This is a Mr. Unavailable Mini Flashback, circa Summer 2009.
Vital Stats: 40ish, 5'10"ish. Two years out of Iran. Bearded and swarthy. Employment via graphic design skills. Flirtation began Summer 2009 at a Soho party. Aesthetic: NYC Casual. Demeanor: Serious with humorous undertones.
First Impression: Very flirtatious (possibly with everyone and to the annoyance of some).
Signs of Hope: He always acted excited to see me, with a sly smile and a squeeze on my arm--or a hug, or a lingering stare. He was also very touchy-feely (to say "affectionate" would be too complimentary), and he would say, "I like you...you have such great energy...that's why I like being near you." He complimented me all the time and began to make references to calling/getting together.
Red Flags: Touchy-feely/flirtatious with many women. Although he often referred to "getting together," he could never actually pull the trigger on a date.
Turning Point: At a holiday party in the East Village in 2009, I made it clear I was available (i.e., #97: Are you seeing anyone? Me: No.); He made more references to hanging out--and even started to mull over post-party possibilities--but still no date. A month passed. After a while, I just started to smile and nod, smile and nod.
Diagnosis: Clearly terrified of dating in that it may actually lead to a relationship, which, for him, was clearly even more terrifying.
For me: I was never quite 100% on if I liked him like that but became open enough to go out with him should he ask. Maybe just the fact that I was hesitant meant I was onto something.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #1: Where It All Began
This is a Mr. Unavailable Flashback, circa 1979.
Vital Stats: 3'10", 5ish. Good at addition/subtraction. Met: September 1977. Aesthetic: He sported a fetching 1970s dressed-by-mom look. Demeanor: Adorable and easygoing, especially when making stuff in art class with paste.
First Impression: Cherubic, super cute.
Signs of Hope: I always tried to sit next to him or position myself near him for our class photos. He did not at first run away, although that could also have been because we were in kindergarten and there was nowhere to go.
Red Flags: Ran away when I tried to kiss him in his wood-paneled basement. I gave chase, he escaped.
Turning Point: Perseverant, I did not lose hope until, at age 9, my family moved away.
Diagnosis: Distance is a bitch, fate--and timing--were against us. It now being 2010, he's long been married with children.
Vital Stats: 3'10", 5ish. Good at addition/subtraction. Met: September 1977. Aesthetic: He sported a fetching 1970s dressed-by-mom look. Demeanor: Adorable and easygoing, especially when making stuff in art class with paste.
First Impression: Cherubic, super cute.
Signs of Hope: I always tried to sit next to him or position myself near him for our class photos. He did not at first run away, although that could also have been because we were in kindergarten and there was nowhere to go.
Red Flags: Ran away when I tried to kiss him in his wood-paneled basement. I gave chase, he escaped.
Turning Point: Perseverant, I did not lose hope until, at age 9, my family moved away.
Diagnosis: Distance is a bitch, fate--and timing--were against us. It now being 2010, he's long been married with children.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #98: From Russia, With No Love
This is a Mr. Unavailable Mini Flashback, circa December 2009.
Vital Stats: 40ish, 6'ish. Russian Anesthesiologist. Vaguely muscle-bound with boyish face. Attractively graying with a short, almost buzzed, haircut. Aesthetic: He had an unruly preppy thing going (rolled up jeans, plaid shirts, tank tops). Demeanor: Serious Russian, but, once you cracked the surface, there was something else--although he remained something of a dichotomy: the crass gentleman.
First Impression: Brooding loner. I was guesting at a Montauk summer share in 2009 and first saw him sitting in a corner of the deck by himself wearing headphones and hidden in a hooded sweatshirt.
Signs of Hope: He quickly perked up at the share house and proved a worthy Scrabble opponent. It turned out he lived in the East Village, too, and carried my bags from Penn Station all the way home for me. Whenever we would run into each other on the street or I would call him for a favor (see: vaguely muscle-bound), he would ask me for coffee. I ran into him at a party later that summer and he told me I looked very sexy and then teased me mercilessly for usually (insert Russian accent) "dressing like a leetle giiirrrl."
Red Flags: Eventually, on one of our coffee outings, I found out he had a girlfriend, or something significantly less official. When he broke up with her, he mentioned she was a stripper and affectionately referred to her as "my Russian whore."
