the hope for good luck. But you also dread the fat lady who talks your ear off or the crying baby that blocks the audio of Gossip Girl Season 2. Even though you’ve already seen it. You are tempted to just put your backpack up on the seat next to you, put on your headphones and go into “Do Not Disturb” mode. If you’re lucky, then the train is not sold out and you will get two seats to yourself. But is that what you really want?
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Nancy Slotnick: You Never Don’t Know
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Rather than crying and running out of the restaurant (at first, at least), which I would have done, she balks. That’s the best word for her face. She looks at him, condescendingly, and says; “You actually think I’m crazier than you.” Not in the form of a question, but as a statement of disbelief. It’s great. I admire that. I wish that in the midst of a heated argument I could have the composure to do that. It was awesome. And then she smashes all the dishes off the table in one fell swoop and runs out of the restaurant, crying. I kind of wish I could do that too. The dishes part. The crying part I’m good at.
