Halloween on 68th and Lex

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. Especially in NYC, it's crazy fun. Last year's Halloween was epic. And, at an event on the 30th-- a showing of Nosferatu accompanied by the organ at St. John the Divine followed by a parade of ghouls-- I met my last ex-boyfriend. He happened to be a successful horror novelist, and the poetry of our meeting was not lost on either of us. After the event,  he went with me and two of my best friends to eat in the village. He asked me out at the end of the night, near 3 a.m.  The next night, the 31st, I went to the Halloween Parade with my two friends. We dressed up, looked fabulous and marched in the parade. We topped off the night with a midnight  meal of Thai food near Washington Square.  Our costumes were so good that a dozen or so people stopped us to take our picture. 

Back to this year. I needed to keep things low key because I haven't been feeling well. My friends came up from Philadelphia again on the 29th to attend the event at St. John's.  We had dinner at the 2nd Avenue Deli which is no longer on 2nd Avenue.  At the cathedral, they showed the Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.  It's a  truly creepy and fun experience.  It was also good for me to get past the one year anniversary of meeting my ex-boyfriend.  There was the possibility of running into him, but it didn't happen.  It feels good to get past this milestone. 

Saturday, my friends went to DC for the John Stuart rally. I went to a costume party.  I had a fun.  Spent a lot of time flirting. Mostly with the guy dressed as a lesbian zombie Puerto Rican drag queen. I asked him for a lap dance and got one for free. An odd, but cute, geek boy followed me around most of the night. He dressed as the Cobra from G.I. Joe.  You gotta love horror movie fans.  The winners of the costume contest were the girl dressed as the Shark-topus, the drag queen, and a girl dressed as the heroine from Audition (a Japanese horror film). 

The real excitement came after the party. I wanted to leave about 1:30.  I walked outside and dug into my bag for my car keys.  They were not there.  I frantically dug and dug in the bottom of the bag. No keys. I must have locked them in my car! Crap!  This is not a rare thing for me. I keep an extra key in my purse for that reason. But I had switched purses for the party. And my AAA membership expired a month ago.  This left me with two options: Call a locksmith and pay about $100 that I didn't have. Or, go home on the bus, get my extra key at home and come back to the upper east side the next day to retrieve my car. I chose B.

I walked to my car, then realized that my apartment keys were also locked inside. This meant that if I went home, 'd be locked out of my building and my apartment. At this time of night,  I couldn't get the old lady landlord to let me in. option B was no good.  I stayed calm. I walked into a nearby parking garage and asked the attendant if he had a slimjim. Of course he said 'No', whether he had one or not. I saw a cop across the street and asked him if he had a slimjim. He was sympathetic and flirty.  That meant my zombie makeup wasn't as effective as I thought. He went to check his car.  He returned to say none of the police carried slimjims anymore.  He offered to let me use his phone.  But I didn't have anyone to call. 

At this point, I began to get upset and felt sorry for myself. I am 34 years old and still getting into stupid messes like this.  I was sick of it.  I should have had someone to call.  No roommates, no boyfriend, no family.  It was pathetic.  What kind of a life was  this?  I decided to walk back to the party.  I might as well wait there as wait inside the vestibule of my building.  And maybe someone would let me crash at their place. 

I returned to find 3 men at the doorway.  They cheered that I had come back. (aww). I told them what happened and they all went into action.  Inside they asked if anyone had a slimjim or could help me by breaking into my car.  Everyone was worried.  That's when I stopped feeling sorry for myself,  it was very touching.  I picked up a donut and sat at the bar as my rescuers worked the crowd.  A few minutes later, they told me the guy in the butcher costume had AAA and would let me use it.  YAY!!!  I called them and spent 45 minutes on hold, then they told me they'd send someone within an hour.  So I would had to wait by my car.

Off I went out into the cold again.  My car was parked on 68th and Lex.  There's the Hunter College subway station on that corner with a nice bench so I plopped myself down.  I spent most of that hour plotting my future.  I was not going to be alone like this anymore.  I was not going to keep getting into problems like this.  I was done being single and sorry.  From now on, I would have someone to call. 

The temperature was in the 50s and I had on a nightgown wrapped in a thin pashmina.  The night was clear and very crispy.  A lot of Halloween revelers passed by on their way in and out of the subway.  Mostly couples, of course. Most of the women were in slutty costumes with very high heels and very short skirts.  At about 10 minutes to 4,  two guys walked up the street. They gave each other a hug and said goodbye with some jeering.  One came ambling over to the station stairs but he stopped.  He turned to the bench and sat down on the other end from me.   I was on the phone to AAA asking why they hadn't come yet since it had been an hour.  The truck was on it's way.  The guy played with his iphone.

When I hung up, he said my shawl looked cozy.  I replied that it wasn't as warm as it looked. He continued to chat me up.  He was very charming.  We exchanged names.  He asked about my costume, and said it was poetic. (I was undead Ophelia post-drowning).  He asked why I was sitting there.  He said he was  contemplating his ride back to Brooklyn and enjoying the night air.  Then he said I had a very nice smile, it was so warm. He beamed at me. "You know, if we had known each other for a week already, and were sitting on this bench like this, I would kiss you.  This would be my moment, here, on this night."  I was surprised. Then he said, "But, we don't know each other, so it would be weird."  I said, "Yes, it would be weird.  But romantic."  he agreed.  "Very romantic."  

He was encouraged. I looked at him.  He was good-looking, light brown hair, blue eyes and a beautiful smile with good teeth.  He said, "Maybe some day we'll be able to kiss."  I smiled, realizing that  I might actually get a date out of this conversation.  Hussy that I am,  I encouraged him some more. "That would be nice."   We smiled at each other for a minute.  He slid over to me, closed his eyes and puckered up an inch from my mouth.  Why not?  I puckered up and leaned into him.  He had big, soft lips.  It was a sweet kiss  Then he slid away again.  I asked him if he wanted my number. Yes. He slid back over and we kissed some more.  We cuddled up against the cold. When he picked me up and put me on his lap I told him that he owed me dinner.  He said he'd cook for me. 

Then he asked if I really wanted to see him again. I said yes, we'd have dinner if he called me.  "If, if?  What, you don't trust me? "  "No, I don't know you." "You're right."  Then we kissed until the Tow truck came.  He held my hand.  I didn't let things get too crazy because I didn't know him and I had to keep an eye out for the truck. When it came, he didn't want me to leave.  But it was after 4 and I had waited for 2 hours.  He said he felt used.  I told him he'd get over it and he should call me.  We had a nice goodbye hug.  I went home elated.  It was a lovely end to a dramatic evening.  

The parallel with last year is odd, that I met a man at the same date and time as I did last year.  

Only in New York City would something like this happen.  Making out with a hot stranger on the street corner at 4 a.m.  It was exactly what I  needed.  I don't know if he'll call me, probably not.  Which is fine.  But it'd be nice if he did. Not an epic Halloween, I let my friends go to the parade without me on Sunday.  Most definitely a very nice and very New York Halloween.

How Not to Pick Up Women Online

Gentlemen, it's all about the profile picture. 

I've been online looking around at the dating sites and have noticed patterns that turn me off.  I think you all need a little help.

Consider this, people scan through a hundred or more profile pictures, each photo gets less than a second's consideration. The viewers eyes won't stop on a photo unless it grabs her attention.  Her attention can be grabbed in both good and bad ways. 
These are the bad ways:

• SHIRTLESS. Really? It's tacky. If I wanted meaningless sex, then I'd want to see your bare chest.  Maybe that's the point.  That's the message you're sending. If you want a nice girl looking for a serious relationship, then put your shirt back on.  
• PROFESSIONAL HEADSHOT:  Unless you are an actor, this screams desperate with a capital D.  This guy is so needy for a date, he went to the mall and paid someone to take his picture. Or, he's an actor. Either way, next.
• BOY BAND POSE: You've seen these. A boy leaning against a door frame with his shirt just opened enough to tease.  Standing in the rain, looking off into the distance.  Again, this screams desperate and raises a flag that this man is overly-vain. 
• BLACK & WHITE Photo: Pretentious. This guy is trying to stand out and look artistic. He's trying too hard. Yawn.
• The CUT-OUT: The picture with his ex-girlfriend or wife cut out of it. You can still see her cheek against his, or her hair hanging down.  This is off-putting. Women think: This guy just got out of a relationship.  Baggage. He's probably hung up on her since he hasn't taken a new photo. And he's bitter enough to photoshop a woman he cared for out of a nice photo. I don't want him to do that to me. Moving on.
• The PLAYA: He poses with his babes. Or maybe one babe. But there's a hot chick hanging around his neck. This is not good. First, a woman compares herself to the babe and may feel inferior. Then, she judges the man by the girl in the photo. Do you really want to be associated with the bleach blond bimbo? It also gives the impression that there's competition for this man and he's proud of it. No thank you. 
• GOOFY HIPSTER: The guy with dirty hair and expensive old looking t-shirt in a silly pose, with a dumb hat, or wearing a costume or making a face.  It's cute if you're under 25. Over 25, and the man looks childish and immature. 
• HUNTING SHOT: If you're looking for a Sarah Palen type, then by all means, post a picture with your rifle. Otherwise, you look like a psychopath.
• DADDY: Risky, very risky. Men holding babies or playing with kids are sexy, but.... the first assumption is that those are YOUR kids. That's scary. If they're not your kids, don't put them in your profile shot. If they are your kids, then advertising that you're a father may seem like a good idea. However, you are losing a lot of clicks.  I suggest moving these to your 2nd photo so at least you get a profile viewing.  If she's interested enough, then she'll be okay with kids. 
• SPORTS CAR: Or, SUV or truck. This guy thinks standing in front of his expensive car is going to make him attractive. That fact alone is a deal-breaker. 

The best kind of profile shot is simple, it should show most of your face. The action shots and traveling shots are okay.  But, those are better as 2nd and 3rd photos. We want to like your face before we take the time to click on your profile.