Turning Point: He saw me at a party in December 2009 and bee-lined for me. We danced all night to late 80s favorites like New Order and The Cure. He told me I looked very sexy. I turned to go to the ladies room and, when I returned, he left without saying good-bye. I later emailed him a flirty note and heard nothing back.
Diagnosis: In retrospect, I have a feeling we were both thinking the same thing at the party ("We're all hotted up here, how could this possibly end?") and we were both afraid of it. I have no doubt he saw his opportunity to escape and, again in retrospect, I realize I was somewhat relieved that he left (and perhaps my email to him was an attempt to get some kind of attention that I was ultimately afraid of).
Second Opinion: I found out later that, apparently, he "dates" a lot and I don't normally (except, ahem, #100) "date" like that. Maybe my relief at his having left without saying good-bye meant my flight instincts were wisely kicking in.
Vital Stats: 40ish, 6'ish. Russian Anesthesiologist. Vaguely muscle-bound with boyish face. Attractively graying with a short, almost buzzed, haircut. Aesthetic: He had an unruly preppy thing going (rolled up jeans, plaid shirts, tank tops). Demeanor: Serious Russian, but, once you cracked the surface, there was something else--although he remained something of a dichotomy: the crass gentleman.
First Impression: Brooding loner. I was guesting at a Montauk summer share in 2009 and first saw him sitting in a corner of the deck by himself wearing headphones and hidden in a hooded sweatshirt.
Signs of Hope: He quickly perked up at the share house and proved a worthy Scrabble opponent. It turned out he lived in the East Village, too, and carried my bags from Penn Station all the way home for me. Whenever we would run into each other on the street or I would call him for a favor (see: vaguely muscle-bound), he would ask me for coffee. I ran into him at a party later that summer and he told me I looked very sexy and then teased me mercilessly for usually (insert Russian accent) "dressing like a leetle giiirrrl."
Red Flags: Eventually, on one of our coffee outings, I found out he had a girlfriend, or something significantly less official. When he broke up with her, he mentioned she was a stripper and affectionately referred to her as "my Russian whore."
Turning Point: He saw me at a party in December 2009 and bee-lined for me. We danced all night to late 80s favorites like New Order and The Cure. He told me I looked very sexy. I turned to go to the ladies room and, when I returned, he left without saying good-bye. I later emailed him a flirty note and heard nothing back.
Diagnosis: In retrospect, I have a feeling we were both thinking the same thing at the party ("We're all hotted up here, how could this possibly end?") and we were both afraid of it. I have no doubt he saw his opportunity to escape and, again in retrospect, I realize I was somewhat relieved that he left (and perhaps my email to him was an attempt to get some kind of attention that I was ultimately afraid of).
Second Opinion: I found out later that, apparently, he "dates" a lot and I don't normally (except, ahem, #100) "date" like that. Maybe my relief at his having left without saying good-bye meant my flight instincts were wisely kicking in.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #99: Snowbank Guy
This is a Mr. Unavailable Mini Flashback, circa December 2009.
Vital Stats: 34ish, 6'1"ish, svelte, and of Irish heritage (hot, black Irish, that is). Employment via own real estate research business. Aesthetic: Standard, Acceptable New York City Attire (black button-down shirts and jeans). Demeanor: Nice-Guy Guy
First Impression: I'd seen him around for about a year and always thought he had an adorable earnestness about him. We officially met at Holiday Party in the West Village in December 2009. He was known to most as a "Nice Guy." Very cute, possibly too cute to be fully available.
Signs of Hope: In a moment of bravery at a Christmas party, I turned to where he was sitting behind me and started a conversation. He was an eager participant. We had an extended conversation, flirted about getting married, traded phone numbers and, when we coincidentally left party at the same time, he offered to escort me home. He told me he'd seen me around and thought I was cute, etc. It was blizzarding out, so he let me borrow his gloves. As we walked down Bleecker Street through fat, puffy snowflakes and past pristine 4-foot snowbanks, he joked about diving into one (#99: "Wouldn't it be fun to just dive into a snowbank?")...a minute later, he grabbed me and dove into the closest snowbank--with me on top (I'm assuming so that I wouldn't get squished, which I thought was sweet). My only option seemed to kiss him, so we made out right there on Bleecker Street, with passing NYU drunks and comedy-club goers mere feet away.
