Mr. Unavailable #95.5: The Pseudo-Return

See Mr. Unavailable #95.5 for the background on this one.

Update: I ran into him at a party a week ago during the Great Four-Day Downpour of 2010--on the same day as the 4.5-hour hostage situation and the "cancellation" text from #100 (yes, when it rains, it pours). Inside the party, the music was good. I'm a good dancer. He's a good dancer. We danced. And danced. And danced. After about two hours, I said I was leaving. He didn't ask for my number.

Four days later, I got a message from him over Facebook. After a few back-and-forths, he wrote, "I don't have your number." (Apparently, guys don't actually ask for numbers anymore, they state facts.) I decided not to be difficult, replied, "That's a crime" and gave it to him. He called the next day around noon, asked where I lived, what the nearest subway stop was and said he was on his way over--and, oh yeah, did I want to hang out? I was like, "Um." He asked if I needed time. "I'm a girl," I said, "I always need time."

Previously, I'd been concerned at our conversational abilities. It was clear during the phone call that our flirtational compatibility was solid as he suggested putting me in a catsuit and I agreed, citing the likely high comfort level. But real conversation?

Signs of Hope: During the phone call, he mentioned being 40. Not that age equals maturity but I'd previously thought he was younger than me, so this made me feel better. Also: He did come to pick me up and, even though he had me choose where to go for lunch, he acknowledged it was supposed to be his "job."

Red Flags: See The End of the Date below. Otherwise, when he was on his way to my place, he called and asked if I had a bathroom, but I said I was already outside and my apartment was a mess; later, at lunch, I noticed he never once visited the loo (possibly a #84 move?). So, yes, it occurred to me that he might want something purely physical, but--and this may be the only time in my life that this is the case so I'm going to take a moment to make a note of it--I've just had one of those and am not looking for another.

The Date: We sat in the back garden at Yaffa Cafe on St. Marks Place. Any fears I had over our conversational abilities were effectively dashed. We got along famously and he was not the one-sided conversationalist I feared he was. He also displayed himself to be quite an adult. On the way back, he said, "I always knew we got along." And I said, "I actually wasn't sure if we did, but we do." In the "New York City is Smaller Than You Think" Department, we ran into a girl who has a crush on him on the way to Yaffa and My New Crush on the way back from Yaffa. Oy.

The End of the Date: He walked me home and it did seem like he wanted to kiss me but then it didn't, it did, then didn't. Finally I said, "Is he gonna do it or... isn't he..." And then he says, "I know that if I kiss you, I'll be crossing a line and I don't know if I want to cross the line because I'm not looking for anything right now."

My insult-reflex kicked in and this thought went through my head: "You fucker. You tease me by taking me out and flirting like a madman, and then you tell me you're not looking for anything?" He must have read my mind because he then said, "I know, you must be thinking, 'You fucker.'" Indeed. He mentioned something about how we run in the same circles and it could be complicated and also something about having had his heart broken--but then in the same breath said he was totally over it. Yes, then, um, why mention it . . .

We loitered in front of my building for over an hour doing what any two non-kissing adults who are interested in each other do in public, which was, admittedly, not much but way fun. Every now and then, when it looked like we were approaching the line, I'd say, "Impasse..." and then hum a little ditty I made up on the spot. Eventually, instead of saying, "Impasse," I'd just hum.

Analysis: Ultimately, I appreciate his candor. The last thing I want is a bunch more #100-style ambiguity. I'm still a tad irked that he got my hopes up because, dude, sort it out, but maybe this was one of the ways he thought might help him sort it out.

Predictions: I've no idea what will happen. I could hear from him tomorrow or I could bump into him in a year somewhere and just continue the flirtation.

Mr. Unavailable #106: The Confident Nerd

Vital Stats: 6'2", 32, Computer Hacker, Aesthetic: Dressed in poorly matched earth tones, he had more of an anti-aesthetic. (On a relevant side note, his OKCupid username included the word "nerd," which he very much was.) Demeanor: Young but sweet.