The Rival

It makes me sad mostly.  Another single woman 30+ in my ward has tried to befriend me.  But.  I don't care for her friendship.  I tried.  I could tell she was lonely and  in need of companionship, I knew what that was like. So, I felt duty-bound to accept her overtures as a comrade in arms.  Some expensive debacles later, I realized that I couldn't afford her friendship.  We have since maintained a fake friendship at church which makes me somewhat ill, but it's not worth having a conflict over.  Now, however, she is treating me like her rival. 

Last summer I met a nice Mormon man online and I asked him out because he was attractive, employed and local.  He took me to a soccer game.  I knew by the end of the night that I did not want to go out with him again.  Meanwhile, I was still trying to be a real friend to the woman.  When she asked about my weekend, I told her about the date.  She nearly drooled at the mention of a man who took me to a soccer game.  She went on and on about how much she loved soccer, that she used to play in college, blah blah. 

The dude emailed me because he wanted to go out again.  I felt bad because he was sweet and good.  But, we had nothing in common except the church and I didn't find his company compelling.  I asked the woman if she was interested in meeting him.  She was very interested.  So I set it up. They both agreed as long as I was there too. *Groan.*  I organized the whole thing, considering it a duty of friendship. 

She wanted to go to the mall. *Double groan.*  She needed a ride, she always does.  Fine.  (I was also still wearing the splint having just had a metal plate surgically attached to my wrist and was still in pain but able to drive.)  I was in the middle of my summer financial fiasco and had just enough from unemployment to pay my rent.  My friend knew this, I had described my situation in detail so she'd know that I couldn't spend any money.

I had never been to this mall.  When we got there she told me to park at a large retailer across the street to avoid the parking fee.  She promised that everyone else who drove her to the mall ALWAYS parked there. It was perfectly safe.  I didn't see the very small signs warning mall patrons not to park there.  After the date, which seemed to go well enough, the gentleman walked us to the parking lot.  We couldn't find my car! At first I thought it was stolen.  I don't have comprehensive insurance so I started freaking out.

Then my friend said, "Maybe they towed your car?"  "WHAT???? Why would they tow my car?"  "Because the signs say you are not allowed to park here to go to the mall."  But. You told me to park here. ARE YOU KIDDING ME???? I could not afford to get my car out of impound.  I couldn't even afford to get home on the bus.  We found the no parking signs and called the tow company. They confirmed they had my car.  I started to cry.

I asked the gentleman if he could drive me home.  He agreed, but then he asked me how much it cost.  $190.  He offered to take me to the lot and lend me the money to get my car. (!!!)  He was the absolute definition of a gentleman.  Sooo sweet.  I promised him that I would get the money from my parents and pay him back right away.  So we got my car.  The woman.  She said she was very sorry.  That was all.  She offered no help with the cost.  She never offered to pay for any of it at all.  Not one single red cent. I only parked there solely because of her.  Nada.  Nothing.  Not even an apology for not helping me to pay.  

Before we all parted, the two of them said they wanted to go out again, for thai food.  The three of us.  I said I couldn't afford it and they offered to pay for me.  Fine.  I didn't want to go but I owed the very, very nice man.  

The next week, we went out. I could barely stand the sight of the woman because I was so angry.  But I put on my best fakey-fake demeanor (which isn't very good.)  The two of them ordered appetizers and juice and desserts.  I thought they were paying, so I ordered along with them.  Then the check came, $60 after tax and tip.  I happened to have a $20 in my pocket because I was going to the ATM afterwards to deposit it because my account was $20 short of the rent.  If I didn't get it in there, the check could bounce.  

Everyone looked at the check uncomfortably and said nothing.  I couldn't stand it.  I wanted to go home already, I had some work on a research proposal that I needed done yesterday.  So I picked up the check and said, "Why don't we each pay 20?"  I expected them to protest and offer to pay my share.  They did not.  My rent check bounced.  For the second month in a row.  I could be evicted for that in Jersey.  They both wanted to do this again.  Not on a cold day in hell.  They never went out together.  I ignored her calls afterwards because I knew I couldn't be civil with her. 

We've been fake friends ever since.  A few weeks ago, we were sitting together in Sunday school when an attractive man in his 30s, very smartly dressed, approached us.  I had never seen him before. They knew each other and started chatting.  I waited for the woman to introduce me.  She did not.  I even tried inserting myself into the conversation but she shut me out.  Eventually, after five minutes or so, I walked away.  Later, I asked her who he was.  She said, "Oh! That's so and so. You don't know him? I thought you did.  He always introduces himself to new people.  If I had known I would have introduced you."  I asked if she was dating him.  She said, "No. But he's good looking, right?' "Right. You should go out with him." "Me? Oh, no, no, no. I couldn't." "Okay."  I took that as the all clear for me to date him should the opportunity arise.  

Since, I have seen the smart man looking at me, often.  So, a week or two after not meeting him, the woman and I were talking in the lobby.  He was leaving, saw us, turned around and came over to talk.  He asked her about something.  I waited to be introduced.  I was not.  The woman, not only did not introduce me, she turned her body so that her back was facing me and I was shut out of the conversation, again.  At one point, the man looked right at me and asked if I ever got migraines.  I said 'no' and he looked disappointed then turned back to the woman. Oh, those suave single mormon men!   I got bored and walked away.  This time, her omission was not accidental.  She knew I hadn't met him.  She, clearly, did not want me to meet him.  Whatever.  I went home.  

It's been a few months.  The man travels for business so he's not always there.  He looks but he has never approached.  I tried to smile at him last week but he wouldn't make eye contact.  I suspect my 'friend' told him I had a boyfriend.  Because she knew I had one once.   She asked me about him on the first day I didn't meet the smart man.   I told her that my boyfriend kept breaking up with me so I really didn't know what my situation was, other than I probably didn't have a boyfriend.  So, now, in addition to not liking her, I don't trust her.

If I cared, I would go introduce myself to the man.  But I don't.  I just can't believe the juvenile behavior of that woman.  It's pitiful and sad.   

Grandpa, are you hitting on me?

I decided to stop whining about my unfriendly, exclusive, cliquey ward.  Instead, as Ghandi advised, I would become the change I desired.  I would be a friendly, welcoming person.  I wanted to seek out the new people, loners, and misfits to befriend them.  In January, I saw an older gentleman looking at me in the lobby.  I hadn't seen him before.  I smiled and said hello.  We started talking.

He looked about 60ish, close to my father's age: balding, overweight, bulbous-with-age nose, Utah accent, tan suit with tennis shoes, and no wedding ring.  Clearly, a divorcee. He seemed pleased to talk to me, very eager.  I figured he was lonely.  Though, I did get a certain vibe from him, that little extra eagerness one feels from men who are interested.  It is something slightly aggressive, like they're projecting their energy onto you.  I shrugged it off, surely not.  He was probably excited to talk to someone. 

When I mentioned working on a PhD, and teaching, he asked if I ever needed to supplement my income. Of course!  He knew of a lot of editing type jobs. He could send me some info.  Sure.  I gave him my email.  (I'm not in the habit of giving my phone number to strange men, even at church.)  The next day he emailed with a long list of job postings in D.C.  Full-time jobs I could not take. Nor was I willing to move.  I replied, with a thank you, but no.

He emailed again, this time asking if I was interested in part-time piecemeal editing work. Absolutely. But I forgot to reply.  Meanwhile, we were friendly at church. He sat next to me once. I felt his eagerness again, I didn't enjoy aggressive male energy from a 60 year old.  I avoided sitting with him after that.  A few weeks later, rushing out of church early, I ran into him at the doors.  He stopped me and asked, "You're not leaving already are you? You can't do that."  Trying to be cute, grandpa?  I was in a mood, hence, the leaving early, so I said,  "Oh, yeah? Watch me."  I tried pushing past him when he, ever the eager beaver, said, "Was I wrong to think you needed work?  I wanted to help you.  Plus, I'd like to be your friend because I think you're a nice person." Ugh. That made me feel like a heel, but I had to leave, my anxiety was building.  We didn't speak again after that until I emailed.

Three weeks ago, I remembered his email in which he offered me work.  Had I  forgotten to reply?  I sent an apology for not replying earlier.  He wrote back right away, said he had a job, could I proof-read a report and turn it around by Monday?  It was Friday.  My rent check was about to bounce  so I agreed.   Saturday, he called to ask if he could pick up the report at my house later that night, like 10 or 11?  Umm, no.  First, because I knew I wouldn't be finished until after midnight.  Secondly, just no.  Because I didn't want him in my apartment.  I said we could make the exchange on Sunday.  Sunday morning he called, 'Should he come to my house to pick it up?  Umm, no.

"Would you like to have lunch? I can take you to lunch and you can give me the papers then." What? It's too early in the morning for this. I'm not awake enough to politely reject him.
"Ummm," NO. "I don't. . . that's not. . . I just had a big lunch so I'm not hungry at all.  Why don't I email you the papers? Will that work?"  Meeting is completely unnecessary. Welcome to the 21st century.

"I'd rather not.  Will you be at church?  We could meet there and there's an ice cream shop on the corner, do you want to get some ice cream?"

No. Give it a rest grandpa. "Ummm. . . . It's Sunday. I don't want to do that because of the sabbath. We can meet at church. No need to go anywhere else."

"OK.  Let's meet at church early then.  How's 12:30?"

Half an hour early? How long does it take to give me a check and hand off some papers? Sigh . . .   "OK. That's fine. I'll see you then."

It was weird.  He acted like a man who wanted to date me, or, my sweet old grandfather.  He couldn't possibly think I would date him?  No.  He must have been acting paternally, wanted some company,  was trying to be nice.  How cynical was I to think otherwise? I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Although, he was not my grandfather.  He was a single man.  I'd have to be careful.

We ran into each other at the parking lot elevators.  He gave me the old up-and-down, you-look-fine-enough-to-eat look. And he was none too smooth about it.  Gross! !  He almost completely canceled out all my doubts about his motives.  Maybe he couldn't help it.  But now I knew  I had to be careful with him.  I took the stairs and left him in the elevator.  We sat down in the meeting hall.  He said he would like me to sit with him for church since, "you know, it's no fun being alone at church."  Guilt, much?  Fine. So I stayed in the chair next to him.  He had just given me a check.  But I wondered, for what exactly had he paid  me?

