Mr. Unavailable #111: Knocking Him Off His Pedestal

To start from the beginning of the Mr. 111 story, see (in this order) 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, The Negotiation, Dates 9 Through 12, Dates 13 Through 15, The Public Sex Talk, Bridging the Chasm, The Shut Down, All Kinds of Good, Meeting the Friends, Part 2, Hamptons Getaway, Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Happy Birthday to Me, The Drunken Text, Jeckyl and Hyde, The Layoff, One-Man Show, A Boy in Man's Clothing, The Doctors Visit, Giving Him the News, The Appointment, The Sad Ultrasound, In Between Appointments, The Last Breakfast and Arizona Convalescence for the background on this one.

I feel like this is some sort of weird confession. After recounting everything that happened with #111 and trying to get over him, I kind of relapsed. I fully believe it was best for my sanity's sake--and it was fully endorsed by my shrink, so I feel justified.

Here's what happened:

About a week and a half before Thanksgiving, I dragged myself into my shrink's office, collapsed on her couch and recounted my level of depression: going to bed early...in my clothes...with the lights on...without having washed up. It was bad (see Suicidal Tendencies). I told her I didn't even think I was depressed about #111 anymore, that it wasn't even about him. I was depressed about this being a cycle of mine and I predicted I'd probably pick another guy just like him and repeat the cycle all over again. So, I theorized, I was holding onto the idea that #111 would change and come back so then I wouldn't have to go through all of this all over again. Because if I had to go through all of this again, I don't know if I'd survive it.

I'm not sure exactly when in the session it came up, but at some point she suggested I actually give #111 a call to see how he was doing. It had been three weeks, she said, it seemed like a good time.

"Seriously?" I said. It seemed crazy. "Wouldn't that be chasing him?"

"Are you showing up on his doorstep?" she said. "No? Then you're not chasing him."

She went on to say that I was changing my attachment patterns. Instead of withdrawing when other people withdraw--which is an old survival mechanism but, ultimately, makes me miserable and creates a pedestal for the person--I was keeping engaged. I had to admit, the idea of getting in touch with him made me very happy. She said I just had to try not to have any expectations around it and if I was doing it as a means of being friends (as #111 and I had agreed to be) then I should just try to keep it at that in my mind--from moment to moment--if I could.

I decided to give him a call on Saturday. When Saturday morning arrived, I was in a terrific mood. Previously barely functioning, I was hyper-functional, getting things done that I hadn't been able to in weeks--making trips to the Salvation Army, doing long-ignored errands, cleaning... Around 4 p.m., I sat down and went to call him and realized that theoretically calling him made me happy; actually calling him terrified me. I was pretty sure he would let it go to voicemail, but I wasn't sure how I would feel after I'd left a message. Heidi was having her safari party that night, so I knew I'd have something to do to keep my mind off of things if I was in a bad place but I feared the bad place. I went to dial and dialed Heidi instead. She had me practice what I was going to say to him.

When we hung up, I called him. As I suspected, he let it go to voicemail. My message went something like this. "Hi [#38]. It's Tara. I was just calling to see how you were doing...how your birthday was...if you ever got that Pop Tart T-shirt you wanted...I would love to hear from you when you have a chance...hope you're well...bye."

When I hung up, half of me was like, "Why the fuck did I just do that? Do I really even care?" And the other half of me just thought what I'd done was incredibly brave. I hadn't anticipated my own reaction. I was actually proud of myself. I was also pretty sure that if it took that much courage for me to call him, then, since it had become very clear to me early on in our dating that he was afraid of the phone (see The Phone Call), there was no way he was going to have the balls to call me back and he'd probably just email me back. It sort of felt like a dare, as in, "Look what I just did, buddy. I dare you to call me back." Instead of sending me into some kind of despairing bad place, calling him felt awesome.

As predicted, he emailed me. Monday morning. "Well, congratulations on knowing him really well," Heidi said.

His email was friendly, teasing, kind of like how it had been in the early days when we first emailed. It took me two days to email him back--mostly because I was trying to figure out whether or not I wanted to ask him to get together. I decided against it, fearing a no. Instead, I mentioned my new job and the only good things about it (the frozen yogurt machine and the fact that I had my own office). The next email from him was even jokier, and with a mean edge, which, I remembered, is him. He was surprised that I'd gotten a job so fast and said a few other things that I interpreted as condescending. I emailed my shrink about it and she said it sounded more jealous/competitive than anything. As usual, she was probably right.

