See The Downtown Hipster, The Way to a Girl's Heart, Momma's Boy, Update, Revisited and Down the Rabbit Hole for the background on this one.
Time has spoken. In fact, only time has spoken. It's been a week since my Algonquin date with #100 and there have been no texts and certainly no phone calls. This is completely unfamiliar territory. Is this the new breed of dater? The old breed of dater?
I've conducted an informal poll about what could be going on. Some men simply don't get it and think #100's gone for good. Other men say it's not that unusual: he may be dating around, he may be distracted or, a la When Harry Met Sally, he may be trapped under something heavy. Some women tell me to get in touch with him (I already did that once for the Algonquin date), others say men know when we are available (this was supported by one of the polled men above) and that he has to want it and come to me. Heidi has been through exactly the same thing and said she wouldn't be surprised if it took him two weeks to contact me.
About three days into the silence, I decided I didn't want to be that girl--the one who waits around for the guy to get in touch, gets angry and then acts pissed off when he finally does--as if we made a tacit relationship agreement and he isn't holding up his end of the bargain. It's true. No such agreement was made. After all, he's just a guy (or as I've started to say more often, "Just a fucking guy."). (For the record, I do reserve the right to put a time cap on the whole thing. For example, if #100 doesn't contact me within two weeks? three? I can opt out. If I can, that is.)
I'd rather be the kind of girl who dates around until a guy smartens up and locks me down. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that how dating went several decades ago? So, standards now significantly lowered--a long time coming--I've set up a bunch of dates. On the roster: an unemployed screenwriter, a Persian cardio-something-ist, a tattoo artist with facial ink and, well, I've already forgotten the details on the others.
As for #100, if he does get in touch, I may not be quite so available. This may look and feel like a game, but it's not a game. I've got a lot of dating to do.
Next in the #100 series: I Can See Clearly Now the Rain is Gone
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #100: Not Exactly Stalking
We were looking for an excuse to meet Nora's on-again, off-again married (but separated) boyfriend while they were on-again and we decided to making a bar-night outing of it, getting Heidi's boyfriend to come along, too. I picked the bar--Sweet and Vicious. If you'll remember, that's where I met #100 twice. Although he said he didn't usually go there, I thought it was worth a shot. I hadn't heard from him since our trip to The Algonquin.
Bar Night: Heidi and Jeff got there first, snagging part of the banquette, which afforded a great view of the bar at which #100 and I had previously canoodled. When Nora and David got there, Heidi and I surreptitiously eyed him over. Contrary to the abnormal intensity of Nora's now nearly six-month obsession with him as well as the dramatic nature of their relationship, we thought he was actually fairly normal-looking and -acting.
While they remained intertwined for the majority of the evening, Heidi and Jeff seemed to come apart. Jeff had the waitress keep the red wine coming, and, as he grew more drunk, Heidi grew more aggravated. Because I was the only one there flying solo, he would jump up occasionally and bark that he was going to "get [me] a man," he said. Heidi would have to forcibly make him sit and stay.
After getting him to heal a couple of times, Heidi turned and said to me, "I'm not sure how much longer this is going to last." It wasn't clear if she cared or not that he heard her over the music. Fortunately, Sweet and Vicious keeps the volume up.
As we left, I took one last look around the room. There was no sign of #100, but I couldn't help but noticed how young--and uncomfortable--everyone looked. It made me feel bad--and good--at the same time.
Diagnosis: Nora and David seem fairly solid, Shelagh and Jeff seem fairly on the rocks and I am, most definitely--and despite my minor stalking of #100--still flying solo.
Bar Night: Heidi and Jeff got there first, snagging part of the banquette, which afforded a great view of the bar at which #100 and I had previously canoodled. When Nora and David got there, Heidi and I surreptitiously eyed him over. Contrary to the abnormal intensity of Nora's now nearly six-month obsession with him as well as the dramatic nature of their relationship, we thought he was actually fairly normal-looking and -acting.
While they remained intertwined for the majority of the evening, Heidi and Jeff seemed to come apart. Jeff had the waitress keep the red wine coming, and, as he grew more drunk, Heidi grew more aggravated. Because I was the only one there flying solo, he would jump up occasionally and bark that he was going to "get [me] a man," he said. Heidi would have to forcibly make him sit and stay.
After getting him to heal a couple of times, Heidi turned and said to me, "I'm not sure how much longer this is going to last." It wasn't clear if she cared or not that he heard her over the music. Fortunately, Sweet and Vicious keeps the volume up.
As we left, I took one last look around the room. There was no sign of #100, but I couldn't help but noticed how young--and uncomfortable--everyone looked. It made me feel bad--and good--at the same time.
Diagnosis: Nora and David seem fairly solid, Shelagh and Jeff seem fairly on the rocks and I am, most definitely--and despite my minor stalking of #100--still flying solo.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #87: Brief Adventures in Beantown
This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa late 2004/early 2005.
Vital Stats: Bostonian, 32, 5'10". Writer for financial company. Aesthetic: Post-collegiate Bostonian (jeans, checked button-down shirts under crew neck sweaters). Demeanor: He seemed shy at first.
First Impression: We met online via the Nerve.com dating site in the Fall of 2004. He would write long, descriptive missives about trips to 4H Fairs and the like. I liked the attention but it was also as if he could have been writing to anyone--or everyone--or as if he were practicing for his future memoir. We lost touch for a few months while I attempted to date #86 for the third time and he had his own on-again-off-again thing going on and then we got back in touch in the late Winter of 2005.
First Date: I had a work trip to Boston planned and took the train up. We arranged to meet for Ethiopian Food in Central Square in Cambridge and we got along so well we went for coffee afterward. At first, he seemed like a "nice" guy--slightly shy, slightly nerdy, but cute. I usually don't like guys who seem shy, since I tend toward shyness, but, since we'd been in touch for so long, I decided to focus on the positives.
Signs of Hope: A few weeks after our first date, he traveled to NYC for second date. We met for brunch at the Pink Pony, where, as soon as I walked in and saw him, I realized, "He's cute." I could tell that, in a black button-down--minus the sweater--he'd made some effort to look a little less collegiate, a little more city. After brunch, we went to a show at The International Center of Photography and then went for carrot cake at Mayrose Diner, which, at the time, had the best carrot cake in the city.
Red Flags: Even though it was to mention how immature she was, he mentioned his last girlfriend on the coffee portion of our first date. On our second date, he made a lame joke at the ICP about an unattractive guy who was perusing the exhibit being my boyfriend (i.e., "Heh, heh, there's your boyfriend."). He never even attempted to kiss me. Not once.
Turning Point: One night, he called and said he was talking to his ex-girlfriend again and was confused about what he was doing. Unable to quite let go, I said we could still keep in touch as friends, but, soon afterward, I met #88 and never bothered.
Diagnosis: For him: Most likely, he had never stopped talking to his ex-girlfriend. In fact, she was probably never an ex at all.
For me: I did the best with what I was given.
Vital Stats: Bostonian, 32, 5'10". Writer for financial company. Aesthetic: Post-collegiate Bostonian (jeans, checked button-down shirts under crew neck sweaters). Demeanor: He seemed shy at first.
First Impression: We met online via the Nerve.com dating site in the Fall of 2004. He would write long, descriptive missives about trips to 4H Fairs and the like. I liked the attention but it was also as if he could have been writing to anyone--or everyone--or as if he were practicing for his future memoir. We lost touch for a few months while I attempted to date #86 for the third time and he had his own on-again-off-again thing going on and then we got back in touch in the late Winter of 2005.
First Date: I had a work trip to Boston planned and took the train up. We arranged to meet for Ethiopian Food in Central Square in Cambridge and we got along so well we went for coffee afterward. At first, he seemed like a "nice" guy--slightly shy, slightly nerdy, but cute. I usually don't like guys who seem shy, since I tend toward shyness, but, since we'd been in touch for so long, I decided to focus on the positives.
Signs of Hope: A few weeks after our first date, he traveled to NYC for second date. We met for brunch at the Pink Pony, where, as soon as I walked in and saw him, I realized, "He's cute." I could tell that, in a black button-down--minus the sweater--he'd made some effort to look a little less collegiate, a little more city. After brunch, we went to a show at The International Center of Photography and then went for carrot cake at Mayrose Diner, which, at the time, had the best carrot cake in the city.
Red Flags: Even though it was to mention how immature she was, he mentioned his last girlfriend on the coffee portion of our first date. On our second date, he made a lame joke at the ICP about an unattractive guy who was perusing the exhibit being my boyfriend (i.e., "Heh, heh, there's your boyfriend."). He never even attempted to kiss me. Not once.
Turning Point: One night, he called and said he was talking to his ex-girlfriend again and was confused about what he was doing. Unable to quite let go, I said we could still keep in touch as friends, but, soon afterward, I met #88 and never bothered.
Diagnosis: For him: Most likely, he had never stopped talking to his ex-girlfriend. In fact, she was probably never an ex at all.
For me: I did the best with what I was given.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #88: The Runner
This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa 2005.
Vital Stats: 33, 5'8". Underemployed as a stock boy at a children's bookstore uptown. Hyperthyroidically thin, complete with bulging eyeballs and flimsy forearms.
First Impression: I'd seen him around for years and thought he looked crazy. A friend of mine had a crush on him and we were encouraging her to flirt with him. I thought nothing of him until one night at a group diner outing, he stopped to talk to me when I was on my way back from the bathroom and I thought, "He likes me." And then I realized, "Holy shit, I like him." It was as instant as that.
First Date: From the day of the diner encounter, it took him about a month to actually ask me out. It was the Spring of 2005 and we had Saturday night plans for dinner. On Saturday, I was waiting for a call from him to outline the plans. Finally, around 6 p.m., he said he was on his way over. I said I still needed to get ready. He seemed to realize his mistake and said he'd dawdle a bit on his way over. He picked me up at my apartment around 7 p.m. and we walked to a Vietnamese restaurant in Chinatown. And then went for ice cream.
Signs of Hope: He brought flowers on our second or third date. Kissed me on maybe our fifth--at Belvedere Castle in Central Park, an outing for which I took the day off. Things were going well and then one day he said he wanted to take things slow. It seemed an odd announcement especially because we were taking things slow (Hello? First kiss on the fifth date). We hadn't even slept together yet.
A few months into it, things were great. He said he wanted to be someone I could count on. He officially asked me to be his girlfriend. He said he loved me. When I expressed fear that he might bolt, he made all kinds of promises about not running off.
Red Flags: There were a few red flags along the way. He got weird and distant after our second or third date but seemed to recover until...I had a story reading a few months later at a cafe and he, strangely, couldn't make it (though he said he was sad about it) but things seemed to recover until...our last few dates. He started to more actively freak out. When we were together, he didn't want to leave me and when we were apart, he would completely come apart.
And then it was the day before I was about to leave for a 10-day trip to Istanbul for a wedding. He was completely distant but unwilling to tell me what was wrong. I repeatedly asked him what was wrong, even leaving him a message before I left asking if I'd done something, but he told me nothing. I spent the next 10 days in Istanbul trying to be a good tourist and wedding guest (I thought I could hide amidst the gaggle of other guests but realized on the plane ride over that there was only one other guest). In the late afternoons after sightseeing, I'd go back to the hotel, take a shower and lie in bed listening to the chanting from the mosques and watching the BBC to try to not think about him. Annoyingly, the coverage was predominantly about home--specifically, Hurricane Katrina.
I sent him occasional emails to try to get a read on what was happening--not with Katrina but with him (Katrina was devastating, but the storm in my personal life felt a million times worse). He replied even more occasionally, saying little, which I knew was bad.
Turning Point: He had told me he'd meet me at the airport, so when I got to the airport, I called his cell phone. He didn't answer. And then he appeared by the cab line where we were. I knew instantly that he hadn't answered because he wasn't sure if he wanted me to know he was there. We got a cab to my place, sharing with the bride, groom and other guest (again, hiding=impossible), and dropped my stuff off in my apartment. He said he wanted to go to the corner coffee shop to talk. Walking down the stairs of my apartment building, I knew what was about to happen and, having been dumped at that coffee shop before, I made him stop and talk on my front stoop.