He called later that week to see if I had deposited the check yet.  Then asked, "Do you have plans this weekend?"  Excuse me?  "Um, yes."  pause . . Not your business. . . "I'm going to the movies and a concert."  "Oh. Are, you?  Ok.  Have fun.  See you Sunday."  "Yep. Bye."  Really?

The next week, during testimony meeting, I snuck in late and took a seat in the 3rd row.  Grandpa was sitting in the second row.  Near the end of the meeting he got up to speak. He gave an odd testimony about spiritual experiences. Then, he came back and sat in the chair next to me! He got in my space, turned facing towards me and made me very uncomfortable. I had had enough of that.

As the meeting ended he started chatting at me. A woman walked by and said, "You look pretty today." To which Grandpa added, "Yes. You do look very pretty today. If I were one of your students, I would have a crush on you." Ewww. "Oh. Um. Well, I do have some of those, boys with crushes."  Red Flag! Abort conversation! "Oh, do you really?"  Abort! Do not engage. No eye contact.Yes, I do. Escape now, escape! "Excuse me. I need to stretch my legs."

I walked out even though we still had our doctrine class. I went to the young single adult class instead. I had no more doubts. Grandpa was hitting on me. And if he wasn't, then at the least he was being extremely inappropriate.

He called me one more time after that, but I didn't answer. He did not leave a message. I feel weird about the whole thing, confused. Am I being mean and overly cynical? Regardless, if he makes any more advances, I'll have to say something. I'm not a child to put up with this. I'll just ask, "Are you hitting on me?"

I scared my Bunny Buddy!

Jill asked for the story on the ticket guy. So, here it is. I bought my ticket  for the Bunnymen show from a guy in my concert group.  The idea of the group is to meet people to go to events with. It was just the two of us for this one. So, who is this guy?  I didn't care. But I took a quick peek at his profile so I'd know him when I saw him. There was one small picture. He was okay looking. Indian perhaps. I had less than zero romantic expectations. And was determined to keep it that way. I should have been less careless. Should have remembered that I flirt a lot more when I'm not interested.

We agreed to meet at the corner of Irving and 15th. I got there first. A few minutes later, I saw him walking up the newly formed line on the sidewalk. I called out his name. He stopped, looked a little surprised, then joined me.  He immediately pulled out the ticket and I gave him $50. I didn't try to weasel my way out of paying. We stood in line together and chatted about music. Who did we like these days, what bands have we seen, how were they?  He was shy, conversation was awkward. But, we were both trying.

Once inside, we stayed together. The Irving (now Filmore) is great. It was built in the 1860s as a Polish dance hall. In the 90s it was converted from a night club to solely a music venue. It had the worn-out luxury one usually finds in these old places. The fancy tin ceiling, chandeliers, red carpet, mahogany walls, gilded woodwork. Decorated with the obligatory silk-screen concert posters of  the famous bands who've played there. The first floor was a lobby and bar, with a huge double staircase  leading upstairs to the stage. Up there, the walls and floors were painted black. The only luxury still left on the second floor was the large crystal chandelier and black painted tin ceiling. Around the sides of the audience floor, up one flight, was a catwalk with brass handrail and grill. It had room for people to stand 2 or 3 deep. On the left side of the catwalk, chairs and name tags were arranged for the VIPs (guests and very expensive tickets). The rest of us had to stand. I stood for 4 hours. Impressive for someone over 30! And not my favorite thing to do anymore.

Most people hadn't arrived yet, this older crowd isn't into waiting around just to get closer to the stage. The two of us situated ourselves in the center, about 8 people back from the stage. Not bad. Once we had a good spot, my new buddy went to get a drink, he asked if I wanted one. No, thank you. When he got back, I asked him how long we'd have to wait for the show. An hour. Ugh. Then he suggested that maybe I should get a drink. Cute. We continued to be friendly. He laughed at my jokes.  There was no spark between us, which was  a good thing, until I scared him off.

He is smaller, 5'7ish and thin. We'd already established that we were the same age because of our common pop music history. We exchanged career info. He is an engineer and founder of an internet start-up. He knew someone I worked with. (Manhattan is a tiny island, this happens a lot.) We also talked about people in the crowd,  I was amused by the Asian contingent of men who wore sunglasses, inside, clearly in homage to Mac, who never goes without.  At one point, Ticket buddy asked me why I wasn't on Facebook,? He abashedly admitted that he had "Face-book stalked me."  Oh, really.

I gave him my full speech on the evils of Facebook. How I'm not interested in emailing people I knew 20 years ago.  And, can't stand the drama it creates. Some women get into fights over what they put on each other's walls. 'What was that supposed to mean?' 'Was she trying to insult me? '  'So-and-so posted on Debbie's wall, why won't she post on mine? What a B****!"  That might just be a chick thing. Regardless, the most important thing is that I like my worlds kept apart, keep my different groups, different. For example, how would you turn down your mother's friend request? Or, the man you're dating?  By friending them, they now have access to each other, when the twain should never meet! Not until it's necessary.  Even without the aid of Facebook, my mother googled  the man I was dating, the Writer. Oh, yes, she really did.  It was horrible! We fought  over it for a week. (That's a story for another post.)  The point is, I don't need to facilitate that kind of thing.  And, then there are the boyfriends.  They shouldn't be able to check each other out, but on Facebook, they can. They can size each other up, get jealous, tell me what's wrong with my taste, etc.  It's all just unnatural and unnecessary.  He chuckled.

About half-way through our wait, a man who stood to our right started talking to me. He was 47, (yeah, he told me that). He wore a wool plaid golfing cap, T-shirt and jeans., cool enough He said I should get up closer to the stage when it started.  Said he could get me up there and began telling me how to do it.  I said I had been in wilder crowds than this and I knew my way around.  He was not impressed. He asked where my friend was, I pointed to Tix-guy who now stood slightly behind me. The golfcap dude looked at Tix in examination. He told him he was a lucky guy, "You don't find one like this everyday", indicating me. "Man, you better hold onto her. If I were you, I'd take her down the aisle right away. Tomorrow."  He went on and on.  I rolled my eyes, he's one of those. Tix looked mortified, he replied, "Uh. We actually just met." 

Golfcap looked even more impressed, he assumed Tix had just picked me up, like he must be a smooth operator. (He went to college in the 80s, he might actually use that term.)  Golfcap told him he needed to take me to the front, that I wanted to be closer.  I said, I did want to be closer, "I want ed Mac to sweat on me," then laughed.  Golfcap said, "See. see. What did I tell you?" Then, he held out his arm and told me to take it. What? Why not? So I did. Golfcap started pushing through the pair of big lesbians in front of me, pulling me behind. "No, that's not right. These are nice people." I stopped and let go. He shrugged, came back and kept talking to us, well, me.

When I emptied my Pepsi he told Tix to go buy me another beer. "She's not drinking beer." "So. All the more reason. Go get her one. You'll need it for later. Believe me, with one like that."   Har-har.  Golfcap took my empty can from me and threw it on the floor. Classy. But I did appreciate it. "You can't hold that all night."  True. I asked him where his date was, to deflect his growing inebriated attention.  He said he was dateless.  Where was mine? Oops, I walked into that one. I pointed to Tix, "I'm with him." "Uh . . ." Tix was speechless.  Golfcap nodded. "Oh. He looks like a nice guy. Shy one. But nice."  "Yep."  Tix was clearly uncomfortable. Surely, he knew I was just protecting myself from this guy, to keep him from getting too friendly?  Of course he did.  Golfcap excused himself to go "find his friend".  He didn't return.  No surprise. With my little rabbit date, I was a now a waste of his time. 

Tix stayed just behind me for the rest of the show. I made comments to him sometimes. Near the end of the performance, before the encore, he said, "Hey. I have to go for a minute but I'll try to come back here. If I don't, I will definitely email you." "OK. Good luck." "Yeah." He looked guilty. Then disappeared.

Odd. He didn't return. But, he could have, the crowd was thinning. So. What happened to my Bunny Buddy? First, he probably had to pee because of the second Budweiser.  Then just went home . Or he went home because he is old and was tired of standing there. Or, nah.... did I? --Maybe I had freaked him out by calling him my date and he was afraid I'd expect something from him. By leaving early, he avoided all awkwardness. He didn't have to worry about me making a move, or me wanting him to take me home or kiss me or go out to a bar, or whatever. Yikes. I didn't think about that before. I should've told him I wasn't serious about the date thing.  I felt a little bad about it.

He hasn't emailed. I knew he wouldn't.  I know a kiss-off line when I hear one,  it's the "definitely" that gives it away, it really means 'never'.  People only add 'definitely' because they want to convince you of their sincerity, hoping you won't notice the lie because of that extra word.  Unfortunately, now I can't email him because he'll think I'm coming on to him.  Then again, maybe he's just being a dude who has better things to do. Anyway, he was a nice guy, reminded me of a  sweet little rabbit. It's a shame, I could use another music buddy. I still might email him, let him man up and deal with it. But, I probably won't.

Men on Women: Correction

I came across this blog post today, it horrified me. Is this really what men think of us? I'm going to assume that these are the conclusions of a special type of man. Nevertheless, it was published and needs correcting.

Askmen.com

The writer gives his explanation of 'Women's mind games'. His basic response to each 'game' said that women are trying to gain power in the relationship. Granted, some women are like this, the players. The women who date purely as a means of gratification. The women who date in order to meet a nice man, a boyfriend and/or potential husband, are not acting from manipulation.

The Meeting Stage
Sexy clothes
She wears provocative clothing and then gets mad when you check her out ("My eyes are up here ...").
What's her mind game?: No logic here at all -- of course men are going to look and she knows it. And when they do, she castigates them for their normal and natural interest.