Background: He contacted me several times via OKCupid and I ignored him for months. Finally, he wrote to me asking, "How do I get to know you better?" Touched, and trying to be more open-minded, I replied: "Ah, persistence. Nice job! What would you like to know?"

First Date: Heartland Brewery, Union Square, St. Patrick's Day. He called me a few days before the date and had excellent phone skills, sounding very sweet/smart/funny. Then he texted me just before the date to say he was at the appointed location and had snagged a table by the door--again, sweet.

First Impression: Seated on a bar stool at a high table, he slouched forward, completing the picture of geeky awkwardness. But he totally owned it, which was kind of attractive.

Signs of Hope: For being such a nerd, he was strangely confident. We talked easily. I told him about my impending advertising job and trip to Australia and he told me about his recent move from D.C. and how he learned to be a hacker. I actually lost track of time.

Red Flag: He referenced some heavy drinking habits and various parties. He was also five years younger than me, so it kind of made sense. But he was five years younger than me. Otherwise, I might have been the red flag: He seemed available, but would my own unavailability allow me to give him a chance?

Turning Point: We talked for an hour and 45 minutes and I suddenly realized it had been an hour and 45 minutes and said I was late to meet some friends, which was true. He said he'd come back to take care of the check and walked me outside, giving me a kiss on the cheek. At some point in there, I decided I'd go out with him again if he asked.

Diagnosis: Possibly available for an awkward romance. Stay tuned for a second date . . .

Mr. Unavailable #105: The Parental Figure

Vital Stats: 6'ish and vaguely pudgy, 47, Cabbie-Turned-Restaurant Manager-Turned-Bond Trader-Turned Masseuse

First Date: We met through Match.com and arranged to meet at Billy's Bakery on Ninth Avenue.

First Impression: He was way too old for me--and it wasn't just the ten years he had on me.

Signs of Hope: He had a gentle, laid-back demeanor and let me sit on the bench outside the bakery while he paid for our green pre-St. Patrick's Day cupcakes inside--if I haven't mention it before, it doesn't take much to impress me.

Red Flags: I felt like I had run into one of my parents' friends on the street and he had bought me a cupcake just to be nice and see how I was.

Turning Point: After the 4.5-hour hostage situation with Mr. Unavailable #104, I managed to say, "Well, I guess I should be heading home" in less than 45 minutes.

Diagnosis: I just kept thinking he'd make a great friend for my parents. I'm sure he was available for a mature, adult relationship...but better my parents than me.

Mr. Unavailable #100: Letting it Play Out, Part 2

See Mr. Unavailable #100, Update, Revisited, Down the Rabbit Hole, The Sound of Silence, I Can See Clearly Now the Rain is Gone, Anthropological Experimentation and Letting it Play Out, Part 1 for the background on this one.

Update: Two days after #100 said he'd call me to "hang out this weekend" and didn't, I got this text--on that Saturday night:

#100: I have a deadline Tuesday and I'm not as far ahead as I wanted to be. i think going to have to cancel. Let try after Tuesday.

My first reaction was to laugh, "Cancel what?!" The next day, after wrestling over whether or not I was done yet, I decided I wasn't and wrote back: Aw, good luck. How about Friday? Don't work too hard.

The next night I got this text:
#100: Come hurry meet me out.
Me: R u on fire?
#100: Yes no but yes. Can u come.
My dreams of another real date with #33 forever dashed, I replied: Yes I can come. Where?
#100: :$ sweet paradise. Orchard and cannal.

I walked into Sweet Paradise and, not to be overly melodramatic but, I saw into the heart of Mr. Unavailable darkness. Indeed, The Horror. The Horror. It is a very. lonely. place. He was talking to the bartender, half-drunk and alone. As if it weren't clear enough to me already, he made it plain: "We should just be friends. It's easier that way." The read on that, of course, was "friends with benefits." I stifled my insult-reflex by reminding myself that I already knew this was what it was all about.

