See Could it Be?, It's Not Him, It's Me, The Recovery, We're Just Not That Into Each Other, The Continuation, The Curse is Broken, Unfortunately, The Make-Up Date, The Phone Call and The Negotiation for the background on this one.
Date #9: We made plans to meet up at Film Forum for the Charlie Chaplin festival. I got there first and was reading a poster. He sneaked up on me and squeezed my derriere and said he was late because he was taking a nap and overslept. He was in an amazingly good mood--very smiley and clearly happy to see me. I was giddy during the movie, not because it was great, which it was (I laughed until I cried), but because I was with him. We went to Rocco's for dessert and he told me he took his profile down off of OKCupid.
We went for drinks on Bleecker Street and sat at the bar. I thought it was sexy that he was drinking whiskey. Sitting facing each other at the bar, I had my hands on his arms and told him that I'd never dated anyone like him before, that he was a real man. He was a little speechless at that.
His virility mentally fortified, we went and bought condoms from Walgreens and he said no to a plastic carrier bag (the virility fortification must have made him proud of what he was about to do). The female security guard stopped us and said, "You might want to put that in her hand bag." She must have had my street cred in mind. The next morning we had breakfast at Remedy Diner and claimed "our table" by the window.
Interdate Period:
Three days later I texted him from work: I've had two cupcakes today and it's not even noon yet
Him: You're a very sick woman.
Me: I feel a little sick, too. Work phrase of the week: "There is no there there." (Note: By way of explanation, I work in advertising).
Him: Maybe you just feel queasy from hearing faux-philosophy like "There is no there there."
Me: "Probably a combination of cupcakes and faux-philosophy. How are you today?
Him: I'm fine. Bored. Going to the doctor...I need a cupcake.
Me: If you're near 59th and Madison at any point, I can smuggle one out to you.
Him: I'm actually there right now. Can you come down?
Me: You are not. Smartass.
Him: Um, yeah I am. SE corner. You coming or not I have to get to the doctor.
He was there. It was thrilling to see him in the middle of the day. We hugged and kissed on the corner. I told him about my work annoyance for the day. He said maybe he'd stop by again some time and surprise me and take me to lunch.
Red Flag: Still hasn't stopped by for that surprise date.
Interdate period:
Signs of Hope: The day before our next date, I was at work and he sent me a photo of himself waving hello, framed by kittens. Then, when I expressed my thrill at it, he sent about five more with other frames. I laughed so hard, I shed a few tears at my desk. The day of our next date, he sent me a text saying, "How's your day, gorgeous...Look forward to seeing you."
Red Flags: Maybe it's minor, but, mid-week, we were texting and I was telling him about my bad day, including mentioning a self-inflicted meeting with HR. He responded to the other things in my text, but never said anythig about the meeting with HR.
Date #10: On one of the more humid nights of the century, we went to see Chaplin's City Lights--a continuation of the Chaplin Festival at Film Forum. When I met up with him, he pointed out that, upon first seeing each other, I flinched when he would go to kiss me. I had no idea. "Really?" I said. "Really," he said. "That's weird," I said. He made fun of me, doing an exaggerated imitation of someone trying to dodge someone facially. It was actually kind of hilarious.
After the movie, during which I felt completely crazy about him and utterly self-conscious, we had dessert at Rocco's and he told me he'd told his mom about me. She told him I sounded "very interesting." The next morning we were on our way to breakfast and I asked if on the way back we could stop and get kitty litter and if he could carry it up my stairs for me. He acted annoyed, put out, said he would have left his bag upstairs if he'd known. I said never mind and then asked him, "Do you even like me?" because he seemed to act annoyed so much. "Of course I like you," he said, and then added that he just teased a lot. A few minutes later, we stopped in front of a guy selling books on 1st Ave. and he teased me again: "Are you getting that so you can add it to the books you already aren't reading?" My whole body sagged with overdone teasing and he immediately came over and hugged me and apologized--he'd gone too far and he was sorry.
Interdate Period:
A few days later, he sent me an email with some Phil Specter Wall of Sound songs (including, "And then He Kissed Me") and said to listen with headphones on, that was the only way to get the full effect. He was right, full effect, indeed. I replied: "Sometimes you do things that take my breath away" and sent him a song I liked.
Red Flags: He "acts" annoyed a lot. And he never responded to my "take my breath away" email.
Date #11: We met up at the MOMA to see the Matisse exhibit. Wandering around, at came up behind me and grabbed my ass and kissed me and said, "I hope no one else here is wearing this dress." An older lady overheard and laughed, "I have that dress, it's a good thing I didn't wear it." There we were, so happy we were making friends with strangers. We sat down at a video display to rest and he said, "Oh, honey, I'm a mess." He'd been having head problems again. I put my arms around him and said, "Poor you" to try to comfort him. He leaned in. If I could freeze that moment in time, I would--we were like our own little pod in the middle of the swirling activity of the MOMA. And I really felt like he was letting me be there for me and I was able to be there for him.