He told me it was over and then blamed me for having to end it. He told me I wasn't ready for a relationship, blah, blah, blah. Nothing of what he said made any sense. Gratifyingly, his jeans zipper was broken and his fly was open the whole time he was breaking up with me. And he had an hour subway ride ahead of him through Harlem to Inwood.
Diagnosis: For him: He totally freaked out. He was a runner. It would have happened sooner or later. He inspired the run loser run T-shirt. As my shrink said, he didn't think he was good enough for me, and so he wasn't. I'm also pretty sure that, for the next two years, he was the person who would call my phone and hang up right after I answered.
For me: Even if there was a remote chance that he was right about what he said (i.e., that I wasn't ready for a relationship), it didn't matter because I wasn't the one who ran away. The emotional aftermath I experienced when this relationship ended was, well, horrible. A true doozy. For a good eight months afterward it was incredibly difficult to function. I was unable to date for more than a year and I didn't have a serious relationship for five years--until, for better or worse, #111.
Vital Stats: 33, 5'8". Underemployed as a stock boy at a children's bookstore uptown. Hyperthyroidically thin, complete with bulging eyeballs and flimsy forearms.
First Impression: I'd seen him around for years and thought he looked crazy. A friend of mine had a crush on him and we were encouraging her to flirt with him. I thought nothing of him until one night at a group diner outing, he stopped to talk to me when I was on my way back from the bathroom and I thought, "He likes me." And then I realized, "Holy shit, I like him." It was as instant as that.
First Date: From the day of the diner encounter, it took him about a month to actually ask me out. It was the Spring of 2005 and we had Saturday night plans for dinner. On Saturday, I was waiting for a call from him to outline the plans. Finally, around 6 p.m., he said he was on his way over. I said I still needed to get ready. He seemed to realize his mistake and said he'd dawdle a bit on his way over. He picked me up at my apartment around 7 p.m. and we walked to a Vietnamese restaurant in Chinatown. And then went for ice cream.
Signs of Hope: He brought flowers on our second or third date. Kissed me on maybe our fifth--at Belvedere Castle in Central Park, an outing for which I took the day off. Things were going well and then one day he said he wanted to take things slow. It seemed an odd announcement especially because we were taking things slow (Hello? First kiss on the fifth date). We hadn't even slept together yet.
A few months into it, things were great. He said he wanted to be someone I could count on. He officially asked me to be his girlfriend. He said he loved me. When I expressed fear that he might bolt, he made all kinds of promises about not running off.
Red Flags: There were a few red flags along the way. He got weird and distant after our second or third date but seemed to recover until...I had a story reading a few months later at a cafe and he, strangely, couldn't make it (though he said he was sad about it) but things seemed to recover until...our last few dates. He started to more actively freak out. When we were together, he didn't want to leave me and when we were apart, he would completely come apart.
And then it was the day before I was about to leave for a 10-day trip to Istanbul for a wedding. He was completely distant but unwilling to tell me what was wrong. I repeatedly asked him what was wrong, even leaving him a message before I left asking if I'd done something, but he told me nothing. I spent the next 10 days in Istanbul trying to be a good tourist and wedding guest (I thought I could hide amidst the gaggle of other guests but realized on the plane ride over that there was only one other guest). In the late afternoons after sightseeing, I'd go back to the hotel, take a shower and lie in bed listening to the chanting from the mosques and watching the BBC to try to not think about him. Annoyingly, the coverage was predominantly about home--specifically, Hurricane Katrina.
I sent him occasional emails to try to get a read on what was happening--not with Katrina but with him (Katrina was devastating, but the storm in my personal life felt a million times worse). He replied even more occasionally, saying little, which I knew was bad.
Turning Point: He had told me he'd meet me at the airport, so when I got to the airport, I called his cell phone. He didn't answer. And then he appeared by the cab line where we were. I knew instantly that he hadn't answered because he wasn't sure if he wanted me to know he was there. We got a cab to my place, sharing with the bride, groom and other guest (again, hiding=impossible), and dropped my stuff off in my apartment. He said he wanted to go to the corner coffee shop to talk. Walking down the stairs of my apartment building, I knew what was about to happen and, having been dumped at that coffee shop before, I made him stop and talk on my front stoop.
He told me it was over and then blamed me for having to end it. He told me I wasn't ready for a relationship, blah, blah, blah. Nothing of what he said made any sense. Gratifyingly, his jeans zipper was broken and his fly was open the whole time he was breaking up with me. And he had an hour subway ride ahead of him through Harlem to Inwood.
Diagnosis: For him: He totally freaked out. He was a runner. It would have happened sooner or later. He inspired the run loser run T-shirt. As my shrink said, he didn't think he was good enough for me, and so he wasn't. I'm also pretty sure that, for the next two years, he was the person who would call my phone and hang up right after I answered.
For me: Even if there was a remote chance that he was right about what he said (i.e., that I wasn't ready for a relationship), it didn't matter because I wasn't the one who ran away. The emotional aftermath I experienced when this relationship ended was, well, horrible. A true doozy. For a good eight months afterward it was incredibly difficult to function. I was unable to date for more than a year and I didn't have a serious relationship for five years--until, for better or worse, #111.
Mr. Unavailable #100: Down the Rabbit Hole
See The Downtown Hipster, The Way to a Girl's Heart, Momma's Boy, Update and Revisited for the background on this one.
This is where it either all starts to go horribly wrong (but looks like it's going terrifically right) and I get sucked in or this is where I discover I've totally misjudged this guy. Only time will tell. And, to be perfectly honest, I'm already sucked in.
The Fourth Date: We'd agreed to go for dessert at The Algonquin Hotel. He texted me earlier in the day to make sure we were still on for the evening and then surprised me by calling me and saying he'd pick me up in a cab--and acting quite nonchalant about it. When I first got in the cab, my first thought was to realize that this(?) was the guy I was all worked up about for a week? Seeing him made me think, "He's just a guy." Not in a bad way, just in a realistic way. My second thought was to realize that there was a bit of awkwardness in the cab--more on the "who are you and what are we doing" distance side of the spectrum than the "I'm so excited to see you" excited side of the spectrum. All that changed as we got a little cozier in the backseat.
At The Algonquin, we talked for two hours over a bit of chocolate cake as if we were old friends with terrible memories. I paid, since I'd invited him out, after all. And then he invited me back to his place to "watch the Olympics." After we spent some time not really watching the Olympics, I asked if he'd walk me home and he balked, but agreed to walk me downstairs and get me a cab. When we got downstairs I realized I was about three blocks from my apartment, so I said I'd just walk. "It's fine," I said. He said, "OK, let's go," and even though he was just in a sweater and it was snowing a little, he walked me home.
Diagnosis: For him: With mild prodding, he's definitely got potential.
For me: I don't think I've ever felt more comfortable on a date--with someone I was actually interested in. I've also developed a newfound fondness for the winter Olympics.
One of four things may happen (rated on a scale of 1 to 5 with 1 being unlikely and 5 being likely):
1. I'll never hear from him again (2)
2. He'll text me in a couple of days (4)
3. He'll call me (2)
4. I'll break down again and text him in a week (3, no, 2, although 1 would be more respectable)
Stay tuned...
Next in the #100 series: The Sound of Silence
This is where it either all starts to go horribly wrong (but looks like it's going terrifically right) and I get sucked in or this is where I discover I've totally misjudged this guy. Only time will tell. And, to be perfectly honest, I'm already sucked in.
The Fourth Date: We'd agreed to go for dessert at The Algonquin Hotel. He texted me earlier in the day to make sure we were still on for the evening and then surprised me by calling me and saying he'd pick me up in a cab--and acting quite nonchalant about it. When I first got in the cab, my first thought was to realize that this(?) was the guy I was all worked up about for a week? Seeing him made me think, "He's just a guy." Not in a bad way, just in a realistic way. My second thought was to realize that there was a bit of awkwardness in the cab--more on the "who are you and what are we doing" distance side of the spectrum than the "I'm so excited to see you" excited side of the spectrum. All that changed as we got a little cozier in the backseat.
At The Algonquin, we talked for two hours over a bit of chocolate cake as if we were old friends with terrible memories. I paid, since I'd invited him out, after all. And then he invited me back to his place to "watch the Olympics." After we spent some time not really watching the Olympics, I asked if he'd walk me home and he balked, but agreed to walk me downstairs and get me a cab. When we got downstairs I realized I was about three blocks from my apartment, so I said I'd just walk. "It's fine," I said. He said, "OK, let's go," and even though he was just in a sweater and it was snowing a little, he walked me home.
Diagnosis: For him: With mild prodding, he's definitely got potential.
For me: I don't think I've ever felt more comfortable on a date--with someone I was actually interested in. I've also developed a newfound fondness for the winter Olympics.
One of four things may happen (rated on a scale of 1 to 5 with 1 being unlikely and 5 being likely):
1. I'll never hear from him again (2)
2. He'll text me in a couple of days (4)
3. He'll call me (2)
4. I'll break down again and text him in a week (3, no, 2, although 1 would be more respectable)
Stay tuned...
Next in the #100 series: The Sound of Silence
Mr. Unavailable #89: Safari Guy
This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa summer 2006.
Vital Stats: 42. 6'2". Fashion guy/photographer. Divorced. Aesthetic: When I met him, he was going through a pretty serious khaki phase. Demeanor: Even though I thought he was incredibly handsome, he seemed relatively approachable.
First Impression: I met him tangentially through mutual friends in the summer of 2006. He was ruggedly handsome (think the chiseling of JFK Jr.) and, whenever I would see him, was often outfitted completely in khaki, the combination of which made it seem as if he were about to go on safari. And if he wasn't about to go on safari, then--as I and others thought--there was a good chance he was gay.
The first time we had any quality time was at dinner with him and another guy at a friend's apartment in the East Village. It became quickly apparent that he wasn't gay at all and I developed a hopeless crush. The friend who had us for dinner called me a few days later to find out if I might be interested--in the other guy who came to dinner.
Signs of Hope: I started running into him more and more. Each time, my hopes went up more and more. One time he complimented me on my watch and the hope meter shot from a three to a five (sometimes hope comes too easily). Another time, he invited me to go for ice cream and the hope meter struck seven (I tried to play it cool but completely blew it when I insisted on buying his ice cream--for his birthday a few weeks before, I claimed).
But the biggest rise on the hope meter came the time he called from a rooftop BBQ in Hell's Kitchen and asked if I wanted to meet him there. It felt like I'd just been summoned to the Kennedy compound--for, it would seem, a safari-themed party. I threw on the nicest outfit I could conjure at the time--knee-length jeans shorts and a decolletage-friendly tank top (hey, it was 2006)--and jumped in a cab. On the ride over, the hope meter hit an andrenaline-fueled nine. But, on the roof, it quickly sank to a two. He made a backhanded compliment about my outfit and was only vaguely friendly for the rest of the afternoon.
Red Flags: The good old hot-and-cold. Plus, he never did actually ever asked me out on a date.
Turning Point: I eventually lost hope (that would be a zero on the hope meter) and started dating #90. A few months after that, #89 began dating a woman who, flatteringly, seemed to hate it when I was around. They've now been together for years.
Diagnosis: For him: He was simply unavailable to me.
For me: There's a strong chance he simply wanted to be my friend and I, misled by hope, misread his intentions.
Vital Stats: 42. 6'2". Fashion guy/photographer. Divorced. Aesthetic: When I met him, he was going through a pretty serious khaki phase. Demeanor: Even though I thought he was incredibly handsome, he seemed relatively approachable.
First Impression: I met him tangentially through mutual friends in the summer of 2006. He was ruggedly handsome (think the chiseling of JFK Jr.) and, whenever I would see him, was often outfitted completely in khaki, the combination of which made it seem as if he were about to go on safari. And if he wasn't about to go on safari, then--as I and others thought--there was a good chance he was gay.
The first time we had any quality time was at dinner with him and another guy at a friend's apartment in the East Village. It became quickly apparent that he wasn't gay at all and I developed a hopeless crush. The friend who had us for dinner called me a few days later to find out if I might be interested--in the other guy who came to dinner.