Back at his place, I thought we'd immediately get busy. (He propositioned me at the bar with questions like, "Wanna make out and mate?") Instead, he surprised me by telling me all about the project he was working on. He showed me pictures, asked my opinion, seemed interested in what I had to say. It was sweetly self-absorbed and reinforced the aura of loneliness. I stayed over and played the part of the anti-girlfriend, letting him come to me, and he did. It was funny because he didn't want me to leave in the middle of the night, but, the next morning when I did leave, he couldn't even look at me. It served to put the finishing touch on the message being laid out: There was nothing here for me.

Diagnosis: For him: I feel truly sad for him. I can see his potential. He has a sweetness about him, but because he's so afraid (of rejection, of having to make an effort, of having to take a risk, of having to reveal his true self whatever that is, who knows), he buries it beneath a hipster facade.
For me: Of course, this is what I'm attracted to, which is worrying. But at least I can see it.

In the meantime, there are a few more potential Mr. Unavailables on the horizon that need looking into as well as the return of Mr. Unavailable #95.5. Stay tuned...

Mr. Unavailable #100: Letting it Play Out, Part 1

See Mr. Unavailable #100, Update, Revisited, Down the Rabbit Hole, The Sound of Silence, I Can See Clearly Now the Rain is Gone, and Anthropological Experimentation for the background on this one.

Update: Five days after the last feeler text, I got this text on a Thursday morning:

#100: U don't call! U don't write! What is a boy to think.

I wrote back: Wait, that's what I was thinking. Except for the 'boy' part.
#100: Girl this ain't the 60s it the new millenium.
Me: Oh boy, what ever am I going to do with you...
#100: Hold me :)
Me: Is it that bad already?
#100: Lol
Me: Well, how shall we remedy this?
#100: Wanna hang this weekend?
Me: Absolutely. Nice remedy. There's hope for you yet.
#100: I knew it.
Me: Phew! Why don't you give me a call at some point and we'll make a plan?
#100: Ok. I'm at work today. I'll calls u when I'm out.
Me: Lovely

That call never came. It was a typical Mr. Unavailable move. I was not to hear from him until Part 2.

Analysis: I had hope, oh, yes, I did. One can hear it in my text voice. I had hope that the whole thing would not fall into the silly-fling wastebasket. And I hoped he was on board. He was not. See Part 2.

Mr. Unavailable #104: The Lingerer

Vital Stats: 5'11"ish, 35, Small-Town Brit in the Big Apple, "A Creative" in Advertising, Self-Described Pseudo-Hippy (complete with hippy hair)

First Date: Mid-March 2010 via Match.com dating site. Four and a half long hours involving... brunch at Cafe Cluny in the West Village (was that Kayhan from "Queer Eye" that I saw?) ...then cupcakes at Magnolia Bakery...then milkshakes at Cafe Reggio...

First Impression: Goofy Brit (He looked much more 1960s-Rolling-Stone suave in his online photos.)

Signs of Hope: Conversation flowed...and flowed...and flowed...

Red Flags: He lingered over brunch, to the consternation of the wait staff and myself. He indicated he'd get the check if I'd spring for sweets, so I tried to think of a quick-sweet place and came up with Magnolia, where the line was mercifully short. The only problem was that New York City was experiencing the Great Four-Day Downpour of 2010 and there was nowhere to eat the cupcakes. I suggested Starbucks, he suggested Cafe Reggio...another place with sit-down service and an order requirement. Whereas I sucked down my milkshake in the first 15 minutes, he lingered over his for an hour and a half. And then he had no cash, so I had to spring for vittles and date-time I never wanted (He did offer to go to an ATM, but I envisioned that taking another hour.) Also: I like a little goofy in a guy, but he was a little too goofy for me.