Later, we stopped at one point in front of something and I told him he was "so great." He asked me why and I said because he was right about the songs he'd sent me and because of his general awesomeness. We came back downtown and got dinner at Supper and he brought up our conversation from the weekend before, "Do you really think I don't like you? You don't know how I feel about you?" I started to say, "No, no, of course..." and then I realized that he wanted to tell me something, so I said, "Actually, I don't. I have no idea." And he said, "I'm crazy about you." "See," I said, "You say things that take my breath away."
Red Flags: I asked him if he wanted to stay over and he said he wasn't going to. I suppose it was his head again, but it seemed like he would only let me comfort him to a certain point--and no further.
Date #12: I was having a harrowing week at work but he rescheduled the movie date we had planned for Wednesday instead of Tuesday. I managed to get tickets online because he couldn't get them and we made plans to meet at the Zeigfeld for "Inception." He was being strangely quiet afterward but wanted to stay over so we headed downtown and got a drink at Tom & Jerry's on Elizabeth. He seemed to warm up after his whiskey and told me about the oddities of his screenwriter friend and said that this friend would "insist" on meeting me.
Signs of Hope: He knew work was harrowing and sent me a nice text: I know [it's stressful], sweetie - hope the work goes well. Miss you. Talk to you later.
Red Flags: He sometimes gets strangely distant. And even though he said several dates ago that he wants to see me more than once a week, he only really seems to want to see me once or twice a week, max (and when it is once a week, he doesn't seem that upset). I guess I think of "more" as being "more" and then, over time, "even more."
Diagnosis: For him: He may be holding me at arm's length. Maybe now that he "has " me, he doesn't have to work so hard to see me more often. He's definitely crazy about me, though, which I love.
For me: I'm crazy about him but having a hard time telling him I miss him back for some reason. He's prodded me to say it back once. Maybe it's fear of showing how strongly I feel about him. Maybe it also has something to do with the fact that I never seem to miss people--until I can't have them. Or maybe it's that for some reason, I don't equate wanting to see people (and I always want to see him) with missing them.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #111: The Negotiation
See Could it Be?, It's Not Him, It's Me, The Recovery, We're Just Not That Into Each Other, The Continuation, The Curse is Broken, Unfortunately, The Make-Up Date and The Phone Call for the background on this one.
The Date (#8): I made a concerted effort to avoid communicating with him by phone (see The Phone Call), so, over email, he contacted me--apparently unphased by our stilted phone conversation--and asked what I wanted to do. I suggested dinner or the outdoor movie in Dumbo--Monsters v. Aliens 3D. He nixed the movie saying he thought they'd run out of 3D glasses by the time we got there and picked the dinner option, saying we could go wherever I wanted to go. I told him I wanted to go to a restaurant in my neighborhood that I'd always walked by, never tried, but had my name in it.
Later in the day, I was having a bad day at work, so, taking a chance, I sent him an email saying, "I need a hug." (My rationale: If he says he wants to sleep with me, he should be able to respond to a hug request.) He replied sweetly, saying I read his mind and asking what was wrong.
That night, I put on a little flowy dress and met him in front of the restaurant. Hug, indeed. Again, we had a great time, talking about, well, all kinds of stuff. The place was called Tara Thai, which he teased me about. When we laughed about my whole motivation for picking the restaurant, he said it was a very attractive quality that I could laugh at myself. After, we walked a little ways down the street and he asked what I wanted to do. "Anything you want," he said. Undecided, we made out on the corner for a while. It was better than I'd remembered. In fact, I think it was getting better. Lips must learn (did I actually just say that?).
I decided we should go for self-serve frozen yogurt at 16 Handles. We got gigantic cups of frozen yogurt topped with all kinds of crap and then sat on a bench on front of St. Mark's Church, talking about our old music loves and making out in public. I told him I was glad he liked to make out in public and admitted I partially liked it because it was revenge for all the PDA I had to endure. "I don't care what the motivation is if I get the benefits," he said.
(Brief background: In a previous conversation, it came out that he was no good at fixing things, so, earlier in the date, I said I had something he could probably fix--a detached speaker.)
Sitting on the bench, he said, "What's this about a broken speaker? Want me to fix it?"
We went back to my place and it turned out I just had it plugged in wrong...
...The next morning (yes, you read that right--for someone who has a dating blog, I'm awfully bashful about my sex life) we went for a quick breakfast before I had to go off to work. He rode the subway with me for a couple of stops. It was the best commute ever.
Signs of Hope: It came out later that his whole motivation for nixing the 3D movie was because he wanted to go home with me. He just had to figure out a way (i.e., a restaurant in my neighborhood and the broken speaker). The actual sleepover part was sweet. All I'll say is that he successfully negotiated his way through a few bases. As we were beginning negotiations, I also asked him why he didn't want to be friends on Facebook. Naturally, he teased me about being passive (translation: "You can do it"). Then he friended me on Facebook as soon as he got home the next day.
