New (Belated) Year's Resolution

I realized recently that I have a problem. I don't know if you can tell, but I don't often hold back information; I'm honest and descriptive. When I don't explicitly say what I'm thinking, you can often read my emotions and thoughts across my face.

Some things, however, are better left unsaid.

I guess you could say it started this summer, right after I broke up with my most recent boyfriend of one year. You could blame it on my inexperience with the Single Status, or my general brazenness, but I turned to a friend at the time (someone I had used to sleep with) and asked him point blank: "So, are we going to continue to be just friends, or are we going to start having sex again?"

He eventually chose neither. Oops.

Then there was the friend from home. When he tried to back out of plans I told him "Too bad. We were definitely going to have sex tonight." This guy showed up five minutes later.

So I guess I thought I'd try it again.

Texting a guy I'd seen a few times before, I was quite drunk and upset that we hadn't slept together yet. So, in my infinite wisdom, I called him lazy when he said he was going home to sleep (at 3am, mind you). He balked, to which I replied "Just sayin, it's a sad day when a guy is too tired to get laid."

Like I said, I have a problem. I can pretend to be coy for only so long before I betray my obvious, visceral needs; and that just isn't ladylike or sexy, regardless of what 5 vodka-sodas may tell you.

So my new New Year's Resolution: stop telling boys I want to sex them. It's not cute, and everyone knows it (but me, apparently).

Dive 75

This guy made me laugh on chat before we even met, so I had to go on a date with him. I wasn't sure if he was cute (and I'm still not), but I was confident that the date would go well.

It did.

We went to a grimy dive that serves good beer (I don't drink beer) and talked a bit about improv comedy, theater acting, and meditating on trains. Then we talked about children and going to Africa, and Chuck Palahniuk and pearl diving. And, before it got too late, we decided to play Connect Four. I won something like 5 out of 6 times. They always say that you should let the guy win so he feels more masculine and powerful, but I am far too competitive for that shit. So I was sitting there, thinking that I should be letting him win, but not being able to do it.

Then I didn't hear from him for a while. The male ego is nothing to be trifled with, apparently.

Death by the Jitters

This one had such potential.

He plays guitar in a rock band, grew up on the Hamptons (think: free beach vacations) and now lives in Queens (think: real, down-to-earth guy). I super-stalked him on MySpaceMusic, and was pleasantly surprised by a fabulous jaw line and piercing blue eyes in every single picture. He even looks cute when he does that stupid tongue-out, devil horns, "I'm so much cooler than you" pose. In short, I was in love.

Then we made a coffee date, and I beat him there. No big deal. I try to make a habit of beating guys to an established meeting spot, because searching for a date makes me nervous. Then he walked in. His hands were in his pockets and he was, like...bouncing. "Uhhh, [bounce] hey? [bounce] Rebecca? [bounce bounce]" I wouldn't be surprised if it's the bouncing that deters women.

So I gave it a go anyway. And we commenced to have the least exciting series of conversations ever. Until I brought up death and cadavers. But then I just felt creepy for enjoying a conversation about death more than the one about heavy metal music. Or his roommates in Queens.

If all the energy you can offer a conversation is nervous energy, maybe you shouldn't be dating.

Nobody likes a nice guy

Date 5 was a beautiful disaster. Met this blond-haired, blue-eyed boy from the midwest in front of a very closed bar of his choosing. Luckily, I have hound-like instincts for tequila and discovered a Blockheads just around the corner. Unluckily, they wanted us to stand in the back while sipping our (delicious) margaritas. So we wound up at Amsterdam 106, a dimly lit pub-like diner with a quieter crowd (and a cute waiter).

OK, honestly, the first thing I thought when I saw him was that his pictures were VERY flattering. That probably helped to color the rest of the evening. After our mini tour of Upper West Side bars, we were confronted with each other. He sat on his bar stool with his entire body facing me and I was edged against the bar. Typical. I asked him a lot of questions about himself, as I tend to when I'm nervous. He has...zero personality. Charming smile, works for environmental policy at Columbia, one little brother, a father with a rifle in Virginia, doesn't watch Law and Order, hasn't seen anyone famous in NYC...I think you get the picture.

Then he told me that he has been doing a lot of cooking with lentils lately.

...really? Are lentils LITERALLY the most interesting topic you can conceive of right now? Word to the wise: NOBODY likes a nice guy. If I can picture you rubbing my feet while a pot of lentil soup is cooking for dinner, I'm more likely to throw up in my mouth than jump into bed with you. There will be no future here. Seriously, the fact that he was on Jeopardy didn't even save it.

Lentils. Yikes.

Date 4: Success!

Finally had a nice date. Didn't start out that way, though. In fact it started out pretty awkward:

"Sorry I'm so late, that's totally lame of me." Thirty minutes past our agreed-upon date starting time, Mr. Tardy for the Party just got out of work. And I'm already drunk. Nice. I'm beginning to think I need to learn how to work it for free drinks and food from these datemen. And that maybe next time I won't pregame dates that involve primarily (OK, only) drinks.