We went back and forth one more time and I pulled the trigger, saying I'd like to catch up in person sometime and maybe we could go for lunch or dinner in a few weeks. Again, as soon as I'd done it, knowing what I know about him, I wondered why I was bothering. And then, a few hours after that, contradiction struck and I was fearful he'd say no.

Whatever my motives, which are even mysterious to me, my timing on sending the email was strategic. I suspected he had therapy on Fridays and, choosing to believe that his therapist was on my side (naturally, she was on his side, but in being on his side, she was actually on my side), I sent the email on Thursday and prayed I wouldn't hear from him until Friday afternoon. At about 3 p.m. Friday, I got an email from him. He said maybe we could go to lunch in a few weeks. I was shocked--I wasn't surprised that he'd opted for lunch over dinner, but I was surprised that he would want to meet at all. I also thought he sounded kind of depressed and wondered if he'd composed the email while he was actually in therapy (maybe I'm not the only one who does that).

That was about three weeks ago. I've decided to wait until after the new year to get in touch with him about it again, which I suspect I will have to do. New Year's is way too loaded a time to be getting in touch with an ex. He's a man of his word with everything except relationship commitment, so I suspect he'll keep his promise to meet up, although I have no idea why he wants to do it, unless he does in fact want to be friends...

Diagnosis: ...I have to admit I'm still wondering why I want to meet up with him. Maybe because I'm unable to let go. Maybe because it is actually good for me to change my attachment behavior. Maybe because I still have hope that he will snap out of his emotional immaturity and I won't have to move on to the next unavailable man and repeat history. Probably all of the above.

In the meantime, being in touch with him has somehow freed me up to entertain other dating options. It does seem counter-intuitive: When it felt like he was unreachable, like I'd lost him, like I wasn't allowed to be in touch with him, I wasn't able to move on. But being in touch with him and seeing he's still the same guy has helped knock him off of his pedestal; I am actually able to entertain the possibility of other guys. Yes, completely counter-intuitive.

Mr. Unavailable #76: Election Night 2000

This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback, circa November 2000.

Vital Stats: 30-something, 5'5"ish. Made a living working for his famous filmmaker brother. Aesthetic: He was small, so, lots of baggy layers. Demeanor: Nice guy, kind of unobtrusive but smart and a regular at my local bar.

First Impression: He had the whole famous-filmmaker-brother thing going for him, so everyone knew who he was and he was widely accepted and generally liked. He'd flirt with me when I'd see him but I never took him seriously until...

Turning Point: ...election night 2000. It was a bad night. Things weren't looking good for Gore and it looked like the ballot-counting was going to last long into the wee hours. Not to mention I was post-dot-com unemployed and didn't have to be anywhere the next day, so me and my friends hunkered down. I was on perhaps my fourth drunken Presbyterian--and filling the role beautifully--when #76 slid into the booth across from me. A few flirtatious words and several drinks later, taking him home with me seemed like a good idea.

He didn't stay long but he did leave his hat behind. The next time I ran into him at the bar, we arranged a surreptitious hand-off outside and re-entered the bar separately. He then obliterated all attempts at the aforementioned surreptitiousness by buying me a drink from his end of the bar and having the bartender (who was, to add to the horror, #78) say, "[#76] thanks you for finding his hat."

Diagnosis: I have no idea what his deal was--if I had to guess, free sex--but, for me, drunkenness, unemployment, pseudo-celebrity and a Republican leading in the polls was a lethal combination against which, at least in 2000, I never stood a fighting chance.

Mr. Unavailable #117: More of the (Exact) Same

Vital Stats: 36, 5'10"ish, trim build. Works as a TV sound guy for a living. Aesthetic: Former Long Island preppy with lingering preppy aesthetic in the form of Polo shirts and white tennis sneakers. Demeanor: Happy-go-lucky with a potentially purely flirtatious agenda.