Signs of Hope: I started running into him more and more. Each time, my hopes went up more and more. One time he complimented me on my watch and the hope meter shot from a three to a five (sometimes hope comes too easily). Another time, he invited me to go for ice cream and the hope meter struck seven (I tried to play it cool but completely blew it when I insisted on buying his ice cream--for his birthday a few weeks before, I claimed).
But the biggest rise on the hope meter came the time he called from a rooftop BBQ in Hell's Kitchen and asked if I wanted to meet him there. It felt like I'd just been summoned to the Kennedy compound--for, it would seem, a safari-themed party. I threw on the nicest outfit I could conjure at the time--knee-length jeans shorts and a decolletage-friendly tank top (hey, it was 2006)--and jumped in a cab. On the ride over, the hope meter hit an andrenaline-fueled nine. But, on the roof, it quickly sank to a two. He made a backhanded compliment about my outfit and was only vaguely friendly for the rest of the afternoon.
Red Flags: The good old hot-and-cold. Plus, he never did actually ever asked me out on a date.
Turning Point: I eventually lost hope (that would be a zero on the hope meter) and started dating #90. A few months after that, #89 began dating a woman who, flatteringly, seemed to hate it when I was around. They've now been together for years.
Diagnosis: For him: He was simply unavailable to me.
For me: There's a strong chance he simply wanted to be my friend and I, misled by hope, misread his intentions.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #90: "I Had a Fiancee Once"
This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa late 2006.
Vital Stats: 40, 5'6"ish. Business owner, boyishly cute, mischievous grin. Aesthetic: He had that whole T-shirt over long sleeved shirt thing going on. Demeanor: He just seemed so damned self-assured.
First Impression: I met him at a Halloween Party in 2006. I was dressed as a random flower child and he went as himself. His friend introduced herself to me first because he was too afraid to approach me on his own, which was kind of cute. I learned all about the previous three years of his career (self-described bigwig in advertising, left to start his own e-commerce business, which he was then transitioning to a brick-and-mortar shop in DUMBO) and his apartment, which, he said, had three fireplaces.
First Date: Dinner on the Lower East Side. He told a funny story about running half of the New York Marathon and then hopping on the subway and going home. He walked me home afterward and there was some noticeable chemistry.
Signs of Hope: He handled first few dates relatively well: calling, planning, making the first move. Early on, he introduced me to some close friends of his who were visiting from England.
Red Flags: He went to a Halloween party dressed as himself. When he introduced me to his friends from England, the woman was extremely chilly toward me and when I asked him about it, he said with an air of self-satisfaction, "They think no one will ever be good enough for me." (Translation: Most likely, he thought no one would ever be good enough for him.)
He was also extremely preoccupied with what people did for a living and their "goals." He talked a lot about what was wrong with his exes and made it clear he dumped them. He also made sure I knew that he had a fiancee once--bought her a ring and everything, he said, even though, at the time of the relationship, it was clear he was otherwise stranded and friendless at a job in Ohio because, as soon as he was offered a job in New York, he left Ohio and the fiancee behind.
After the first few dates, he didn't seem to know how to handle things and was entirely disinterested in sex. When we were headed back to his place after the 7th date, having still not "done it," he put forth this dreamy invitation: "I suppose we're supposed to have sex all night now." He had an apartment that he paid $3,000 a month for and I was scraping by on a pretty meager salary, but, when we would go to dinner, he would tell me how much my part of the bill was.
Turning Point: I was interviewed on TV about a story I wrote for a magazine I was writing for and, even though it didn't seem possible (re: 7th date), he cooled even more. He threw a holiday party and all but ignored me, instead hanging out with "so-and-so who is a head of advertising" and "so-and-so who runs a music studio." He dumped me a few days later saying he was just too busy with his business and not at all sure about how he felt about anything to have a relationship.
Diagnosis: For him: Despite all his talk about people "going after what they wanted," he didn't actually want anyone else to get what they wanted. He used the fact that he was engaged once as proof--to himself--that he was emotionally available, but, deep down, even he probably knew he wasn't.
For me: I was blinded by what I perceived as confidence and security. It was not to be the first time.
Vital Stats: 40, 5'6"ish. Business owner, boyishly cute, mischievous grin. Aesthetic: He had that whole T-shirt over long sleeved shirt thing going on. Demeanor: He just seemed so damned self-assured.
First Impression: I met him at a Halloween Party in 2006. I was dressed as a random flower child and he went as himself. His friend introduced herself to me first because he was too afraid to approach me on his own, which was kind of cute. I learned all about the previous three years of his career (self-described bigwig in advertising, left to start his own e-commerce business, which he was then transitioning to a brick-and-mortar shop in DUMBO) and his apartment, which, he said, had three fireplaces.
First Date: Dinner on the Lower East Side. He told a funny story about running half of the New York Marathon and then hopping on the subway and going home. He walked me home afterward and there was some noticeable chemistry.
Signs of Hope: He handled first few dates relatively well: calling, planning, making the first move. Early on, he introduced me to some close friends of his who were visiting from England.
Red Flags: He went to a Halloween party dressed as himself. When he introduced me to his friends from England, the woman was extremely chilly toward me and when I asked him about it, he said with an air of self-satisfaction, "They think no one will ever be good enough for me." (Translation: Most likely, he thought no one would ever be good enough for him.)
He was also extremely preoccupied with what people did for a living and their "goals." He talked a lot about what was wrong with his exes and made it clear he dumped them. He also made sure I knew that he had a fiancee once--bought her a ring and everything, he said, even though, at the time of the relationship, it was clear he was otherwise stranded and friendless at a job in Ohio because, as soon as he was offered a job in New York, he left Ohio and the fiancee behind.
After the first few dates, he didn't seem to know how to handle things and was entirely disinterested in sex. When we were headed back to his place after the 7th date, having still not "done it," he put forth this dreamy invitation: "I suppose we're supposed to have sex all night now." He had an apartment that he paid $3,000 a month for and I was scraping by on a pretty meager salary, but, when we would go to dinner, he would tell me how much my part of the bill was.
Turning Point: I was interviewed on TV about a story I wrote for a magazine I was writing for and, even though it didn't seem possible (re: 7th date), he cooled even more. He threw a holiday party and all but ignored me, instead hanging out with "so-and-so who is a head of advertising" and "so-and-so who runs a music studio." He dumped me a few days later saying he was just too busy with his business and not at all sure about how he felt about anything to have a relationship.
Diagnosis: For him: Despite all his talk about people "going after what they wanted," he didn't actually want anyone else to get what they wanted. He used the fact that he was engaged once as proof--to himself--that he was emotionally available, but, deep down, even he probably knew he wasn't.
For me: I was blinded by what I perceived as confidence and security. It was not to be the first time.
Mr Unavailable #100: Revisited
See The Downtown Hipster, The Way to a Girl's Heart, Momma's Boy and Update for the background on this one.
Oh, I just love me my unavailable men...
I've never been good at keeping the ball in my court, no matter how small the ball. I started wondering if maybe in trying to "get him" to ask me out and then not texting him back for a week, I was actually actively engaging in "the game."
Or maybe I just really wanted to see him and would have rationalized contact one way or another (that's probably it).
After collecting a variety of opinions, I decided to pay attention to the ones that said, "Why don't you ask him out?" Throwing self-respect to the wind, I...texted him asking him out.
Me (as if it hadn't been a week since he texted me last): Hey, I have an idea...Wanna meet up for dessert at The Algonquin sometime?
#100: Sounds good.
Me: How about tomorrow?
#100: Tomorrow no good nor Friday. How about Sunday?
Me: Sunday sounds fab.
#100: How did ur interviews go?
On the positive side, he replied immediately and even remembered a few things I had told him and asked how they were going. We're going out in a few days.
On the other hand, if my original armchair diagnosis was right, it will all go terribly wrong and here's what I've signed up for:
"Hello, 1-900-PAIN? I'd like to give you my credit card number. Yes, charge what you want."
Next in the #100 series: Down the Rabbit Hole
Oh, I just love me my unavailable men...
I've never been good at keeping the ball in my court, no matter how small the ball. I started wondering if maybe in trying to "get him" to ask me out and then not texting him back for a week, I was actually actively engaging in "the game."
Or maybe I just really wanted to see him and would have rationalized contact one way or another (that's probably it).
After collecting a variety of opinions, I decided to pay attention to the ones that said, "Why don't you ask him out?" Throwing self-respect to the wind, I...texted him asking him out.
Me (as if it hadn't been a week since he texted me last): Hey, I have an idea...Wanna meet up for dessert at The Algonquin sometime?
#100: Sounds good.
Me: How about tomorrow?
#100: Tomorrow no good nor Friday. How about Sunday?
Me: Sunday sounds fab.
#100: How did ur interviews go?
On the positive side, he replied immediately and even remembered a few things I had told him and asked how they were going. We're going out in a few days.
On the other hand, if my original armchair diagnosis was right, it will all go terribly wrong and here's what I've signed up for:
"Hello, 1-900-PAIN? I'd like to give you my credit card number. Yes, charge what you want."
Next in the #100 series: Down the Rabbit Hole
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #91: The Trow Dropper
Vital Stats: Mid-30s, 6'2"ish. Svelte, handsome, attractively graying, Occupation: Sometime actor/home-based salesman. Aesthetic: 50% J. Crew, 50% Levis. Demeanor: I could never quite put my finger on it.
First Impression: I'd seen him around for months amongst our group of friends and I really wanted to be attracted to him, but I, strangely, wasn't. Something just seemed off. Still, he was attractive and he seemed interested and that was attractive.
First Date: January 2007. Pan's Labyrinth at the Sunshine Theater; cheesecake for dessert at The Bean. I wasn't sure if I liked him, but when I met him for the movie, I felt something. Maybe it was just excitement at going on a date...or of being with someone who would actually spring for popcorn and soda. Who knows. But at the end of the date, he walked me home and lingered in front of my building, topping the night off with a decent make-out session during which he eagerly pressed himself against me. "He wanted to come upstairs!" my shrink said later. In answer to which I thought, "What guy doesn't?"
Date #2: For our second date, he invited me to a play he liked and then we went for soup afterward. Now, I like my guys a little goofy, but there was something weirdly goofy about him. At one point he was lying in the booth--he may even have been lying against me and, well, I just wasn't feeling it. And, at the end of the date, I still didn't let him upstairs.
Date #3: For our third date, he wisely changed tactics and invited me to his place for brunch. I went to his apartment in Williamsburg and as soon as I got there, he was all over me, although he did managed to tear himself away at one point to make omelets. After brunch, how shall I put it? He quickly and happily dropped trow. He was wearing sweatpants, which facilitated things. I halted the proceedings before they went too-too far, although they did go somewhat far and left feeling vaguely violated.
Date #4: I don't even remember what we did for the first part of the date, but I remember walking down the street with him toward a cafe for the second part. He put his arm around me and I felt nothing. At the cafe, things were weird. At one point, he slapped me on the back (like a pal?) and it hurt.
Signs of Hope: Most signs of hope appeared before we really even ever went on a date. It was clear he was interested for months before he ever asked me out. Whenever I would run into him, he would look me in the eyes and say, "It's good to see you." (Direct=Good.) And our first date was surprisingly fun.
Red Flags: For some reason, we were completely unable to "connect." Like I said, on date #4, he put his arm around me and...nada. I felt nothing.
Turning Point: Even though, from all the evidence above, to the casual reader it probably appears that I wasn't all that interested, I hung in for a few weeks wondering if he would call, what would happen next. I guess old habits die hard. We even had "the conversation," where it turned out he didn't even know if he wanted a relationship.
After a painful few weeks of uncertainty, it occurred to me that I could be the dumper. In my previous dating situations (just prior to this with #90), I had been the dumpee, so realizing I could be the one to do the dumping was revelatory. I called him and told him it wasn't going to work and I didn't want to see him anymore. He asked if he could still call me and, unsure of what he meant (To be his emergency contact person? For a character reference?), I said, "Sure?" He called three times after that. All calls went unreturned. And I never looked back.