Turning Point: If the date had ended sometime before Cafe Reggio (the three-hour mark), I might have entertained the idea of a second one, but he began suggesting he would take a sick day very soon and we could hang out together. The prospect of another four and a half hourer--or longer--sickened me, and it wasn't just the cupcake/milkshake sugar high talking. After the date, he texted me to say he had fun and I emailed him to tell him that, for me, there was no spark. He replied with a message incorporating the lyrics to the Springsteen fave Dancing in the Dark (i.e., "You can't start a fire without a spark."). It went beyond goofy to truly bizarre.

Diagnosis: Likely available for a lingeringly bizarre relationship

My New Crush

Yes, amid all the chaos, I developed a new crush. I have no idea if he is Available or Unavailable, so I'm not even going to guess.

Vital Stats: 6'2"ish, British Musician and Photographer. Dresses in ascots and 1960s suit vests and makes it work.

First Impression: A bit standoffish, but very cool. Perhaps too cool. But nice, definitely nice.

Background: We've been acquaintances for years but recently started talking more. I ran into him at a downtown gathering of like-minded people and we went out to eat after with two others.

Signs of Hope: He seemed available. He asked what I did for work and actually seemed, yes, interested. He told me about a screenplay he had written, a kind of psychological thriller, he said. I said I wanted to read it and he actually sent it to me. I'm no screenplay critic, but it seemed decent.

Red Flags: Any interest or connection I detect could be totally one-sided. He may just be very flirtatious and does this with many women. There seem to be a lot of that kind around here.

To be continued at a later date . . .

Mr. Unavailable #84: Superman

This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa 2004.

Vital Stats: Seriously, he looked like Superman. His online photos were very likely some kind of headshots. He was 6'2", maybe 200 pounds, with jet black hair and perfect skin. Aesthetic: Head-to-toe gothabilly. Demeanor: Too cool for school.

First Date: Late August 2004 at a cafe in the East Village.

First Impression: He was more beefcakey in real life than in his photos, which must have been old and from his thinner modeling days. Dressed entirely in gothabilly attire, he came complete with jet-black cowboy hat, black shirt, black leather jacket, black jeans (or were those leather pants?), giant skeleton ring on his left hand and a few others on his right. Earrings and metal neckware may have been involved as well.

Signs of Hope: He seemed slightly less self-absorbed than his fetching black-and-white online photos had me believing he would be. He bought me a conditional coffee on our first date--conditional in that he told me I could get the next one. He called immediately after the first date to set up a second one--seriously, like ten minutes later.

Red Flags: The conditional coffee. On the first date, we talked a lot about his various pursuits, which I suspect existed primarily in his mind. He was "writing a graphic novel," "developing a TV show for Comedy Central," "working for a gothabilly label." (The last was true, though part time). As he walked me home, he made references to attracting stalkers--also possibly more imagined than real.

Before the second date, he called on his way over and insisted on coming up to my apartment to get me--and then he put the moves on me. It was the Worst. Kiss. Ever. Much like having a dead, cold, wet fish flop around in your mouth. As he maneuvered me in the direction of the bed, I said, "OK, let's go" and bolted toward the door.

Turning Point: On the second date (carrot cake at Cloister Cafe, which I sprung for as the condition from our first date), I was fairly bored but tried not to think too much about it. I had told him I was going to Fire Island for the weekend, so when I didn't hear from him after I returned, I called him him to tell him I was back. He answered but then had to go suddenly, mumbling about needing to eat or having to call his mother, or something similarly orally fixated or oedipal.

For the longest time, I wondered why he even bothered answering the phone when I called that night because I never heard from him again.

Diagnosis: For him: I can be super-clueless when it comes to figuring out what's really going on in any dating situation. I later realized that he had probably read each sign of interest from me as a step toward free sex and his resulting steps in my direction were merely a manifestation of how hopeful he was. When he saw a freebie was not going to be easy enough to come by, he quit.
For me: I was psyched to be dating someone so attractive and was therefore willing to overlook the fact that we were completely incompatible.

