New York hasn’t produced a suitable wife for actor-filmmaker Eric Schaeffer (If Lucy Fell, Mind the Gap), so he’s taking his chances on the road. He’ll be going on dates with women he’s been fixed up with or met online from five of the thirteen cities on the promotional tour for his book, I Can’t Believe I’m Still Single, which starts next week, and turning it into a documentary that will hit next year’s festival circuit.
“Hopefully, [it’ll] be the next Supersize Me,” says the 45-year-old Upper West Sider. After a three-week fling with a “put-together” Spence type went awry last year, Schaeffer launched a blog, fessing up to happy-ending massages and dominatrix hookups. Not everyone was impressed by his candor; Gawker hated it and branded him a “sociopath.” (“Clearly, [the editor] wants to go out with me,” he jokes. “It’s like the fourth-grade girl who punches you on your arm.”) But the self-professed “recovering alcoholic-drug-addict-food-addict” insists he’s not as pervy as he sounds and truly wants to settle down. “I’m really very traditional,” he says. “I don’t have to be having sex all the time.” Mm-hmm. —S. Jhoanna Robledo