CORRECTION: SHE DOES WANT YOUR ATTENTION, SHE WANTS HIM TO BE ATTRACTED TO HER, AND, SHE ALSO WANTS HIM TO LISTEN AND BE RESPECTFUL. A man who likes her enough, can manage to do both. *Sadly, some women don't even respect themselves which can show in her clothing-- but she's probably not the one saying 'my eyes are up here'.

Shallow initial contact
She'll come on to you, flirt, even act sexually suggestive with absolutely no intention of going on a date or getting involved.
What's her mind game?: She wants to get a rise out of you to assure herself that she's still attractive to the men. Surprisingly, a lot of attached women play this game.

CORRECT. AND BECAUSE IT IS FUN. ALSO, WE'LL DO IT IF WE WANT SOMETHING FROM YOU-- like tearing up the traffic ticket, a free drink or extra slice of pizza... MEN DO THE SAME THING. And it's not like they don't get anything out of it, they love the attention.

and

CORRECTION: WOMEN OFTEN FLIRT IN ORDER TO SIZE MEN UP. She was probably interested initially, but he turned her off by acting like a jerk. or SHE WAS UNDECIDED and flirted to find out if he was worth her time. In this case, not. or SOMETIMES--it's rare but happens--SHE IS TESTING THE GUY FOR HER FRIEND-- if the friend wants her opinion before she makes a move. Sometimes the friend is already dating him and wants to know if he's a player.

**REMEMBER: Nice women don't decide they want a man based solely on his looks. It requires some research.

No phone call
She'll give out her number with no intention of dating you. Or she'll take your number and never call you.
What's her mind game?: This is another bid for power. She just wants to reassure herself that she can control men with her sexuality.

CORRECTION: HAHAHAHA... MEN WISH!!!!! You can't seriously believe that? WE DO IT BECAUSE WE ARE NOT INTERESTED. The number is probably fake to begin with, if not, you caught her off guard. In college, we all used the Cafeteria Menu Line--WOMEN EXCHANGE NUMBERS TO GET RID OF MEN AS POLITELY AS POSSIBLE. We were raised to be sugar and spice and everything nice so we don't want to hurt your feelings. OR, WE CAME TO OUR SENSES LATER, realizing you weren't worth our time afterall.

Hard to get
She turns you down for a date or doesn't return your call, even if she's interested in going out with you.
What's her mind game?: Sometimes this is simply a power play and sometimes what she wants is for you to chase her, to determine how desperate you are for sex. If you bite, then she knows she's totally in control of the relationship and you'll forever jump to the crack of her whip.

CORRECTION: MAYBE SHE'S BUSY. MAYBE SHE'S NOT SURE IF SHE LIKES HIM--she's doing a wait-and-see. MAYBE SHE LIKES HIM, BUT, THE MAN IS BEING RUDE AND PUSHY...if so, then yes, he needs re-training. We have to let men know our boundaries up front. Otherwise, he thinks he can treat you anyway he wants. I turned down a date today because the guy emailed me at midnight last night and was demanding about it. I don't want to go out with someone who thinks I'm at his beck-and-call. But he can try again, I hope he does.

SEMI-CORRECT: WE DO LIKE YOU TO CHASE US-- WHEN WE MAKE YOU CHASE US, YOUR INTEREST INCREASES EXPONENTIALLY. Since I've implemented my new policy of not initiating with men and sometimes not returning a call or email, my love-life has improved ten-fold. One guy complained that I didn't act like I was interested enough. Then he wrote and recorded 4 songs for me that weekend! MEN LOVE IT. You think you don't, but all evidence is to the contrary.

This 'article' or blog post continues a few more pages. The stuff about how women act during relationships was even worse, but I'm bored already--maybe I'll pick up on the rest later. I had to stand up for my gender. Most women are not motivated primarily by power and sex.

One of the 127 comments, from floria_aemilia :

A lot of these games are not about power but insecurity, which you would know if you bothered to actually ask a girl why she behaves like she does instead of just assuming that it must be a power trip. Then you might feel some empathy for her vulnerability.

AMEN SISTER, AMEN.

...and you leave on your own, and you go home and you cry... Not this time!

Oh, does JL have a date this weekend? Why, yes she does! Woo hoo.

But we aren't going to get too excited yet, because he is not LDS and does not know that she is Mormon and celibate.

I don't want to give too many details because I know he is an heavy internet user, but,.... A certain performer whom I inordinately love performed in A.C. last night. Since I had no friends to go with, and I knew people in the city would have difficulty getting there, I posted a ride-share ad online. I got a few responses, and ended up with a free ticket and two gentlemen passengers. They were both very sweet and I loved having their company.

The show was fantastic, as always, but very surreal. This performer does not usually play in fancy casinos. On the way to the concert hall, we had to pass through the lush gilded hotel and gambling rooms filled with elderly people and tourists. Unfortunately, the sound system was abysmal. But the singer was fabulous and broke all our hearts, as always. He enjoyed himself and hammed it up since it was the last performance of the American tour. You can read a review of the concert from V here.

One of my passengers and I hit it off, and somehow the evening turned into a pre-date date for us. We arrived early and the younger guy wanted to wait in line, but we wanted to eat, since we are crusty old-timers. The over-priced buffet was the only food available. There we sat at a table together talking (he is very cute by the way), in our posh and gauche surroundings. He was very polite, sweet, and funny. It felt like a first date, but without the pressure and with the promise of the show afterwards to make everything better.

During the show, we stood together and shouted our observations and remarks in each other's ears. We smiled at each other over certain songs, danced together, and sang the same words. I couldn't help feeling as though I might be falling for this man, he who stood by my side as the music washed over us. Sharing such a happy and significant event created a potent intimacy. At one point, it almost felt like he wanted to kiss me, as we looked at each other with contentment during the beautiful, sad, slow song (fans know which one; yes, the slowest and saddest song in the repertoire). Even though I knew all of this was just the thrill of the moment and the music, I enjoyed it while it lasted.

During the encore, after the dozen or so stage rushes, the performer threw his sweaty shirt into the audience, right next to us. A mob riot ensued for possession of the shirt. It went on for 15-20 minutes. Both of us got pushed and pulled by the fray, but he caught me and held on to keep me from falling to the floor. Then he helped extract me from the dangerous nerdy crowd, by pulling me away with him. On our way out the door, he gave me a big hug.

The drive home took 3 hours, because I went the wrong way and ended up in Philadelphia, a typical mistake for me. We talked the whole way. The other fan slept in the back seat. As we neared the city, he asked me out. I said yes. He wants to take me dancing.

Now. I have to tell him about my religion and no-sex thing. He was puzzled by my not drinking and asked about it. To my shame, I was dishonest about the reason why. I said, 'for one thing it's because I'm on medication'. Which is true, but not. My sorry excuse is that I didn't want to ruin the night with truth and reality. Probably a bad call.

The last non-LDS man I went out with went ballistic when I told him about my celibacy. Even though it was just our first date, he went on and on about how I should have told him earlier. So, I must tell my new friend the news before we go out, right? I guess I should do it on the phone. Maybe he'll be OK with things, being the artsy sensitive type of guy, but...

The truth is, regular men expect sex to be part of dating, as one of the major reasons to date. Why would they want to date a woman who won't have sex with them, when other women will? Don't they have to be extremely mature or very desperate? I hope I am being overly cynical in my estimation, but I've had men tell me as much.

Either way, I had a wonderful evening with a lovely man and the best pop music ever made. I did not go home, cry and want to die on this night.

Another one bites the dust, sigh

There are networking social sites online where people can post profiles and link to their friends' profiles, Friendster was the big one a few years ago. People also use these sites to look for dates. I have a profile on one of them. I confess that once or twice a year I do a few searches for men and send a few notes out. It's an act of optimism, never yet bearing fruit. Occasionally, I even receive notes from men on their own fishing expeditions.

Last week I got an email that was very bold, compared to the usual "Hi," "Nice profile", "How YOU doing?" . . .you get the idea. The most common thing I've found is that guys send some obscure random question about my profile. (BTW, not effective, it may work as a pickup line in a public place but not on email.) So this guy sent me an actual letter complimenting my tastes and saying he was very interested, I looked like just his type. Intrigued, I checked out his profile. Whoa. My first instinct was, ok, there is something horribly wrong with this man. Why did I respond so cynically? Because he looked too good. He was Mormon, 33, very very tall, good-looking, had a successful career(according to him), and came across as charming--as opposed to the usual socially awkward bloke.

Now, two of any of the above characteristics are enough to make a man prime meat in the singles ward. I learned that the hard way by dating a very tall and very good looking man. That's when I ended up in the nasty quadrangle and gossipy envy. That man had no career, and turned out to be about as dumb as dirt. Yet, women were clawing each other's eyes out for him. As I said, in my experience, a Mormon man needs only two of these golden traits to draw the women like flies on.... And here was a single guy living in Salt Lake(!!!) still single and hitting on me shamelessly. Additionally, the man had about 30 women on his profile gushing over him and obviously in love with him.

If you are familiar with these pages, then you know what I am talking about. Comments such as the following, "He is the best guy I know. He won my heart because he is so hot and fun and cool." "Any woman would be so lucky to have this man." "As soon as I can sell my trailer and move to SLC, this man is mine so back off you B's...." Ok, I made those up. But that's what those comments are like. You can gauge a man's social skills by these swooning comments, the collected broken hearts he keeps on a string. I think most of the guys can't see them for what they are, but the ones with more than 2 of the veiled love letters have got to know and are obviously playa's.

So what was this dude's story? I thought I should find out. I spent an hour Friday night writing a long, thoughtful, descriptive letter telling him about myself. It was witty, it was open, I tried to show glimpses of my soul without being an exhibitionist. Quite a letter. Why bother? I went to all that trouble despite the flashing warning sign, "He's too good to be true!!" because I thought, "maybe". Maybe there really is a super terrific man out there who has just been looking for the right woman and he hasn't found her yet because that woman is me." Please gag me with a spoon. I didn't really believe that thought, but I had nothing better to do so I went with it anyway.

