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.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
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?"
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?"
Friday, November 5, 2010
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...
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...
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #114: Suicidal Tendencies
Vital Stats: 5'10." 39. Aesthetic: Guy. Demeanor: Guy. Status: In a lengthy unemployment but still financially sound. Recently dumped by his girlfriend.
First Impression/Background: I'd met #114 several years before and he'd never been much of a talker around me. In fact, he was almost mute. I remember once at a party I was sitting next to him and having a conversation was difficult, to say the least. He was what I like to call "He of the two-word answers." It turned out he had a huge crush on me, which was hugely flattering. He went on to date a woman who I liked very much, but then they broke up--right around the same time as my breakup. I ran into #114, we compared breakup notes and he invited me to a Halloween party...which turned into three.
Halloween: Getting ready to go out, I was still in a post-#111 state. It was all I could do to don a costume. Every day, I still woke up in agony, having to talk myself down--trying to make myself believe all the things I diagnosed about him in the previous posts (emotional shut down, no capacity for a real relationship). If I let myself believe that #111 broke up with me for rational reasons, I'd crumple, so I constantly kept that idea at bay. Plus, as my shrink said after I told her how he lived, "It sounds like he didn't think he deserved you." If he could have just said that, it would have cleared all this agony up.
For some ridiculous reason, in my misery, I decided to be a princess for Halloween. Talk about your insides not just not matching your outsides but being violently opposed to your outsides. Something "dead" would have been much better--even "dead princess." But I didn't have enough functioning, non-agonized brain cells to make the mental leap to "dead princess." The whole idea originated when I'd found a gorgeous pink satin dress at a secondhand store in Arizona that fit perfectly. I couldn't not buy it. Truth be told, when I first saw it, I thought: future wedding dress. I'd look terrible in white anyway. And I got my prom dress before I had a date, so there's precedence (although it can only be considered a successful precedent if one ignores the fact that my prom date was a dud).
I was supposed to be Grace Kelly, but I didn't have the energy to get the hair right and then I accidentally left one of my white gloves at home, so I just went as a generic, half-baked princess. I met #114 out at an apartment party in Soho. Everyone was young and coupled-up, which only made us feel worse. After about an hour, we got in his car and headed to a second party in Brooklyn. It was in a gorgeous Brownstone, which they'd decorated in a combo Halloween/Octoberfest theme (Spooktoberfest), so there were lederhosen and Swiss Miss/bar wench-type fraus everywhere. About an hour into the party, #114 and I were standing in line for the bathroom and I mentioned my Arizona convalescence and how I had told my host that I hoped my plane crashed on the way home. A little spark lit up in his eyes. "You think that way, too?"
See, normally, when you talk about wanting to die, people say things like, "Oh, that would be such a waste" and "Don't let the (other person) win" and blah blah blah. But here #114 was saying, "You want to kill yourself? Awesome. Me, too." We spent the next two hours talking about what ways were most attractive. I said pills would be best, but if it didn't work, I might end up a vegetable, which would be terrible. Otherwise, a garage and a car was my method of choice, though a difficult one seeing as I live in a studio apartment in New York. He said he thought the best way was to put a noose around your neck and shoot yourself in the head, that way if one didn't work, the other would.
We also had to consider the calendar timing. We agreed there was no way we were going to make it through the holidays alone, but there were a couple of parties coming up and we didn't want to miss them. Shelagh's safari party was in a few weeks and then the weekend after that would be Thanksgiving, so, really, the perfect timing would be after her party. We were both dreading the holidays: The horror of being a holiday orphan and needing to be taken in. Nightmare. Especially seeing as on my first date with #111, he told me that when he has a girlfriend, his mother makes sure he tells her that Thanksgiving happens at his house--always. Things were headed in that direction for us and I had it all scheduled on my mental calendar. And then--whammo!
