I was early, something I rarely am, when I arrived at Stir on 73rd and First Avenue for yet another blind date. It had been a week of many first dates, and no potential second dates as I was more and more convinced that the available men in New York were all less appealing than those I would meet at convention of Barry Manilow groupies.

I walked into the bar and gazed around trying to see if I had arrived before what ever prize package was going to be my torture device for the evening. It was a bit early for a Wednesday night, 7 or so and the waitresses were lighting the tea candles on the cozy tables as they set up for another evening. “Hi,” an attractive and well dressed gentleman said to me. “Hi,” I said kissing his cheek hello and trying to recall the details of his online profile. He looked even better in person, I thought as he ordered me a wine and we sat down on the bar stools. “Cool place you suggested,” he said handing me my Pinot Grigio and taking a sip from his vodka tonic.

“I didn’t suggest this place. You did. You said you lived right across the street from it,” I said. “Maybe you are thinking of another Jdate you have coming up,” I joked back.

He starred at me for a long contemplative moment without saying a word. When he finally spoke he said, “I think there has been a mistake. Your name isn’t Missy?”

“No, is your name Jake?” I asked.

“Nope. It’s Jeff and I think I know you. You are friends with Josh Miller.”

As it turned out, this was not my date, but in fact he was friends with someone I used to date. We both had a good laugh as Missy, his real date, made her way over to us unbuttoning her Burberry coat, looking very unpleased that I seemed to be encroaching on her prey. I tried to graciously exit my non-date date situation where I had scored a free glass of wine and pretty much assured them an awkward first few moments.

A few minutes later, my date arrived looking all too much like his online photos and a few inches shorter than his given height. We grabbed a table, far away from Jeff and Missy, as she continued to shoot me nasty looks. As with all first dates, we covered the basics: job, family, dating horror stories even before I had finished the first glass of wine. We ordered another round of drinks as our casual conversation continued to be far from dazzling but entertaining enough to warrant some more alcohol.

I scanned the room to see what else was going on. The bar was beginning to fill up, the banquette along the side wall was lined with other couples uncomfortably trying to make first date conversations, male suitors stood perched against the bar watching the door like the last 10 seconds of a tied Knicks game waiting for their date to appear. It seemed I had stumbled into the Upper East Side’s unofficial first date bar.

I excused myself and headed to the bathroom where I waited in line for the less than adequate number of stalls. “Ok, here is the plan. You are going to call me in 10 minutes and pretend there is an emergency,” I hear a cute brunette in leather pants tell her friend on the other end of the cell phone. “He looks nothing like his picture and he is telling me about his mother’s famous chicken pot pie. This is painful, get me out of here!”

Back at the table my bearable but far from good first date continued as I saw Missy and Jeff’s date end rather quickly as he paid the bill and they went in different directions out the door. By the end of this round of drinks, it was pretty obvious to both Jake and I that this was not a match either. Nothing ventured, nothing gained…..and a few glasses of wine and some pleasant conversation isn’t a horrible way to spend a night.

Stir is a great first date place. The music is just loud enough to be heard but soft enough to allow for conversation. The chocolate brown couches are inviting and the rather central location is convenient for all UES inhabitants and not too far from other areas of the city. And unbeknownst to me, its reputation for cool drinks and a quality first date environ had circulated among the masses of New York daters.

I paused outside the bar after Jake made his way home to enjoy my post date cigarette before finding a cab. I rummaged through my larger than necessary handbag searching for the pack of Parliament lights which were buried beneath scads of paper, receipts and typical handbag junk finally pulling a cigarette out. Reaching back into the jungle of my bag for a lighter, I stopped. “Need a light?” a six foot plus gorgeous hunk of a Manhattan man with glittering green eyes and a matching smile offered. “Bad first date? Me too,” he said smiling and lighting my cigarette. “But things are looking up,” he added as my eyes lit up with possibility.