As for my own hang-ups, early on in his overnight stay, for some reason, I assumed he would just want to go home at some point (see: all Mr. Unavailable entries on this blog). After I gave him an out, he said, "If it would make you more comfortable if I left, I'll go." At that moment--shock of all shocks--I realized he actually wanted to stay, so I said, "It would make me more comfortable if you stayed." And then, again, the next morning I thought he would want to leave pronto and instead he asked me if I had time for breakfast. Then, on the subway, we reserved Saturday night for each other and he even said he would go to a BBQ a friend of mine was having if I wanted to go (willing to meet the friends!).
Diagnosis: Him: He may enjoy giving me a hard time about things, but, really, he's a gentleman. He's also a mighty fast learner. And a good negotiator. Me: I'm so used to Mr. Unavailables that I keep expecting him to go that route, but then he doesn't. I'm also a bad negotiator--but only when I want to be.
Stay tuned for Date #9...
The Date (#8): I made a concerted effort to avoid communicating with him by phone (see The Phone Call), so, over email, he contacted me--apparently unphased by our stilted phone conversation--and asked what I wanted to do. I suggested dinner or the outdoor movie in Dumbo--Monsters v. Aliens 3D. He nixed the movie saying he thought they'd run out of 3D glasses by the time we got there and picked the dinner option, saying we could go wherever I wanted to go. I told him I wanted to go to a restaurant in my neighborhood that I'd always walked by, never tried, but had my name in it.
Later in the day, I was having a bad day at work, so, taking a chance, I sent him an email saying, "I need a hug." (My rationale: If he says he wants to sleep with me, he should be able to respond to a hug request.) He replied sweetly, saying I read his mind and asking what was wrong.
That night, I put on a little flowy dress and met him in front of the restaurant. Hug, indeed. Again, we had a great time, talking about, well, all kinds of stuff. The place was called Tara Thai, which he teased me about. When we laughed about my whole motivation for picking the restaurant, he said it was a very attractive quality that I could laugh at myself. After, we walked a little ways down the street and he asked what I wanted to do. "Anything you want," he said. Undecided, we made out on the corner for a while. It was better than I'd remembered. In fact, I think it was getting better. Lips must learn (did I actually just say that?).
I decided we should go for self-serve frozen yogurt at 16 Handles. We got gigantic cups of frozen yogurt topped with all kinds of crap and then sat on a bench on front of St. Mark's Church, talking about our old music loves and making out in public. I told him I was glad he liked to make out in public and admitted I partially liked it because it was revenge for all the PDA I had to endure. "I don't care what the motivation is if I get the benefits," he said.
(Brief background: In a previous conversation, it came out that he was no good at fixing things, so, earlier in the date, I said I had something he could probably fix--a detached speaker.)
Sitting on the bench, he said, "What's this about a broken speaker? Want me to fix it?"
We went back to my place and it turned out I just had it plugged in wrong...
...The next morning (yes, you read that right--for someone who has a dating blog, I'm awfully bashful about my sex life) we went for a quick breakfast before I had to go off to work. He rode the subway with me for a couple of stops. It was the best commute ever.
Signs of Hope: It came out later that his whole motivation for nixing the 3D movie was because he wanted to go home with me. He just had to figure out a way (i.e., a restaurant in my neighborhood and the broken speaker). The actual sleepover part was sweet. All I'll say is that he successfully negotiated his way through a few bases. As we were beginning negotiations, I also asked him why he didn't want to be friends on Facebook. Naturally, he teased me about being passive (translation: "You can do it"). Then he friended me on Facebook as soon as he got home the next day.
As for my own hang-ups, early on in his overnight stay, for some reason, I assumed he would just want to go home at some point (see: all Mr. Unavailable entries on this blog). After I gave him an out, he said, "If it would make you more comfortable if I left, I'll go." At that moment--shock of all shocks--I realized he actually wanted to stay, so I said, "It would make me more comfortable if you stayed." And then, again, the next morning I thought he would want to leave pronto and instead he asked me if I had time for breakfast. Then, on the subway, we reserved Saturday night for each other and he even said he would go to a BBQ a friend of mine was having if I wanted to go (willing to meet the friends!).
Diagnosis: Him: He may enjoy giving me a hard time about things, but, really, he's a gentleman. He's also a mighty fast learner. And a good negotiator. Me: I'm so used to Mr. Unavailables that I keep expecting him to go that route, but then he doesn't. I'm also a bad negotiator--but only when I want to be.
Stay tuned for Date #9...
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #77: What Was I Thinking?
This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback, circa 2001.
Vital Stats: Late 20s, 6'ish, dark, curly hair, some pudge (or was it bloating?). Smart, unemployed writer. Aesthetic: Sloppy Hipster (before hipsters developed fashion sense). Demeanor: Jovial, with an overdeveloped sense of humor about his lack of mental stability and stint in the psych ward. I think he might have had a lazy eye, too.
