Mr. Unavailable #111: The Continuation

See Could it Be?, It's Not Him, It's Me, The Recovery and We're Just Not That Into Each Other for the background on this one.

Background: I met Mr. Available #111 in early June, liked him on our first date, didn't like him on our second date, liked him on our third date, didn't like him on our fourth date and was about to call it quits. Then I went out with him again and....

Date #5: ...you guessed it. I liked him again. I met him at Snack on Thompson between Prince and Spring on a swelteringly humid Sunday evening. And, just like dates #1 and 3, I was attracted to him the moment I saw him. He was sitting on a bench in the front of the restaurant reading and I walked up to him and said, "You're looking academic." He said, "Well, if I can't be it I can only try and look like it." I sat down next to him and I could tell he was having trouble looking at me. It. Was. Awesome.

Let me explain: You see, I'd called my friend Shelagh earlier in the day and told her I was having trouble deciding what to wear--whether I wanted to be saucy or sweet. "What do you feel like?" she asked. Unfortunately, I was feeling sweet, but then she said, "No, actually, what do you want to be?" "Saucy," was my immediate answer. I'd been pretty sweet-looking on all our previous dates, so if this was about to end, I wanted to go out with a bang. Hence, I donned a slinky black halter dress that emphasized my decolletage.

He managed to collect himself and we stood up and went into the restaurant. As we sat down, he said, "By the way, you look very pretty tonight."

I have to admit that this whole thing is progressing despite myself. We're already developing patterns. Of ordering: we get a bunch of appetizers, one entree and share it all. Of saying good-bye: making out in the Village. Of getting dessert: almost always.

After dinner, we walked to West Soho for an experimental jazz show he'd gotten tickets to. We walked up the stairs to the gallery and, as we reached a landing, I turned to say something and he kissed me. All kinds of cliches come to mind--things about weak in the knees, speechlessness, etc. It was all true. After, I stared at him for a moment with a little smile and continued with what I was saying...sort of.

We went in and sat down inside and he admitted that when he has a drink (he had wine at dinner), he gets affectionate. Finally! I'd been waiting for the scorpio to come out--and actually told him that (I think I mentioned that on our previous eight-hour date I failed to get anything beyond a kiss on the cheek.) So I said, "Where's the bar?"

Then, he put his arm around me/my chair. It was that initial, awkward first-time-arm-around-you thing where all you're doing is thinking about the fact that he has his arm around you and wondering if he's thinking about the fact that he has his arm around you, too. And then he removes his arm, and you wonder why. And he puts his arm back, and you are thrilled. And then he rubs your arm and you think it feels a little awkward and wonder if he thinks it feels a little awkward. Thank god I have almost no interest in experimental jazz.

After the show, we went to a bar in the Village where I hoped to get him more liquored up. I was in the middle of telling him a story about how I ran away to Boston one summer and spent the entirety reading Anna Karenina when suddenly he said, "I'd like to see you more. I don't know what you're deal is or if you like this once a week thing, but I would like to see you more than once a week." First, I momentarily stopped breathing. And then I remembered one week where we did, in fact, see each other twice but decided not to mentioned it. Instead what came out of my mouth was, "Yes, I'd like that"--or some other similar response. We parted ways around 11:30 and I went home a little baffled at myself...

Next: If this vicious on-and-off cycle holds true, our next date will be another where I am not attracted to him. This is excruciating. Maybe I can make it a quick coffee. Or a movie. I did notice that on the dates where I liked him, he always got there first, so perhaps I should be strategically late. I don't know what the magic formula is. Obviously, I like him or I wouldn't keep going out with him. Or maybe it's good that I am not gaga over him on every date because, as my old shrink would say, "that gives you room to get to know him and find out if you like him." She was always right.

Mr. Unavailable #112: The Young One

Vital Stats: Maybe late 20s, 5' 11"ish. Half Indian, Half White. With the smooth, round complexion of a 20-something, yet tall like a man, he was super cute.

First Impression: He kept looking my way at the outdoor dance extravaganza last weekend. I made eye contact, smiled, he approached, started talking and eventually asked for my number. He looked so young. I kept thinking, "Does he realize how old I am?" But he was cute. And nice. He was even nice to the friend I was with.

First Date: Galway Hooker (gigantic "Irish pub"), East 36th Street.

Signs of Hope: At the dance thing, he seemed quite keen. Afterward, he was fast to act: he texted me the next day and set up a date for mid-week.

Red Flags: The youth factor. He'd also been drinking with friends before the dance thing and although he didn't seem at all drunk, it could have been impairing his senses.

