This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa 2002.
Vital Stats: 5'8", Early 30s. German Living in London. Son of a Wealthy Industrial Family. He said he had a job but I don't think he really had a job because he didn't need to have a job.
First Impression: At first glance, he looked like something of a stereotypical German (glasses, short hair cut, neat attire) but didn't act nearly as uptight as one. We got along famously. It was clear he liked me.
The Situation: We met at a wedding in Costa Rica in November 2002 and then traveled around for a week. He gladly paid for just about everything under the rationale that he would have been traveling to these places anyway and it was nicer to have my company.
Signs of Hope: For a relationship? Because I was part of the equation: none. I was dating Mr. Unavailable #81 at the time and although #82 and I made out the night of the wedding, nothing else happened for the rest of the trip, although his teasing advances were a source of amusement for both of us.
Red Flags: Once again, I was the red flag. He made it clear that he liked me and even said if I was ever interested in a long-distance relationship, he knew the guy for me.
Turning Point: A few weeks after the Costa Rica trip, he told me he was dating someone. He would call me from time to time and, for several years, even called on my birthday. He visited me in New York a few times, which I suspect were feeler visits because although I met his girlfriend one of the times, I wasn't invited to the wedding and eventually the calls stopped coming. Last I heard, they were living in Gstaad, Switzerland, and his wife was running an art gallery.
Diagnosis: Maybe if I had given it a chance, my romantic feelings would have developed. At any rate, if, perhaps, I had wised up seven and a half years ago, I would now have a devoted husband and be running an art gallery in Gstaad.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #83: The Cheapskate
This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa summer 2004.
Vital Stats: 6'2," wiry. Nearing 40. Looks-wise, he was attractive, but I wasn't the only one who thought there was something turtle-like about his head. Aesthetic: Grant writer with unsold novel in drawer.
First Impression: It was more of a non-impression. In hindsight (after he got my attention and we went out), I realized I'd seen him around, but, for the most part, he fell into my blind spot.
First Date: Although we ran in the same circles, instead of approaching me in person, he spotted me on the dating site Nerve.com and sent me a message. I thought it was just a friendly hello so after he replied to my reply, I let it drop. Then, like a good social-networking stalker (considering it was 2004, he was way ahead of his time), he found me on Friendster and sent me another message. At that point, I started getting that he was interested. Our first date was a game of tennis by the East River.
Signs of Hope: He made the effort to hunt me down and ask me out. There was some chemistry.
Red Flags: He seemed to like emailing--a lot. He gave me his life story via email within about the first week. His online profile tried way too hard to sound way too cool. Anyone who puts together a profile that surpasses 1,000 words--and then repeats some of the phrases in person to indicate how clever he is--should not be trusted.
For our second date, he asked me to dinner and, when the bill came, he threw down money for what turned out to be a little less than half and then pushed the bill my way and said, "I'm not good at figuring out tips."
Turning Point: One Saturday we were supposed to go to a museum. I didn't hear from him until that morning when he asked if I wanted to get a coffee. Sensing badness, I sat down with him outside the coffee shop on the corner and he proceeded to tell me that he didn't "see this going anywhere." I said, "So that's that?" He nodded. I buddy-slapped him on the knee and said, "Well, it's been fun." Other than a massive ego-bruising that had me down for the count, I was pissed because I turned down a beach invitation that day to go to a museum with him.
That wasn't the end of the story, though. We wound up at the same gathering about a week later and he stared at me the whole time. He called me a few days after that wanting to talk. I said, "Nope."
Diagnosis: We were nearing the point when there would have to be actual intimacy to move forward, so he bailed. And then there was also the whole cheapskate thing.
Vital Stats: 6'2," wiry. Nearing 40. Looks-wise, he was attractive, but I wasn't the only one who thought there was something turtle-like about his head. Aesthetic: Grant writer with unsold novel in drawer.
First Impression: It was more of a non-impression. In hindsight (after he got my attention and we went out), I realized I'd seen him around, but, for the most part, he fell into my blind spot.
First Date: Although we ran in the same circles, instead of approaching me in person, he spotted me on the dating site Nerve.com and sent me a message. I thought it was just a friendly hello so after he replied to my reply, I let it drop. Then, like a good social-networking stalker (considering it was 2004, he was way ahead of his time), he found me on Friendster and sent me another message. At that point, I started getting that he was interested. Our first date was a game of tennis by the East River.
Signs of Hope: He made the effort to hunt me down and ask me out. There was some chemistry.
Red Flags: He seemed to like emailing--a lot. He gave me his life story via email within about the first week. His online profile tried way too hard to sound way too cool. Anyone who puts together a profile that surpasses 1,000 words--and then repeats some of the phrases in person to indicate how clever he is--should not be trusted.