First Impression: I met him at the local dive in Brooklyn in the Spring of 2000. He was introduced to me as "Crazy [#77]" and shortly thereafter revealed the crisscross scars running up and down the back of his forearm from where he'd habitually and methodically cut himself.
First Date: I don't think we ever really had a "date."
Signs of Hope: "Hope" is a bit strong. In early 2001, he showed interest in me and, I, unemployed and finding myself in a moment of weakness, felt interest in return.
Red Flags: All of the above.
Turning Point: We hung out for a week or two--I even stayed over at his apartment one night but he was on so many meds that nothing ever, well, happened--but then his interest wandered away from me and in the direction of a sprightly Barnard College senior.
Diagnosis: For him: Crazy, as billed. For me: Crazy by association.
Vital Stats: Late 20s, 6'ish, dark, curly hair, some pudge (or was it bloating?). Smart, unemployed writer. Aesthetic: Sloppy Hipster (before hipsters developed fashion sense). Demeanor: Jovial, with an overdeveloped sense of humor about his lack of mental stability and stint in the psych ward. I think he might have had a lazy eye, too.
First Impression: I met him at the local dive in Brooklyn in the Spring of 2000. He was introduced to me as "Crazy [#77]" and shortly thereafter revealed the crisscross scars running up and down the back of his forearm from where he'd habitually and methodically cut himself.
First Date: I don't think we ever really had a "date."
Signs of Hope: "Hope" is a bit strong. In early 2001, he showed interest in me and, I, unemployed and finding myself in a moment of weakness, felt interest in return.
Red Flags: All of the above.
Turning Point: We hung out for a week or two--I even stayed over at his apartment one night but he was on so many meds that nothing ever, well, happened--but then his interest wandered away from me and in the direction of a sprightly Barnard College senior.
Diagnosis: For him: Crazy, as billed. For me: Crazy by association.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #78: The Bartender
This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa 2001.
Vital Stats: 32, 5'7" and stocky. British with a Green Card, Artist-Slash-Bartender. Aesthetic: I remember a lot of camouflage. Demeanor: Dry, scathing wit when sober; loud--but happy--when drunk.
First Impression: "Hey, who's the cute bartender?" I met him at the local dive in Brooklyn, where I was a regular.
First Date: I don't exactly remember. I know that in the late Spring of 2001, I was unemployed, he had his days off and we were friends, so, since he was a Brit with an affection for guns and knives and I had time on my hands, we went shooting up in Long Island with a couple of his shotguns and rifles. That night, we decided we didn't want to make the drive all the way back to Brooklyn, so we ended up platonically shacking up at a motel. Somewhere between then and June/July, we started hanging out as more than friends. And it was more "hanging out" than dating, although he did insist on paying for everything...
Ah, I suddenly remember when we got together. (The haze cleared...) Because I was unemployed, I'd hide out at my parents on Cape Cod on occasion. One weekend, he and two other friends came up to visit. One night we got drunk and hooked up. That was the romantic beginning.
Signs of Hope: He introduced me to my then-favorite drink: The Drunken Presbyterian. Aside from that, after we got together, I went traveling in Europe with my brother for the month of July and he said he'd miss me and emailed me all the time. When I returned, he told me he loved me. He confided in me, admitting to his heavy drinking habits and confessing how he frequently got drunk, blacked out and took off his clothes in the middle of the street (the frequent drunkenness was no surprise but the frequent defrocking was). He also confessed some mysterious story about how he'd acquired his green card--it was either that or go to jail in the U.K. He been involved in some kind of art forgery ring but happened to know someone high up who could get him the green card, so he hightailed it out of England.
Red Flags: The heavy drinking , the fact that we met at a bar where he worked and where we were both regulars, and the fact that he was kind of a criminal. His affection for guns and knives (he'd carry a knife with him to the ATM). Getting together via the hook-up. And--this is somewhat related so bear with me--he had the hairiest shoulders I've ever seen in my life--like an ape. It's related because he offered to shave them but never did.
Turning Point: 9/11 happened. He got distant. It must have shaken him out of his stupor. A few days later, we went to see Zoolander and, afterward, it became clear it was about to end. A classic breakup moment:
"But you even said you loved me," I said.
"Yeah, well, maybe I jumped the gun on that," he said.
After that, he said something else and I remember saying in reply, "I can't save you."
"I know, I think I thought you could," he said.
Diagnosis: For him: I heard he got married, but I doubt he ever got saved--I truly doubt he ever figured out that he had to save himself.
For me: I was upset at first but went away from the extended one-night stand (which is ultimately what it was) with a strange fondness for Zoolander. It's part of my DVD collection. I must have been subconsciously relieved even then.
Vital Stats: 32, 5'7" and stocky. British with a Green Card, Artist-Slash-Bartender. Aesthetic: I remember a lot of camouflage. Demeanor: Dry, scathing wit when sober; loud--but happy--when drunk.
First Impression: "Hey, who's the cute bartender?" I met him at the local dive in Brooklyn, where I was a regular.