Discussing things further, #114 and I agreed, there was no way we were going through another bleak New York winter alone. No way. So if we were going to die, it was going to have to happen soon. In short, we were done. After almost ten years of working on ourselves (therapy, etc.) and how we function in relationships, we were back to where we were ten years before, except ten years older. What was the point? Especially when every day we were waking up feeling the same--miserable and needing to talk ourselves off of our respective ledges. I was starting a job-I-didn't-want two days later, but I was so numb it was barely on my radar. I just knew I had to wake up early and show up somewhere.
So there we were, sitting amidst all the German bar fraus, Titanic victims and oiled-up BP employees wondering if it was possible to will an aneurysm or if there was some way to make our suicides look like accidents so that our exes wouldn't have any idea it was about them. I knew #111 would get an ego about it, anyway. I told #114 about #111 and #114 said : "Seriously. It sounds like you dodged a bullet. It sounds like it was as good as it was ever going to get and it was going to be all downhill from there."
First Impression/Background: I'd met #114 several years before and he'd never been much of a talker around me. In fact, he was almost mute. I remember once at a party I was sitting next to him and having a conversation was difficult, to say the least. He was what I like to call "He of the two-word answers." It turned out he had a huge crush on me, which was hugely flattering. He went on to date a woman who I liked very much, but then they broke up--right around the same time as my breakup. I ran into #114, we compared breakup notes and he invited me to a Halloween party...which turned into three.
Halloween: Getting ready to go out, I was still in a post-#111 state. It was all I could do to don a costume. Every day, I still woke up in agony, having to talk myself down--trying to make myself believe all the things I diagnosed about him in the previous posts (emotional shut down, no capacity for a real relationship). If I let myself believe that #111 broke up with me for rational reasons, I'd crumple, so I constantly kept that idea at bay. Plus, as my shrink said after I told her how he lived, "It sounds like he didn't think he deserved you." If he could have just said that, it would have cleared all this agony up.
For some ridiculous reason, in my misery, I decided to be a princess for Halloween. Talk about your insides not just not matching your outsides but being violently opposed to your outsides. Something "dead" would have been much better--even "dead princess." But I didn't have enough functioning, non-agonized brain cells to make the mental leap to "dead princess." The whole idea originated when I'd found a gorgeous pink satin dress at a secondhand store in Arizona that fit perfectly. I couldn't not buy it. Truth be told, when I first saw it, I thought: future wedding dress. I'd look terrible in white anyway. And I got my prom dress before I had a date, so there's precedence (although it can only be considered a successful precedent if one ignores the fact that my prom date was a dud).
I was supposed to be Grace Kelly, but I didn't have the energy to get the hair right and then I accidentally left one of my white gloves at home, so I just went as a generic, half-baked princess. I met #114 out at an apartment party in Soho. Everyone was young and coupled-up, which only made us feel worse. After about an hour, we got in his car and headed to a second party in Brooklyn. It was in a gorgeous Brownstone, which they'd decorated in a combo Halloween/Octoberfest theme (Spooktoberfest), so there were lederhosen and Swiss Miss/bar wench-type fraus everywhere. About an hour into the party, #114 and I were standing in line for the bathroom and I mentioned my Arizona convalescence and how I had told my host that I hoped my plane crashed on the way home. A little spark lit up in his eyes. "You think that way, too?"
See, normally, when you talk about wanting to die, people say things like, "Oh, that would be such a waste" and "Don't let the (other person) win" and blah blah blah. But here #114 was saying, "You want to kill yourself? Awesome. Me, too." We spent the next two hours talking about what ways were most attractive. I said pills would be best, but if it didn't work, I might end up a vegetable, which would be terrible. Otherwise, a garage and a car was my method of choice, though a difficult one seeing as I live in a studio apartment in New York. He said he thought the best way was to put a noose around your neck and shoot yourself in the head, that way if one didn't work, the other would.