For our second date, he asked me to dinner and, when the bill came, he threw down money for what turned out to be a little less than half and then pushed the bill my way and said, "I'm not good at figuring out tips."
Turning Point: One Saturday we were supposed to go to a museum. I didn't hear from him until that morning when he asked if I wanted to get a coffee. Sensing badness, I sat down with him outside the coffee shop on the corner and he proceeded to tell me that he didn't "see this going anywhere." I said, "So that's that?" He nodded. I buddy-slapped him on the knee and said, "Well, it's been fun." Other than a massive ego-bruising that had me down for the count, I was pissed because I turned down a beach invitation that day to go to a museum with him.
That wasn't the end of the story, though. We wound up at the same gathering about a week later and he stared at me the whole time. He called me a few days after that wanting to talk. I said, "Nope."
Diagnosis: We were nearing the point when there would have to be actual intimacy to move forward, so he bailed. And then there was also the whole cheapskate thing.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #109: This Charming Man
Vital Stats: Formerly known as "My New Crush," he has, sadly, earned a number. Early to mid 40s, English with a Green Card. Aesthetic: British Dandy-like Rockabilly. Demeanor: So damn cool.
First Impression: Too damn cool for me.
Signs of Hope: Well, it began many months ago. OK, two months ago...three max. I guess you could say I started it. I was practicing being more "open" and decided to just talk to him without my usual self-conscious hang-ups. And--lookity-look--he was game. One could say we'd become friends. We'd giggle together in groups, make jokes at each others' expense. Generally, at parties, we'd always find a way to interact. Even just the other night I said giddily to a friend (and I think this helps show that very little about male-female interest changes between kindergarten and the mid-life crisis): "He teases me constantly. I just love him." When we would say hello or good-bye he'd go out of his way to kiss my cheek or hold my hand just a little bit longer. Meltworthily charming.
Then, just two nights ago at a party, I was talking to another guy friend about dating and #35 walked up. I told him what we were talking about and, when my guy friend walked away, #35 hooked on to the idea that I was dating my guy friend and became very distant--seriously, he was looking off into the distance. I found a way to change the subject (i.e., "Look at my shiny new watch."), but his reaction seemed flatteringly transparent.
Red Flags: I can't say I wasn't warned: See section toward bottom referring to "dodgy bicoastal situation based on green card needs."
Turning Point: So, last night, I went to his show and went up to him after to say hello. He was chilly, so I slunk away. An hour later when I went to leave he was in my leaving path. He gave me a good-bye kiss and a big squeeze on the arm and said, "Thanks so much for coming, where are you headed?" Huh?
And then tonight, I ran into him and he asked if I wanted to go eat with him and some friends. I went. He was fidgety the whole time and then, toward the end, he suddenly had to go and left. Double huh? The distance--oh, the distance. It's the classic Mr. Unavailable sign: The old hot-and-cold.
Diagnosis: He's got some of The Runner in him. I get the feeling that he can go so far as to dip a foot in the water but then he quickly finds that it's too cold--or, more accurately, too hot. So, it's true. For now, anyway, he's too damn cool for me.
First Impression: Too damn cool for me.
Signs of Hope: Well, it began many months ago. OK, two months ago...three max. I guess you could say I started it. I was practicing being more "open" and decided to just talk to him without my usual self-conscious hang-ups. And--lookity-look--he was game. One could say we'd become friends. We'd giggle together in groups, make jokes at each others' expense. Generally, at parties, we'd always find a way to interact. Even just the other night I said giddily to a friend (and I think this helps show that very little about male-female interest changes between kindergarten and the mid-life crisis): "He teases me constantly. I just love him." When we would say hello or good-bye he'd go out of his way to kiss my cheek or hold my hand just a little bit longer. Meltworthily charming.
Then, just two nights ago at a party, I was talking to another guy friend about dating and #35 walked up. I told him what we were talking about and, when my guy friend walked away, #35 hooked on to the idea that I was dating my guy friend and became very distant--seriously, he was looking off into the distance. I found a way to change the subject (i.e., "Look at my shiny new watch."), but his reaction seemed flatteringly transparent.
Red Flags: I can't say I wasn't warned: See section toward bottom referring to "dodgy bicoastal situation based on green card needs."
Turning Point: So, last night, I went to his show and went up to him after to say hello. He was chilly, so I slunk away. An hour later when I went to leave he was in my leaving path. He gave me a good-bye kiss and a big squeeze on the arm and said, "Thanks so much for coming, where are you headed?" Huh?
And then tonight, I ran into him and he asked if I wanted to go eat with him and some friends. I went. He was fidgety the whole time and then, toward the end, he suddenly had to go and left. Double huh? The distance--oh, the distance. It's the classic Mr. Unavailable sign: The old hot-and-cold.