After pushing the send button, I got a reply right back. He said there was so much to say but he was so lazy could we IM? Fine, I wasn't doing anything. And there, the truth was revealed. I'm blown away by the irrationality and freakiness of what I found. Usually, I am the freaky one with the bizarre and paranoid reactions. Oh, no. Not this time. I have included excerpts of our exact IM conversation(thank you archives) because I couldn't reproduce this as well. The typos were his.

Things started out normally with greetings. He complimented my pictures. I told him I took them with a webcam I got from my ex-boyfriend....

BOY: still got that came?
BOY: flip that sucker on!
ME: Not now, I look bad
BOY (10:25:53 PM): please
B: we are beyond that
Me:no, I've had some bad experiences with a webcam and guys I just met
B: sounds like it's time ot get back on the horse

I explained to him about an experience I had one night when I was chatting with someone and went to the bathroom. When I returned I was greeted by the man and a view of his goodies, while he was enjoying his goodies if you get my drift. Personally, I think that is a good reason not to let someone you don't know show you his webcam. But despite that, I really just don't like using them, I find it weird and creepy to watch someone staring at their computer. But this guy would not let it go.

BOY:I can assure you I am decent
B: and sober
B: andMormon
B: Can you see me?
ME: I haven't turned it on
B: why not?
B: take a look
B: see who you are talking to
ME: please, I was traumatized and I need to know you better first

That last bit was an exaggeration, I wasn't traumatized but this guy would not let it go. The point was, I didn't want to see his webcam. If he was so decent, why was he so hot for me to look at him? Perhaps he knew that was the best he had to offer? His pretty face. Harumph. I don't like being pushed...

BOY:so traumatized that you can;t take the risk of LOOKING at me?
B: I an PROMISE you I am not a pervert
B: try me
B: worse case scenerio - you see I am a perv, and you save all this chat
ME: worst case scenario I get another picture in my brain that I don't want...
B: siiiiiigh
B: a 30-year-old girl who si damaged
B: I've seen this movie before

Excuse me? I have damage because I don't want your face on my monitor because I don't know you?? That's what I should have said. So I'm the one with issues because I didn't do what you wanted me to?

ME: you don't get to be interesting without some scars I'm afraid
BOY: I guess so
B: I'll guess I'll just have ot try to gauge just how much atoning you'l make me do for teh sins of past guys in yoru life before I decide how good of frineds we shoudl be
ME: ouch
BOY: what can I say... I've always been drawn to interesting girls
ME: look, I don't trust the online thing. It's nothing personal
B: a lack of trust usually isn't
B: I understand
B: As I've said, I've seen this movie before
B: it's no problem

What the...? Huh? Atoning for who, what? YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW ME. I wouldn't let you watch me type, so that means I'm punishing you for what other men did to me? You're a head case--again, in hindsight that's what I should have said. And, aside from that lunacy, does any woman actually respond to that kind of thing? I was really mad at this point. But I kept chatting because I had nothing better to do and was curious to see what he would do next.

Despite his alleged 'understanding' he kept going on and on about how being online is not the best way to get to know someone but it's better if you can see each other, not hide behind a curtain...blah blah blah Whatever. He just wanted to know if I had gotten fat or put up fake pictures before he wasted chat time on me. I even asked him that and he said "Partly." Hmmm. I told him I would take a new picture and send it but then I couldn't get it to work, then surprise, he had to go out. He said he had fun and wanted to talk again, but yeah. I'm never going to hear from him again. Good riddance. I'm just sorry I wasted so much time writing him a letter.

Now my question to you, dear readers, is this: Am I over-reacting or was that a totally not normal response? I thought he was rude, manipulative, pushy, and . . . dare I say it, damaged?

Mad World

All around me are familiar faces...Worn out faces...

Going nowhere, Going nowhere...
Four different men have asked me out in the last two days. I have two voicemails, an email and the pizza guy, not one is even remotely interesting. One actually said, "One bad date on a sweltering day when I said some thoughtless things and did some thoughtless things is not a good reason not to go out again." Oh yeah? On what planet is that not a good reason? When it's only the second date and I can't wait to get away from you, that's reason enough never to see you again.

I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
On my way home this evening, after we said goodbye, a woman stopped me on 34th Street. "Excuse me. Hello?" I stopped and looked at her quizzically. She apologized for stopping me. Then she said, "I'm a psychic and I can see something in your aura." I said 'What'? She said, "I see something. . ." Then she rushed out the words 'You have a lot of positive changes coming in your life', like it was the obligatory psychic handshake before she could get to the real stuff. "But right now you have something on your mind. You are confused about love." I laughed out loud.

I find it hard to tell you, 'Cos I find it hard to take
She asked me if I'd ever had a reading before. I told her I had not and that I didn't have any money. She said, "Oh, no. I'm just talking to you. Normally, you'd be coming to Astoria to see me. I wish I had one of my cards on me but I don't." I said, "Oh." Then she started walking away and said, "Maybe I'll see you again." And that was it. She was dressed in nice clothes with a Burberry scarf and just looked like a New York woman going out at night.

No one knew me...

Look right through me, look right through me
Valentine's Day is stupid. I don't care about it, I don't expect anything from anyone and I don't want anything from anyone. But even so, it's cruel. It took me an hour to get home on the train tonight and I was surrounded by lovers. And lots of people holding presents, pink bags, flowers, women dressed up with glowing faces. College kids standing at the pole kissing. The teen punks next to me discussing what the boy was going to get for the girl. She wants new black nail polish. It was almost a relief to have the beggar who fakes that he's deaf come into the car. He was followed by Mr.I have HIV I'm hungry anything you can spare but I've got on my RocaWear gear.

Children waiting for the day they feel good...
I wanted to rent a bunch of slasher pics for the weekend. BUT THERE IS NO VIDEO STORE IN MY HOOD--except the damn Kung fu porn place. On my way home, I stopped in the midtown Duane Reade to check out their new dvd rental vending machines, but you have to return the disks in 6 hours. I wasn't trekking back from Brooklyn just for some bad horror movies. If I had remembered, I could have gone by Central Park last night to see The Gates. That would have been cool to see at night, and a nice dessert to top off my deli dinner quiche. But I didn't think to do that.

Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday
My old cat is losing weight so I'm worried now that she might be sick. She's always been obese but the last month she's slimmed way down and become weirdly affectionate. She can't be sick. I can't deal with losing her right now. 9 years she's been my comfort. Take away everything else--but please, please leave her with me.

The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.

Quotes from Tears for Fears "Mad World"

SNL Live: Telephone Fumbles

No, sigh, I did not actually attend Saturday Night Live. But, I just had a phone conversation that could have been an SNL skit. I know I've seen variations on the theme. Remember that skit with one of the awkward women, maybe it was Sherry O'Terry, who goes to a class on dating skills? And the people have to practice flirting with each other and it's so unbelievably rehearsed and forced...yeah. That's how this phone call went. I didn't want to post this at first, I was going to save it as a draft for later, but it's too funny.

I don't know what's going on with me here. I can flirt quite a lot at times. I can pick up a suggestive comment and run with it. I did it in class yesterday! I said: "You can ask me questions, I don't bite. Well, maybe I do. But you'll never find out." (Because I've given up on maintaining control and the semester ends tomorrow.) But I can't seem to do the flirting with this guy. We got our flirt on eventually, so we communicated mutual interest in what should have been a playful way. Instead it was painful, I'm usually not this stupid.

Here is a transcript from memory. Interject loaded pauses between each sentence. Imagine them delivered in an uneasy cadence, making the fear loudly audible. I've included ellipses to indicate especially long pauses, and put my thoughts in italics:

Me: My cat's sitting on my lap. [ Am I really this boring?]
Him: Which cat?
Me: The big one
H: Oh.
M: But she's old and crotchety and grumpy so this is--
H: That's like me-I'm crotchety and grumpy too.
M: Uh...Yeah. So this is unusual... For her to be cuddly, she must want something.
H: What does she want--How can you tell what she wants?
M: Cats only want a few things. Food, water, clean litter, sleep. So, it's not hard to guess... But she has all of those things.
H: Then what does she want?
M: I don't know. She must be cold so she wants to sit in my lap. Because when she is cold, that way she can get warm... um, She's purring too.
H: ...So I should do that when I get cold? [ Oh!? Did he just say that? He wants to sit in my lap?]
M: Uh...
H: So when I'm cold I'll come sit in your lap? [ Yeah, he's flirting. He wants to sit in my lap. This is innuendo.]
M: ... Right, like the cat
H: ...And that should warm me up? [ Now I should respond. He wants me to say yes.]
M: um...There's only one way to find out. [ That's the best I could do?.]
H: ok... So then I'll come sit in your lap when I get cold.
M: uh, yeah,. . .You can do that. [ Oh, smooth one! Kill me now. ]
H: You know when I get cold because I have no sweater.

[Because he loaned me one last weekend.]

At that point he mercifully put us out of our misery and we moved into a discussion about my losing his favorite sweatshirt on the subway. Which was a lie. Which he knew was a lie. Then the talking got easy again. Regardless of the comedic episode, we had a good conversation. Romantic (at least sexual) interest has been made unmistakably explicit.

Having typed out the words, I can see that he fared much better than I did. He could say the flirty lines--he started it! He gave me the bait over and over and I wanted to take it. But I couldn't even make the words come out. He's reduced me to moronic monosyllabilism. I don't know why, I can't explain it. Clearly, we don't grow out of that adolescent awkwardness. No matter how many dates you go on, it's always a new thing. You'd think it would get easier as one goes along, but it doesn't. It just gets harder with each person because the rejection, resentment, and fear grow with every failure.

Pub Games: NJ vs. Mass

They came from all over. Internationals and locals converged on the city to attend our graduate conference of 2003. Ok, it wasn't that many people, but some from out of state. A large contingent from the New Jersey University came because our keynote speaker was one of theirs. One guy from Massachusettes came to give a paper, he somehow knew all the Jersey people. I actually went to his reading. It wasn't that great, but I asked a question. Which is thrilling enough for me, it makes me so nervous. A gentleman in the back of the room asked some questions too. He had an English accent and looked familiar to me. When the session ended, I walked towards the exit and looked at the man. He looked back. He had greenish-blue eyes behind his steel rimmed glasses. And crazy hair, dark with silver streaks. He looked like Giles from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but cuter, and way less uptight.