Turning Point: The moment I walked into the bar I could tell that I wasn't how he remembered me to be. There was noticeable disappointment. Body language was terrible--he was turned toward the bar the whole time. When the bartender asked me if I wanted another, I asked him if he was going to get one, giving him an out. He didn't take it. An unnecessary two-hour date.

Diagnosis: Fickle? Drunk then, sober now? I have no idea. All I know is I went away with a bruised ego and a feeling of being completely baffled. I knew when I met him that it probably wouldn't work out, but the way the not working out went down was a downer.

Mr. Unavailable #111: We're Just Not That Into Each Other

See Could it Be?, It's Not Him, It's Me and The Recovery for the background on this one.

Fourth Date: Feeling freshly inspired by a good third date, I texted #111 on Saturday a.m., two days after date #3: "Picnic in the park tomorrow?" We met in front of the now-dilapidated Tavern on the Green. If that first scene in front of the abandoned Tavern was in a fiction story, it would have qualified as foreshadowing.

Fourth Impression: Yet again, as soon I saw him, I wasn't at all attracted to him. It was like date #2 all over again.

Signs of Hope: He had sent me a cute text a day after date #3 to ask about a candy I mentioned liking, so I thought things were still a go on his side. And then, for a while on date #4, he seemed like he might still be thinking of this as an ongoing dating thing. He asked me bold, date-y questions ("When did you lose your virginity?" "What was the meanest thing you've ever done?" etc.) and kept saying things like, "If you ever meet so-and-so, you'd really like him" and "I'm surprised I responded to your profile" (the latent meaning: "You're not how your profile portrays you, but that's a good thing.") I'd also won tickets to Shakespeare in the Park for that night and, even though he'd already seen A Winter's Tale, he was game to go again.

Red Flags: He had asked on date #3 if I was around on the weekend and I said I was, but, other than the text (above), Friday night came and went and there was no sign from him. Also, it took him several hours to respond to the Saturday a.m. text and, even then, his responses were short, missing their usual playful verbiage. But the biggest red flag: On date #4, he never tried to make a move. Nothing. And I mean nothing. PLUS: He never, ever called me.

Turning Point: I knew it was pretty much finished when we parted ways at the 79th street station--after eight whole hours of virtually no physical contact--with a mere peck on the lips. I might have been able to conjure some sort of interest if he'd made a move, but since there was nothing, I had nothing to go on. I rode the subway home feeling sad but hoping the next communication from him would indicate he was feeling "friendly" toward me, too--I knew another Mr. Available was about to bite the dust and I didn't want it to be my doing.

Diagnosis: Sure, my ego's a little bruised (i.e., "Why doesn't he like me?"), but, thankfully, whatever I'm not feeling, he's not feeling either, so I don't have to try to like him anymore. Honestly, it was exhausting worrying about it. Plus, now I also don't have to try to like the things about him that bothered me--the devil's advocacy, contrarian nature, odd mannerisms and intense, stoic demeanor. Plus, he liked to talk about "being a writer" a lot. And he was maybe 5'8" not 5'10" like his profile said. It was a minor thing but still kind of irritating as I had to dig out shoes with lower and lower heels--superficial, yes, but I like being able to look up at my dates.

Update: Indeed, I received an email from him a day after the date that had no subject and merely thanked me for the picnic and said it was sweet of me. It included no response-seeking questions or plans for the future. Ah, nothing kills potential for fiery romance like frank gratitude. I'll email him back something similarly non-committal and, maybe after a few days, I'll send him another message saying something like, "It looks like we're thinking the same thing. Friends?" I'll see how that goes. We did have fun and it would be a shame to lose touch. But, as another Mr. Available once told me: You can't have a fire without a spark.

Stay tuned: On the Saturday night before the date, I went dancing on Pier 68 and made eyes at what must be a 24-year-old, who then came over, chatted me up, got my number and texted me the next day (I checked my phone and texted him back from the bathroom of the Delacourt Theater after it became clear that #111 wasn't going to jump me on the picnic blanket). We're going out in a few days...

Mr. Unavailable #111: The Recovery

See Could it Be? and It's Not Him, It's Me for the background on this one.

Third Date: Exit Through the Gift Shop at the Sunshine on Houston St. followed by cake at Cafe Dante on MacDougal St. in the Village.