Diagnosis: He's got some of The Runner in him. I get the feeling that he can go so far as to dip a foot in the water but then he quickly finds that it's too cold--or, more accurately, too hot. So, it's true. For now, anyway, he's too damn cool for me.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #108: D.O.A.
Vital Stats: 40, Corporate Computer Guy, "Silver Fox," as they say. Aesthetic: Neat work tie and shirt, no jacket. Demeanor: Sportsy Bronx-born New Yorker Gone Corporate
First Date: Via Match.com. We met in front of the Apple store on 59th and Fifth Avenue and then walked to Mickey Mantle's Bar, Central Park South
First Impression: Sportsy Bronx-born New Yorker Gone Corporate
Signs of Hope: Conversion rolled smoothly. We shared interests, discussed recent travel, I learned about his 21-year-old daughter, who wanted to be a journalist, as I was for many years until I realized that one day I would probably want to have a savings account with money accumulating in it. His daughter actually sounded pretty cool and I was vaguely trying to sort out how to meet her...
Red Flags: ...without having to go through him because, from the moment he walked up to me, I detected zero interest. My camp probably could have generated some interest if there were any sign of life from his camp, but there was nothing. I came very close to saying, "Do you want to just forget it?" But I didn't. The conversion rolled smoothly probably because neither of us had any emotional investment.
Turning Point: The moment he walked up to me.
Diagnosis: This match was D.O.A.--it was pretty much a by-the-book, no-nonsense, no-interest date. The only truly odd moment came at the end, when we were parting ways and he said, "Talk soon?" Apparently, no one has told him yet that on a date where there is clearly no interest from either side, a "Nice to meet you" generally suffices as a respectable farewell.
First Date: Via Match.com. We met in front of the Apple store on 59th and Fifth Avenue and then walked to Mickey Mantle's Bar, Central Park South
First Impression: Sportsy Bronx-born New Yorker Gone Corporate
Signs of Hope: Conversion rolled smoothly. We shared interests, discussed recent travel, I learned about his 21-year-old daughter, who wanted to be a journalist, as I was for many years until I realized that one day I would probably want to have a savings account with money accumulating in it. His daughter actually sounded pretty cool and I was vaguely trying to sort out how to meet her...
Red Flags: ...without having to go through him because, from the moment he walked up to me, I detected zero interest. My camp probably could have generated some interest if there were any sign of life from his camp, but there was nothing. I came very close to saying, "Do you want to just forget it?" But I didn't. The conversion rolled smoothly probably because neither of us had any emotional investment.
Turning Point: The moment he walked up to me.
Diagnosis: This match was D.O.A.--it was pretty much a by-the-book, no-nonsense, no-interest date. The only truly odd moment came at the end, when we were parting ways and he said, "Talk soon?" Apparently, no one has told him yet that on a date where there is clearly no interest from either side, a "Nice to meet you" generally suffices as a respectable farewell.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #106: The No-Go
See The Confident Nerd for the background on this one.
Second Date: Clash of the Titans 3D in Union Square
Second Impression: He texted me back after I texted him to tell him I had returned from Oz. After a couple more texts, he followed up with a phone call (nice) and suggested dinner and a movie for Friday night, which turned into just a movie for Sunday night.
Red Flags: It ended much the same way it began--with a whimper. When we first met up at the theater, he tried for a kiss on the lips, which I dodged to give him a cheek. It ended with an awkward hug. Otherwise, we conversed well, but I had the unmistakable urge to lower the armrest during the movie to create more of a barrier.
Diagnosis: It's probably best we got it over with on Sunday rather than waiting until Friday because as soon as I saw him I knew I just. couldn't. do. it. As far as I could tell, he's a nice guy but his overarching awkwardness is something I can't overcome. He slumps just a little too much and moves with just a little too much hesitation.
Next: Mr Unavailable #107. We both work near 59th and Madison, which could be very good--or very bad--or, like most things, completely inconsequential.
Second Date: Clash of the Titans 3D in Union Square
Second Impression: He texted me back after I texted him to tell him I had returned from Oz. After a couple more texts, he followed up with a phone call (nice) and suggested dinner and a movie for Friday night, which turned into just a movie for Sunday night.
Red Flags: It ended much the same way it began--with a whimper. When we first met up at the theater, he tried for a kiss on the lips, which I dodged to give him a cheek. It ended with an awkward hug. Otherwise, we conversed well, but I had the unmistakable urge to lower the armrest during the movie to create more of a barrier.
Diagnosis: It's probably best we got it over with on Sunday rather than waiting until Friday because as soon as I saw him I knew I just. couldn't. do. it. As far as I could tell, he's a nice guy but his overarching awkwardness is something I can't overcome. He slumps just a little too much and moves with just a little too much hesitation.
