Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Gem #2 (or HOTHO)

Disclaimer: this entry is along non-PG level. Not even PG-13. If you have delicate sensibilities, you’ve been forewarned.

The second gem I met through my Craigslist experiment was a 30 year old English teacher living in Astoria; NYC born, NYC bred. His response was similar to Gem #1 in that it was funny and well written. He included pictures and the closest thing I can compare him to is Buddy Holly. He was a Hipster Of The Highest Order (HOTHO). This was going to be a departure for me.

I went out with HOTHO after my date with Fresh Meat when it didn’t seem like I was going to hear from him again. I wasn’t waiting around for Fresh Meat to get his act together, I was a rolling stone gathering no dating moss!

We made plans to meet the following week for some drinks, but in the meantime started gchatting each other. He was funny. And I think funny is hot. So by the undeniable high school math equation “If, then” is applied here we get: If he is funny and I think funny is hot, then he is hot. Making me laugh gives you brownie points so quickly, and it’s the easiest and funnest way to earn them! As a tiny red flag, he was already referring to me and us in the future tense. For example, he was already planning on taking me to Met’s games the following season. Hm. Um. Hold those horses Mr. Wayne.

I allowed him to choose the bar we would meet at and I trudged off to Astoria after work one fine Tuesday. We were texting as we were traveling and he told me he was wearing an orange hoodie. I was already skeptical. Hoodie to me says: I put absolutely no effort into this outfit whatsoever. However, the caveat here is that he was a HOTHO and therefore hoodies are part of the uniform. I still was able to sight him two blocks away, though.

I entered the bar where he was already ordering some of Brooklyn’s finest lager and we awkwardly said hello. He chose a corner booth where leg room was minimal and required knocking knees. I suspect(ed) this was on purpose. He frequently used the intimate space to emphasize his point by touching my thigh. Side note: not as cute in person. But, as online dating goes, you gotta just roll with it.

Backstory: while gchatting, we had discussed the merits of napping. Oh, the glories of napping!!! We were apparently both fans.

Segway back: After one drink he turns to me and asks, “So what do you want to do? Another drink? Dinner? …..nap?”

I’m sorry. Wait. Did you just ask me to “nap” after one drink??

It was raining outside and I used this as an excuse to respond with a, “um, it doesn’t look so hot out there, why don’t we get another drink?”

So we got another drink. At this point I’m thinking that he’s not a troll. I’m thinking that he’s not the yin to my yang, but I’m not having a terrible time. So after we finish our second drink, he asks again what I want to do. I respond, “’let’s take a nap!”. Please don’t misunderstand, dear reader, I’m not a total vamp. I was thinking some good old fashioned high school couch tonsil hockey could be nice.

Here’s where I learned a valuable dating lesson, which is why I’m sharing this story and still hoping you’re not judging me. Taken aback, he said stuttering, “oh! I’m sorry, I, I just, I just didn’t think you were into it….”

And there’s my dating feedback, my college moniker given to me by my dear friend Lindsay, the Ice Princess apparently lives on. Now, when I go on a date, I make sure I’m encouraging (if I’m into it) and not an ice cold bitch.

I back away from the invitation; his surprise wasn’t encouraging to me so I start to rescind my statement. But he now pursues it. He offers to drive me home. Perfect, 1) I don’t have to spend 45 minutes going two miles and 2) cars are perfect to make out in!

He drives me home and we end up in my apartment. I’m going to spare you the details of one of the most awkward experiences of my life. And yes, I realize how improbable that statement is, because all of my dates are landmines of discomfort.

He actually DID want to nap. We were NOT on the same page.

He whispered into my ear that he had already, um, pleasured himself to my photograph the previous weekend.

And the cherry on top: he asked me to toss his salad.

Nuff said.

I hope it’s needless to say, but we did not see each other after that.

Tossed Salad (too easy?):

Hard Boiled Egg
Oh, eff it – do you really need me to spell this out?

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