Update: Six years later (just a few short weeks ago!), I spotted him on a different dating site and he had this to say for himself: "I'm tired of dating, I want a girlfriend."

My recommendations: Develop more of a personality and stop trying to immediately bed your dates. And the kissing, work on the kissing.

(I couldn't resist, so I also Googled him and found nothing--nothing about him, Comedy Central or any kind of graphic novel.)

Mr. Unavailable #85: Boy Meets Girl, Disaster Ensues

This is a Mr. Unavailable Flashback circa 2003 through 2004

Vital Stats: 5'7", Age: 32/33, Semi-Employed Screenwriter, Aesthetic: Fully Funded, Semi-Employed Screenwriter, Demeanor: Self-Important Semi-Employed Screenwriter (Translation: Extremely Insecure with camouflage of false confidence; tortured). (In the screen version of this blog, this guy would be most accurately played by Seth Green.)

First Impression: It was less an impression than a gradual fade-in on my life between early 2003 and late 2004. He was energetic, flirtatious. He had one of the best self-descriptions ever: "I'm not actively short."

Background (in lieu of a clear First Date): Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy makes move, but girl, shocked, thinks they're just friends; boy and girl stop hanging out. Cut, Scene 2, Action: Boy and girl try to be friends again, girl realizes she likes boy, boy and girl try to date, boy can't do it. Cut, Scene 3, Action: Boy and girl start hanging out again, girl says she can't hang out just as friends and wants something more, boy says he can't do that, boy and girl end communication. Cut, Scene 4, Action: Boy sees girl at party, boy says he wants to date, boy and girl go on two dates spaced two weeks apart.

Signs of Hope: Boy said he wanted to date and carried through on two whole dates.

Red Flags: So many. In Scene Two, boy had something of a social/people/girl/commitment phobia and often resorted to the "Just Come Over" non-date date. During the real "dating" portion of the relationship, Scene Four, boy would call and yawn repeatedly, indicating he was not breathing properly, i.e, boy was extremely nervous/having a panic attack (illustrative comparison: Apolo Ohno yawning repeatedly immediately before going for Olympic gold).

Turning Point: Having had two dates spaced two weeks apart, girl called boy and told him "it wasn't going to work" unless they saw each other more. Boy said he'd think about it and then emailed girl the next day saying "it wasn't going to work" because he was too busy with work and life. Yes, in a plot twist, boy acted out the Reverse Dump. The critics would have given him a thumbs up on the performance, except because he emailed rather than called, blamed work rather than fessed up to being terrified, and then used exactly the same wording girl did, he got a thumbs down.

Diagnosis: For him: Boy was terminally unavailable.
For me: Girl was partially available.
Either way, this boy meets girl story long ago lost it's shot at a Hollywood ending.

Mr. Unavailable #86: Liar, Liar

This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa 2002, 2004 and...now.

Vital Stats: 35 (in 2004), 6'1". He was some kind of academic at Rutgers. Aesthetic: A plain, button-down shirt type of guy, maybe the type of guy who would put a bland crew neck sweater over his plain shirt, and pair it with jeans, or khakis. There was something somewhat Ivy League Reject-ish about him. Demeanor: Glum Ivy League Reject marooned in New Jersey academia.

Background: We met in Summer 2002 through Nerve.com and kept making plans to meet, plans that I kept canceling because, to be honest, I wasn't terribly excited about meeting him. On about the third or fourth cancellation, he nixed our meeting totally, saying, "Maybe it just wasn't meant to be."

Then, in December 2004 he messaged me again through Nerve.com, not realizing until after the date was set up that we had run across each other before. I had figured it out and was just determining how best to lord it over him.

First Date: On a Sunday night at the Cloister Cafe in the East Village, December 2004.

First Impression: I was dreading the date with every fiber of my being because:
1. I was still smarting from #85.
2. Meeting this guy felt more like a lingering task that needed to be completed than like anything to be excited about.
3. I'm semi-suicidal on Sunday nights anyway.
4. I knew I could not cancel again.