Red Flags: It was all happening WAY too fast. While we were at the party, he demonstrated oddly explosive anger when irked by someone he did not like (it was hot to see him bolt from his seat to enact a confrontation, but, alas, it was a total red flag). When we reached my apartment building, he tried really, really hard to come upstairs to my apartment (kissed me, pressed himself against me in persuasion, begged, pleaded). #99: "Doesn't a small part of you want me to come up?" Me: "A big part of me wants you to come up." I said it wasn't going to happen and then added, "We should do this again sometime." We'd exchanged phone numbers earlier in the night, so he was like, "I've got your number, you've got my number..."
Turning Point: Those dots at the end of him saying we had each others' phone numbers. He never actually said he was going to use it. The overall turning point was probably when I finally impressed upon him that he couldn't come upstairs. He acted rejected. I got a text from him half an hour later saying something like: "The kids' all awake." At first, it made no sense but I think in context I could figure out what it meant (Translation: "I'm all ready to go if you still want to hook up.") I responded saying I didn't understand his joke. I never heard from him again and when I'd see him around, he'd actively avoid me.
Diagnosis: For him: Totally unavailable for anything remotely resembling dating, let alone a relationship with me.
For me: I'd broken my nearly three-year kissing dry spell, so at first I was psyched. Then, as the days passed and I realized he wasn't going to call, I felt a bit, well, bad.
Second Opinion: For him: It turned out, #99 had a girlfriend--before, during and after our encounter. Apparently, it was a relationship he liked to keep quiet so that he could get some action on the side.
For me: If we had ended up dating, it would have been a great how-we-got-together story, but, as usual, if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. Otherwise, I'll say it again, it ended a nearly three-year make-out drought.
Vital Stats: 34ish, 6'1"ish, svelte, and of Irish heritage (hot, black Irish, that is). Employment via own real estate research business. Aesthetic: Standard, Acceptable New York City Attire (black button-down shirts and jeans). Demeanor: Nice-Guy Guy
First Impression: I'd seen him around for about a year and always thought he had an adorable earnestness about him. We officially met at Holiday Party in the West Village in December 2009. He was known to most as a "Nice Guy." Very cute, possibly too cute to be fully available.
Signs of Hope: In a moment of bravery at a Christmas party, I turned to where he was sitting behind me and started a conversation. He was an eager participant. We had an extended conversation, flirted about getting married, traded phone numbers and, when we coincidentally left party at the same time, he offered to escort me home. He told me he'd seen me around and thought I was cute, etc. It was blizzarding out, so he let me borrow his gloves. As we walked down Bleecker Street through fat, puffy snowflakes and past pristine 4-foot snowbanks, he joked about diving into one (#99: "Wouldn't it be fun to just dive into a snowbank?")...a minute later, he grabbed me and dove into the closest snowbank--with me on top (I'm assuming so that I wouldn't get squished, which I thought was sweet). My only option seemed to kiss him, so we made out right there on Bleecker Street, with passing NYU drunks and comedy-club goers mere feet away.
Red Flags: It was all happening WAY too fast. While we were at the party, he demonstrated oddly explosive anger when irked by someone he did not like (it was hot to see him bolt from his seat to enact a confrontation, but, alas, it was a total red flag). When we reached my apartment building, he tried really, really hard to come upstairs to my apartment (kissed me, pressed himself against me in persuasion, begged, pleaded). #99: "Doesn't a small part of you want me to come up?" Me: "A big part of me wants you to come up." I said it wasn't going to happen and then added, "We should do this again sometime." We'd exchanged phone numbers earlier in the night, so he was like, "I've got your number, you've got my number..."
Turning Point: Those dots at the end of him saying we had each others' phone numbers. He never actually said he was going to use it. The overall turning point was probably when I finally impressed upon him that he couldn't come upstairs. He acted rejected. I got a text from him half an hour later saying something like: "The kids' all awake." At first, it made no sense but I think in context I could figure out what it meant (Translation: "I'm all ready to go if you still want to hook up.") I responded saying I didn't understand his joke. I never heard from him again and when I'd see him around, he'd actively avoid me.
Diagnosis: For him: Totally unavailable for anything remotely resembling dating, let alone a relationship with me.