In the days leading up to the date, I was wrestling with my inner cynic and hoping--praying--that I would be somehow attracted to #111 again. Although the date was set for Thursday, he messaged me Wednesday saying he snagged tickets to Winter's Tale at Shakespeare in the Park and did I want to go? I really, really did, but had plans to do the JPMorgan Corporate Challenge with work, so had to turn him down. He messaged me on Thursday giving me four options for our date and, having noticed I liked cake, he had all of the options end with cake. Dreamy, no?

Naturally, I was terrified I would feel no attractive pull yet again. As I approached the theater, so as to remove some of the pressure I was putting on myself and the situation, I repeated over and over: "It's just a friendly date. Just have fun. No big deal."

I spotted him in line for tickets. My first thought? He looked cute. Relief! Success! Phew! All through the movie, I wanted to touch him. Everything he said, I thought, "He's talking to me!" Yes, I was very schoolgirlish about it all. There really is something sexy about sitting in the dark with someone you like.

I regained some of my composure as we headed west in search of cake. He asked me what my favorite candy was and I mentioned white rabbits--a vanilla Tootsie Roll-like candy only found in Chinatown. He likes lemonheads. Weird, but cute. We got an outside table at Cafe Dante and examined the menu, whittling down our picks to the Grandmother Cake and a chocolate bombe-like ice cream treat. After he had bought us popcorn at the movie, I said I'd get the cake later (to which he rather quickly said OK but whatever) but then at the cafe I noticed the menu said they only took cash and I had $6 on me. "You're going to kill me," I said. He was grudgingly game to pay--but he was game.

And then, the perfect moment of payback occurred.
First, some minor background. Four days before, I was on the beach in Montauk, the location of my summer share. My roommate for the weekend was a lovely woman who shall remain nameless. We got to talking and she began telling me about the latest man to toy with, crush and then mutilate her poor little heart. Among the grievances: he made it plain to her that he had complete control over her and that he knew he could treat her like shit because she would come running back every time. On the last occasion, she started complaining about her treatment and he said that either she could stay and have sex with him or she could go, and then he opened the door."
"He threw you out?" I said.
"Well, he tried to. I stayed," she said.
I asked her if I could ask who it was. She told me.
It was none other than Mr. Unavailable #109.

Back to Cafe Dante... Halfway through our chocolate bombe, I looked up and saw #109 coming our way. "#109!" I cried. He approached the table and I instantly forgot #111's name. In my lack, they managed to introduce themselves. #111, in all his manly, healthy glow, reached out his hand and introduced himself. It was beautiful. I was ecstatic. Nothing says "I'm not interested in you" more than "I'm out on a date with another guy." Of all the people who could have walked by. It could not have been more perfect. We can also file that one under New York City is Not as Small as You Think.

Analysis of my subconscious: My subconscious has this dirty little talent of detecting when someone is emotionally available and contains a sabotage setting that causes me to scrutinize and analyze everything. I came up with all kinds of stuff about #111--there's something weird about his chin, he's definitely thinning on the top, he's not 5'10", as his profile says, he has weird mannerisms. Meanwhile, with #100 and #109, who are nowhere near as attractive or funny or charismatic or charming or kind, I found few faults.

Signs of Hope: I AM attracted to him, despite myself. We laugh a lot. And I really like listening to his stories--his odd asides aside. He does funny impressions of people, too, like his mother and the owner of a gym he once worked at. He also used to be the guy at the gym who fired people, which I thought was quite hot.

How the Date Ended: He asked if I minded if he didn't walk me home, which, naturally, I did and took to mean he was no longer interested, none of which I told him. We walked to the corner of MacDougal and West 4th and, as we said good-bye, he dropped his bag and we made out for a minute. I love PDA. I see my opportunities with PDA as revenge on all the PDA that I had to endure when no one was kissing me and I had zero kissing prospects. And in the middle of the village on a Thursday night is a prime place to do it. Oh, and it was some good kissing.

And then: He texted me the next day saying he was in Chinatown and what was the name of that candy I liked?

Diagnosis: Things are looking good. I just need to keep my subconscious under wraps and some money in my wallet.

Mr. Unavailable #80: The Booty Call

This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback, circa Summer/Fall 2002.

Vital Stats: Lawyer, early 30s, 6'. Aesthetic: He had short, wavy sandy hair, was thin and was generally a put-together--yet casual--lawyer with a button-down shirt, glasses and anything else you'd expect from a lawyer gone casual. Demeanor: I could see how this guy could have been a one-time nerd but, having gotten his hands on a J.D. and some booze, had fashioned himself as a sexier, more suave version of his old self--until he'd had too much booze.

