Mr. Unavailable #84: Superman

This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa 2004.

Vital Stats: Seriously, he looked like Superman. His online photos were very likely some kind of headshots. He was 6'2", maybe 200 pounds, with jet black hair and perfect skin. Aesthetic: Head-to-toe gothabilly. Demeanor: Too cool for school.

First Date: Late August 2004 at a cafe in the East Village.

First Impression: He was more beefcakey in real life than in his photos, which must have been old and from his thinner modeling days. Dressed entirely in gothabilly attire, he came complete with jet-black cowboy hat, black shirt, black leather jacket, black jeans (or were those leather pants?), giant skeleton ring on his left hand and a few others on his right. Earrings and metal neckware may have been involved as well.

Signs of Hope: He seemed slightly less self-absorbed than his fetching black-and-white online photos had me believing he would be. He bought me a conditional coffee on our first date--conditional in that he told me I could get the next one. He called immediately after the first date to set up a second one--seriously, like ten minutes later.

Red Flags: The conditional coffee. On the first date, we talked a lot about his various pursuits, which I suspect existed primarily in his mind. He was "writing a graphic novel," "developing a TV show for Comedy Central," "working for a gothabilly label." (The last was true, though part time). As he walked me home, he made references to attracting stalkers--also possibly more imagined than real.

Before the second date, he called on his way over and insisted on coming up to my apartment to get me--and then he put the moves on me. It was the Worst. Kiss. Ever. Much like having a dead, cold, wet fish flop around in your mouth. As he maneuvered me in the direction of the bed, I said, "OK, let's go" and bolted toward the door.

Turning Point: On the second date (carrot cake at Cloister Cafe, which I sprung for as the condition from our first date), I was fairly bored but tried not to think too much about it. I had told him I was going to Fire Island for the weekend, so when I didn't hear from him after I returned, I called him him to tell him I was back. He answered but then had to go suddenly, mumbling about needing to eat or having to call his mother, or something similarly orally fixated or oedipal.

For the longest time, I wondered why he even bothered answering the phone when I called that night because I never heard from him again.

Diagnosis: For him: I can be super-clueless when it comes to figuring out what's really going on in any dating situation. I later realized that he had probably read each sign of interest from me as a step toward free sex and his resulting steps in my direction were merely a manifestation of how hopeful he was. When he saw a freebie was not going to be easy enough to come by, he quit.
For me: I was psyched to be dating someone so attractive and was therefore willing to overlook the fact that we were completely incompatible.

Update: Six years later (just a few short weeks ago!), I spotted him on a different dating site and he had this to say for himself: "I'm tired of dating, I want a girlfriend."

My recommendations: Develop more of a personality and stop trying to immediately bed your dates. And the kissing, work on the kissing.

(I couldn't resist, so I also Googled him and found nothing--nothing about him, Comedy Central or any kind of graphic novel.)

Mr. Unavailable #86: Liar, Liar

This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa 2002, 2004 and...now.

Vital Stats: 35 (in 2004), 6'1". He was some kind of academic at Rutgers. Aesthetic: A plain, button-down shirt type of guy, maybe the type of guy who would put a bland crew neck sweater over his plain shirt, and pair it with jeans, or khakis. There was something somewhat Ivy League Reject-ish about him. Demeanor: Glum Ivy League Reject marooned in New Jersey academia.

Background: We met in Summer 2002 through Nerve.com and kept making plans to meet, plans that I kept canceling because, to be honest, I wasn't terribly excited about meeting him. On about the third or fourth cancellation, he nixed our meeting totally, saying, "Maybe it just wasn't meant to be."

Then, in December 2004 he messaged me again through Nerve.com, not realizing until after the date was set up that we had run across each other before. I had figured it out and was just determining how best to lord it over him.

First Date: On a Sunday night at the Cloister Cafe in the East Village, December 2004.

First Impression: I was dreading the date with every fiber of my being because:
1. I was still smarting from #85.
2. Meeting this guy felt more like a lingering task that needed to be completed than like anything to be excited about.
3. I'm semi-suicidal on Sunday nights anyway.
4. I knew I could not cancel again.

