I am going to do a multi-part series on my match.com adventures in the hopes that it amuses all of you. While not amusing at the time, I hope that I have made it more fun in the retelling. I am not going to give them names because it would just be confusing. If I ever actually like one of these guys, that may change.
So, Part One = Bachelor #1
#1 was one of the first guys to email me as I was coming to New York, but I suspected it wouldn’t work out early on.
Clue #1: He writes and emails like he texts. E.g., “Heyyy how ru?” Also, he did not know the difference between “you’re” and “your”. Ruh roh.
Clue #2: When he called me for the first time, he wanted to go out that night (a Saturday). Of course I had plans, was he kidding?! And he wanted me to cancel with my girls at the last minute to go out with him that night? That’s just rude.
Clue #3: When I told him that I would not be ditching my friends to go out with a guy I just met online and had never seen in person, he whined. You all should know how I feel about whiny men. Women in my family have a tendency to kick a whiny man when he’s down, rather than feel bad or sympathetic.
But I figure, maybe he just wasn’t good over the phone? Not everyone has my sparkling phone personality. So I agree to meet him on Sunday night (“Sunday?! But I have to work the next morning!” he whines. My answer is less than sympathetic). We were to meet at six, go to dinner and see where the night took us.
We meet at Union Square, my favorite meeting spot. I was getting hungry, so I was looking forward to him showing up. Eventually, we find each other, and when I ask where he thought we should eat, he replies, “Oh, I had a late lunch, so I’m not hungry. Could we just go to a coffee shop?” Well, no. Because it was supposed to be a dinner date, so I hadn’t had dinner yet. I’m like the Hulk: “Don’t make me hungry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m hungry.” But, I very politely point out that I hadn’t had a late lunch and I would like to eat something other than biscotti. When I suggest Chipotle, he says that he had wanted to take me to Brooklyn Heights (then why did he ask me to meet him in Manhattan?), and there are restaurants there. So we go on the subway.
At Brooklyn Heights he tells me that he went to school there, and loves it, it’s his favorite place. Sweet. So, I ask him where his favorite restaurant is. He doesn’t have one. Then, I ask him to pick a restaurant that he likes. He can’t. Awesome, a man that whines and can’t make a decision. As my blood sugar drops further and I sense a Bitch Attack coming on, I drag him into the nearest Chipotle. We have a pleasant conversation and I ask him about himself as I wolf down the marvelous Bare Burrito. Then, we walk out to the waterfront in Brooklyn Heights…
…And it is so beautiful. The skyline, the sunset, everything is just so perfect. I am fed, and feeling forgiving and am pleasantly chatting with him. I’m having a great time at last.
He leads me over to some benches, and puts the moves on me like we are both 15. Like, putting his arm around me, and taking it down. Holding my hand, and dropping it. Leaning in and kissing me on the forehead, the cheek, the top of my head. I’m trying not to laugh, seeing how long this will go on. Suddenly, he goes in for the kill, but instead of a sweet kiss, it’s a full-blown making out. Lots of tongue and open mouth action. As I come up for air, I tell him that I’m uncomfortable with public displays. And that old people are walking around discussing politics. I can see the old people when your tongue is in my mouth. And here’s the end for #1: instead of saying, “Ok, I’ll stop” (the correct response), he says, “We’re not doing anything wrong.” No, wrong has nothing to do with it. My discomfort has everything to do with it. That, and I said, no. Suddenly, I’m even more uncomfortable as he feels the need to pressure me into more making out. So I say we should go, he insists on waiting for 5 more minutes (but it’s a work night, remember?).
I insist, and we walk back. He asks me if I want him to ride with me on the train (I was unfamiliar with the train to go home on), and I said no. After putting the moves on me again in the subway, the train comes and I go home. #1 receives the call later that week that there won’t be a second date. I tell him that I had fun, but I just “wasn’t feeling it.” Because I can’t feel it for someone who doesn’t respect my feelings, and who disrespects a dinner date by eating before and telling me about it.