First Impression: I first met #117 on Halloween, where he was DJing the first party #114 and I went to--and was friends with #114. He was dressed as a surgeon and, from what I could tell from behind the surgical mask, he seemed cute and charming, teasing me by asking me what I was and, when I said I was a princess, he said, "I thought you were just overdressed." Now looking back, I probably gave him more credit then for being funnier than he really was.

Signs of Hope: A few weeks after Halloween, I ran into #114 at a gathering of like-minded downtowners and, walking back uptown afterwards, I confessed to him that I was vaguely back in touch with #111 (more on that later). Suddenly, he said, "What about [#117]?"

"Him? I'd date him," I said, thinking that #114 must have already gotten word from #117 that he was interested.

"He's going to be at my birthday thing on Thursday, so do you want me to set something up or do you want to work your magic?" he said. I figured I might as well see how it went so I said I'd work my magic, whatever that ended up being.

A few days later at the birthday, #117 saw me walk into the bar from across the room and I could see him light up. He came over and gave me a kiss and proceeded to ask me first-date-like questions for the rest of the evening ("Where are you from?" etc.). We went for sushi after the bar and he was sure to have me sit next to him. He paid extra attention to me the rest of the night, being touchy, having me try his food, etc.

Red Flags: I had a vague feeling that I was signing up for more of the same--the charming guy that pays attention to you and then suddenly doesn't. And, coincidentally, #111 and #117 had the same name and were both Jewish boys from the greater NYC area. So, if this was to be more of the same, it was looking just a little too exact.

At any rate, the next day, I ran into #114 at another gathering of like-minded downtowners and asked him what #117's story was.

"Why don't you ask him out?" he said.

I was perturbed.

"I want him to ask me out," I said. I had assumed #117 had said something about me and that's why #114 had said something to me in the first place--and told him that.

"No," said #114. "I said something to you, but if you like him, ask him out."

I told him I wasn't going to do that.

It crossed my mind that #114 might have lingering interest in me from the old days and that, even though we were firmly in friend territory, he wasn't going to actively set me up with someone else. Maybe his offering up of #117 was merely a momentary diversionary tactic to keep me from re-entangling with #111--kind of like saying, "Hey, look over there."

The next night, #114 invited me to a dance party at DopeJams and said #117 was going. I figured I'd test the waters again. #114 said to meet him out in Williamsburg at midnight, where we'd hit a birthday party before going dancing. I met #114 on Bedford near the subway station. He was in a terrible mood. I'm not sure what was wrong with him, but he barely acknowledged me when I walked up to him on the corner. Then we collected #117 on the next corner and he, too, was in a terrible mood, saying he had a headache. The moment he said it, I had a flashback to #111 and all of his migraines. The last thing I needed was another Jewish guy named [___] who got headaches all the time. Indeed, this was looking a little too exact.

Turning Point: We went to the party and, hanging up our coats, everything I tried to say to #117 fell flat. I wondered if #114 had said something to him and he wasn't actually interested at all. So I gave up and went over to the living room where people were dancing. It was there that I spied #98 across the room. It had been a year since my brief crush was, well, crushed after I sent him an email and he never responded, so I was pretty much over it. I went up to him and he was clearly happy to see me. We talked/danced in the living room/dance floor and, after a while, #114 came over with #117 in tow and said they were headed to Dope Jams. "Are you gonna come?" he said. I looked at them--grumpy and grumpier--and said, "No, I think I'm just going to stay here for a while and then go home." #114 looked appropriately let down, glanced at #98, shrugged and said, "OK."

As they went to get their coats, #98 started to head to the coat room, too, so I stopped him and said I'd catch the subway with him. "Will you walk me home?" he teased, knowing we lived about 50 feet from each other. "Yes, I'd love to walk you home," I said. In the coat room, I introduced everyone. They greeted each other tentatively and then #114 and #117 walked out the door. I told #98 that I was supposed to go with them, but they were too grumpy. "Yes, you don't want to be with grumpy boys," he said in his cute Russian accent. "You walk me home instead."

As you know, I make little effort to hide my petty side, so I have to admit, it was gratifying to watch the scene from the eyes of #114 and #117 (or to watch it from how I HOPED they were seeing it). I hoped what they were thinking as they watched the scene was this: "Cute, fun girl was going to come dancing with us, but, because we were grumpy and no fun, she hung out with some other guy at the party we brought her to and then went home with him instead."