First Date: I don't exactly remember. I know that in the late Spring of 2001, I was unemployed, he had his days off and we were friends, so, since he was a Brit with an affection for guns and knives and I had time on my hands, we went shooting up in Long Island with a couple of his shotguns and rifles. That night, we decided we didn't want to make the drive all the way back to Brooklyn, so we ended up platonically shacking up at a motel. Somewhere between then and June/July, we started hanging out as more than friends. And it was more "hanging out" than dating, although he did insist on paying for everything...
Ah, I suddenly remember when we got together. (The haze cleared...) Because I was unemployed, I'd hide out at my parents on Cape Cod on occasion. One weekend, he and two other friends came up to visit. One night we got drunk and hooked up. That was the romantic beginning.
Signs of Hope: He introduced me to my then-favorite drink: The Drunken Presbyterian. Aside from that, after we got together, I went traveling in Europe with my brother for the month of July and he said he'd miss me and emailed me all the time. When I returned, he told me he loved me. He confided in me, admitting to his heavy drinking habits and confessing how he frequently got drunk, blacked out and took off his clothes in the middle of the street (the frequent drunkenness was no surprise but the frequent defrocking was). He also confessed some mysterious story about how he'd acquired his green card--it was either that or go to jail in the U.K. He been involved in some kind of art forgery ring but happened to know someone high up who could get him the green card, so he hightailed it out of England.
Red Flags: The heavy drinking , the fact that we met at a bar where he worked and where we were both regulars, and the fact that he was kind of a criminal. His affection for guns and knives (he'd carry a knife with him to the ATM). Getting together via the hook-up. And--this is somewhat related so bear with me--he had the hairiest shoulders I've ever seen in my life--like an ape. It's related because he offered to shave them but never did.
Turning Point: 9/11 happened. He got distant. It must have shaken him out of his stupor. A few days later, we went to see Zoolander and, afterward, it became clear it was about to end. A classic breakup moment:
"But you even said you loved me," I said.
"Yeah, well, maybe I jumped the gun on that," he said.
After that, he said something else and I remember saying in reply, "I can't save you."
"I know, I think I thought you could," he said.
Diagnosis: For him: I heard he got married, but I doubt he ever got saved--I truly doubt he ever figured out that he had to save himself.
For me: I was upset at first but went away from the extended one-night stand (which is ultimately what it was) with a strange fondness for Zoolander. It's part of my DVD collection. I must have been subconsciously relieved even then.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #111: The Phone Call
See Could it Be?, It's Not Him, It's Me, The Recovery, We're Just Not That Into Each Other, The Continuation, The Curse is Broken, Unfortunately and The Make-Up Date for the background on this one.
Signs of Hope: He finally called me. I was getting off the train at Montauk for the weekend when my phone rang. "I was going to send you a text wishing you a nice weekend and then figured I should just call you," he said. "I'm so impressed. You're doing great. The progress you're making is phenomenal," I said. He told me what he was up to that night and then I had to go to find out how I was getting to my share house. "Thanks so much for calling," I said. "Thanks for thanking me for calling," he said. Perfect exchange, really.
Red Flags: The next message from him came via text on Sunday, asking me how my weekend was, he said that his was good and referenced some photos on Facebook and said I should take a look. "Should we be friends?" I said. I got no response.
Hope, Again: He called me the next day, leaving an adorable message about how this was why he never called me, because I never answered. He said to call him back when I had a chance and let him know when we could get together during the week.
Red Flag, Again: A few hours later, I called him, got his voicemail and left him a message. I couldn't think of anything cute. He called me back about half an hour later and it was just about The Most Awkward Conversation Ever. I feel like everything I said led to a dead-end comment from him like, "Oh, I see." My confidence rapidly deteriorated and I began to fear I had a horrible phone voice that was turning him cold. But the real killer? He mentioned the Facebook photos again and when I said we'd have to be friends in order for me to see them, he said, "Oh. Oh, well."
Finally he asked when we'd get together and I said Tuesday or Thursday. He chose Thursday. Let me remind you that a few weeks ago, he asked if we could see each other more than once a week. With his selection of Thursday, we are firmly still in once-a-week territory.
Again, I feel like it's four steps forward, three steps back. Is this normal? Yes, he's started calling but the calls aren't consistently thrilling. The cute emails have stopped. He doesn't want to be friends on Facebook.
I'm beginning to doubt his availability status and I'm starting to wonder if I should start dating again. Maybe I threw all my eggs in his basket too soon. I feel like he's pulling away. Maybe I'm too available. Or is this normal?
Again, I don't seem to have the formula. "Maybe he needs more space than he thought he needed," Heidi suggested. Maybe I should do the same. In the meantime, stay tuned for Date #8. If it happens.