Diagnosis: For him: I'm not really sure what was wrong with him. I wonder if he just wasn't capable of achieving relationship depth. Or, possibly, he just wanted one thing, which he never got.
For me: If he did just want one thing, then, after dealing with #90, that was actually kind of a relief. Otherwise, I needed a little more depth.
First Impression: I'd seen him around for months amongst our group of friends and I really wanted to be attracted to him, but I, strangely, wasn't. Something just seemed off. Still, he was attractive and he seemed interested and that was attractive.
First Date: January 2007. Pan's Labyrinth at the Sunshine Theater; cheesecake for dessert at The Bean. I wasn't sure if I liked him, but when I met him for the movie, I felt something. Maybe it was just excitement at going on a date...or of being with someone who would actually spring for popcorn and soda. Who knows. But at the end of the date, he walked me home and lingered in front of my building, topping the night off with a decent make-out session during which he eagerly pressed himself against me. "He wanted to come upstairs!" my shrink said later. In answer to which I thought, "What guy doesn't?"
Date #2: For our second date, he invited me to a play he liked and then we went for soup afterward. Now, I like my guys a little goofy, but there was something weirdly goofy about him. At one point he was lying in the booth--he may even have been lying against me and, well, I just wasn't feeling it. And, at the end of the date, I still didn't let him upstairs.
Date #3: For our third date, he wisely changed tactics and invited me to his place for brunch. I went to his apartment in Williamsburg and as soon as I got there, he was all over me, although he did managed to tear himself away at one point to make omelets. After brunch, how shall I put it? He quickly and happily dropped trow. He was wearing sweatpants, which facilitated things. I halted the proceedings before they went too-too far, although they did go somewhat far and left feeling vaguely violated.
Date #4: I don't even remember what we did for the first part of the date, but I remember walking down the street with him toward a cafe for the second part. He put his arm around me and I felt nothing. At the cafe, things were weird. At one point, he slapped me on the back (like a pal?) and it hurt.
Signs of Hope: Most signs of hope appeared before we really even ever went on a date. It was clear he was interested for months before he ever asked me out. Whenever I would run into him, he would look me in the eyes and say, "It's good to see you." (Direct=Good.) And our first date was surprisingly fun.
Red Flags: For some reason, we were completely unable to "connect." Like I said, on date #4, he put his arm around me and...nada. I felt nothing.
Turning Point: Even though, from all the evidence above, to the casual reader it probably appears that I wasn't all that interested, I hung in for a few weeks wondering if he would call, what would happen next. I guess old habits die hard. We even had "the conversation," where it turned out he didn't even know if he wanted a relationship.
After a painful few weeks of uncertainty, it occurred to me that I could be the dumper. In my previous dating situations (just prior to this with #90), I had been the dumpee, so realizing I could be the one to do the dumping was revelatory. I called him and told him it wasn't going to work and I didn't want to see him anymore. He asked if he could still call me and, unsure of what he meant (To be his emergency contact person? For a character reference?), I said, "Sure?" He called three times after that. All calls went unreturned. And I never looked back.
Diagnosis: For him: I'm not really sure what was wrong with him. I wonder if he just wasn't capable of achieving relationship depth. Or, possibly, he just wanted one thing, which he never got.
For me: If he did just want one thing, then, after dealing with #90, that was actually kind of a relief. Otherwise, I needed a little more depth.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Mr. Available #?!
See George Clooney post for introduction to this post...
First, a disclaimer: not to flatter myself or anything, but I seem to have a knack for not only spotting emotionally unavailable men (it's less "spotting" than "having a core attraction to"), but I may even deign to suggest that I can actually turn a previously available man into an unavailable one merely by being attracted to him. It's like the Midas Touch of modern dating. Now I just need to figure out how to use my powers for good not evil--perhaps hiring myself out to save bar-bound single women from roving bands of Mr. Unavailables. But I digress. All this is to say that this guy may not actually be available...
Vital Stats: 50-something, 6'2"ish. Computer programmer, former musician, divorcee. Aesthetic: Very '80s jeansy...jean jacket, jeans. Demeanor: Shy but nice.
First Impression: Eh. It was a few years ago and he certainly did not seem to be interested in me, either.
Third Impression: I just ran into him at a party and we hid out in the kitchen for a while. I realized that he was extremely nice, interesting, relatively easy to talk to, modest, slightly awkward. If he had a clue that he was good-looking, he probably could have been some kind of model, but he's totally clueless. There's also something vaguely Mr. Rogers-ish about him.
Signs of Hope: It's not really "hope" on my part at this point, more curiousity...He's easy to talk to, attractive, etc.
Red Flags: He seems to be perpetually single. He doesn't appear to be "interested" in anyone, but that could just be because I'm used to Mr. Unavailables that come on strong. Because he seems so disinterested, someone suggested to me that he was bi- or even a-.
Where Things Stand: Talked to him at a party last night. Left a comment on his Facebook page today. You could say it's Up in the Air.
Update: One year later, he has a girlfriend! I'm legitimately happy for him and kind of glad it's not me.
First, a disclaimer: not to flatter myself or anything, but I seem to have a knack for not only spotting emotionally unavailable men (it's less "spotting" than "having a core attraction to"), but I may even deign to suggest that I can actually turn a previously available man into an unavailable one merely by being attracted to him. It's like the Midas Touch of modern dating. Now I just need to figure out how to use my powers for good not evil--perhaps hiring myself out to save bar-bound single women from roving bands of Mr. Unavailables. But I digress. All this is to say that this guy may not actually be available...
Vital Stats: 50-something, 6'2"ish. Computer programmer, former musician, divorcee. Aesthetic: Very '80s jeansy...jean jacket, jeans. Demeanor: Shy but nice.
First Impression: Eh. It was a few years ago and he certainly did not seem to be interested in me, either.
Third Impression: I just ran into him at a party and we hid out in the kitchen for a while. I realized that he was extremely nice, interesting, relatively easy to talk to, modest, slightly awkward. If he had a clue that he was good-looking, he probably could have been some kind of model, but he's totally clueless. There's also something vaguely Mr. Rogers-ish about him.
Signs of Hope: It's not really "hope" on my part at this point, more curiousity...He's easy to talk to, attractive, etc.
Red Flags: He seems to be perpetually single. He doesn't appear to be "interested" in anyone, but that could just be because I'm used to Mr. Unavailables that come on strong. Because he seems so disinterested, someone suggested to me that he was bi- or even a-.
Where Things Stand: Talked to him at a party last night. Left a comment on his Facebook page today. You could say it's Up in the Air.
Update: One year later, he has a girlfriend! I'm legitimately happy for him and kind of glad it's not me.
George Clooney: Poster Boy for Mr. Unavailables Everywhere
And now, a brief Valentine's Day intermission from our listing of Mr. Unavailables... (Skip to #31 if you'd rather not intermiss)...
A few weeks ago, under mild duress (i.e., limited movie options), I went to see the movie Up In the Air, where George Clooney plays a slightly less glamorous (but not really, I mean, he is George Clooney), midwestern version of himself. When I first heard of the movie, I thought, Oh, great, yet another movie where the unavailable guy suddenly becomes available. It's predecessors include Pretty in Pink, Reality Bites, Pretty Woman, Dangerous Liaisons, Twilight and Grease, to name just a few.
These are the kinds of movies that make little--and big--girls everywhere believe that the ultimate reward is to win over the impossible-to-win man. And that we can win him over simply by being our wonderful, charming selves (or by transforming into Spandex-clad greaser chicks).
Up in the Air may have been a little bit smarter about it than the others, but (MINOR SPOILER ALERT FOR THE REST OF THIS PARAGRAPH) George Clooney still showed up unannounced on his favorite fling's doorstep to declare that he finally realized what he was missing all these years because of her. I'd be willing to bet big money that, in real life, George Clooney is not showing up unannounced on anyone's doorstep. Big money.
From what people have told me, available men just don't look like that, if you know what I mean. Movies are supposed to be dramatic, but relationships between mutually available people aren't. So the next time you feel your emotions being manipulated by a guy who comes on strong and then quickly cools off (it will feel as if you're watching a bad Ron Howard movie), run.
So what do available men look like, you ask? I'm still figuring it out myself, but I may have spotted one last night: See Mr. Available #?!)
A few weeks ago, under mild duress (i.e., limited movie options), I went to see the movie Up In the Air, where George Clooney plays a slightly less glamorous (but not really, I mean, he is George Clooney), midwestern version of himself. When I first heard of the movie, I thought, Oh, great, yet another movie where the unavailable guy suddenly becomes available. It's predecessors include Pretty in Pink, Reality Bites, Pretty Woman, Dangerous Liaisons, Twilight and Grease, to name just a few.
These are the kinds of movies that make little--and big--girls everywhere believe that the ultimate reward is to win over the impossible-to-win man. And that we can win him over simply by being our wonderful, charming selves (or by transforming into Spandex-clad greaser chicks).
Up in the Air may have been a little bit smarter about it than the others, but (MINOR SPOILER ALERT FOR THE REST OF THIS PARAGRAPH) George Clooney still showed up unannounced on his favorite fling's doorstep to declare that he finally realized what he was missing all these years because of her. I'd be willing to bet big money that, in real life, George Clooney is not showing up unannounced on anyone's doorstep. Big money.
From what people have told me, available men just don't look like that, if you know what I mean. Movies are supposed to be dramatic, but relationships between mutually available people aren't. So the next time you feel your emotions being manipulated by a guy who comes on strong and then quickly cools off (it will feel as if you're watching a bad Ron Howard movie), run.
So what do available men look like, you ask? I'm still figuring it out myself, but I may have spotted one last night: See Mr. Available #?!)
Friday, February 12, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #92: The Best Man
This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa 2008.
Vital Stats: My brother's best friend. Younger than me by ten years and a day (it's the one day that kills me). Fit, like someone who is ten years younger. Surfer; 5'7"ish. Income via work as a sommelier.
First Impression: We met at my family's family reunion on Cape Cod in 2006. I was grumpy after an eight-hour Peter Pan bus ride, walked across the lawn, passing all of my cousins who were with their significant others, strolled up to my brother and his girlfriend, where they sat on their picnic blanket with some guy I'd never seen before, and said, "What the fuck? Does everyone here have a boyfriend or girlfriend except me this year?" Then the guy I'd never seen before said, "I'm game." Yes, #92.
Signs of Hope: Summer 2007: I hadn't considered him as an option in 2006, and I have no idea why, but in the summer of 2007, all that changed when I went home again for the annual family reunion. Our stays only overlapped for about two hours, but sitting out on the porch in the dark talking with him and my cousins, I developed an InstaCrush. And then he was gone.
Summer 2008: He was the best man and I was the maid of honor at my brothers wedding. From the moment I got there, the chemistry was palpable. The first night, we stayed up late out under the wedding tent. For some reason, I was doing running leaps across the stage and he was catching me. A post-leap hook-up may have been in the cards but something stopped me.
The next night was the wedding. Again, a post-wedding hook-up might have been in the cards, but he passed out from a massive intake of red wine and had to be carried to bed. I was meant to leave the next day but came close to staying an extra day to go surfing with him. Sadly, I determined I should get back to NYC for a job that I hated and later quit. (Please learn from my mistake.)
Autumn 2008: He sent me a message on whatever the most popular social networking site was at the time saying he was thinking of coming to NYC. He never did.
Red Flags: He lived in Boston, I lived in NYC. We saw each other once a year. Oh, and that pesky 10-year (and a day) age difference.
Turning Point: I'm still waiting for it.
Diagnosis: Separated by geography and age, "it" remains unrequited.
Update: And, sadly, it will always remain unrequited. The turning point has arrived: I recently saw #92's relationship status on Facebook: Engaged. This saddens me. I looked up the object of his engagement and she's really pretty, which actually makes me feel a little better.
If you're wondering, the general rules of relationship jealousy go like this:
Vital Stats: My brother's best friend. Younger than me by ten years and a day (it's the one day that kills me). Fit, like someone who is ten years younger. Surfer; 5'7"ish. Income via work as a sommelier.