So, given Mr. Tardy is not ready for my glorious presence, I walk around Long Island City for a while. I would move here in a heartbeat. It has the most beautiful waterfront with a panoramic view of midtown-to-downtown Manhattan, and all of the buildings are adorable brownstones. As I'm wandering, I consider creating an alter ego for this date, since I haven't ever done so before.
Me: From CT, schooled in B'more, want to be a nurse
Le Femme: OK, so far we have to be the same (thank you, OKC profile)
Me: awkward
Le Femme: not
Me: ...
Le Femme: rides motorcycles, dates only arty boys...used to be a lesbian? (MUST CHECK WITH ROOMMATE BEFORE USING THIS LAST FACT)
Me: drunk
Le Femme: sexy
I think we're off to a good start.
OK, alter ego prepared
*NOTE* Me: not a good liar

Needless to say, I get to the bar and completely forget about utilizing an alter ego at all, which is a shame because that could have been really funny. Mr. Tardy ends up being a really cool guy, and we have some really nice conversations about art and therapy. Nice. Maybe it's a good thing I didn't use that alter ego in the long run anyway.

Date Number 3

This date was far more normal than the first two. In fact, he was so normal it made me nervous that I wasn't quite as normal as he was. Well, he also didn't start things off on the right foot.

He asked me on a coffee date. NOTE: this is probably the least-threatening offer ever. Good move, guy. So I asked him where he lived, for the purpose of picking a coffee shop location. The response?
"NYC, silly. LOL"
...clearly
So I tried again: I asked if he had a favorite neighborhood.
"Not really. All I know is some are gayer than others. LOL"
...NOTE: I'm not LOL-ing. In fact, I'm a little offended. And, we are now on Fail 2. So I try one last time. I tell him I'm coming from the Upper West, but need to be in the Lower East later, so if he wants to choose somewhere in there...
"Whatever you want"
MAKE A DECISION FOR THE LOVE OF PUPPIES!
After this final Fail (Fail 3) I choose a spot in the LES. He arrives a little bit earlier than me, so I find him waiting outside and we start talking about his job in Brooklyn. I ask if he lives out in Brooklyn. He says no. I ask if it's Manhattan. He says no. I kind of smile and take a sip of my coffee, realizing that maybe he doesn't want me to know where he lives, when he finally says that he hails from the Upper Bronx.
Fail 4: Should have just agreed to meeting in the Upper West.

He's a soft-speaker, which immediately makes me nervous, so I attempt to avoid the possibility of not hearing him by doing all of the talking. He doesn't mind my rambling (I blame it on the caffeine, just in case), but eventually gets a few words in here or there. He tells me about work, about his family, and about the Dominican Republic. Finally, he asks me to tell him a secret. I reply with a tight smile and tell him I don't have secrets. He tells me that of course I do. NOTE: I hate this question. I don't think there is any conceivable question I hate more than this one. If it's a secret, it's probably a secret for a good reason, so why in all the world would I tell a complete stranger? So he tells me that he has a secret: that his sister is pregnant. I'm not sure how to react to this, but he assures me that she is happy about the pregnancy (and happily married). So I ask him when she's going to tell their mother. He says she already did. It occurs to me at this point that his secret isn't actually a secret. Curious.

So we're talking and one of my favorite songs starts playing. I stop mid-sentence to acknowledge this fact and enjoy it a bit. I dive into a conversation about how great Pandora is because it makes a personalized radio station. My date replies "Oh, so you're artistic."
Confused. "No...I'm just pretty good at appreciating art?"
"But you play an instrument"
"...no. I just like...music."

Anyway, then we have a truly uncomfortable conversation about relationships and friends blah blah blah, and turns out when I'm nervous I have a habit of referencing all the information I have gathered over the years regarding neurons; I explained to him why it was so incredible that he learned English in high school. Multiple times. There might not be a second date here.

The Things I've Learned

Turns out: not a good idea to give a fan your cell phone and reply to rapid-fire text messages. They won't stop. And the guy is sure to be a creeper. That is, if you aren't looking for the desperate clingy-types.

So it's time to start thinking up good excuses to never speak to someone again. I was going to tell Mr. Music Man that I couldn't make Tuesday because I didn't book my tickets back to NYC from homecoming soon enough, so I have to come back Tuesday instead of Monday. Then it occurred to me that I don't really want to reschedule this one.

In brainstorming with Ashley, I suggested I could use the good ole "family emergency" excuse, but was concerned it might be too obvious. Ashley reminded me that obvious might not be a bad thing if I really don't want to ever hear from Mr. Music Man again. So I went with that one.

NOTE: I know this all sounds very harsh, but this kid literally sends me at least 10 texts a day, and I have never once initiated them. I only respond. That's not cool.

So we were brainstorming other good excuses:

1) The "oh-something-came-up-at-work" excuse
2) The "I have the Swine" excuse
3) The "I-got-a-new-job-and-am-moving" excuse

And our newest gem:
4) The "I-got-preggers-and-I'm-keeping-the-baby" excuse.

The reason this one works so well is because the guy will get very freaked out either because you are growing a tiny person in your uterus, or because you are promiscuous/careless enough to get preggers. So he's bound to be off your case for at least nine months. And, as Ashley said, if he comes back around after the "pregnancy", you know he's worth keeping. And you can look back on this moment as that funny "how-we-met" story to tell at parties. Or your wedding.