Then I recognized him. I had seen him a few weeks earlier at a seminar somewhere else, when the Oxford don I wrote my thesis on discussed his latest book. I asked one of the first questions then kept asking because he didn't answer it, so I know I stood out. (I was also one of the four women out of 40 people there.) This professor had been there and sat opposite me at the table. He might have remembered me. So I smiled as I passed him and went out the door. A minute later, he came out to the hall with the Mass guy and the Jersey student with the ponytail. He asked me and Kyle where they could eat dinner. We told them we had planned a conference dinner at a restaurant afterward. Then I asked the English professor, "Weren't you at that symposium with __(Oxford Don's name excluded to protect the innocent) ?" He said, "Yes. I remember you, you were there too." We both smiled.

We didn't talk again until hours later, when the group walked to the Chinese restaurant for dinner. He talked first. He asked about my work. He had contributed a chapter on my thesis subject for a forthcoming reader. That was exciting, we're doing the same kind of stuff. I wanted to know all about it. Then the big Mass guy suddenly appeared and interrupted us.

During dinner, I had the misfortune of sitting across the round table from our keynote speaker. 'Lush' accurately describes the famous man who ate too much and drank too much and whose shirt popped open at the navel. Eww! Yes, I had to sit across from his rotund belly with his navel peeking through the opened buttonhole. It taunted me. The fuzzy chasm amidst protruding flesh. I lost my appetite.

Meanwhile, Mass dude tried talking to me across the heads of Mike and NJ ponytail boy. but he had to shout. He kept trying until my friend Kyle put his arm on the back of my chair. Kyle asked if we could share meals since he didn't know what to order. Ok, I couldn't afford one by myself anyway. So we ate off of each other's plates. I realized that Kyle might've wanted to make it look like we were dating. Maybe MA dude seemed a little too interested in my...thesis? Was Kyle jealous? If so, it worked and the guy stopped shouting at me.

At the time, Kyle was my best friend in the city. We did everything together and were very close. Predictably, tension had been building. I was ready for things to heat up. But we hadn't talked about it. I wasn't sure how I felt about Kyle's territorial behavior. It annoyed me because of his presumption, we were 'just friends'. But I also derived some hope from it. Maybe now he wanted things to get romantic too?

The sexy prof spent dinner talking to the other tenured grown ups. After, the remaining students and visitors went to a nearby pub. The prof, hereafter 'Giles' and I talked on the way. It felt like flirtation but I couldn't really believe that. This man was a real person with a real career and success (he taught at one of the best departments in the country!), he had class and style (comparatively speaking), was distinguished and older, sexy, and very published. I'm just an unaccomplished grad student, with breasts.

He made me very nervous. He asked a lot of questions about my studies and papers. I couldn't remember the names of anyone I had written about or read. All the names got jumbled together in my brain and I said several stupid things. Painfully aware of my errors of erudition, I tried to steer conversation towards more mundane things, like his accent. What part of England was he from? How did he like New Jersey? I felt like an idiot. We went from questions on the nature of substance to stupid small talk.

At the pub I scooted to the very end of the bench by the wall. English sat at the end of the table next to me. The Mass dude sat on my other side. Bore. Kyle sat directly across from me next to Giles. Everyone else was at the other end. Giles and I continued to talk only to each other. He made me laugh out loud, I liked him. He had a charming sweetness.

Mass got more drunk and more obnoxious. He reminded me of an annoying frat boy. He was very loud, bombastic, and too much in my personal space. He kept trying to talk to me and distract Giles. Kyle grew increasingly perturbed as he watched me and the men around me. Then, Mass started a brain teaser contest. They all took turns describing a puzzle that everyone else tried to solve. (The nerd version of a pissing contest.) I didn't care to participate, and as the only woman I wasn't expected to. Giles took it rather seriously and spent a few minutes with his forehead in his hands while he worked out the answer. He got it right. He grinned from ear to ear for solving a puzzle, this prominent scholar, among the most important in his field. It was very cute, Giles had totally won the contest for my attention. Mass solved more puzzles but his extensive conversation about his new XBox disqualified both him and ponytail boy. Sorry, try again when you grow up.

As it got later, I wondered if Giles would get around to asking for my phone number? Then Kyle and Daniel said they were leaving. We all lived in the same building so I needed to go with them. But Giles and I weren't done yet. Sigh. I told him I had to leave now because I was going with the guys. I explained that I lived in the ghetto and shouldn't go home alone this late. He didn't say anything. Everything got confusing, people were getting up and moving around. I didn't know what to do. I stood up while Daniel settled the tab. Then ponytail boy started talking at me, wanting to know if I ever came to NJ and when our next department event was going to be, could I let him know about it, blah, blah. Go away and play XBox! I wanted to say goodbye to Giles, who just went to the bathroom! Argh.

Daniel got insistent and agitated about leaving NOW. So did Kyle. I saw Giles standing in line for the toilet. I went over to say goodbye. I shook his hand and said it was nice to meet him. I tried smiling and being flirty but he didn't really respond, he'd had a lot of beer. But, he's English, so. So, he wasn't interested? I didn't know what else to do. The guys were calling me.

As soon as we got outside, Daniel said in a taunting older brotherly voice, "That professor liiiked yoooouuu." I said, "Really?" He replied, "Oh, yeah. You should have seen his face when you stood up to go. His whole face fell, he was so disappointed. He reeeaally liked you." Kyle agreed and mumbled something. I said, "I would've gone out with him. Why didn't he ask for my number or anything?" They didn't know nor seemed to care. I didn't understand. What did I do wrong?

Kyle was definitely jealous and very intoxicated. We had an interesting ride home, followed by even more interesting events. It might have been worth the loss if things had worked out differently with Kyle that night. Instead, I just lost twice.

Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.

The Sexual language of strawberries

They promised to have a roasted pig. The missionaries said they'd roast a whole pig for our church BBQ this weekend. They did not, thankfully. One of the best things about not being in a traditional ward is the food selection at church functions. Only two people brought dishes from the mayonnaise food group: one potato salad and one crab pasta salad. No jello. No casserole. No bag of grocery store stale white bread rolls. I had two bowls of home-made pico de gallo salsa made with avocado. It was so good, I ate it with a spoon.

HT arrived after I did. While I watched one of the toddlers, given instructions not to let him wander into the street nor back to the garden, HT asked me to come back and check out our plants. I said no because I had to watch the kid. He wasn't having it, so he told a girl nearby to watch the boy for a minute. Oh, so that's how it's going to be? Ok, I followed him behind the roses. He picked our first strawberry and ate half of it, then he offered me the last bite. I said 'no thank you'. He said, "Come on, it's the fruit of your labor." I looked down at the red and white pulpy berry in his hands. I could see his teeth marks in the white meat. No. "No, I'll have the next one. It's ok."

After an hour or so I went home. I told Barbara about HT's attentions. How he put his arm around my shoulders but I thought it was just friendly. She said, "A man and woman? I don't think that's friendly." Well, "I didn't like that he did it in front of EVERYBODY there." Then Barbara said, "Then that was not friendly! He was claiming his territory." But, "There were no other single men there, he had no reason to claim me." "It doesn't matter. You know how people are at church. They all saw it and now they're going to talk and it'll get around until everyone thinks you're together." Ugh. "No, I don't think that's what he was doing."

Then I told her about the strawberry. "He fed you a strawberry?!" "No! He tried to." "You are in such denial. Feeding you a strawberry is flirting." "Well, ok, maybe that's true for normal people but this is HT. You know how weird he is." "I know it, but it doesn't matter. HE FED YOU A STRAWBERRY!"

He also sat next to me when he didn't have to, and he tasted the salsa from my bowl with my spoon. Then when he said goodbye he kept looking at me, lingering. His eyes smiled at me. That I couldn't deny. That look in his eyes was new. Did I miss something? Why is he looking at me like that?

"What are you going to about this? You should talk to him." Barbara wanted me to make a decision. "Why do I have to do anything? I'm leaving soon and by the time I come back he'll be into someone else." "Because he fed you a strawberry. Do you want to do it directly or indirectly?" Then she started telling me the various ways I could reject HT's advances. She witnessed the whole summer debacle with him in 2003. She also knows a lot about these things and helped me reject someone else. "I'm not doing anything."

I'm not sure I want to resolve this. No drama, not now. Sunday I slept through church again. Maybe I can slip away from all this.

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Groping in the Garden

Gardens need fertilizer. Especially when plants grow from a plywood box in an empty lot in the city. Now the winter has passed it's time to garden again. Our lovely garden and lawn is in the lot next to the church. It belongs to the whole congregation but only a few of us have done anything with it. Because I live very close by and don't work a 9-5 job I took on much of the gardening duties last summer, so did my home teacher(HT). Sometimes we worked together and we shared one of the larger plots. The garden did beautifully, I actually got sick of home-grown cherry tomatoes! A few weeks ago, HT told me he was going to buy seeds and asked if I wanted to share a plot with him again. Yes, I did.

My home teacher is good, you may remember him from this post. We're both single and we have too much in common for us to have a viable romantic relationship. And I'm not quite ready to get over last summer. We may or may not have dated. I still don't know but I hope we weren't dating because if so, he treated me in an appalling way. That's another story I am going to write. (This is not an empty tease unlike the last one.)

Regardless of the confusion last summer, we really became friends in January and weren't awkward anymore. He was dating Cruella and I had an internet boyfriend. We could hang out as buddies who compared our promising new relationships. We had some bonding moments. Then in March both of us got the big ugly rejection boot. This sent me into a period of seclusion (I started this blog) so I hadn't seen or talked to him in awhile. He left me a few messages about wanting to get together to plant the garden. I ignored him and everyone else.