#114 texted me at about 2 a.m. to say the music was great at DopeJams. I texted him back telling him to stop texting me and go dance then.

Diagnosis: As for #117, a red alert about his unavailability went up very early on. At Halloween, when I felt a slight stir of attraction, I kind of knew. (Because I only seem to stir like that when they're not really available for a relationship.) #117 was every bit what I'm attracted to: the flirty guy who pays attention to me one day and then, inexplicably, goes cold the next. Sure, he might have just had a headache and been having an off night, but I'm done giving these guys the benefit of the doubt.
For me: I was glad #98 was at the party to give me an out. We walked homeward arm in arm, talking about happiness and unconditional love, two things I was having trouble grasping at the moment. But it was like old times, before I'd developed my brief crush, and we were friends again.

Mr. Unavailable #116: The Next Generation

Background: I dove into the dating pool with zeal, so much so that the night after my date with #115, I had this date with #116. I figured it was like ripping off a Band-Aid. But, much like my date the night before, with the state I was in, almost no one stood a chance, and the Band-Aid-ripping was proving to be too painful.

Vital Stats: 51, 5'9"ish, Antiques Dealer. Aesthetic: Ralph Lauren casual. Demeanor: At 51, it seemed like he'd already had a somewhat active life and, from his level of energy, it seemed like he was ready to move into the post-active phase.

First Date: Dinner at Cafe Mogador. 7 p.m. on a Saturday.

First Impression: WAY older-looking than his photos on dating site OKCupid, which were probably from 10 years before. He actually looked at least 51 in person. And acted more like 61. The 7 p.m. date time ("to get there before the crowd," he'd said) should have been a dead giveaway. He had a slow way of talking and eating, which drove me crazy because almost as soon as I got there, I wanted to get out of there.

Signs of Hope: None. Dinner was relatively quick (no appetizers or sides), but I got held hostage over coffee afterward, which added another hour to the date, even though I did everything but say I wanted to leave to let him know I wanted out (purposefully folding my napkin and putting it on the table, finishing my coffee with flourish, looking at the waitress whenever she was in the vicinity).

Red Flags: To illustrate that we were from completely different generations, at one point he asked me if I had any brothers or sisters and when I told him I had two brothers, he asked, "Are they still living?"

Otherwise, I just wasn't remotely interested. I decided to get an education out of it, though, so I asked him all about his antiques business. Basically, when people died, he was the guy who would go in and buy the whole estate and then sell everything through the auction houses or online. The oddest thing he found? Skulls (as a collectible), on more than one occasion. The biggest score? Buying a painting for $500 that later sold for $500,000. He once had (and continued to have) an opportunity to be on Antiques Roadshow but did a local show instead that later got canceled. He also used to do stand-up comedy and ran in the same circles as Jon Stewart back when he was Jon Leibowitz telling Jewish jokes.

I found it hard to believe #116 was formerly a stand-up, seeing as he was so slow-talking and, to me anyway, very nice but completely unfunny. I asked him what his routine was like and he said he would say bizarre things very quickly. I couldn't picture it but believed it--it was probably an escape from his usual self, which seems to be what most kinds of performance are, including my own on this date.

Turning Point: When we finally got up to leave, that was the turning point: utter relief.

Diagnosis: For him: He needs someone his own age. And someone who is in the same life phase.
For me: I know it's not how it should be but I have to admit it: I'm still kind of waiting for my life to begin. I know, I need a perspective adjustment. It's a problem. Plus, I'm still stuck on #111. That's a problem, too. I miss him terribly and no one can overcome that, certainly not at our usual spot Cafe Mogador, and certainly not a 51-year-old man who fudges his online photos and makes me feel like I'm hanging out with the generation that needs to ask, "Are they still living?"

Mr. Unavailable #115: A Fishless Existence

Vital Stats: 6', Lawyer. Aesthetic: Casual lawyer (so not too lawyer-y). Demeanor: Casual lawyer.

First Impression: I should probably make it clear that it's questionable that I should even be dating at this point. It might be too soon post-#111 and I may just be too hypercritical--any ability to be open-minded is at an all-time low.