For me: I'd broken my nearly three-year kissing dry spell, so at first I was psyched. Then, as the days passed and I realized he wasn't going to call, I felt a bit, well, bad.
Second Opinion: For him: It turned out, #99 had a girlfriend--before, during and after our encounter. Apparently, it was a relationship he liked to keep quiet so that he could get some action on the side.
For me: If we had ended up dating, it would have been a great how-we-got-together story, but, as usual, if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. Otherwise, I'll say it again, it ended a nearly three-year make-out drought.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #100: Momma's Boy
See The Downtown Hipster and The Way to a Girl's Heart for the background on this one.
Pre-Date: Two days after our second date, he contacted me for a third date via text and wanted it to be a few hours later. I was too excited to be irked about the last-minute planning. Two hours later, he canceled, again via text, saying that he had to help his mother in Florida with her computer and then wrote, "Maybe tomorrow." First: Help his mother? Was he lying or was he really that much of a momma's boy? How urgent could his mother's computer needs be on a Sunday night? Second: "Maybe tomorrow" WTF? It was suspicious.
I texted back saying I had plans for tomorrow but to have a good night and let me know when he'd be free. He sensed my irritation and replied that he was available whenever I wanted to meet next. I suggested Wednesday.
Date #3: When Wednesday rolled around, he sent me a text--again--asking if I wanted to meet at Sweet and Vicious--again. When I met him there, the chemistry was crazy. Facing each other on bar stools, his knees squeezed mine and he kept finding excuses to touch me, saying, "Oh, I like you."
I told him about the summer share I was taking in Montauk and he said, "You spend summers in Montauk?...I knew I liked you...Hopefully I won't fuck this up between now and then...I have five surfboards...You need a surfboard?...I'll buy you one."
He said that he didn't usually go to Sweet and Vicious because he didn't know anyone there, but that he likes taking dates (i.e., me) to such places so that he can get to know them. He said he would never take a date to a place where he knew the people--it's not fair, he said. After a while, he asked if I was hungry and took me to a Latin restaurant around the corner. The booth was big and he moved his side in closer, saying, "I want to be closer to you."
Signs of Hope: Telling me many times at Sweet and Vicious that he liked me; being very touchy; indicating a future together, including the possible purchase of a surf board.
Red Flags: Telling me many times at Sweet and Vicious that he liked me; being very touchy; indicating a future together, including the possible purchase of a surf board. (Don't they say if it seems too good to be true, it probably is?)
Also: He only contacted me via text, not voice. When he originally texted me for the date, he asked if it could be that night, i.e., "Will you be my beck-and-call girl?" And then his excuse for canceling was weak, but he did what any half-decent liar would do--used something that referenced a prior conversation. (On date #2, he had told me that his mother was terrible with computers and he was her tech guy from afar.)
Turning Point: Usually the turning points are subtle, but this one was hard to miss. Halfway through dinner, I mentioned I didn't drink. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and launched into a monologue about his own drinking habits, making comments that took a circuitous route and ended with him insisting, "I'm very passionate." Then when I offered to help with the bill, he took me up on it. Always a moment of truth.
After dinner, he took me to a bar where he knew people (see third paragraph under Date #3, above). His body language was terrible; instead of facing me like he had at Sweet and Vicious, he was turned toward the bar. He was somewhat non-communicative, giving me a laundry-list work history like he was at an interview for a job he did not want. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and, once in, crouched on the floor to text my friend Rick.
Me: I'm in the bathroom. Told him I didn't drink. Things seemed to change.
Rick: Probably in your head.
Me: He stopped touching me and is acting distant. And made me pay for part of dinner.
Rick: If he is honestly being that way because you don't drink, he's got major issues...
Returning to #100, I decided to take on more of a positive, fuck-it type of attitude. They were playing a Smiths song and I said, "I love this song. It's like musical pesto." #100 seemed to perk up and I wondered if I had, in fact, been contributing to the overly self-conscious downer vibe. We left the restaurant and he walked me home. And then he made out with me in front of my apartment building. Normally a good make-out is a Sign of Hope, but something told me not to expect to hear from him anytime soon.
Diagnosis: For him: He can manufacture chemistry but is there anything else? He could be a runner, a guy who bolts at any remote sign of realness. Plus, if he wants to be with someone who enjoys drinking like he seems to, this will never work.