First Impression: We met at my family's family reunion on Cape Cod in 2006. I was grumpy after an eight-hour Peter Pan bus ride, walked across the lawn, passing all of my cousins who were with their significant others, strolled up to my brother and his girlfriend, where they sat on their picnic blanket with some guy I'd never seen before, and said, "What the fuck? Does everyone here have a boyfriend or girlfriend except me this year?" Then the guy I'd never seen before said, "I'm game." Yes, #92.
Signs of Hope: Summer 2007: I hadn't considered him as an option in 2006, and I have no idea why, but in the summer of 2007, all that changed when I went home again for the annual family reunion. Our stays only overlapped for about two hours, but sitting out on the porch in the dark talking with him and my cousins, I developed an InstaCrush. And then he was gone.
Summer 2008: He was the best man and I was the maid of honor at my brothers wedding. From the moment I got there, the chemistry was palpable. The first night, we stayed up late out under the wedding tent. For some reason, I was doing running leaps across the stage and he was catching me. A post-leap hook-up may have been in the cards but something stopped me.
The next night was the wedding. Again, a post-wedding hook-up might have been in the cards, but he passed out from a massive intake of red wine and had to be carried to bed. I was meant to leave the next day but came close to staying an extra day to go surfing with him. Sadly, I determined I should get back to NYC for a job that I hated and later quit. (Please learn from my mistake.)
Autumn 2008: He sent me a message on whatever the most popular social networking site was at the time saying he was thinking of coming to NYC. He never did.
Red Flags: He lived in Boston, I lived in NYC. We saw each other once a year. Oh, and that pesky 10-year (and a day) age difference.
Turning Point: I'm still waiting for it.
Diagnosis: Separated by geography and age, "it" remains unrequited.
Update: And, sadly, it will always remain unrequited. The turning point has arrived: I recently saw #92's relationship status on Facebook: Engaged. This saddens me. I looked up the object of his engagement and she's really pretty, which actually makes me feel a little better.
If you're wondering, the general rules of relationship jealousy go like this:
- If it's a guy you've never gotten together with, it's best if his past and future love interests are pretty, because that means you're pretty, too.
- If it's someone you've been with, it's best if all of his past and future girlfriends (or fiancees) are less pretty than you, because that means he'll never have it better than you.
Mr. Unavailable #93: Unavailable, or Just Plain Crazy
This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa late 2007.
Vital Stats: 40-something artist (possibly nearing 50-something). 5'9"ish. Aesthetic: In a button-down and trousers, he looked way more normal than he turned out to be. Demeanor: He had decent first-date manners, but his intensity drowned everything out.
First (and Only) Date: October 2007. Met via eHarmony dating site. Made plans to meet for coffee at Cafe Angelique on Bleecker Street.
First Impression: Older and not quite as good looking as his artsy, far-away, black-and-white photos had me fantasizing. In person, he was also intense--very intense--and used big words to, I assumed, try to convey to his listener that he was the proud owner of a big brain.
After buying me coffee, he immediately launched into monologue about his life. He was Cuban-American, he grew up in Miami, he learned to play the drums, said he toured with The Miami Sound Machine and was good friends with Gloria Estefan but gave it up and went to business school--there was something in there about his father wanting him to do business school, or something--and then he threw all that away and started painting. He, apparently, became obsessed with painting, although I suspected he became obsessed with lots of things.
There was a tangent somewhere in our conversation about relationships and how generally one person in a relationship is often a narcissist and how it was all about them projecting themselves onto the other person. He'd asked me exactly one question about myself and clearly didn't care about the answer, so I figured he was probably right.
Really, though, he wanted to talk about his art. In the midst of talking about his thesis, he said, "Would you like to see it" and then reached into his bag. I said, "Sure" and, sure enough, he pulled out his art thesis and handed it to me to let me flip through it. Apparently, he'd done a study of Francis Bacon, analyzing his paintings to develop a mathematical formula--an equation, if you will. He then applied the equation to his own artwork. "Here, let me show you," he said, pulling out two more books--bound compilations of his own artwork.
The cafe table was small and quickly grew crowded with the books he'd brought to show me--on what was supposed to be a meet-and-greet type of coffee date. He opened one of the books and showed me one painting, "This one I painted with my hands, pressing the canvas so hard that my fingers bled." I'm no art critic, but, if I were, I'd probably describe his paintings as violent, psychotic even, with undertones of extreme rage and great mental dislocation. He'd also, of course, met Francis Bacon at an art thing once. I wondered if Francis Bacon was glad he was in public when he met #93, too.
Signs of Hope: At the beginning of the date, he went up to the counter and bought me a coffee, bringing me an assortment of sugars.
Red Flags: Everything after he bought me coffee.
Turning Point: If it wasn't the thesis and the art books, it was the moment he told me he'd applied his equation to DaVinci's "The Last Supper" and then said, "I know what the real DaVinci code is." This was right around the time The DaVinci Code book and movie had come out, so it was topical. "It has nothing to do with Mary Magdalen," he said. He had a glint in his eye indicating he thought what he knew would be controversial. Or maybe he just hadn't taken his medication that morning. Not one to pass up a golden crazy-person opportunity, I asked what he thought the real DaVinci code was.
"Do you have two hours? Maybe we could get dinner," he said. It was actually the second time he'd suggested getting dinner.
In the interest of self-preservation, I did not have two hours to get dinner.
"Actually, I have to be going," I said, getting up to put on my coat. Outside, I shook his hand, thanked him for the coffee and said, "It was really nice to meet you. If I ever see your name on the outside of a gallery, I can say, 'I met that guy once.'"
Diagnosis: For him: Potentially schizophrenic. He was probably available for an intense, tumultuous, narcissistic relationship, just not with me.
For me: I would like to thank eHarmony for deciding I was match with this guy and for, therefore, giving me the best bad date ever. On a sidenote, I did not renew my membership.
Vital Stats: 40-something artist (possibly nearing 50-something). 5'9"ish. Aesthetic: In a button-down and trousers, he looked way more normal than he turned out to be. Demeanor: He had decent first-date manners, but his intensity drowned everything out.
First (and Only) Date: October 2007. Met via eHarmony dating site. Made plans to meet for coffee at Cafe Angelique on Bleecker Street.
First Impression: Older and not quite as good looking as his artsy, far-away, black-and-white photos had me fantasizing. In person, he was also intense--very intense--and used big words to, I assumed, try to convey to his listener that he was the proud owner of a big brain.
After buying me coffee, he immediately launched into monologue about his life. He was Cuban-American, he grew up in Miami, he learned to play the drums, said he toured with The Miami Sound Machine and was good friends with Gloria Estefan but gave it up and went to business school--there was something in there about his father wanting him to do business school, or something--and then he threw all that away and started painting. He, apparently, became obsessed with painting, although I suspected he became obsessed with lots of things.
There was a tangent somewhere in our conversation about relationships and how generally one person in a relationship is often a narcissist and how it was all about them projecting themselves onto the other person. He'd asked me exactly one question about myself and clearly didn't care about the answer, so I figured he was probably right.
Really, though, he wanted to talk about his art. In the midst of talking about his thesis, he said, "Would you like to see it" and then reached into his bag. I said, "Sure" and, sure enough, he pulled out his art thesis and handed it to me to let me flip through it. Apparently, he'd done a study of Francis Bacon, analyzing his paintings to develop a mathematical formula--an equation, if you will. He then applied the equation to his own artwork. "Here, let me show you," he said, pulling out two more books--bound compilations of his own artwork.
The cafe table was small and quickly grew crowded with the books he'd brought to show me--on what was supposed to be a meet-and-greet type of coffee date. He opened one of the books and showed me one painting, "This one I painted with my hands, pressing the canvas so hard that my fingers bled." I'm no art critic, but, if I were, I'd probably describe his paintings as violent, psychotic even, with undertones of extreme rage and great mental dislocation. He'd also, of course, met Francis Bacon at an art thing once. I wondered if Francis Bacon was glad he was in public when he met #93, too.
Signs of Hope: At the beginning of the date, he went up to the counter and bought me a coffee, bringing me an assortment of sugars.
Red Flags: Everything after he bought me coffee.
Turning Point: If it wasn't the thesis and the art books, it was the moment he told me he'd applied his equation to DaVinci's "The Last Supper" and then said, "I know what the real DaVinci code is." This was right around the time The DaVinci Code book and movie had come out, so it was topical. "It has nothing to do with Mary Magdalen," he said. He had a glint in his eye indicating he thought what he knew would be controversial. Or maybe he just hadn't taken his medication that morning. Not one to pass up a golden crazy-person opportunity, I asked what he thought the real DaVinci code was.
"Do you have two hours? Maybe we could get dinner," he said. It was actually the second time he'd suggested getting dinner.
In the interest of self-preservation, I did not have two hours to get dinner.
"Actually, I have to be going," I said, getting up to put on my coat. Outside, I shook his hand, thanked him for the coffee and said, "It was really nice to meet you. If I ever see your name on the outside of a gallery, I can say, 'I met that guy once.'"
Diagnosis: For him: Potentially schizophrenic. He was probably available for an intense, tumultuous, narcissistic relationship, just not with me.
For me: I would like to thank eHarmony for deciding I was match with this guy and for, therefore, giving me the best bad date ever. On a sidenote, I did not renew my membership.
Mr. Unavailable #94: The Hangover
This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa 2008.
Vital Stats: 33ish, 6'1"ish. Occupation: Some kind of business-events planner. We met at a Greenwich Polo match in the summer of 2008. Aesthetic: Post-preppy midtowner. Demeanor: Attentive and sweet when not drunk or hungover.
First Impression: He was hungover and somewhat testy on the car ride to the polo match, but became more playful--complimenting me on the fairness of my skin and the cut of my dress--as his hangover wore off and the bubbly began to flow.
First Date: A few weeks after the polo match, we made plans to meet up at a bar in the Gramercy Park area and then head over to DUMBO for an outdoor movie.
Signs of Hope: After the polo match, I friended him on the A Small World social networking site and replied quickly, asking me out for the fun-sounding date.
Red Flags: His original hangover.
Turning Point: We met at the bar and then three minutes into the date I ordered a seltzer and cranberry and he became noticeably distracted. He seemed to lose the thread of conversation and suddenly asked me, sounding slightly perturbed, what kind of business I had meeting him at a bar and not ordering a drink. I told him I wasn't really much of a drinker.
#94: "Well, when I asked you to meet at a bar, what did you think we were going to do?"
Me: "Um, have a conversation, get to know each other."
A few more moments of distracted conversation passed and he then started quizzing me about what kind of a risk-taker I was: "On a scale of one to ten, how conservative or risk-taking are you?"..."If you were with a bunch of people and they went skinny-dipping, would you go with them?" I answered his questions as best as I could, wondering why I was even playing along. He then determined that he was much more of a risk-taker than I was and that I was actually very conservative.
The final moments of the date:
#94: "Well, do you think you're conservative?"
Me: "No, but it doesn't matter anymore because I'm leaving."
Date duration: Maybe 15 minutes, 20 max. We never made it to the movie.
Diagnosis: For him: He loves drinking more than dating. I found out later that he had asked our polo host if he could bring a case of Heineken to the match.
For me: I'm a little upset that I let the date last as long as it did.
Vital Stats: 33ish, 6'1"ish. Occupation: Some kind of business-events planner. We met at a Greenwich Polo match in the summer of 2008. Aesthetic: Post-preppy midtowner. Demeanor: Attentive and sweet when not drunk or hungover.
First Impression: He was hungover and somewhat testy on the car ride to the polo match, but became more playful--complimenting me on the fairness of my skin and the cut of my dress--as his hangover wore off and the bubbly began to flow.
First Date: A few weeks after the polo match, we made plans to meet up at a bar in the Gramercy Park area and then head over to DUMBO for an outdoor movie.
Signs of Hope: After the polo match, I friended him on the A Small World social networking site and replied quickly, asking me out for the fun-sounding date.
Red Flags: His original hangover.
