Saturday, January 30, 2010

Man Turns Out to be Louse: News at 11

For those of you following the blog, I finally had a date with D. The best way to describe it is to go back in time to the parking lot at Trader Joe's in SE. I finish a work phone call, get a message from my mother: my dad has driven into a telephone pole, then a text from D. All within 5 minutes. My dad was in the hospital for two nights and is okay. As okay as anyone who has driven into a telephone poll can be. He has told me repeatedly about the very attractive blonde lady in an SUV with nice, leather seats, who helped him out at the scene.

But this blog is about dates, not real life. So back to D.'s text. After he dropped off the universe for nearly 3 months, he writes that he is sorry to have gone "dark" on me and has wanted to write for a very long time. He has had death in his family, perhaps multiple ones and he was in Haiti for work, where of course there was more death. I sleep on this before deciding to reply. When I do it's ping pong again. I write to him that yes, I was disappointed and how was he planning to make it up to me? Of course he wrote back immediately telling me he was free any night of the week during my visit and there would be a bottle of wine involved. Okay, I told myself, be curious. But I instructed him that he must wear the bow tie and argyle socks or it was a no-go.

I leave Leroy at my brother's apartment with his puzzle-chicken toy (just an excuse to make L. famous) and take the train from Clinton Hill into the West Village. En route who should call me? D. "Are we meeting at 7:30? If so, I can leave work right now and take a cab." It is 7:27. I write back Interesting. Yes, 7:30. Inside, I get myself set up at Employees Only with my $14 cocktail and a barstool. I chat with the couple next to me. The man asks me if anyone is sitting there, in the seat next to me. I say yes, a very small man, he is under my purse.

I didn't yet know how accurate that statement would be. Metaphorically.

D. breezes in the door, camel overcoat, beard....bow tie. He is cute in a Robert Downey Junior-esque way and funny. I have flirted a bit with the gay bartender. But wow, D. becomes best friends with him, having him concoct a new drink on the spot. The couple next to me - they had wanted to chat about unemployment in Portland - raise their eyebrows in approval. Everyone appears to love D. Just as much as I do, at least the text version. In public too, he is larger than life and sweet: he touches me many, many times, flirts, we laugh and chat easily. About what? Who knows? Those rare conversations where it's comfortable and exciting at the same time.

D. suggests dinner. Ever playful, he takes a card from the bar and writes down seven options. I add cupcakes to the list. We both love New York and being playful and getting dressed up. We go to Lupa's for dinner. We eat everything, first course second course, wine, wine, gelatto, coffee. I'm surprised the tablecloth is in tact when we leave. We talk about our life stories, family, travel, celebrities, the important topics. The woman sitting next to me starts up a conversation with us. We are so popular. Look at us! Who would not want to talk to us? She is a bit of a bubble-head, naive in her name dropping of famous chefs. I don't like that sort of talk and I certainly don't know the people she is referring to. She searches my face, waiting for me to be impressed. I like to be kind, so I feign some eyebrow raising. D. does not. He is not amused, suspect, very quiet. He speaks Italian and tells me what our neighbor's friend is discussing with another man: the restaurant scene in NY. We get out of there quickly.

On the street D. whistles for a cab so hard that I see windows shatter in the tiny, dark apartments above us. A group on the street laughs and says how impressed they are. I yell back, "He's been practicing for years." We are swooped up in a cab. We go to a bar without a name or I don't remember a name. We talk and joke and flirt some more. D. asks me to stay in town 'til Tuesday and I say no way, I have clients back in PDX. I can't do that. It is quite fun and at 2 or 3am we start walking east. I explain that I can catch a cab back to Brooklyn from D.'s LES neighborhood because the cabbie can pop onto the bridge from there. We walk, talk some more; it's nice.

On Rivington D. hails a cab, tells me how nice it was to finally meet me. He asks me if I'm free for dinner Saturday night. I explain that I'll be with my family but I could meet later in the evening on Friday, after I see an old friend. He explains that he too has dinner plans but he'd love to see me at 9:30. Okay. We do two kisses, one per cheek and I go in for a quick peck on the lips. I've had 4-5 cocktails and this is about as bold as I get. Fast forward to Friday evening.

I have a lovely evening beverage or two with my friend A. and two former lady colleagues after my face is nearly frozen off from NYC wind. A brunette quartet situation is repeated. We had planned to go to China Chalet down near Wall Street, but it being karaoke night and the bar being located near the bus that goes to Staten Island, it was jam packed. Our favorite bartender, Kiki, would have to wait. Instead we went to Sho, a new beautiful bar, and drink cocktails while men in suits laugh and act like what they are, Wall Street cogs. Then A. and I grabbed some Indian food, where I have a dosa as large as a leg. By 9:30 it is clear D. will not be in touch. (I had sent him a text at 3pm that day asking about coordinating plans.) No word. Ever.

Earth shattering news: Man Disappoints Woman. Again.

Or man turns out to be louse. Well, pushy, Jewish, short woman whose name I can't remember and who wrote that book about love, thank you. At least I'm 'dating' two other men in Portland.

News at 11.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Program of Three

Apparently it is no longer good enough to date around or go on a certain number of dates a week. If one works a program of three - that is find three men to date who one actually likes - then one can make a proper decision about one's future mate. The theory posits that often one meets one exciting said guy and one becomes obsessive and over-emotional. Since one slammed down said book and curled said lip, perhaps this book makes a decent point. Juggle and remain rational. Could it be that easy?

According to a certain author whose name shall remain a secret and whose book, Love in a Certain Number of Days. Too embarrassing to say how many (90), but clients who work the program get results. The author is a therapist, as well as a pushy Jewish woman, i.e. she knows her shit and she's going to tell you about it.

So far I have one candidate and will go on date 2 tomorrow. What you need to know: Japanese food. West side. More soon. He has promise and I need not jinx it. At least not yet. I no longer believe in fate or skill but simple luck and of course, witches curses.

I had to share the email I received below from a totally different suitor. I ask you: is he on drugs? (FYI: Without seeing my internet profile you may assume you are missing some references and that the email makes some sense. You would be wrong with the exception of the Chabon book.)

One is (perpetually) mystified by men like this, a little confused, a little surprised, and yes, there was some defrosting, if not a warming of the heart.

c. I thought about sending you b sharp but didn't want to sound condescending. It's all the same I though, I guess. You looked at my profile and you were heart broken. I know. I'm sorry. You know what they say about the early bird? But it's okay; it's nothing massive quantities of alcohol won't cure.

The Amateur’s Guide huh? That's a little advance for me. If they had like a really basic basic guide on manhood, well that I'd buy. I mean, I know nothing; like to put a photo on shirtless. Is that manly? I don't see the women doing it.

I was about to wish you good luck, but then was going to write extra luck, but you don't need extra luck. Actually to be on an even playing field with the other ladies, you need a lot less luck. Still wishing you find the guy.

Oh, those nerdy, neurotic, scared, bumbling men (for lack of a better word) you cross by way of this site, be nice. We's people too.