Next: Mr Unavailable #107. We both work near 59th and Madison, which could be very good--or very bad--or, like most things, completely inconsequential.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #107: The Hot Captain
Vital Stats: 32-year-old British captain of the Whitsunday Magic schooner located in the Whitsunday Islands, Australia. Aesthetic: Preppy Sailor. Demeanor: Boyishly charming, with the looks to match.
First Impression: "He's the captain?"
Signs of Hope: It was a three-day journey and, having left my emergency make-up kit in Sydney, I'd largely dismissed him as out-of-my-league cute on a too-short journey. In the first few days our interaction was fairly limited except for my lame "Shouldn't you be driving?" joke when I saw him getting tea and a couple of times when he somewhat affectionately (I like to think) referred to me as "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay" and called it "an oldie but goodie."
Then, nearing shore on the last day, he struck up a conversation as he steered the ship and I sat on the box behind him. (Worth noting: another girl was sitting on the box next to me and he effectively ignored her during the whole exchange.) He asked me where I was from, what I did, said he eventually wants to captain a cruise ship and that he loved New York--especially the East Village--and one day wants to live there. And then he said, "I always wanted to marry an American so I could live in America but I missed my opportunity because the friends who would have done probably wouldn't do it now--they're looking for real husbands."
"I'll marry you." I didn't say it, but I came close. A green card in exchange for arm candy? Done. And then he asked if I was going to "be here tonight." I thought he meant the boat, because I was slated to stay on for the next three-day tour (same boat, different crew) but he meant in town because he then said, "A friend of mine is having a birthday party at Phoenix if you'd like to come."
I realized the misunderstanding and reflexively said, "No, I'm staying on the boat."
You might as well have stabbed me right there--might as well have made it messy because that's how it felt. There it went--my big opportunity to buy some makeup and maybe make out. My fate was sealed. No hot captain for me.
Red Flags: I could have sworn the purser made a reference to "the captain's wife" early in the trip, a detail I chose to forget the moment he mentioned wanting to marry a Yank.
Turning Point: Getting back on that boat was just about the hardest thing I have ever done. I still haven't recovered, especially because the trip turned into a nightmarish version of Groundhog Day with a miserable crew and--except for a hilarious brother and sister from Exeter--passengers to match. I did a Phoenix drive-by three days later and ran into one of the other crew members but not him.
Diagnosis: Although denial served me well for a little while, he probably was married. And then there was the fact that he lives on the other side of the world. And has green-card motives. But if he called me tomorrow and asked me to marry him for my American-ness, I'd consider it. My morals aren't spotless, but if you met the Hot Captain, yours wouldn't be either.
First Impression: "He's the captain?"
Signs of Hope: It was a three-day journey and, having left my emergency make-up kit in Sydney, I'd largely dismissed him as out-of-my-league cute on a too-short journey. In the first few days our interaction was fairly limited except for my lame "Shouldn't you be driving?" joke when I saw him getting tea and a couple of times when he somewhat affectionately (I like to think) referred to me as "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay" and called it "an oldie but goodie."
Then, nearing shore on the last day, he struck up a conversation as he steered the ship and I sat on the box behind him. (Worth noting: another girl was sitting on the box next to me and he effectively ignored her during the whole exchange.) He asked me where I was from, what I did, said he eventually wants to captain a cruise ship and that he loved New York--especially the East Village--and one day wants to live there. And then he said, "I always wanted to marry an American so I could live in America but I missed my opportunity because the friends who would have done probably wouldn't do it now--they're looking for real husbands."
"I'll marry you." I didn't say it, but I came close. A green card in exchange for arm candy? Done. And then he asked if I was going to "be here tonight." I thought he meant the boat, because I was slated to stay on for the next three-day tour (same boat, different crew) but he meant in town because he then said, "A friend of mine is having a birthday party at Phoenix if you'd like to come."
I realized the misunderstanding and reflexively said, "No, I'm staying on the boat."
You might as well have stabbed me right there--might as well have made it messy because that's how it felt. There it went--my big opportunity to buy some makeup and maybe make out. My fate was sealed. No hot captain for me.
Red Flags: I could have sworn the purser made a reference to "the captain's wife" early in the trip, a detail I chose to forget the moment he mentioned wanting to marry a Yank.
Turning Point: Getting back on that boat was just about the hardest thing I have ever done. I still haven't recovered, especially because the trip turned into a nightmarish version of Groundhog Day with a miserable crew and--except for a hilarious brother and sister from Exeter--passengers to match. I did a Phoenix drive-by three days later and ran into one of the other crew members but not him.
Diagnosis: Although denial served me well for a little while, he probably was married. And then there was the fact that he lives on the other side of the world. And has green-card motives. But if he called me tomorrow and asked me to marry him for my American-ness, I'd consider it. My morals aren't spotless, but if you met the Hot Captain, yours wouldn't be either.
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