Turning Point: We met at the bar and then three minutes into the date I ordered a seltzer and cranberry and he became noticeably distracted. He seemed to lose the thread of conversation and suddenly asked me, sounding slightly perturbed, what kind of business I had meeting him at a bar and not ordering a drink. I told him I wasn't really much of a drinker.
#94: "Well, when I asked you to meet at a bar, what did you think we were going to do?"
Me: "Um, have a conversation, get to know each other."
A few more moments of distracted conversation passed and he then started quizzing me about what kind of a risk-taker I was: "On a scale of one to ten, how conservative or risk-taking are you?"..."If you were with a bunch of people and they went skinny-dipping, would you go with them?" I answered his questions as best as I could, wondering why I was even playing along. He then determined that he was much more of a risk-taker than I was and that I was actually very conservative.
The final moments of the date:
#94: "Well, do you think you're conservative?"
Me: "No, but it doesn't matter anymore because I'm leaving."
Date duration: Maybe 15 minutes, 20 max. We never made it to the movie.
Diagnosis: For him: He loves drinking more than dating. I found out later that he had asked our polo host if he could bring a case of Heineken to the match.
For me: I'm a little upset that I let the date last as long as it did.
Mr. Unavailable #95: The Vapor Trail
This is a Mr. Unavailable Mini Flashback, circa Spring 2009.
Vital Stats: Late 30-something; 6'3"ish; Just as adorable/handsome as his online photo, if not moreso. Income via sales at a French telecommunications company (that's what he said anyway). Aesthetic & demeanor: Very put-together but casual business guy.
First Date: We met via the OKCupid dating site. In fact, he was my first OKCupid date. We arranged a lunchtime coffee rendez-vous at Starbucks in the Flatiron District, Spring 2009.
First Impression: He had just been at the library and had a stack of books with him, which, unless it was all a ruse, was almost too ridiculously adorable.
Signs of Hope: Before we met, he kept saying over email how honored he was to meet me, which I thought was a bit much but sweet nonetheless. And when we met, he had impeccable manners. He got me a coffee and we talked for about an hour. Nothing seemed amiss. All went smoothly. I was even in my skinny jeans at the time, so I was feeling pretty good. Eventually, I had to go back to work, but he asked me if I would like to get together again--if, that is, I would permit it, he said, practically bowing and scraping on the corner of 5th Ave. and 21st St.
Red Flags: None. He was very charming, but not suspiciously charming...And cute, but not suspiciously cute...He just seemed so normal...What could have gone wrong...Was it me?...Were my photos were misleading?...Was it something I said?...Did I have something on my face?
Turning Point: After not hearing from him for several days, thinking not hearing from him was some kind of glitch, I sent him a message saying it was nice to meet him. I heard nothing in return.
Diagnosis: For him: Either he was a master at hiding his true feelings of disinterest or something else was going on (maybe he was married or had a girlfriend and was throwing a hook in the online world to see what he could fish out...or something).
For me: I was completely baffled. I detected no lack of interest, although my dating skills were a bit rusty at the time, so you never know. Best not to think about it too much... (...I write as I sit and think about it too much...) Mary had a lit-tle lamb, lit-tle lamb, lit-tle lamb...
Vital Stats: Late 30-something; 6'3"ish; Just as adorable/handsome as his online photo, if not moreso. Income via sales at a French telecommunications company (that's what he said anyway). Aesthetic & demeanor: Very put-together but casual business guy.
First Date: We met via the OKCupid dating site. In fact, he was my first OKCupid date. We arranged a lunchtime coffee rendez-vous at Starbucks in the Flatiron District, Spring 2009.
First Impression: He had just been at the library and had a stack of books with him, which, unless it was all a ruse, was almost too ridiculously adorable.
Signs of Hope: Before we met, he kept saying over email how honored he was to meet me, which I thought was a bit much but sweet nonetheless. And when we met, he had impeccable manners. He got me a coffee and we talked for about an hour. Nothing seemed amiss. All went smoothly. I was even in my skinny jeans at the time, so I was feeling pretty good. Eventually, I had to go back to work, but he asked me if I would like to get together again--if, that is, I would permit it, he said, practically bowing and scraping on the corner of 5th Ave. and 21st St.
Red Flags: None. He was very charming, but not suspiciously charming...And cute, but not suspiciously cute...He just seemed so normal...What could have gone wrong...Was it me?...Were my photos were misleading?...Was it something I said?...Did I have something on my face?
Turning Point: After not hearing from him for several days, thinking not hearing from him was some kind of glitch, I sent him a message saying it was nice to meet him. I heard nothing in return.
Diagnosis: For him: Either he was a master at hiding his true feelings of disinterest or something else was going on (maybe he was married or had a girlfriend and was throwing a hook in the online world to see what he could fish out...or something).
For me: I was completely baffled. I detected no lack of interest, although my dating skills were a bit rusty at the time, so you never know. Best not to think about it too much... (...I write as I sit and think about it too much...) Mary had a lit-tle lamb, lit-tle lamb, lit-tle lamb...
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #95.5: That's Not a Short Joke, I Just Forgot About This One
This is a Mr. Unavailable Mini Flashback, circa Fall 2007 through Fall 2009.
Vital Stats: Early to mid-30s, 5'6"ish. Former actor-turned-Realtor, universally considered cute. Aesthetic: prone to wearing suits during the week and perfectly acceptable normal-guy casual wear other times. Demeanor: A serious yet happy-go-lucky, popular, outgoing guy. Or, as Shelagh likes to say, "The mayor of Mayorsville."
First Impression: Very Flirtatious. On an annual camping trip with a large group of friends in 2007 (it was a trip known historically for its hook-up potential), I decided my goal for the weekend was to, at the very least, flirt with someone. I picked him, and he was exceptionally game.
Signs of Hope: Very flirtatious. The flirtation continued over the next two years at sporadic parties and then I saw him again at the annual camping trip in September 2009. On the departing day, it was my birthday, I was waiting for my ride, he saw me, walked directly up to me and kissed me. I asked, "Was that for my birthday?" And he said, "Something for your birthday would look very different." Such heavy flirtation ensued when he ran hot...
Red Flags: ...He also ran cold and, on the same 2009 camping trip, would completely ignore me or engage in conversational topics that only served to keep me at a distance or turn me off (how men always think of sex, especially when women in short skirts walk by...yes, he basically came off as a pig). Also, a big red flag: again, the massive flirtatiousness.
Turning Point: October 2009: At a camping-trip reunion party, I finally attempted a real conversation with him and discovered he wasn't up to the challenge; it became more of a one-sided monologue--on his side, of course.
Diagnosis: As an actor-slash-realtor, he probably had to be "on" so much that he just didn't know how to be "off."
Next in the #95.5 series: The Pseudo-Return
Vital Stats: Early to mid-30s, 5'6"ish. Former actor-turned-Realtor, universally considered cute. Aesthetic: prone to wearing suits during the week and perfectly acceptable normal-guy casual wear other times. Demeanor: A serious yet happy-go-lucky, popular, outgoing guy. Or, as Shelagh likes to say, "The mayor of Mayorsville."
First Impression: Very Flirtatious. On an annual camping trip with a large group of friends in 2007 (it was a trip known historically for its hook-up potential), I decided my goal for the weekend was to, at the very least, flirt with someone. I picked him, and he was exceptionally game.
Signs of Hope: Very flirtatious. The flirtation continued over the next two years at sporadic parties and then I saw him again at the annual camping trip in September 2009. On the departing day, it was my birthday, I was waiting for my ride, he saw me, walked directly up to me and kissed me. I asked, "Was that for my birthday?" And he said, "Something for your birthday would look very different." Such heavy flirtation ensued when he ran hot...
Red Flags: ...He also ran cold and, on the same 2009 camping trip, would completely ignore me or engage in conversational topics that only served to keep me at a distance or turn me off (how men always think of sex, especially when women in short skirts walk by...yes, he basically came off as a pig). Also, a big red flag: again, the massive flirtatiousness.
Turning Point: October 2009: At a camping-trip reunion party, I finally attempted a real conversation with him and discovered he wasn't up to the challenge; it became more of a one-sided monologue--on his side, of course.
Diagnosis: As an actor-slash-realtor, he probably had to be "on" so much that he just didn't know how to be "off."
Next in the #95.5 series: The Pseudo-Return
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #100: Update
See The Downtown Hipster, The Way to a Girl's Heart and Momma's Boy for the background on this one.
Sometimes Mr. Unavailables re-emerge.
After I told him I didn't drink and he got weird, I never expected to hear from #33 again (just like Mr. Unavailable #94), but he returned five days after our third date in the form of a text message on Superbowl Sunday.
#100: Did u super bowl it! Lol
Me: Yup! You?
#100: Yup. Silly game. Was fun.
Me: Very fun.
#100: See u soon?
Me: If you wanna ask me out on a date, I'll probably say yes. ;)
#100: I see. Ok. I'll ask soon.
Me: :)
Then three days after that (during the "Blizzard of 2010"):
#33: love the snow
I didn't respond.
Red Flags: Lame pot reference aside, obviously, we have different definitions of "soon." Not only were we not getting together "soon," we weren't getting together at all. Just the fact that I had to tell him I'd say yes to a date if he asked, while bold, was also mildly humiliating.
Diagnosis: Sometimes no response is the best response. In not responding to his text about the snow, I feel the return of a degree of self-respect. The ball may only be the size of a ping-pong ball, but it's in my court and I'm keeping it.
Note: I kept it until: Revisited.
Sometimes Mr. Unavailables re-emerge.
After I told him I didn't drink and he got weird, I never expected to hear from #33 again (just like Mr. Unavailable #94), but he returned five days after our third date in the form of a text message on Superbowl Sunday.
#100: Did u super bowl it! Lol
Me: Yup! You?
#100: Yup. Silly game. Was fun.
Me: Very fun.
#100: See u soon?
Me: If you wanna ask me out on a date, I'll probably say yes. ;)
#100: I see. Ok. I'll ask soon.
Me: :)
Then three days after that (during the "Blizzard of 2010"):
#33: love the snow
I didn't respond.
Red Flags: Lame pot reference aside, obviously, we have different definitions of "soon." Not only were we not getting together "soon," we weren't getting together at all. Just the fact that I had to tell him I'd say yes to a date if he asked, while bold, was also mildly humiliating.
Diagnosis: Sometimes no response is the best response. In not responding to his text about the snow, I feel the return of a degree of self-respect. The ball may only be the size of a ping-pong ball, but it's in my court and I'm keeping it.
Note: I kept it until: Revisited.
Mr. Unavailable #96: Canada Calling (Or Not)
This is a Mr. Unavailable Mini Flashback, circa Summer through Fall 2009.
Vital Stats: 40-something, 5'9"ish, Canadian. Normal build, full head of hair, nice eyes. Income via art flipping. Possibly in the U.S. Illegally. Flirtation began Summer 2009 at a Soho party. Aesthetic: Early '90s preppy post-punk (black Chuck Taylor All-Stars, black jeans, black T-shirts). Demeanor: Cute and nervously chatty.
First Impression: Endearingly nervous in my presence.
Signs of Hope: When we originally met at the party, he chatted me up for a while, asking me questions and sort of rambling on adorably in what seemed like an effort to not let me escape. It turned out he was from Toronto and I spent some formative years in Buffalo, so we had commonalities via the U.S.-Canadian proximity (bad local TV shows--one called "The Cat's Pajamas," etc.). He asked for my email address and emailed me the next day. And, whenever he would see me, he would make a beeline for me.
Red Flags: He asked for my email address the first time we met--not my telephone number. Even though we went back and forth on email a bit, he never actually asked me out. I'd see him around and he'd act nervous and on the verge of asking me out, but then he wouldn't. A mutual acquaintance said she suspected he was just jonesing for a green card.
Turning Point: One night I ran into him on my way to a date and told him I was on my way to a date, at which point he said his ex-girlfriend who cheated on him had been calling and should he get back together with her? Done and done.
