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).