Signs of Hope: He finally called me. I was getting off the train at Montauk for the weekend when my phone rang. "I was going to send you a text wishing you a nice weekend and then figured I should just call you," he said. "I'm so impressed. You're doing great. The progress you're making is phenomenal," I said. He told me what he was up to that night and then I had to go to find out how I was getting to my share house. "Thanks so much for calling," I said. "Thanks for thanking me for calling," he said. Perfect exchange, really.
Red Flags: The next message from him came via text on Sunday, asking me how my weekend was, he said that his was good and referenced some photos on Facebook and said I should take a look. "Should we be friends?" I said. I got no response.
Hope, Again: He called me the next day, leaving an adorable message about how this was why he never called me, because I never answered. He said to call him back when I had a chance and let him know when we could get together during the week.
Red Flag, Again: A few hours later, I called him, got his voicemail and left him a message. I couldn't think of anything cute. He called me back about half an hour later and it was just about The Most Awkward Conversation Ever. I feel like everything I said led to a dead-end comment from him like, "Oh, I see." My confidence rapidly deteriorated and I began to fear I had a horrible phone voice that was turning him cold. But the real killer? He mentioned the Facebook photos again and when I said we'd have to be friends in order for me to see them, he said, "Oh. Oh, well."
Finally he asked when we'd get together and I said Tuesday or Thursday. He chose Thursday. Let me remind you that a few weeks ago, he asked if we could see each other more than once a week. With his selection of Thursday, we are firmly still in once-a-week territory.
Again, I feel like it's four steps forward, three steps back. Is this normal? Yes, he's started calling but the calls aren't consistently thrilling. The cute emails have stopped. He doesn't want to be friends on Facebook.
I'm beginning to doubt his availability status and I'm starting to wonder if I should start dating again. Maybe I threw all my eggs in his basket too soon. I feel like he's pulling away. Maybe I'm too available. Or is this normal?
Again, I don't seem to have the formula. "Maybe he needs more space than he thought he needed," Heidi suggested. Maybe I should do the same. In the meantime, stay tuned for Date #8. If it happens.
Mr. Unavailable #111: The Make-Up Date
See Could it Be?, It's Not Him, It's Me, The Recovery, We're Just Not That Into Each Other and The Continuation and The Curse is Broken, Unfortunately for the background on this one.
Date #7: Toy Story 3 at the Zeigfeld Theater.
I was still extremely angry from his flippant cancellation of our previous date but was trying to move forward and let it go since he did offer up something of an apology. When I walked up to him, I tried to hide my irritation but kind of failed at it. "Are you OK?" he asked. "Sure," I said. We went into the theater and sat down. I noticed hostility in my voice when I spoke to him. I think he noticed it, too. I had him get a shitload of concessions from the concession stand (popcorn, soda, SnoCaps) and we settled in for the movie.
Signs of Hope: Sitting there in the dark, I have to admit I was dying for an innocent grope. It took a good twenty minutes but finally his arm came over the armrest and rested on my leg. I wrapped my arms around it. I felt better.
After the movie, I was myself again. He suggested getting a drink and I suggested we head to the Oak Room at The Plaza and pretend to be from somewhere else. We determined that neither of us knew how to do accents and he said, "Canada?" We laughed the whole way there. It took me a while to finish my diet Coke from the movie but as soon as I was done, he threw it in a trash can, and then he held my hand.
Having done a drive-by with #100 several months before, I led the way through the front door of The Plaza to the Oak Room. We chatted at a window table like, well, like two people on a great date. He even asked at one point if I wanted kids. I said I didn't know. He said he could go either way. Then we talked about what a hindrance it would be to have kids. Relief. And then, all on his own, he said, "So, I suppose I should call you at some point." I didn't even have to ask.
Red Flags: At the Oak Room, he asked me my least favorite date question: "What are you passionate about?" I hate that question. I wreaks of self-importance, of someone who doesn't think they're passionate enough about anything trying to prove they're passionate. "I hate that question," I said. I tried to explain why and then appeased him by giving him a laundry list of passions: travel, helping people, etc. How one comes across as humble when answering that question, I certainly don't know.
He was strangely quiet when we left The Oak Room. "This was a great way to make it up to me," I said, trying to coax some language out of him. Still, he was distant. I asked him to walk me to the subway. Unable to take his silence, I said, "So, what's this thing about how you get affectionate when you drink?" Finally, he gathered me up and we stood lip-locked on the sidewalk on 6th Avenue. "Can we be together sometime soon?" he asked. "Yes. I think that would be fun," I said.
Diagnosis: It was all good. Although I need more euphemisms for kissing.
I figured out later that his silence was likely due to the turning of his mental wheels as he was thinking about how, exactly, to be with me, since we were all the way up on 60th Street and the nearest bed was on Third Street and something needed to be spontaneous about the whole being together thing. Nothing is spontaneous about agreeing to hook up and then traveling 57 blocks.
Date #7: Toy Story 3 at the Zeigfeld Theater.