Diagnosis: For him: Stuck on the ex-girlfriend
For Me: In retrospect, I wonder if I was a tad guarded. I'd sequestered my emotions deep inside for a while post-Mr. Unavailable #TK and perhaps that added to #96's inability to initiate a date. Or maybe his hesitance was enough to keep me at bay. Either way, it still doesn't change the fact that his ex was in his emotional picture.
Vital Stats: 40-something, 5'9"ish, Canadian. Normal build, full head of hair, nice eyes. Income via art flipping. Possibly in the U.S. Illegally. Flirtation began Summer 2009 at a Soho party. Aesthetic: Early '90s preppy post-punk (black Chuck Taylor All-Stars, black jeans, black T-shirts). Demeanor: Cute and nervously chatty.
First Impression: Endearingly nervous in my presence.
Signs of Hope: When we originally met at the party, he chatted me up for a while, asking me questions and sort of rambling on adorably in what seemed like an effort to not let me escape. It turned out he was from Toronto and I spent some formative years in Buffalo, so we had commonalities via the U.S.-Canadian proximity (bad local TV shows--one called "The Cat's Pajamas," etc.). He asked for my email address and emailed me the next day. And, whenever he would see me, he would make a beeline for me.
Red Flags: He asked for my email address the first time we met--not my telephone number. Even though we went back and forth on email a bit, he never actually asked me out. I'd see him around and he'd act nervous and on the verge of asking me out, but then he wouldn't. A mutual acquaintance said she suspected he was just jonesing for a green card.
Turning Point: One night I ran into him on my way to a date and told him I was on my way to a date, at which point he said his ex-girlfriend who cheated on him had been calling and should he get back together with her? Done and done.
Diagnosis: For him: Stuck on the ex-girlfriend
For Me: In retrospect, I wonder if I was a tad guarded. I'd sequestered my emotions deep inside for a while post-Mr. Unavailable #TK and perhaps that added to #96's inability to initiate a date. Or maybe his hesitance was enough to keep me at bay. Either way, it still doesn't change the fact that his ex was in his emotional picture.
Mr. Unavailable #97: The Tease
This is a Mr. Unavailable Mini Flashback, circa Summer 2009.
Vital Stats: 40ish, 5'10"ish. Two years out of Iran. Bearded and swarthy. Employment via graphic design skills. Flirtation began Summer 2009 at a Soho party. Aesthetic: NYC Casual. Demeanor: Serious with humorous undertones.
First Impression: Very flirtatious (possibly with everyone and to the annoyance of some).
Signs of Hope: He always acted excited to see me, with a sly smile and a squeeze on my arm--or a hug, or a lingering stare. He was also very touchy-feely (to say "affectionate" would be too complimentary), and he would say, "I like you...you have such great energy...that's why I like being near you." He complimented me all the time and began to make references to calling/getting together.
Red Flags: Touchy-feely/flirtatious with many women. Although he often referred to "getting together," he could never actually pull the trigger on a date.
Turning Point: At a holiday party in the East Village in 2009, I made it clear I was available (i.e., #97: Are you seeing anyone? Me: No.); He made more references to hanging out--and even started to mull over post-party possibilities--but still no date. A month passed. After a while, I just started to smile and nod, smile and nod.
Diagnosis: Clearly terrified of dating in that it may actually lead to a relationship, which, for him, was clearly even more terrifying.
For me: I was never quite 100% on if I liked him like that but became open enough to go out with him should he ask. Maybe just the fact that I was hesitant meant I was onto something.
Vital Stats: 40ish, 5'10"ish. Two years out of Iran. Bearded and swarthy. Employment via graphic design skills. Flirtation began Summer 2009 at a Soho party. Aesthetic: NYC Casual. Demeanor: Serious with humorous undertones.
First Impression: Very flirtatious (possibly with everyone and to the annoyance of some).
Signs of Hope: He always acted excited to see me, with a sly smile and a squeeze on my arm--or a hug, or a lingering stare. He was also very touchy-feely (to say "affectionate" would be too complimentary), and he would say, "I like you...you have such great energy...that's why I like being near you." He complimented me all the time and began to make references to calling/getting together.
Red Flags: Touchy-feely/flirtatious with many women. Although he often referred to "getting together," he could never actually pull the trigger on a date.
Turning Point: At a holiday party in the East Village in 2009, I made it clear I was available (i.e., #97: Are you seeing anyone? Me: No.); He made more references to hanging out--and even started to mull over post-party possibilities--but still no date. A month passed. After a while, I just started to smile and nod, smile and nod.
Diagnosis: Clearly terrified of dating in that it may actually lead to a relationship, which, for him, was clearly even more terrifying.
For me: I was never quite 100% on if I liked him like that but became open enough to go out with him should he ask. Maybe just the fact that I was hesitant meant I was onto something.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #1: Where It All Began
This is a Mr. Unavailable Flashback, circa 1979.
Vital Stats: 3'10", 5ish. Good at addition/subtraction. Met: September 1977. Aesthetic: He sported a fetching 1970s dressed-by-mom look. Demeanor: Adorable and easygoing, especially when making stuff in art class with paste.
First Impression: Cherubic, super cute.
Signs of Hope: I always tried to sit next to him or position myself near him for our class photos. He did not at first run away, although that could also have been because we were in kindergarten and there was nowhere to go.
Red Flags: Ran away when I tried to kiss him in his wood-paneled basement. I gave chase, he escaped.
Turning Point: Perseverant, I did not lose hope until, at age 9, my family moved away.
Diagnosis: Distance is a bitch, fate--and timing--were against us. It now being 2010, he's long been married with children.
Vital Stats: 3'10", 5ish. Good at addition/subtraction. Met: September 1977. Aesthetic: He sported a fetching 1970s dressed-by-mom look. Demeanor: Adorable and easygoing, especially when making stuff in art class with paste.
First Impression: Cherubic, super cute.
Signs of Hope: I always tried to sit next to him or position myself near him for our class photos. He did not at first run away, although that could also have been because we were in kindergarten and there was nowhere to go.
Red Flags: Ran away when I tried to kiss him in his wood-paneled basement. I gave chase, he escaped.
Turning Point: Perseverant, I did not lose hope until, at age 9, my family moved away.
Diagnosis: Distance is a bitch, fate--and timing--were against us. It now being 2010, he's long been married with children.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #98: From Russia, With No Love
This is a Mr. Unavailable Mini Flashback, circa December 2009.
Vital Stats: 40ish, 6'ish. Russian Anesthesiologist. Vaguely muscle-bound with boyish face. Attractively graying with a short, almost buzzed, haircut. Aesthetic: He had an unruly preppy thing going (rolled up jeans, plaid shirts, tank tops). Demeanor: Serious Russian, but, once you cracked the surface, there was something else--although he remained something of a dichotomy: the crass gentleman.
First Impression: Brooding loner. I was guesting at a Montauk summer share in 2009 and first saw him sitting in a corner of the deck by himself wearing headphones and hidden in a hooded sweatshirt.
Signs of Hope: He quickly perked up at the share house and proved a worthy Scrabble opponent. It turned out he lived in the East Village, too, and carried my bags from Penn Station all the way home for me. Whenever we would run into each other on the street or I would call him for a favor (see: vaguely muscle-bound), he would ask me for coffee. I ran into him at a party later that summer and he told me I looked very sexy and then teased me mercilessly for usually (insert Russian accent) "dressing like a leetle giiirrrl."
Red Flags: Eventually, on one of our coffee outings, I found out he had a girlfriend, or something significantly less official. When he broke up with her, he mentioned she was a stripper and affectionately referred to her as "my Russian whore."
Turning Point: He saw me at a party in December 2009 and bee-lined for me. We danced all night to late 80s favorites like New Order and The Cure. He told me I looked very sexy. I turned to go to the ladies room and, when I returned, he left without saying good-bye. I later emailed him a flirty note and heard nothing back.
Diagnosis: In retrospect, I have a feeling we were both thinking the same thing at the party ("We're all hotted up here, how could this possibly end?") and we were both afraid of it. I have no doubt he saw his opportunity to escape and, again in retrospect, I realize I was somewhat relieved that he left (and perhaps my email to him was an attempt to get some kind of attention that I was ultimately afraid of).
Second Opinion: I found out later that, apparently, he "dates" a lot and I don't normally (except, ahem, #100) "date" like that. Maybe my relief at his having left without saying good-bye meant my flight instincts were wisely kicking in.
Vital Stats: 40ish, 6'ish. Russian Anesthesiologist. Vaguely muscle-bound with boyish face. Attractively graying with a short, almost buzzed, haircut. Aesthetic: He had an unruly preppy thing going (rolled up jeans, plaid shirts, tank tops). Demeanor: Serious Russian, but, once you cracked the surface, there was something else--although he remained something of a dichotomy: the crass gentleman.
First Impression: Brooding loner. I was guesting at a Montauk summer share in 2009 and first saw him sitting in a corner of the deck by himself wearing headphones and hidden in a hooded sweatshirt.
Signs of Hope: He quickly perked up at the share house and proved a worthy Scrabble opponent. It turned out he lived in the East Village, too, and carried my bags from Penn Station all the way home for me. Whenever we would run into each other on the street or I would call him for a favor (see: vaguely muscle-bound), he would ask me for coffee. I ran into him at a party later that summer and he told me I looked very sexy and then teased me mercilessly for usually (insert Russian accent) "dressing like a leetle giiirrrl."
Red Flags: Eventually, on one of our coffee outings, I found out he had a girlfriend, or something significantly less official. When he broke up with her, he mentioned she was a stripper and affectionately referred to her as "my Russian whore."
Turning Point: He saw me at a party in December 2009 and bee-lined for me. We danced all night to late 80s favorites like New Order and The Cure. He told me I looked very sexy. I turned to go to the ladies room and, when I returned, he left without saying good-bye. I later emailed him a flirty note and heard nothing back.
Diagnosis: In retrospect, I have a feeling we were both thinking the same thing at the party ("We're all hotted up here, how could this possibly end?") and we were both afraid of it. I have no doubt he saw his opportunity to escape and, again in retrospect, I realize I was somewhat relieved that he left (and perhaps my email to him was an attempt to get some kind of attention that I was ultimately afraid of).
Second Opinion: I found out later that, apparently, he "dates" a lot and I don't normally (except, ahem, #100) "date" like that. Maybe my relief at his having left without saying good-bye meant my flight instincts were wisely kicking in.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #99: Snowbank Guy
This is a Mr. Unavailable Mini Flashback, circa December 2009.
Vital Stats: 34ish, 6'1"ish, svelte, and of Irish heritage (hot, black Irish, that is). Employment via own real estate research business. Aesthetic: Standard, Acceptable New York City Attire (black button-down shirts and jeans). Demeanor: Nice-Guy Guy
First Impression: I'd seen him around for about a year and always thought he had an adorable earnestness about him. We officially met at Holiday Party in the West Village in December 2009. He was known to most as a "Nice Guy." Very cute, possibly too cute to be fully available.
Signs of Hope: In a moment of bravery at a Christmas party, I turned to where he was sitting behind me and started a conversation. He was an eager participant. We had an extended conversation, flirted about getting married, traded phone numbers and, when we coincidentally left party at the same time, he offered to escort me home. He told me he'd seen me around and thought I was cute, etc. It was blizzarding out, so he let me borrow his gloves. As we walked down Bleecker Street through fat, puffy snowflakes and past pristine 4-foot snowbanks, he joked about diving into one (#99: "Wouldn't it be fun to just dive into a snowbank?")...a minute later, he grabbed me and dove into the closest snowbank--with me on top (I'm assuming so that I wouldn't get squished, which I thought was sweet). My only option seemed to kiss him, so we made out right there on Bleecker Street, with passing NYU drunks and comedy-club goers mere feet away.
Red Flags: It was all happening WAY too fast. While we were at the party, he demonstrated oddly explosive anger when irked by someone he did not like (it was hot to see him bolt from his seat to enact a confrontation, but, alas, it was a total red flag). When we reached my apartment building, he tried really, really hard to come upstairs to my apartment (kissed me, pressed himself against me in persuasion, begged, pleaded). #99: "Doesn't a small part of you want me to come up?" Me: "A big part of me wants you to come up." I said it wasn't going to happen and then added, "We should do this again sometime." We'd exchanged phone numbers earlier in the night, so he was like, "I've got your number, you've got my number..."