Signs of Hope: Fortunately, my expectations were so low that I was actually pleasantly surprised when I met him. He was tall and slightly gawky, as expected, but slightly less glum than I had anticipated. We had a fairly nice conversation, talking about writing, his trip from Jersey, the dry state of the carrot cake I had ordered.... He picked up the tab for my dry carrot cake and asked if I wanted to go for a walk. We wound up at St. Mark's Bookshop where he showed me the literary journal of which his profile said he was the editor.

Red Flags: I could have sworn his profile said he edited the journal, but, when he pointed to his name on the masthead, it was at the very bottom next to "ad sales." Indeed, when I checked his profile a few days later, this liar's pants were very much on fire.

Turning Point: I emailed him after our date (having not yet checked his profile for the literary journal lie) to say I had a nice time and offer myself up for another get-together. He replied saying, for him, there was no spark. It was one of those moments that makes one scream on the phone to friends, "But I didn't even like him!" Which I did.

Update: He returned--just the other day. This time on Match.com. Again, he does not recognize me. Now he's a 40-year-old lawyer in NYC--or so he says. His definitely-not-a-literary-editor message read: "I read your profile and really liked what you had to say, you seem like a very interesting person and I would love an opportunity to learn more about you. Hope you're having a nice Friday night." If that doesn't prove he's no literary editor, I don't know what does. And yes, he wrote me on a Friday night.

Now, I hate to sound bitter and childish, but I will: The only reason I offered myself up for a second date all those years ago was because my expectations had been so low that, after meeting him, I was pleasantly surprised enough that I didn't feel the need to go home and kill myself.

I sent him one of Match's multiple-choice rejection notes: "Thanks for writing me, but unfortunately we're just not a good match. Good luck in your search!" Even multiple-choice payback is sweet.

Diagnosis: He was willfully out of touch with the truth and even more closed-minded than a 32-year-old woman with a Sunday night death wish (that would be me).

Mr. Unavailable #87: Brief Adventures in Beantown

This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa late 2004/early 2005.

Vital Stats: Bostonian, 32, 5'10". Writer for financial company. Aesthetic: Post-collegiate Bostonian (jeans, checked button-down shirts under crew neck sweaters). Demeanor: He seemed shy at first.

First Impression: We met online via the Nerve.com dating site in the Fall of 2004. He would write long, descriptive missives about trips to 4H Fairs and the like. I liked the attention but it was also as if he could have been writing to anyone--or everyone--or as if he were practicing for his future memoir. We lost touch for a few months while I attempted to date #86 for the third time and he had his own on-again-off-again thing going on and then we got back in touch in the late Winter of 2005.

First Date: I had a work trip to Boston planned and took the train up. We arranged to meet for Ethiopian Food in Central Square in Cambridge and we got along so well we went for coffee afterward. At first, he seemed like a "nice" guy--slightly shy, slightly nerdy, but cute. I usually don't like guys who seem shy, since I tend toward shyness, but, since we'd been in touch for so long, I decided to focus on the positives.

Signs of Hope: A few weeks after our first date, he traveled to NYC for second date. We met for brunch at the Pink Pony, where, as soon as I walked in and saw him, I realized, "He's cute." I could tell that, in a black button-down--minus the sweater--he'd made some effort to look a little less collegiate, a little more city. After brunch, we went to a show at The International Center of Photography and then went for carrot cake at Mayrose Diner, which, at the time, had the best carrot cake in the city.

Red Flags: Even though it was to mention how immature she was, he mentioned his last girlfriend on the coffee portion of our first date. On our second date, he made a lame joke at the ICP about an unattractive guy who was perusing the exhibit being my boyfriend (i.e., "Heh, heh, there's your boyfriend."). He never even attempted to kiss me. Not once.

Turning Point: One night, he called and said he was talking to his ex-girlfriend again and was confused about what he was doing. Unable to quite let go, I said we could still keep in touch as friends, but, soon afterward, I met #88 and never bothered.

Diagnosis: For him: Most likely, he had never stopped talking to his ex-girlfriend. In fact, she was probably never an ex at all.
For me: I did the best with what I was given.