Signs of Hope: Fortunately, my expectations were so low that I was actually pleasantly surprised when I met him. He was tall and slightly gawky, as expected, but slightly less glum than I had anticipated. We had a fairly nice conversation, talking about writing, his trip from Jersey, the dry state of the carrot cake I had ordered.... He picked up the tab for my dry carrot cake and asked if I wanted to go for a walk. We wound up at St. Mark's Bookshop where he showed me the literary journal of which his profile said he was the editor.

Red Flags: I could have sworn his profile said he edited the journal, but, when he pointed to his name on the masthead, it was at the very bottom next to "ad sales." Indeed, when I checked his profile a few days later, this liar's pants were very much on fire.

Turning Point: I emailed him after our date (having not yet checked his profile for the literary journal lie) to say I had a nice time and offer myself up for another get-together. He replied saying, for him, there was no spark. It was one of those moments that makes one scream on the phone to friends, "But I didn't even like him!" Which I did.

Update: He returned--just the other day. This time on Match.com. Again, he does not recognize me. Now he's a 40-year-old lawyer in NYC--or so he says. His definitely-not-a-literary-editor message read: "I read your profile and really liked what you had to say, you seem like a very interesting person and I would love an opportunity to learn more about you. Hope you're having a nice Friday night." If that doesn't prove he's no literary editor, I don't know what does. And yes, he wrote me on a Friday night.

Now, I hate to sound bitter and childish, but I will: The only reason I offered myself up for a second date all those years ago was because my expectations had been so low that, after meeting him, I was pleasantly surprised enough that I didn't feel the need to go home and kill myself.

I sent him one of Match's multiple-choice rejection notes: "Thanks for writing me, but unfortunately we're just not a good match. Good luck in your search!" Even multiple-choice payback is sweet.

Diagnosis: He was willfully out of touch with the truth and even more closed-minded than a 32-year-old woman with a Sunday night death wish (that would be me).

Mr. Unavailable #100: Anthropological Experimentation

See Mr. Unavailable #100, Update, Revisited, Down the Rabbit Hole, The Sound of Silence and I Can See Clearly Now the Rain is Gone for the background on this one.

Update: This whole thing has officially turned into a Study in Modern Dating. I am fascinated. After not really expecting to ever hear from #100 again, on the Saturday afternoon four days after "date" #5 (an improvement on the previous nine-day silence...) I got a text (...a regression from the previous phone call). When I read the first line, I did a little "I Win" dance around my apartment. The text was funny, friendly, flirtatious. I interpreted it as what I like to call a "feeler" text: he was feeling the situation out to see if I was still on the line. I kept it short, snappy--after all, I want to keep him on the line, too.

Possibly even more interesting, 12 hours later, during a bout of insomnia, at 2:59 a.m. Sunday morning, I heard my phone go BLEEP. And voila, there was another text: "Are u wake?" I'm not quite ready to let this whole thing become one big booty text; I'd like to continue at least a vague, even one-sided pretense that we are trying to date, or trying to simulate something close to it. Hell, maybe this whole thing has a chance of being rescued from the brink of just-a-shag extinction (...you're right, who am I kidding?).

At any rate, this has become something of an anthropological experiment, so I want to be able to parse and diagram each step on the road from Potential Dating Situation to Torrid Affair (I'm so lucky that it's all so romantic). So I let the text go until a reasonable hour and replied: "I was sleeping like a baby. Is everything OK?" In this case, white lies and playing dumb are acceptable (Although it's possible there was some kind of emergency and he needed a shoulder to cry on...OK, I can't even type that with a straight face). He texted back: "All OK." Wanting to let him know that I knew it was a Drunken Booty Text but also wanting to let him know that I am The Coolest Girl in the World (or a clueless 22-year-old), I replied: "Ur so cute." I guess we'll see what floats to the surface.