First Date: We met via online dating site Nerve.com, ironically (i.e., see title of post), back before it was known mainly as a hook-up site. We arranged to meet up at a restaurant bar in Soho.

First Impression: When I walked in, it looked like he'd been there for a while and was already chatting with an attractive blond. She seemed disappointed when I walked up to him; fortunately, he didn't and she went away. He was extremely flirty. I was wearing sandals and he said he thought I had cute toes. We were maybe 15 minutes into the date when he said, "I have a crush on you." After that bar, we went to the Apartment, one of the first bars to make difficulty in finding it cool. You know: it had no sign, so you had to know where it was. He knew where it was. We walked in and got a table and he ordered us a bottle of Cristal. He was drinking Belvedere on the rocks, too.

It turned out he knew the business magazine I was working at at the time, so we chatted about that and who knows what else, drinking all along, and, soon, of course, he needed another drink. But, in order to get it, he needed the waitress' attention. She was attending to a nearby table, so he leaned over, reached out and--quite drunk by now-- tugged her skirt. The waitress turned around, clearly furious, and told him that he was not allowed to do that kind of thing. He looked stunned and then apologized. I could see the little tiles of right and wrong slowly clicking together in his sluggish brain as he realized he probably shouldn't have done that.

Now looking back, the whole evening was a bizarre mishmash of chemical instability. At one point, and I forget when--possibly at Apartment--he told me he was bipolar. And at another point, he started talking about his father and how he could never measure up to his expectations. All he wanted was his father's approval and he could never get it, he said, and then he started crying. Real tears. Streaming down his face. Not sobbing or anything, but definitely full-bore tears. As the hours passed--after telling me he had a crush on me, tugging the waitress' skirt, crying and ordering the Cristal--I was way too fascinated to be horrified.

Then he asked me if I wanted to go home with him. It was easy to justify after a bottle of Cristal. I hadn't had a one-night-stand in a few years. Plus, I'd been online dating for about a month and been hearing hook-up stories so figured it was time for me to join the game. This was how I rationalized it anyway.

A few weeks later, he called me, we chatted for a minute and then he asked if I wanted to come over. Ah, my first official booty call. And this was in the days before texting, so it was actually a call.

Signs of Hope: For a relationship? None. For drunken booty calls and bizarre nights on the town? Many.

Red Flags: Everything about this guy was a red flag, but I didn't care.

Turning Point: There was no real turning point, the whole thing was a one-way ticket to Nowheresville.

Diagnosis: For him: Clearly, at one point, a shrink along the way had officially diagnosed him bipolar; unoffically, he needed way more help than he was getting from that shrink.
For me: It was 2002, way before my therapy days, but, clearly, I could have used one.

A few months post-booty call: I ran into him at a gathering of like-minded downtowners. We sheepishly approached one another and said hello, asked each other how the other one was. It was extremely awkward. I ran into him a few more times after that and then never saw him again.

Mr. Unavailable #111: It's Not Him, It's Me

See Mr. Unavailable #111 for the background on this one.

Date #2: Cafe el Portal, Elizabeth Street in Soho. A Thursday in June, 2010.

Update: There's something wrong with me. After a fantastic first date, the moment I saw #111, my excitement disappeared. He seemed less attractive, shorter, more balding and less engaging than before. And the things I didn't like about him on the first date became magnified--his devil's advocacy and funny ways of talking.

I always knew that my enthusiasm for the guys I'm dating wanes on the even-numbered dates (i.e., after a great first date, I tend to build them up in my head and then am disappointed on the second date when they're not what I "remembered"), but this was somehow more severe. And I think he could tell because he seemed a lot less sure of things at the end of this one than at the end of the last one (and emailed me as soon as he got home instead of waiting until the next day).

Signs of Hope: I'm not sure what to make of my sudden change of heart unless I really am subconsciously terrified of available men, but he's doing almost everything right--picking the places, coming to my neighborhood, paying, walking me home, emailing me soon afterward. He is also very easy to talk to in that if he says something that bothers me, I can tell him. He also says that he's pretty self-aware, which is an attractive feature, I suppose...

Red Flags: ...Except that he's the one who keeps saying he's self-aware. He also has a habit of bringing up past girlfriends. He even told me a story about one of them when they were "in bed."

Diagnosis: It's looking like there will be a third date and I will go on it. Here's hoping some enthusiasm returns.