Last Saturday, however, we had to do a primary party. HT asked me if I could help him in the garden afterwards. Yes. So when the kiddies went home and the sun shone way too brightly, we planted seedlings and seeds and fertilized and labeled and covered and watered. It's beautiful to get soil under my fingernails and to go home smelling like dirt and green things in Harlem. The garden is plenty big. The vegetable boxes are in the back end of the lot away from the street. Even so, the rows between planting boxes do not have enough room for two people. The boxes are small enough that one could go around the other side if someone blocked the path. HT didn't go around. Several times HT squeezed past me, taking the opportunity to put his hand on my waist or back. I noticed this because it felt so good to have human contact for the first time in 2 months, how long did his hand linger?--And I noticed because he never touches me. We don't touch. Not when we were maybe dating and not when we were definitely friends. So why now?

As I planted the strawberries, he looked over at me from the tomato box, and asked if I had heard from that Utah guy. I groaned and said "No," then continued to berate that boy's character for a few minutes. HT said something like, "yeah, Cruella too." Was that a smile on his face? The possible significance of his question completely went over my head as my mind spun with angry thoughts about Utah boy.

We spent 2 or 3 hours planting everything. We work well together because he doesn't do idle chit chat and neither do I. Instead we listened to the screaming children, honking horns, shouting adults, sirens and airplanes. Afterwards, when we finished locking everything up he asked if I wanted to go get something to eat. Since I had only 3 hours of sleep and needed a shower, I said "No I need to take a nap." His question was innocent enough, so I thought nothing of it. But I didn't have the energy to be with him, he tires me. He's so serious all the time, maybe that's why. I wasn't in the mood for serious and brooding that day, nor any other day.

I went home puzzled by the way he touched in the garden and asked my roommate what she thought. Did it mean anything? She said it probably did since we have been friends for awhile and he never touched me before. Guys who want to date their friends sometimes do that. Then I remembered that he asked me about utah boy. Barbara confirmed HT was likely checking my availability and also informing me of his. Ah, that probably explains why he asked me if I was going out later. It was a stupid question because I said no and then he told me he wasn't either because he had to work. So, what difference did my plans make to him? Ok, maybe he wanted to know if I had a date?

Ugh. I can't deal with this now, if he is interested. He had his chance last summer and he said no. I don't want Cruella's left-overs. Sure, she's materialistic so now the broke student who doesn't wear designer clothing suddenly looks more attractive? No thanks. He told me that when we met last year he thought I was cute but too quiet. I didn't tell him I thought he was so wooden and boring that I didn't even notice he's good looking.
He's no one to run from, but he's not a man to run towards either. He has a lot of problems, but so do I.

What am I going to do if he was trying to start something? Well, Saturday I chose to ignore his subtle overtures and took a nap. If he's trying to plant anything in my rocky soil, he needs to add some Miracle-Gro and wait. I need something more obvious to believe he's interested. Until he forces me to deal with it, these seeds ain't growing anywhere. For now, my happy oats are off to dreamland, where I'll pretend not to notice.

Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetically hilarious exploits of me not having sex in the city.

Hey! I lost my new moz boyfriend

Again. This is why I'm single. Only I could have 3 men hitting on me in one night, one whom I really liked and still go home alone. I did make it to the last Morrissey concert. I got in to see the second half after I blew all my cash on a fake ticket, then waited around for one of the scalpers to cave and sell their tickets cheap. No such luck. They all sold out. It was a game of chicken, the scalpers vs. the broke and scammed fans. They won. The last pair of tickets went to a couple who paid $100 each after Morrissey had already started. So how did I get in ...

When I tried to use my expensive fake ticket, I was politely escorted out the door with a few other dazed and taken fans. I decided to hang around outside just in case. Another girl and I chatted with an older scalper who had real tickets. Then this little blond mozboy wandered over looking bereft. We compared our phony tickets and discussed what losers we were. Only Morrissey fans could bond over their own foolishness. The nice gentleman scalper said he'd sell us whatever he had leftover for cheap. So he and I waited together.

Mozboy was a shy one, wearing glasses, a blue plaid coat, t-shirt, jeans and black shoes. He also had the Moz pompadour going on. Despite his look, or because of it, he was cute. When I decided to go to the ATM I asked him to tell our dealer, if he came over, that I'd be right back. The boy asked me if I had to go far because he could lay out the cash for me if it was too far. WHAT? Was he for real? I think my jaw hit the sidewalk and I said, "It's just over there. I'll be right back. Thank you."

When I returned, we were officially a ticket couple. People kept trying to sell us pairs. Our dealer disappeared around 9 pm. So we wandered over to the rest of the pitiful ticketless group. A drunk Englishman was shouting that he couldn't believe Americans steal from each other like this! He got a bad ticket too so he asked me for a sympathy hug.

While we were milling abuot, the FDNY came to inspect the theater for over-crowding. After they left, the manager pointed to me and boy (instead of the 10 other people) and said, "You two can buy standing room tickets. You've been out here a long time." What? No way! The others got angry and said they had waited a long time too. The man said "I've seen these two out here." We probably stood out as a bespectacled helpless looking couple. They said they'd sell us two bogus tickets for $47 each. No way--I only had 40 and they needed ID for plastic. I asked the boy if he could spot me some cash. He said, "Sure, how much do you need?" What a sweetheart. So I waited for him while his card went through.

Then we rushed inside. The usher said "What? Standing room, we don't have that." The manager told him to let us in. Mozboy found us a good place in the orchestra about 15 rows back. We stood together behind some big drunk frat-boy wall street types. They kept going to the bar so I took one guy's place. When he came back I asked him if he wanted his spot back. He said no, put his arm around me and told me "I think you're beautiful. Are you here with someone?" Then he kissed the side of my head and added, "We'll kiss after the show." Like the true gentleman he was, he offered me some of his drink. Ewwww. He kept touching me throughout the concert, taking my hand and kissing it or squeezing my arm. I never know what to do in those situations, my southern comes out and I just try to be polite. I guess if my new boyfriend wasn't a sissy mozboy he would've stood up for me. I really didn't care too much because Morrissey was awesome again. He's a drug. The more you get, the more you want.

After the show we walked out together. I asked him if he was meeting people. He said yes. I wanted to get his number when we got outside but his two friends were already there. Damn it. I got flustered. I thanked him for the money. He said it was nice to meet you and we shook hands and exchanged names. After an awkward moment with his friends staring, I said, "I guess I'll go home now." He said Ok. He was supposed to say something else. Whatever, so I started walking away cursing, then he said, "Will you be ok getting home?" This question always peeves me, I find it insulting--I automatically just said "Yes" and kept going.

Damn it. That was his play, it was weak and sorry, but I blew it. All I had to say was, "Let me pay you back sometime, what's your number?" I wanted to, I just didn't. Or, I could have said "I'm walking home, why?" Why is it so hard to say the right thing at the right time? Why does my mind go completely blank? I've been dating for 12 years!! I knew what to say. But no. I'm retarded and I'm going to die alone.

What a fitting end to my Morrissey week. I was conned, fell in love, shown charity by the Apollo, molested, and lost my love all in one night. The only thing left to say:
"Last night I dreamt that somebody loved me. No hope, no harm, just another false alarm."

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Don't Stand so Close to Me

Final Exam, Extra Credit Question: What is one thing you learned or gained in this class?
A: “… The last thing I took out of this class is that professors are not all old and males. Some are actually pretty hot and stressful like the rest of society. Thank you Prof.
P.S. and I did mean the hot part. Wink, wink. ”

Clearly, this student wanted to add points to his grade with flattery. It gave me a welcome chuckle as I slaved over the 120 mostly sub-par exams. I grade without looking at names. After scoring this one, I had to flip the cover and see whose it was. Jorge. He’s the cute one. The one I came the closest to having a crush on, but which I duly nipped in the bud, I thought. Now the semester had ended. I still had all my students’ email addresses. I couldn’t help thinking, what if I emailed him? Is this just flattery or an invitation for me to ask him out? I got so far as to come up with an email. Something flirty yet noncommittal that he could choose to respond to or not, so my dignity could remain intact. Could it?

I decided once that teacher-student dating could be ethical if done after the student has finished the course and if the student is not majoring in that subject and would not be that teacher’s student again. My conditions were now met, probably, maybe, as far as I could reasonably be expected to know.

I noticed him the first class. He had a bad-boy geekiness to him that I find almost irresistible. Except that he seemed so young, somewhere between 18-21. That’s gross!--way too young. He talked to me after that class, wanted to know how long I had been teaching. Then he said, “See, it’s always the young ones who are the best teachers.” I laughed. Whatever! I know better than to believe that line (but it’s still nice to hear).

I spent the semester squelching my attraction for him. But he always participated, had great questions, did well on exams, and he came to see me in my office for help with his paper, twice. He didn’t make it easy for me not to notice him. One class, I sent everyone off to work on their papers while I stayed in the room to answer questions. Jorge stayed behind and wanted to talk about the reading. The girl who followed him around like a puppy also stayed along with another guy I found attractive. Jorge wanted to try teaching to see if he got it right. So I sat in the front row with the others. He did a good job. The four of us chatted and discussed the material intermittently. I really wanted to go home. I really wanted them to stop asking me questions so I could go work on my over-due paper.
Then I noticed his tattoo. He has a serpent slithering up his neck and behind his ear. Very, very sexy. I couldn’t help it, it caused a visceral reaction. Afterwards, I found I had to avert my eyes away from it whenever he talked to me.

Analytical people don’t have as many relationships as non-analytical people. Those cursed with highly analytical natures don’t get involved without doing a cost-benefit analysis, assessing the risks and potential for success. If the risk to potential ratio is too high, then we avoid it. This does not make for romantic 'how did you meet?' stories: "Well, after analyzing his personality, ambitions, emotional functioning, domestic habits, body odor, etc. I then compared these to my own. I found the resulting equation gave me sufficient reason to ask him out." "Yes. And on our anniversary, we always celebrate the fact that our finely tuned critical thinking skills brought us together by doing proofs of natural deduction together, by candlelight."
Since I am one of these unlucky, unromantic persons, I too work the equation. However, I used to date just for fun. I went out with non-members knowing we had a guaranteed break-up. Being older, I now know that dating is in fact, not only not fun, but one of the most humiliating and torturous activities known to man. Rationally, it’s not worth pursuing someone with whom I have no potential.