Predictions (Rated on a scale of 1 to 5 with 1 being least likely and 5 being most likely):

• He'll text in about a week with another feeler text (4) followed by an invitation to his place (4)
• I won't hear from him at all (1)
• He'll call within a week (2)
• He'll call within a week and ask me out on a proper date (1, no, zero...is zero possible?)

Stay tuned...

Next in the #100 series: Letting it Play Out, Part 1

Mr. Unavailable #103: Inked and Off-White

Vital Stats: 5'11", 36, Tattoo artist recently relocated from San Diego. Aesthetic: Spruced-up post-grunge with an Army jacket and baggy-ish trousers. Demeanor: Intelligent, understated low-talker.

First Date: We met via the OKCupid dating site, March 2010, and agreed to meet at Think Coffee on Bleecker and Bowery in the East Village.

First Impression: From what I could see, he was covered in aged-green tattoos (except for fingernails, one palm and most of his face--but not all). And he was extremely considerate. He bought me a hot chocolate, sat down and said, "First, I just wanted to thank you for meeting me." (Um, wow.)

At another point, he stopped the conversation and said we should talk about me for a while, so we did. He displayed a level of patience foreign to Manhattan and its environs; it turned out he'd only moved to New York recently from San Diego. He chose his words carefully, clarifying that he didn't move to New York for a girl, he moved to New York and there was a girl; he said his bedroom was urban-male "off-white" not suburban-mom "beige."

Signs of Hope: At no point did I think it would work out, but I thought maybe we could be friends. It was all very friendly. Otherwise, we were in agreement about the horribleness of the coffee shop artwork and he admitted to being an art snob but said he wouldn't elaborate because he was trying to make a good first impression.

Red Flags: The flags were more pink than red: For example, he'd take a sip of water and then, covering his mouth with his hand, swish it around like mouthwash. I picked up on a vague OCD pertaining to cleanliness when he described his living conditions and no-pet preference. He exhibited a possibly sarcastic, old-man shuffle when walking between the closely spaced cafe tables (he was perhaps best described as understated weird).

Turning Point: I was thinking that maybe we could be friends but then got a text from him soon after the date that said, in part, "...hopefully our paths will cross again."

Diagnosis: He's possibly a relationship guy but not my relationship guy.

Mr. Unavailable #100: I Can See Clearly Now the Rain is Gone.

See Mr. Unavailable #100, Update, Revisited, Down the Rabbit Hole and The Sound of Silence for the background on this one.

Update: #100 called me yesterday. Yes, not a text. An actual phone call. After nine days. And, when he didn't get me, he even left a message. It looked like a sign of progress--except for the nine days part. I called him back and he asked if I wanted to come over and cuddle. We could order lunch, he said.

I'm no dummy. Going over, all I had in mind was that before anything happened, I had to somehow have the "talk," find out "what he was looking for" and if we were "on the same page." He ordered lunch for us, we watched TV, fooled around. I kept thinking, "I really need to say something now...or maybe now...or now..." But now never quite arrived.

The Upshot: I found the whole afternoon to be a little, well, dull. It was fun in a way, but I began to wonder where the depth had gone--or if there had been any depth at all. Was this really what I wanted? After four hours of constant effort on his part (really, quite impressive), I gave in. Afterward, things were, well, awkward. He asked if I wanted to order dinner and suggested I "step up" on the tab. Midway through perusing a menu, I told him I was leaving.

Clarity: Everything fell into place on my walk home. The reason I didn't ask him what he was looking for was because I already knew. I knew it from the moment I first laid eyes on his skinny jeans. He's not Relationship Guy. He's Good Time Guy. Or, true to his name, Mr. Unavailable #100. Dates 2, 4 and half of 3 were great: he told me things and did things to lead me to believe he might be Relationship Guy, and maybe on some level he wanted to believe them, but I don't think he was capable of sustaining it.