Turning Point: Those dots at the end of him saying we had each others' phone numbers. He never actually said he was going to use it. The overall turning point was probably when I finally impressed upon him that he couldn't come upstairs. He acted rejected. I got a text from him half an hour later saying something like: "The kids' all awake." At first, it made no sense but I think in context I could figure out what it meant (Translation: "I'm all ready to go if you still want to hook up.") I responded saying I didn't understand his joke. I never heard from him again and when I'd see him around, he'd actively avoid me.
Diagnosis: For him: Totally unavailable for anything remotely resembling dating, let alone a relationship with me.
For me: I'd broken my nearly three-year kissing dry spell, so at first I was psyched. Then, as the days passed and I realized he wasn't going to call, I felt a bit, well, bad.
Second Opinion: For him: It turned out, #99 had a girlfriend--before, during and after our encounter. Apparently, it was a relationship he liked to keep quiet so that he could get some action on the side.
For me: If we had ended up dating, it would have been a great how-we-got-together story, but, as usual, if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. Otherwise, I'll say it again, it ended a nearly three-year make-out drought.
Vital Stats: 34ish, 6'1"ish, svelte, and of Irish heritage (hot, black Irish, that is). Employment via own real estate research business. Aesthetic: Standard, Acceptable New York City Attire (black button-down shirts and jeans). Demeanor: Nice-Guy Guy
First Impression: I'd seen him around for about a year and always thought he had an adorable earnestness about him. We officially met at Holiday Party in the West Village in December 2009. He was known to most as a "Nice Guy." Very cute, possibly too cute to be fully available.
Signs of Hope: In a moment of bravery at a Christmas party, I turned to where he was sitting behind me and started a conversation. He was an eager participant. We had an extended conversation, flirted about getting married, traded phone numbers and, when we coincidentally left party at the same time, he offered to escort me home. He told me he'd seen me around and thought I was cute, etc. It was blizzarding out, so he let me borrow his gloves. As we walked down Bleecker Street through fat, puffy snowflakes and past pristine 4-foot snowbanks, he joked about diving into one (#99: "Wouldn't it be fun to just dive into a snowbank?")...a minute later, he grabbed me and dove into the closest snowbank--with me on top (I'm assuming so that I wouldn't get squished, which I thought was sweet). My only option seemed to kiss him, so we made out right there on Bleecker Street, with passing NYU drunks and comedy-club goers mere feet away.
Red Flags: It was all happening WAY too fast. While we were at the party, he demonstrated oddly explosive anger when irked by someone he did not like (it was hot to see him bolt from his seat to enact a confrontation, but, alas, it was a total red flag). When we reached my apartment building, he tried really, really hard to come upstairs to my apartment (kissed me, pressed himself against me in persuasion, begged, pleaded). #99: "Doesn't a small part of you want me to come up?" Me: "A big part of me wants you to come up." I said it wasn't going to happen and then added, "We should do this again sometime." We'd exchanged phone numbers earlier in the night, so he was like, "I've got your number, you've got my number..."
Turning Point: Those dots at the end of him saying we had each others' phone numbers. He never actually said he was going to use it. The overall turning point was probably when I finally impressed upon him that he couldn't come upstairs. He acted rejected. I got a text from him half an hour later saying something like: "The kids' all awake." At first, it made no sense but I think in context I could figure out what it meant (Translation: "I'm all ready to go if you still want to hook up.") I responded saying I didn't understand his joke. I never heard from him again and when I'd see him around, he'd actively avoid me.
Diagnosis: For him: Totally unavailable for anything remotely resembling dating, let alone a relationship with me.
For me: I'd broken my nearly three-year kissing dry spell, so at first I was psyched. Then, as the days passed and I realized he wasn't going to call, I felt a bit, well, bad.
Second Opinion: For him: It turned out, #99 had a girlfriend--before, during and after our encounter. Apparently, it was a relationship he liked to keep quiet so that he could get some action on the side.
For me: If we had ended up dating, it would have been a great how-we-got-together story, but, as usual, if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. Otherwise, I'll say it again, it ended a nearly three-year make-out drought.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #100: Momma's Boy
See The Downtown Hipster and The Way to a Girl's Heart for the background on this one.
Pre-Date: Two days after our second date, he contacted me for a third date via text and wanted it to be a few hours later. I was too excited to be irked about the last-minute planning. Two hours later, he canceled, again via text, saying that he had to help his mother in Florida with her computer and then wrote, "Maybe tomorrow." First: Help his mother? Was he lying or was he really that much of a momma's boy? How urgent could his mother's computer needs be on a Sunday night? Second: "Maybe tomorrow" WTF? It was suspicious.
I texted back saying I had plans for tomorrow but to have a good night and let me know when he'd be free. He sensed my irritation and replied that he was available whenever I wanted to meet next. I suggested Wednesday.
Date #3: When Wednesday rolled around, he sent me a text--again--asking if I wanted to meet at Sweet and Vicious--again. When I met him there, the chemistry was crazy. Facing each other on bar stools, his knees squeezed mine and he kept finding excuses to touch me, saying, "Oh, I like you."
I told him about the summer share I was taking in Montauk and he said, "You spend summers in Montauk?...I knew I liked you...Hopefully I won't fuck this up between now and then...I have five surfboards...You need a surfboard?...I'll buy you one."
He said that he didn't usually go to Sweet and Vicious because he didn't know anyone there, but that he likes taking dates (i.e., me) to such places so that he can get to know them. He said he would never take a date to a place where he knew the people--it's not fair, he said. After a while, he asked if I was hungry and took me to a Latin restaurant around the corner. The booth was big and he moved his side in closer, saying, "I want to be closer to you."
Signs of Hope: Telling me many times at Sweet and Vicious that he liked me; being very touchy; indicating a future together, including the possible purchase of a surf board.
Red Flags: Telling me many times at Sweet and Vicious that he liked me; being very touchy; indicating a future together, including the possible purchase of a surf board. (Don't they say if it seems too good to be true, it probably is?)
Also: He only contacted me via text, not voice. When he originally texted me for the date, he asked if it could be that night, i.e., "Will you be my beck-and-call girl?" And then his excuse for canceling was weak, but he did what any half-decent liar would do--used something that referenced a prior conversation. (On date #2, he had told me that his mother was terrible with computers and he was her tech guy from afar.)
Turning Point: Usually the turning points are subtle, but this one was hard to miss. Halfway through dinner, I mentioned I didn't drink. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and launched into a monologue about his own drinking habits, making comments that took a circuitous route and ended with him insisting, "I'm very passionate." Then when I offered to help with the bill, he took me up on it. Always a moment of truth.
After dinner, he took me to a bar where he knew people (see third paragraph under Date #3, above). His body language was terrible; instead of facing me like he had at Sweet and Vicious, he was turned toward the bar. He was somewhat non-communicative, giving me a laundry-list work history like he was at an interview for a job he did not want. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and, once in, crouched on the floor to text my friend Rick.
Me: I'm in the bathroom. Told him I didn't drink. Things seemed to change.
Rick: Probably in your head.
Me: He stopped touching me and is acting distant. And made me pay for part of dinner.
Rick: If he is honestly being that way because you don't drink, he's got major issues...
Returning to #100, I decided to take on more of a positive, fuck-it type of attitude. They were playing a Smiths song and I said, "I love this song. It's like musical pesto." #100 seemed to perk up and I wondered if I had, in fact, been contributing to the overly self-conscious downer vibe. We left the restaurant and he walked me home. And then he made out with me in front of my apartment building. Normally a good make-out is a Sign of Hope, but something told me not to expect to hear from him anytime soon.
Diagnosis: For him: He can manufacture chemistry but is there anything else? He could be a runner, a guy who bolts at any remote sign of realness. Plus, if he wants to be with someone who enjoys drinking like he seems to, this will never work.
For me: Sometimes being "open-minded" gets me into trouble. I wasn't all that interested on our first date, for all the right reasons, but I decided to give it another shot. Now I've been sucked in by his energy and affability. I doubt I'll hear from him again, but if I do, I'd probably see him again.
Next in the #100 series: Update
Pre-Date: Two days after our second date, he contacted me for a third date via text and wanted it to be a few hours later. I was too excited to be irked about the last-minute planning. Two hours later, he canceled, again via text, saying that he had to help his mother in Florida with her computer and then wrote, "Maybe tomorrow." First: Help his mother? Was he lying or was he really that much of a momma's boy? How urgent could his mother's computer needs be on a Sunday night? Second: "Maybe tomorrow" WTF? It was suspicious.
I texted back saying I had plans for tomorrow but to have a good night and let me know when he'd be free. He sensed my irritation and replied that he was available whenever I wanted to meet next. I suggested Wednesday.
Date #3: When Wednesday rolled around, he sent me a text--again--asking if I wanted to meet at Sweet and Vicious--again. When I met him there, the chemistry was crazy. Facing each other on bar stools, his knees squeezed mine and he kept finding excuses to touch me, saying, "Oh, I like you."
I told him about the summer share I was taking in Montauk and he said, "You spend summers in Montauk?...I knew I liked you...Hopefully I won't fuck this up between now and then...I have five surfboards...You need a surfboard?...I'll buy you one."
He said that he didn't usually go to Sweet and Vicious because he didn't know anyone there, but that he likes taking dates (i.e., me) to such places so that he can get to know them. He said he would never take a date to a place where he knew the people--it's not fair, he said. After a while, he asked if I was hungry and took me to a Latin restaurant around the corner. The booth was big and he moved his side in closer, saying, "I want to be closer to you."
Signs of Hope: Telling me many times at Sweet and Vicious that he liked me; being very touchy; indicating a future together, including the possible purchase of a surf board.
Red Flags: Telling me many times at Sweet and Vicious that he liked me; being very touchy; indicating a future together, including the possible purchase of a surf board. (Don't they say if it seems too good to be true, it probably is?)
Also: He only contacted me via text, not voice. When he originally texted me for the date, he asked if it could be that night, i.e., "Will you be my beck-and-call girl?" And then his excuse for canceling was weak, but he did what any half-decent liar would do--used something that referenced a prior conversation. (On date #2, he had told me that his mother was terrible with computers and he was her tech guy from afar.)
Turning Point: Usually the turning points are subtle, but this one was hard to miss. Halfway through dinner, I mentioned I didn't drink. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and launched into a monologue about his own drinking habits, making comments that took a circuitous route and ended with him insisting, "I'm very passionate." Then when I offered to help with the bill, he took me up on it. Always a moment of truth.
After dinner, he took me to a bar where he knew people (see third paragraph under Date #3, above). His body language was terrible; instead of facing me like he had at Sweet and Vicious, he was turned toward the bar. He was somewhat non-communicative, giving me a laundry-list work history like he was at an interview for a job he did not want. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and, once in, crouched on the floor to text my friend Rick.
Me: I'm in the bathroom. Told him I didn't drink. Things seemed to change.
Rick: Probably in your head.
Me: He stopped touching me and is acting distant. And made me pay for part of dinner.
Rick: If he is honestly being that way because you don't drink, he's got major issues...
Returning to #100, I decided to take on more of a positive, fuck-it type of attitude. They were playing a Smiths song and I said, "I love this song. It's like musical pesto." #100 seemed to perk up and I wondered if I had, in fact, been contributing to the overly self-conscious downer vibe. We left the restaurant and he walked me home. And then he made out with me in front of my apartment building. Normally a good make-out is a Sign of Hope, but something told me not to expect to hear from him anytime soon.
Diagnosis: For him: He can manufacture chemistry but is there anything else? He could be a runner, a guy who bolts at any remote sign of realness. Plus, if he wants to be with someone who enjoys drinking like he seems to, this will never work.
For me: Sometimes being "open-minded" gets me into trouble. I wasn't all that interested on our first date, for all the right reasons, but I decided to give it another shot. Now I've been sucked in by his energy and affability. I doubt I'll hear from him again, but if I do, I'd probably see him again.
Next in the #100 series: Update
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)