Mr. Unavailable #112: Thankfully Unavailable

The Situation: Kevin wanted to set me up with his father's financial advisor, whom he befriended. Kevin said, by way of explanation, "He's a good person, you're a good person. I thought maybe you'd get along." Kevin brought his girlfriend, who works in the film industry, and set it up as if it were a networking thing. We met at Soho House in the Meatpacking District. A strictly "no suits" zone.

Vital Stats: Mid-30s, 5'8"ish, Recently Divorced, Three Kids, Recently Moved to NYC. Aesthetic: Financial Guy Attempting "Casual." Demeanor: Vapid, Vaguely Milquetoasty."

First Impression: Meeting him elicited no enthusiasm. See: Vaguely Milquetoasty.

Signs of Hope: He asked me one question. When my answer revealed I couldn't help him networking-wise, he ignored me.

Red Flags: As it so happened, he really was there just for the networking, which turned out to be a good thing because I knew from the moment I met him I wasn't interested. But other than briefly "networking" about his interest in the film biz, he proceeded to go on and on and on about his recent divorce, philosophizing on why his marriage didn't work out. A summary: He came to a decision that even though the last two years of his marriage were probably the best years, he suddenly realized it wasn't gong to get any better than that. His wife was angry. She was poisoning the kids against him. But the marriage had run it's course, he'd decided. There's got to be more than this, he thought. He was big on making sure we knew the divorce was his doing.

Turning Point: It started out bad but then it got worse. Not only did he go on and on about himself, but he did it in this sort of bland but unstoppable monotone. Every time he opened his mouth, I wanted to rip my eyes out. And yet, I couldn't escape. I kept thinking, "I have to get out of here," but I couldn't move. It was like I was trapped in pot-induced paralysis, except I'd been nowhere near pot for eight years.

Diagnosis: If I do say so myself, #112 appears to be something of a self-important egotist. If that's redundant, it's meant to be.

Mr. Unavailable #111: Could It Be?

Vital Stats: 5'10". 44. Writing instructor at a NYC college. Aesthetic: That hot professor you had in college. Demeanor: Gentleman from Jersey.

First Date: Met via OKCupid Dating site. Date Location: Cafe Pick Me Up, Thompkins Square Park, June 2010. An intensely steamy pre-summer Saturday.

First Impression: Via email, we were completely in sync humor-wise. His profile mentioned that people often said he looked intense, so when I walked up to him, I noticed he indeed looked intense. It actually read as more nervous or deep in thought than anything else. He definitely seemed anxious at first, which always puts me at ease. Also, since he is a writer, and seemed quite intelligent over email, I imagined he would be more of a tortured, metrosexual artist type, but, in reality, one look at his arms, pressed shirt and generally groomed appearance told me that "manly" qualifies here. YAY and FINALLY.

Signs of Hope: So, so many. He acted quickly to move the date from online to the real world, was open to day and time, traveled down to my neighborhood (all the way from Harlem) and picked a place he knew I would like. He also got there early and texted me saying he was inside (avoiding the potentially date-destroying Inside/Outside Meetup Snafu). We swapped ideas for future cafes and inventions, traded travel stories, admitted faults and laughed over human frailty. We also discovered that neither of our mothers could cook.

We were still sitting there ages after our iced coffees had watered themselves down and been drained. Finally, after three hours, I said I was fading and should go. It's true that I was tired, but I also realized I was really liking him, which was making me more nervous and causing me to feel like I needed to impress him, which is never good. He immediately said he'd grab the check, which told me I didn't even need to offer (relief!) and then he asked if he could walk me home. At my front door, our eyes locked for a few chaste kisses. It could have gone further, but it was clear he was letting me make the decisions. Yes, ladies, there are a few gentlemen left out there.

Red Flags: He mentioned past girlfriends and his "ex" multiple times. The context was innocent enough but there were numerous mentions. Later I realized that the differentiation between former girlfriends and a specific "ex" might mean the latter is really a former wife. If that's the case, and he was married, then he actually did a pretty good job of not mentioning her. ALSO: In the Light Pink Flag department, he had a habit of chuckling at his own stories--in the manner of making a theatrical aside--before he even told them. Something about it seemed a touch affected. Then again, it could easily be a Jersey-bred mannerism. Oh, and he vaguely reminded me of my older brother, but let's not think about that.

Turning Point: I wasn't sure if he was going to go straight to the unavailable bin (categorized as "Too Good to be True"), but 14 hours after the date, he emailed me to say that he had a lot of fun and would love to spend more time with me if I was so inclined. Could it be? A Mr. Available I'm actually attracted to?...

Diagnosis: ...Only time will tell. Stay tuned for Date #2.