I was still extremely angry from his flippant cancellation of our previous date but was trying to move forward and let it go since he did offer up something of an apology. When I walked up to him, I tried to hide my irritation but kind of failed at it. "Are you OK?" he asked. "Sure," I said. We went into the theater and sat down. I noticed hostility in my voice when I spoke to him. I think he noticed it, too. I had him get a shitload of concessions from the concession stand (popcorn, soda, SnoCaps) and we settled in for the movie.
Signs of Hope: Sitting there in the dark, I have to admit I was dying for an innocent grope. It took a good twenty minutes but finally his arm came over the armrest and rested on my leg. I wrapped my arms around it. I felt better.
After the movie, I was myself again. He suggested getting a drink and I suggested we head to the Oak Room at The Plaza and pretend to be from somewhere else. We determined that neither of us knew how to do accents and he said, "Canada?" We laughed the whole way there. It took me a while to finish my diet Coke from the movie but as soon as I was done, he threw it in a trash can, and then he held my hand.
Having done a drive-by with #100 several months before, I led the way through the front door of The Plaza to the Oak Room. We chatted at a window table like, well, like two people on a great date. He even asked at one point if I wanted kids. I said I didn't know. He said he could go either way. Then we talked about what a hindrance it would be to have kids. Relief. And then, all on his own, he said, "So, I suppose I should call you at some point." I didn't even have to ask.
Red Flags: At the Oak Room, he asked me my least favorite date question: "What are you passionate about?" I hate that question. I wreaks of self-importance, of someone who doesn't think they're passionate enough about anything trying to prove they're passionate. "I hate that question," I said. I tried to explain why and then appeased him by giving him a laundry list of passions: travel, helping people, etc. How one comes across as humble when answering that question, I certainly don't know.
He was strangely quiet when we left The Oak Room. "This was a great way to make it up to me," I said, trying to coax some language out of him. Still, he was distant. I asked him to walk me to the subway. Unable to take his silence, I said, "So, what's this thing about how you get affectionate when you drink?" Finally, he gathered me up and we stood lip-locked on the sidewalk on 6th Avenue. "Can we be together sometime soon?" he asked. "Yes. I think that would be fun," I said.
Diagnosis: It was all good. Although I need more euphemisms for kissing.
I figured out later that his silence was likely due to the turning of his mental wheels as he was thinking about how, exactly, to be with me, since we were all the way up on 60th Street and the nearest bed was on Third Street and something needed to be spontaneous about the whole being together thing. Nothing is spontaneous about agreeing to hook up and then traveling 57 blocks.
Mr. Unavailable #111: The Curse is Broken, Unfortunately
See Could it Be?, It's Not Him, It's Me, The Recovery, We're Just Not That Into Each Other and The Continuation for the background on this one.
Date #6: The Secret in Their Eyes at the Angelika.
Background: According to the curse, I didn't like #111 on the even numbered dates, so this one was set for failure. I still tried to determine the formula, however, and noticed that on the dates where I liked him, he always got there first. So I did a couple of errands before arriving at the theater.
Signs of Hope: Walking up to him, sitting there reading (always reading), I realized I was instantly attracted to him. The curse was broken.
I'd forgotten how fun watching a movie with a guy could be: His hand, my leg; my arms, his arm; my head, his shoulder. After the movie, we made out on the street for a while trying to figure out what to do. He suggested my place. I told him it was a mess and said he could take a walk around the block while I threw things in closets. I had him go for skim milk and he came back with skim plus and two cupcakes. "I didn't want to come empty-handed," he said.
The date didn't go into quadruple space, but it was the date where you let each other know how much you like each other. "Adorable" and "seriously pretty," he said. ""Handsome" and "muscle-y," I said.
I asked him at what point when dating someone does he usually call them. He admitted he doesn't like talking on cell phones and then joked about getting a land line if I played my cards right. Although I was going away for the weekend but he asked about my availability Monday. He sent me a few messages over the weekend and all seemed well.
On Monday, I got the first train back from Hampton Bays and sent him a message asking if 7 p.m. would work. He said to call or text when I got there. His reply was fishily brief.
Red Flags: I wound up getting a message from him around 4:30 that said, "I hope you won't be too heartbroken but I'm going to have to cancel. I wasn't sure if we had definitive plans anyway. let me know what other day this week might work."
I was furious. For obvious reasons. I waited until he contacted me--more than 24 hours later in the form of an email: "Hey there, sorry about yesterday. Can I make it up to you?" I waited until the next day to respond: "Sure. What do you have in mind?"
Diagnosis: It's like we took four steps forward on the date and three steps back with the cancellation, but the three steps feel much bigger than the four. I wasn't sure what his deal was. Fear? Indecision? Married? Dating other people? It was tremendously disappointing. I polled my friends over what to do. One camp said to play the game better: be less available, don't lift a finger. The other camp said not to play games but to demand an explanation. I took the middle ground and we set up a date for a few days later...
Date #6: The Secret in Their Eyes at the Angelika.
Background: According to the curse, I didn't like #111 on the even numbered dates, so this one was set for failure. I still tried to determine the formula, however, and noticed that on the dates where I liked him, he always got there first. So I did a couple of errands before arriving at the theater.