For me: Sometimes being "open-minded" gets me into trouble. I wasn't all that interested on our first date, for all the right reasons, but I decided to give it another shot. Now I've been sucked in by his energy and affability. I doubt I'll hear from him again, but if I do, I'd probably see him again.
Next in the #100 series: Update
Pre-Date: Two days after our second date, he contacted me for a third date via text and wanted it to be a few hours later. I was too excited to be irked about the last-minute planning. Two hours later, he canceled, again via text, saying that he had to help his mother in Florida with her computer and then wrote, "Maybe tomorrow." First: Help his mother? Was he lying or was he really that much of a momma's boy? How urgent could his mother's computer needs be on a Sunday night? Second: "Maybe tomorrow" WTF? It was suspicious.
I texted back saying I had plans for tomorrow but to have a good night and let me know when he'd be free. He sensed my irritation and replied that he was available whenever I wanted to meet next. I suggested Wednesday.
Date #3: When Wednesday rolled around, he sent me a text--again--asking if I wanted to meet at Sweet and Vicious--again. When I met him there, the chemistry was crazy. Facing each other on bar stools, his knees squeezed mine and he kept finding excuses to touch me, saying, "Oh, I like you."
I told him about the summer share I was taking in Montauk and he said, "You spend summers in Montauk?...I knew I liked you...Hopefully I won't fuck this up between now and then...I have five surfboards...You need a surfboard?...I'll buy you one."
He said that he didn't usually go to Sweet and Vicious because he didn't know anyone there, but that he likes taking dates (i.e., me) to such places so that he can get to know them. He said he would never take a date to a place where he knew the people--it's not fair, he said. After a while, he asked if I was hungry and took me to a Latin restaurant around the corner. The booth was big and he moved his side in closer, saying, "I want to be closer to you."
Signs of Hope: Telling me many times at Sweet and Vicious that he liked me; being very touchy; indicating a future together, including the possible purchase of a surf board.
Red Flags: Telling me many times at Sweet and Vicious that he liked me; being very touchy; indicating a future together, including the possible purchase of a surf board. (Don't they say if it seems too good to be true, it probably is?)
Also: He only contacted me via text, not voice. When he originally texted me for the date, he asked if it could be that night, i.e., "Will you be my beck-and-call girl?" And then his excuse for canceling was weak, but he did what any half-decent liar would do--used something that referenced a prior conversation. (On date #2, he had told me that his mother was terrible with computers and he was her tech guy from afar.)
Turning Point: Usually the turning points are subtle, but this one was hard to miss. Halfway through dinner, I mentioned I didn't drink. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and launched into a monologue about his own drinking habits, making comments that took a circuitous route and ended with him insisting, "I'm very passionate." Then when I offered to help with the bill, he took me up on it. Always a moment of truth.
After dinner, he took me to a bar where he knew people (see third paragraph under Date #3, above). His body language was terrible; instead of facing me like he had at Sweet and Vicious, he was turned toward the bar. He was somewhat non-communicative, giving me a laundry-list work history like he was at an interview for a job he did not want. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and, once in, crouched on the floor to text my friend Rick.
Me: I'm in the bathroom. Told him I didn't drink. Things seemed to change.
Rick: Probably in your head.
Me: He stopped touching me and is acting distant. And made me pay for part of dinner.
Rick: If he is honestly being that way because you don't drink, he's got major issues...
Returning to #100, I decided to take on more of a positive, fuck-it type of attitude. They were playing a Smiths song and I said, "I love this song. It's like musical pesto." #100 seemed to perk up and I wondered if I had, in fact, been contributing to the overly self-conscious downer vibe. We left the restaurant and he walked me home. And then he made out with me in front of my apartment building. Normally a good make-out is a Sign of Hope, but something told me not to expect to hear from him anytime soon.
Diagnosis: For him: He can manufacture chemistry but is there anything else? He could be a runner, a guy who bolts at any remote sign of realness. Plus, if he wants to be with someone who enjoys drinking like he seems to, this will never work.
For me: Sometimes being "open-minded" gets me into trouble. I wasn't all that interested on our first date, for all the right reasons, but I decided to give it another shot. Now I've been sucked in by his energy and affability. I doubt I'll hear from him again, but if I do, I'd probably see him again.
Next in the #100 series: Update
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