Mr. Unavailable #110: Mr. Normal

Is there such a thing as too normal?

Vital Stats: 6'2", Early 40s, NYC Public School Teacher. Demeanor: Calm, assured and mature without making me feel like I was out with one of my parents' friends. Aesthetic: T-Shirt and Jeans (one can definitely work with that).

First Date: Met via OKCupid dating site. First date at Japanese restaurant on Stuyvesant Street near Astor Place, NYC. June 2010.

First Impression: Normal. Too normal.

Signs of Hope: The conversation flowed. He told me about his job, dealing with troubled kids, traveling in Japan, and we discussed our common Scottish-mix heritage. He was attractive, fit and I was relatively attracted. I found myself wondering: if he had acted more hot and cold, would I have found him more attractive?

I also found myself hoping that he liked me. Although there were no overt signs he did, the underlying body language was there. Also, he was originally Canadian. I love Canadians.

Red Flags: It's not so much a red flag as an observation. When the waiter brought hot towels prior to ordering, not only did #110 run the towel over his hands but he also rubbed it over his face. In earnest. At first, I was mildly alarmed. Now, however, I'm thinking (hoping) that maybe since he lived in Japan for three years, he knows something I don't.

Turning Point: We ordered snacks and sat for two hours. We almost silently agreed to a stopping point, at which time I said I was tired. He picked up the tab (phew) without flinching (bonus) and then we walked down to the sidewalk. I told him I had fun and we agreed we should do it again. He said he'd call me. As I walked away, I realized he didn't have my phone number.

Diagnosis: He may call; he may not call. As history has shown, generally, if I am even remotely interested in someone, he proves to be emotionally unavailable. Here's hoping that changes.

Update: The next day, he sent me an email saying that, since I was a journalist, he had a question for me about a story idea he had and asked if I had a phone number (note that he did not directly ask for my phone number). He said nothing about wanting to go out again or saying he had a good time. Baffled but thinking he was just shy, I gave him my number. He called and left a message with his question. When I called him back, we talked about his story idea and then, finally, at the end, he asked if I'd like to get together again. I think the whole question-email-phone thing was a big feeler set-up; he just wanted to see if I was still game before asking me out directly.

Update 2: Except I never heard from him again.

Mr. Unavailable #81: Eek a Mouse

Vital Stats: 31, 6'1", Solidly Built Sometime Furniture-Maker. Aesthetic: Upper East Sider with Brooklyn Hipster Accoutrements (Ben Sherman clothes, messenger bag). Missing a fingertip from a furniture-making accident. Demeanor: Strangely meek.

First Date: We met via Nerve.com in 2002. Great Lakes Bar, Park Slope, Brooklyn

First Impression: Big guy, small presence. He wasn't much of a talker. How he spoke made it seem like he regretted every word. I remember thinking, "How could anyone date that voice?"

Signs of Hope: After our first date, I told him I'd rather be friends. We hung out a few times after that and I realized I had a crush on him. He seemed pretty laid back. In due time, I also discovered he was a recovering heroine addict, which, like working for the mafia or lion-taming, I found pretty exotic.

Red Flags: 1. Sometimes, just sometimes, a girl just wants a guy to pay for dinner when he asks her out, particularly if it's their first dinner date. Some guys seem to know this. This guy was not one of them.
2. A few weeks into our dating, he asked me why I was dating him. He knew I'd gone out with 10 other guys on Nerve.com and he wanted to know if I had just settled for him. He said, "I don't know if you know this but I have low self-esteem."
3. How his fear of intimacy partially manifested itself: Whenever we would watch a movie, he'd stiffly sit on the edge of his couch with one arm on the armrest and his eyes directed at the TV. And he wouldn't move.
4. Even when we were in the "friends" phase, he stood me up. (Although the night he stood me up, I was waiting for him at a bar and I met a guy named St. Martin who later invited me to a nightclub to introduce me to one of the princes of Morocco.)

Turning Point: I spent an awkward Christmas dinner on the Upper East Side with his family. Let's just say dinner was eaten mostly in uncomfortable quietude, the only sound the clinking of silverware against dinnerware. It was, indeed, a silent night.

We'd made New Year's plans, but, at 6:30 p.m. on New Year's Eve, he called to ask if I had something else to do if we didn't go to the party he had asked me to. Translation: Our dating situation was done. Yes, I got dumped on New Year's Eve.

Diagnosis: He did me a favor. Neither one of us was in any kind of place to handle anything with any kind of substance.