We also had to consider the calendar timing. We agreed there was no way we were going to make it through the holidays alone, but there were a couple of parties coming up and we didn't want to miss them. Shelagh's safari party was in a few weeks and then the weekend after that would be Thanksgiving, so, really, the perfect timing would be after her party. We were both dreading the holidays: The horror of being a holiday orphan and needing to be taken in. Nightmare. Especially seeing as on my first date with #111, he told me that when he has a girlfriend, his mother makes sure he tells her that Thanksgiving happens at his house--always. Things were headed in that direction for us and I had it all scheduled on my mental calendar. And then--whammo!
Discussing things further, #114 and I agreed, there was no way we were going through another bleak New York winter alone. No way. So if we were going to die, it was going to have to happen soon. In short, we were done. After almost ten years of working on ourselves (therapy, etc.) and how we function in relationships, we were back to where we were ten years before, except ten years older. What was the point? Especially when every day we were waking up feeling the same--miserable and needing to talk ourselves off of our respective ledges. I was starting a job-I-didn't-want two days later, but I was so numb it was barely on my radar. I just knew I had to wake up early and show up somewhere.
So there we were, sitting amidst all the German bar fraus, Titanic victims and oiled-up BP employees wondering if it was possible to will an aneurysm or if there was some way to make our suicides look like accidents so that our exes wouldn't have any idea it was about them. I knew #111 would get an ego about it, anyway. I told #114 about #111 and #114 said : "Seriously. It sounds like you dodged a bullet. It sounds like it was as good as it was ever going to get and it was going to be all downhill from there."
It turned out #114's ex really wanted a Jewish guy. "She could have fucking figured that out a year ago," I said.
#114 had a third party to go to and I was just going to get a cab home, but there were none to be had, so I went with him somewhere deeper into the more concrete and roadside-metal areas of Brooklyn. We parked on a desolate stretch of urban tarmac and dodged a few cars, heading toward a noisy storefront. It was nearing 2 a.m. now and as we walked up--he a pharmacist and I a half-assed princess.
#114 had a third party to go to and I was just going to get a cab home, but there were none to be had, so I went with him somewhere deeper into the more concrete and roadside-metal areas of Brooklyn. We parked on a desolate stretch of urban tarmac and dodged a few cars, heading toward a noisy storefront. It was nearing 2 a.m. now and as we walked up--he a pharmacist and I a half-assed princess.
"I feel like we're in a movie," I said
"We should have recorded our conversation," he said, then added, "You started it."
The party was at a record label in Green Point: DopeJams. We walked in, stocked up on candy at the bar in the basement and then went back to the main room where three DJs were writhing in a booth with a few dozen twenty-somethings--dressed, enviously, as dead people--writhing similarly. #114 told me it was deep house music. Apparently, I like deep house music very much. Dancing amid the dead in my big pink dress that was now dirtied and squashed, I was totally out of place, and I didn't give a shit. It. Was. Great.
Diagnosis: Despite what everyone says, suicide is an option. But the fact of the matter is (and not to put too much of a silver lining on things), if #111 hadn't dumped me, I would never have had such an awesome night: trekking all over the boroughs, going to three very different parties in three very different areas of the city, coming home at 4 in the morning--all the time being able to carry my misery with me and knowing that because of who I was with, it was totally OK.
The party was at a record label in Green Point: DopeJams. We walked in, stocked up on candy at the bar in the basement and then went back to the main room where three DJs were writhing in a booth with a few dozen twenty-somethings--dressed, enviously, as dead people--writhing similarly. #114 told me it was deep house music. Apparently, I like deep house music very much. Dancing amid the dead in my big pink dress that was now dirtied and squashed, I was totally out of place, and I didn't give a shit. It. Was. Great.
Diagnosis: Despite what everyone says, suicide is an option. But the fact of the matter is (and not to put too much of a silver lining on things), if #111 hadn't dumped me, I would never have had such an awesome night: trekking all over the boroughs, going to three very different parties in three very different areas of the city, coming home at 4 in the morning--all the time being able to carry my misery with me and knowing that because of who I was with, it was totally OK.
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