Type A, B, or O?

A wise friend told me about a dating theory today. It went along the lines of people falling into two categories. Type A or B. Type A'ers were relationship queens; The kind who could fall out of a four year romance and get right back on the horse two months later. And then there's the Type B variety. They're the ones catapulting from one fling to the next on a perpetual single girl haze. This probably describes most Manhattan women (as Millionaire Matchmaker's Patty has, to my woeful surprise stated, there is a 5 to 1 female to male ratio in the Big Apple).
Upon hearing this theory, I had a moment where my extra-regular girl reflexes kicked in and screamed in my head, "I'm Type B! I'm going to be single FOREVER! UGH!" But there must be a way around this type of thinking... there has to be some type of.. "rH factor" (I'm a huge nerd) to change up this scenario... but what is it?
I decided an addendum was necessary. There would be a Type O. The women who fall into this category are the Carrie Bradshaws of the world. The kind of woman who isn't afraid to date casually, because there's a whole sea of men out there and if you don't go fishing, who's to know when you'll miss the opportunity to reel in the next potential Mr. Big? Now, I know you're asking: What's the difference between Type B and Type O then? Well, the simple answer is: Mindset.
If Patty is right, of the 2m in the Manhattan population, there are around 400k men swimming around this little island. So for the Type B ladies out there, the "Woe is me" moment of despair sets in all too soon. But for those Type O women, the reality has become clear: It's all a numbers game. If you open yourself up to meeting new people everyday, you'll find that one of these days, you'll be sitting at a Starbucks counter, sipping on your latte, and Mr. Big himself may be enjoying his own brew right next to you (True story*).
So I'm embracing Type O. O positive that is.

Old Shoes

Is it something we women just can't gain self-control of? Is there some x chromosome gene that gives us that obsession with shoes to the point of near bankruptcy and lack of grocery money? And a current problem: Why can't I get rid of old shoes?
There's a metaphor here, but that's all I'm saying. Old shoes are so great sometimes. They're reliable, and predictable, and always there when nothing else seems to work. You know, the pair that you can always count on to be able to walk fourteen blocks in a not feel a pinch or squeeze. The pair that is just casual enough to dress down a sexy dress, but just right to jazz up a lazy outfit. The pair that you always seem to run to when nothing else is working and ten outfit changes later, you're back in the same shirt and jeans, and of course those shoes.
But they're also the pair that has that weird dent in the toe from the time you tried to climb a fence, or the scuff marks that give them character, or the weird way the heel always feels wonky on the left foot, b/c maybe they've just been strutting for a year too much.
So when do you give them up? When is it time to just drop them in the shoot and venture to find a replacement? Is it when you chance upon a brand new pair of perfect Katheryn Amberleighs that may or may not take up your next pay check (but seriously the perfect shade of aqua green dyed horse hair atop those sexy stilletos) and this is still a question?
The line of realistic utilitarian motive and pure animal (female?) desire is in question here. What are the answers? I just don't know... but I do know that I need a new pair of go-to brown flats. Any recs on where to find the perfect pair?

On One Night Stands

A tid bit was revealed to me today by a 30-something female co-worker that threatened to shake my entire definition of dating in the city forever. The conversation started on a commonplace subject: a cute guy. And led to a silly statement that he let leak nonchalantly, "I wouldn't want to date a girl who had more than 1 one-night stand a month... for guys, I think 2 a month is acceptable."
Really now. Is this standard? Is this legitimate? Would more than silly frat boy concur with this egregious statement? What was completely undermining though was that co-worker thought cute guy needed a reality check. She didn't think it was fair to put such restraints on her dating routine. I sat in shock, dumbfounded, taking in the Union Square afternoon sun.
This entire episode launched me into an introspective about the list... you know, the hook up list (formerly dubbed, "The Bang List"). I remember a time in life... lets say sophomore year of high school, when a good friend and I decided that we'd be married with a list shorter than we could count on our hands. At some point, I guess this morphed into toes too. But what happens, god forbid, when even this isn't even enough? I sigh, thinking about co-worker, her 30-something years, and her list. Doing the math quickly, that would be more than hands and toes in just ONE year!
Have the unwritten rules of society evolved so quickly, that even I, a 20-something social New Yorker, has skipped a beat and fallen into sub-social "prude" status?
I don't know how I feel about this yet. I suppose this week is as good a week as any to test out my feelings...