There were far more signs that he wasn't Relationship Guy: only texting, not getting in touch for days (see: nine days, above), not appearing to really want to get to know me on a substantive level, suggesting I pick up the dinner tab and--another keeper--saying his neighbor referred to women as "accounts" (as in, "That account is closed") but never really saying it was a bad thing (as in, he probably had "open accounts," too). And even though he was 35, I could never quite shake the fact that I thought of him as being more like 24.

I had seen the direction things were headed: watching TV and fooling around. If I had forced "the talk," I would have had to hear--in actual words--what I already knew. And really, why bother?

In Conclusion: Hopefully my mother will never read this, but I'm glad I "gave in." If I had "held out," it would have continued to feed my fantasy that maybe he was Relationship Guy. Instead, I got some necessary reality. And ended a really long dry spell.

Maybe I'll hear from him again. Or maybe not. Either way, I'm fine. Great, actually. It is a little sad, because maybe he'll make a good boyfriend for someone someday. But not for me and not anytime soon.

Update (Already!): I saw him on the street today (NYC is much smaller than you think) and either he saw me first and totally ignored me or he totally didn't see me. I almost said something but then saw the determined/angry look on his face and thought better of it, realizing he either didn't want to interact with me at all or was totally wrapped up in something in his head. More importantly, my second thought was, "Really? Him? I slept with HIM?"

Next in the #100 series: Anthropological Experimentation

Mr. Unavailable #102: The Power Struggle

Vital Stats: 39, 5' 9", Cardio-Somethingist Technician, Persian/French, Living in The Bronx, Aesthetic: He wore lots of gold chains that ran down his exposed chest, which made me wonder--is there a Persian Mafia?

First Date: Appetizers and dessert at Max Brenner near Union Square, late February 2010.

First Impression: Kind, Considerate. He had gotten there early and put his name in, so I only had to wait with him for 20 minutes rather than the full 40.

Signs of Hope: See Above. On a sidenote, it was his 40th birthday two days from our date and when he was walking me to the subway at the end, he told me to let him know if I was available. Sweet, though a little sad.

Red Flags: When I told him I was thinking of ordering a salad, he made a slight sound of disapproval, told me he was getting an appetizer and then said we could split everything. So I got an appetizer, too. When looking at the dessert menu, he pointed to the photo of the dessert he wanted and then said I could get whatever I wanted and we could split it. By this point, I understood how things were supposed to go and agreed to the dessert he wanted. When the waiter came, he ordered for me.

Turning Point: Honestly, the moment I walked into the restaurant and saw him. There was zero attraction. The menu struggle was just icing on the (molten chocolate) cake.

Diagnosis: For him: Definite control issues. The writing was on the, er, menu as far as how his relationships go.
For me: Why do I agree to dessert when I'm clearly not interested my date? It's kind of a problem.

Mr. Unavailable #101: 49 Going on 19

Vital Stats: 49, Unemployed Screenwriter/Producer, Upper West Sider with L.A. Time, Aesthetic: Non-descript. Demeanor: He seemed nice enough, but was generally just kind of blah.

First Date: We met via the OKCupid dating site and agreed to get together on a Friday evening for coffee at Think Coffee on Bowery and Bleecker. Late February 2010.

First Impression: When I got there and sat down he was already settled in with a coffee, and when I got up to get something, he said, "Oh, I should have offered to get you something" and then continued to sit there. He seemed slightly depressed with a mild victim complex when talking about past work experience and his parents. He also seemed preoccupied with money and wanting to convey his lack of it despite the fact that he'd just put down a deposit on an apartment on the Upper West Side.

Signs of Hope: When I walked in, he looked just like his photos: tall, slightly pudgy with dark curly hair and not as old-looking as his 49 years.

Red Flags: Everything after I sat down.

Turning Point: When I had to get my own coffee even though he said he should get it.

Diagnosis: Even though he was 49, his chances of becoming an adult were slim.