Signs of Hope: Walking up to him, sitting there reading (always reading), I realized I was instantly attracted to him. The curse was broken.
I'd forgotten how fun watching a movie with a guy could be: His hand, my leg; my arms, his arm; my head, his shoulder. After the movie, we made out on the street for a while trying to figure out what to do. He suggested my place. I told him it was a mess and said he could take a walk around the block while I threw things in closets. I had him go for skim milk and he came back with skim plus and two cupcakes. "I didn't want to come empty-handed," he said.
The date didn't go into quadruple space, but it was the date where you let each other know how much you like each other. "Adorable" and "seriously pretty," he said. ""Handsome" and "muscle-y," I said.
I asked him at what point when dating someone does he usually call them. He admitted he doesn't like talking on cell phones and then joked about getting a land line if I played my cards right. Although I was going away for the weekend but he asked about my availability Monday. He sent me a few messages over the weekend and all seemed well.
On Monday, I got the first train back from Hampton Bays and sent him a message asking if 7 p.m. would work. He said to call or text when I got there. His reply was fishily brief.
Red Flags: I wound up getting a message from him around 4:30 that said, "I hope you won't be too heartbroken but I'm going to have to cancel. I wasn't sure if we had definitive plans anyway. let me know what other day this week might work."
I was furious. For obvious reasons. I waited until he contacted me--more than 24 hours later in the form of an email: "Hey there, sorry about yesterday. Can I make it up to you?" I waited until the next day to respond: "Sure. What do you have in mind?"
Diagnosis: It's like we took four steps forward on the date and three steps back with the cancellation, but the three steps feel much bigger than the four. I wasn't sure what his deal was. Fear? Indecision? Married? Dating other people? It was tremendously disappointing. I polled my friends over what to do. One camp said to play the game better: be less available, don't lift a finger. The other camp said not to play games but to demand an explanation. I took the middle ground and we set up a date for a few days later...
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #79: The Other Bartender
This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa 2002
Vital Stats: 6'2", 33ish, NYC High School Teacher. Tall, dark, lean, handsome, great smile, thick, wavy hair, I could go on... Aesthetic: Hotly normal with rolled-up plaid shirts and jeans. Demeanor: So damn smiley.
First Impression: "Who's the hot guy at the end of the bar?" Met him at the local dive in Brooklyn in 2002, where I was a regular. I first spied him when he was a customer. It was a Sunday afternoon and he was sitting down at the other end of the bar shrouded in cigarette smoke and haloed by the bar's ten-year-old holiday lights. I was enthralled. Naturally, you can imagine my thrill when, a few weeks later, I saw him behind the bar.
First Date: I'm not sure if one could really call it a date. I was writing restaurant reviews for Time Out New York and needed people to come with me to sample the fare. I'd been assigned a bunch of restaurants but strategized my asking-out of him by picking the one restaurant I knew was in his neighborhood--Cafe Habana in Soho. He'd also been to Cuba, so I knew he be interested on a secondary level. I only found out later about the tertiary level.
Signs of Hope: He said yes to the date. It was actually kind of thrilling at the time. I casually asked if he wanted to go on a restaurant review with me and he replied eagerly and then happily wrote his phone number on a napkin and slid it across the bar to me. I called a few days later and we set up the date. The date went fairly well, if memory serves, but my level of awareness at that point was so basic and I was so blinded by the fact that I was on a date with the hot bartender that I wouldn't have been able to tell if there was any true connection.
Red Flags: Someone mentioned at one point in time that he might have had a girlfriend, but he never mentioned one, so we all kind of forgot about it. He had also never really expressed any interest in me on his own--via asking me out or other such overtly flirty behaviors.
Turning Point: We went for a bunch of drinks at various bars after dinner and I broached the subject about what was going on. He said we were just hanging out, having a good time. I knew on some level that this meant we weren't actually on a date but I wasn't sure yet what we were on. I asked him about the possible girlfriend and he said that, yes, the possible girlfriend was more than possible. This confused me even more. I don't know if it was then or at the next bar where he ran out of money and I was buying the drinks, but he said the fact that he had a "girlfriend" didn't mean he couldn't go out and have fun with other people. After all, he said, why did I think he had just run out of money on drinks for us: "You have to admit we've got some physical chemistry here."
When I was in my twenties, sometimes it took me a while to get something, but when I got it, I really got it. At that point, even though I knew what was going on, I continued to play dumb. Finally, I said I had to go. I think he let me get away at the entrance to the subway with a kiss on the cheek. When I told my friends later what had happened, one of them exclaimed--in a perfect encapsulation of what went down: "Oh my god, the schoolteacher's a perv!"
Diagnosis: The schoolteacher's a perv. It happens. I saw him at the bar for several months after that and he continued to be his smiley, unflappable, unfathomable self. Eventually, I stopped going to the bar and never saw him again.
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