In his OKCupid profile, #115 had three photos, only one of which made me want to date him. I knew, in my heart, he probably didn't look like that one photo, and, when I walked up to him in front of the restaurant, he didn't, but at least it got me out on a date.

First Date: When planning the date, he asked me if I had any favorite places I liked to eat in my neighborhood and I chose Hearth, a restaurant I'd always wanted to go to with #111. When we met in front, he shook my hand, so I couldn't tell if he was immediately interested or not. I kind of didn't care, though, because I was pretty sure I wasn't--like I said, no one would stand a chance at this point.

We were early for our reservation, so we chatted in the restaurant's nearby bar. He said, "I have to tell you a story" and then told me that he had taken the bus there and, while waiting for it, a blind man asking for directions had accidentally hit him in the nose. "I don't know if it's broken or what, but isn't that weird?" I felt bad for him, doubted his nose was broken and thought him to be a little bit of a cry baby (I'll say it again, no one stands a chance at this point). But I gave him props for keeping up good appearances while he was likely in some pain. I also wondered if the incident explained the strange nasal lilt to his voice (see above, hypercritical).

At dinner, we talked about working at law firms (my new job, his ongoing job and upcoming transition). He seemed most comfortable talking about politics, the last last two years of economic decline and how the banks had messed everything up. Formerly a physicist, he was clearly very smart and talked ably about how quants, in tandem with dumb CEOs, destroyed the world. It was interesting and I tried to keep up.

About halfway through our shared flattened chicken, he spotted someone over my shoulder and said, "Do you know who that is?...Chief Justice Sotomayor." She was sitting at a table behind me and he was smitten. For the rest of the night, no, he wasn't wistfully looking at me over the candlelight, he was looking over my shoulder to ogle her. And then, when she walked by to leave, he stared at her, attempting to make eye contact. I was mildly horrified, but, fortunately, she didn't look. I should probably be more forgiving because, as a lawyer, it was probably like he was seeing God.

Signs of Hope: It was a long date and, as it turned into the third hour and we both seemed to be hanging in there, I thought maybe I could go on another date with him, maybe. He seemed nice enough. At one point, he complimented my ring. I'd gotten it just before Halloween for my princess costume and it looked real, like it had a zillion diamonds on it. It was nice that I got a compliment.

Red Flags: Ogling Sotomayor over my shoulder--he was clearly more interested in her, although I was sort of glad for the distraction. Another flag was that, as we first sat down to dinner, he told me he had a severe aversion to fish. "Just the smell makes me feel revolted," he said. It was clear I wasn't to order any fish that night--or, probably, ever. And one #111-esque red flag: even though he appeared to have plenty of money, he chose to live in a one bedroom out in Long Island because, he said, it was cheap. (#111 chose to live with a roommate up in Harlem.)

To be honest, I didn't truly want to get to know him, so I kept the conversation fairly surface-oriented. At the end of the date, I thought maybe I would give him a hug or something and waited to see what he would do. Finally, as we parted ways on my corner--because I didn't even want him to walk me to my door--I was waiting with my hands in my pockets to see what would happen and he stuck out his hand and we shook hands.

Turning Point: At no point was there real hope, so there was no real turning point. I might have been able to conjure more open-mindedness and gone out on a second date if I were in a better mental place, but that was not the way things were.

My Amateur Diagnosis: For him: Probably available for some kind of relationship. Although I got the impression that he liked going out on lots of dinner dates, so he probably wasn't too upset that when he emailed me later for a second date, I turned him down.

For me: Dating #115 long-term would be a fishless existence and I just started eating fish again a few years ago so wasn't ready to give up the omega-3s. Seriously, though, I wonder if I should even be dating. I had no desire to talk to him about anything real--because discussing something real might have started to build a connection and I'm not ready for that. I think his profile might have even said he had kids, but at no time did I ask about them because I just didn't want to know.

Throughout the date, I just kept comparing everything to my first date with #111 and thinking what an idiot #111 was, to throw away what we had...OK, to be honest, the potential of what we had. But we did have a definite connection, a definite spark.

Stayed tuned for #116: Even though I probably shouldn't be dating, it's try, try again...