Jorge fits into the waste of time category. With the age difference and the religion and no sex thing, our potential hits the red zone. If I didn’t believe in my religion and the covenants I have made, then I could date Jorge for fun. He’d probably be a great boy-toy I could have lots of sex with. Since that's not an option, I haven’t sent Jorge the email. If I weren’t so committed, would I have emailed? No doubt, in like two seconds flat. And no way I'd be blogging right now either.

Good thing I don’t have him this term. Imagine having a student for four months who had written you a note like the one above. A student I couldn’t help being attracted to, and who would probably grow bolder as I grew weaker. If he’s in my 300-level class next year, I can see the disaster already.... He walks in the first day, a year older. My jaw hits the floor as I try to compose myself and drop all my papers instead. My usual first-class ‘I’m a nazi professor don’t even think about pissing me off’ routine would totally not happen. Drooling professors aren’t scary. What if he sat in the front row this time? That would ruin my mojo. I’d probably stutter, get distracted and lose my place. Then I’d get annoyed at myself and angry. . . It just can’t happen! Sting, I hope I never sing your song.

"Young teacher,....she wants him so badly, knows what she wants to be, inside her there's longing, this girl's an open-page. . .Sometimes it's not so easy to be the teacher's pet. Temptation, frustration...Don't stand so, don't stand so, Please don't stand so close to me. .." --The Police.

Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetically hilarious exploits of me not having sex in the city.

Hot for Teacher

Everyone has had a crush on one of their professors or teachers. You can't really help it sometimes. You go to class a few times a week and this brilliant person is up front performing, doing what they do best. That's always attractive. That's why I think musicians and actors are so attractive. There is something magical about watching a person get absorbed in their art or passion. Especially when that person does it well, or better, when they excel. Something about their passion absorbs the observers, and we get to come into their world to experience the beauty in their minds, hearts, souls. And then we can walk away having gained something or, occaisionally it may even change us. Maybe we learn how to look at the mundane in such a way that we can see it for the miracle it really is.

The process breeds intimacy on the part of the viewer. The performer has bled her passions for you, so you too can feel the excitement and wonder that she feels. Members of the audience naturally form emotional attachments to the performers whose blood resonates more deeply with their own. Anyone who acts as a catalyst for another person's phenomenal change gets associated with that phenomal event. The musician who can take his listener to the 'white peaks of the sublime' to experience the rapture in some divine musical work, often gets associated with the rapture felt by that listener. We fall in love with writers whose books touch us emotionally, the actors who express something in our own inner lives, the rock singer who comforts our personal turmoil....

Unless it's just lust because they are totally hot.

Teachers are performers. Many professors create character personas that they don just for their classes. I believe academics are artists. They have to have the same indefatiguable passion to survive and succeed. I think this is how the student crush happens.

Unless, of course, your professor is sex on a stick yumilicious. Having been a student for many years, I have experienced the student crush in varying degrees. So, it is interesting to now be on the other side of the lecturn. The intimacy that develops is completely one-sided. The student feels close to the teacher and feels like they know the teacher, but all I know about my students are their names. To me they are almost strangers. It's a little bit creepy having people who are practically strangers act like they have a crush on you.

With my few semesters of teaching I already have some stories of students acting goofy. Yesterday I wore my hair down for the time first time this year and also wore spring clothes for the first time (much less conservative). And one boy actually came up to me after class and offered to help me grade the exams for my next section. I turned him down politely and then he almost started begging to let me help him. This kid is a repeat-lingerer who often apologizes for asking too many questions. But this was extreme to offer to help me do my work! It would mean him hanging out with me in my office for the hour between my classes.

Then, in my second class of the day, another student stayed after to ask me why I looked so stressed and tired and started trying to console me. He told me how I need to take care of myself and should relax, I don't have to work this hard, etc. He had that, "Oh baby, you don't have to feel like that, you shouldn't do that to yourself, let me make you feel better" kind of sound to what he was saying. You ladies know what I'm talking about. You men might not, unless you do that too. It's a total pick-up game, the 'let me take care of you sweetheart' routine. He even had that concerned, sensitive look on his face. If I wasn't so tired and stressed, I might've laughed out loud at him.

But last semester was the interesting one. Next post: "Don't stand so close to me"

Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetically hilarious exploits of me not having sex in the city.

Episode 1: SpideyMan! SuperHero-Bootycaller

My Hero
We live on the second floor. Our front windows face the street with a ledge below that runs across the whole building. One night my kitten went out the window and disappeared. I freaked and went outside to find her. After calling her name, I finally heard her meow back. She poked her head over the ledge, saw me and cried then shrank back from sight. I didn’t know what to do. She was too scared to move. I stood on the sidewalk talking to her, trying to get her to go back inside.

Suddenly this guy came out of the building. He walked over and started chatting me up: tells me I’m cute, asks my name, etc. until I told him I was busy trying to get my cat. He asked where she was, I pointed to the ledge. He says, “You want me to go get it?” “What? Are you crazy? You’ll fall and break your neck, NO! Don’t do it.” “I’m going to get her.” He went and climbed the big dumpster in front of the church next door. Then he pulled himself from the dumpster onto the roof (1-story flat). A chain link fence with curled barbwire across the top blocks the alley between the buildings. Somehow that boy walked on top of the barbwire and reached up to the ledge. But he couldn’t pull himself up from there, so he had to climb up the bricks of the wall. He actually did it!—slowly. The boy was like Spiderman! He climbed up the corner of the building as I panicked and wondered what to do if he fell. When he got onto the ledge, he picked up kitty and took her to our window.

He came back and said, “I got your cat, now you have to go to dinner with me.” Saving my cat and pulling that spiderman move-- the boy deserved a date. "You're right." So then I actually looked at him. D**n! He was FINE! Big green eyes, pretty masculine face, perfectly proportioned, mocha-colored skin, and an adorable smile with dimples. He was actor fine. “Can I come up to see your cat? I love cats. And I need to get your phone number.” Mmmm-huh. “Yes.” Once inside we talked in my bedroom for awhile. Quite the charming guy, he told me about his acting/modeling career. Said he made 60K in a beer commercial that year…blah blah. Sure he did, that’s why he lives with 3 other guys in this building. He laid it on thicker than day-old grits! And it was late on a spring Saturday night, so when he offered to give me a foot massage, how could I say ‘no’? I gave him some lotion and he slowly worked each foot with both hands. He smiled and complimented me and gave me the looks with his sultry eyes. MMmmm, yea. I enjoyed that.

When he finished he wanted to massage my back. I didn’t say ‘no’. Kitty?-- What kitty? He began slowly kneading the small of my back. He spread his hands out towards my waist and lightly squeezed. Then his hand slipped under my shirt and he worked his way up my back. Mmmmm. We were sitting on my bed. He asked for more lotion. *Reality slap: Maybe this is a bad idea.* Alas, I pulled his hands away and told him to stop. He kept asking me to let him, blinking his big eyes with the lashes. Eventually he stopped amd I gave him my phone number. He said he’d call and take me out to dinner somewhere nice.

“Will you walk me back to my place?” “Sure,” Ok, sometimes I’m still that dumb. He gave me the tour. His small room had a bed that took up 8/10ths of the space. “My bed is brand new, come feel how soft it is.” So I sat down then quickly got up. “Nice bed,” um, "I have to go now, getting up early tomorrow." After some objections, he walked me to the elevator and gave me a kiss on the cheek with a hug. Then he said, “I don’t want this night to end.” *Gag!* But I went home smiling. He tried to get some of my stuff, and I still wanted to go out with him, at least once.

No one had taken me out in this city. I never went to nice restaurants or had any reason to dress up. The thought of a date pleased me. I imagined myself wearing a small black dress with sexy shoes, sitting in a restaurant that has real tablecloths and candles, looking across the table at a beautiful man. Imagined flirting and talking and being treated as if I'm special, being touched, noticed, seduced. It had been almost a year since my last date.

The Booty-caller
Surprise! He didn’t call. We saw each other in the hall the next weekend around 2 am. He said, “Apt. 2D, right? I want to come see you.” He confused me, I shouted, “What? Sure.” Then went home to sleep. Saw him again during the week on my way to the store. He told me he came over that night and knocked on the door but no one answered. Whatever. Liar or not, he still hadn’t called me. The following weekend, same thing. Saw him and he said again that he wanted to come over. His classy character became more and more apparent. “No. It’s too late.” I had chucked this prospect into the dumpster he liked to climb.

But then... A few weeks later, about 3 am, the intercom phone rang [People use it to get buzzed in the front door.] I picked it up, “Hey! I lost your phone number but I remembered your apartment. That’s why I’m calling from the door. What are you doing?” “I am sleeping.” “Can I come up? I want to see you.” This infuriated me. Who did he think he was giving me a booty-call from the front door? I yelled, “No! It’s 3 a.m. what’s wrong with you?!” Then hung up. How could he think I was that easy? I had never been so insulted. Like I would just sleep with him because he climbed the side of a building for my cat and massaged my feet. He thought he could get in my pants without so much as taking me to dinner. And he lost my phone number? I’m surprised he remembered my name. Even if I were having sex, no way would I be that cheap. Just because he has a perfectly sculpted body and the eyes and dimples, he thinks he can get me into bed by calling me from the door intercom? Oh, no.

That was the last of SpideyMan. Strangely, he disappeared. Maybe he moved out. Or, maybe he got called back for more training at the 007 Hero Womanizer Academy. I did see Sean Connery coming out of the Plaza Hotel not too long after. Bond may have put an end to the boy for so shamefully failing them. Too bad.

Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetically hilarious exploits of me not having sex in the city. Leave a message and I'll call you back, CelibateCity@juno.com