Bobbing for Adam’s Apple in the Big Apple: Epilogue
I’ve told the story of my adventures in NYC to many friends (some have had the misfortune of hearing it >5 times) and in the end, everyone wants to know: “Do you still keep in touch with Adam?” This is one of the reasons that prompted me to write an Epilogue this multi-part saga.
The short answer is yes: Adam and I still communicate. But, before I get to that, let me detail the denouement with Tony the Chef.
What I failed to mention in Part 2 of this post, is that during our date, I added Tony to my Facebook. (Why, you ask? Well, what was I supposed to do when Tony was figuratively breathing down my neck as I searched for him on Facebook, with his smart phone in hand and at the ready, so he could accept my friend request right away?)
The first thing that Tony did once we were ‘Facebook Friends’ was what any self-respecting creep would do: went through my entire profile, and ‘Liked’ all of my bikini shots. Thanks, Tony. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate a man who appreciates my body, but at that stage of our ‘relationship’, he was sending the wrong message. But, as you’ll see, at least his message was consistent throughout…
And truth be told, I’m used to this: i.e. guys ogling my bikini shots. A close guy friend once confessed that the first thing he does when a girl adds him to Facebook, is go through all her beach photos.
Tony and I chatted a few times via the Facebook chat. For your entertainment, here’s an excerpt of our conversations:
Tony: hi baby (: what at are you up 2
Me: going to bed in like 5 min; have to get up early to get ready for my conference
Tony: oh i thought u going to ask meet to come and meet u
Me: yeah, no
haha; sorry! I had to be ready to work tomorrow
Tony: ); when u will come again in ny
Me: Aug 2012
Tony ): no u have to come sooner
(Do I now?!)
Tony: why u dont find the same job but in ny
Me: Because I like where I live.
Seriously, I don't want to move to NY just because. Maybe in a year or 2 I will, but now right now.
Tony: you have to choose me or where u live
(well, that’s an easy choice… and that’s what I told him…)
Me: you know, I've known you for 1.5 hours. So, it's an easy choice to make.
Tony: hahahah, yea i know but i am good guy good husband for u
[…]
Me: Met any exciting people as of late?
Tony: Yea but nothing special! What about you?
Me: Nope - but that's to be expected. Good thing I'm not desperate. I figure I'll give it another 8 years then I'll start getting worried.
Tony: Oh than i can't wait for you
(Oh dear! How will I ever get on with my life?!)
Me: I hope that you weren't seriously planning on doing that!
Tony: Doing what ?
Me: waiting for me
Tony: Why not ?
Me: Because you met me for 1 hr, and I live in Canada, and don't actually have any intention of moving to NY. Or the US, for that matter.
Tony: I move to Canada
(Yes, b'y?!)
Me: Really? Well, I hope it's because you want to, and not for anyone. You are a really nice guy, but not my type. Although, I have to say, but the sound of it, girls in Canada are much nicer, so you'd probably have better luck finding someone here.
Tony: Thanks
(I won’t even start on how I feel about people who don’t believe in capitalization, punctuation, and/or substitute words with numbers.)
See what I mean about Tony being consistent? Consistently creepy. Following that final exchange, I deleted and blocked him. Gents (and Ladies too)… it is absolutely unacceptable to want to move to another country for someone you had known for 1 hour. It is not romantic. It’s a ticket to a restraining order.
On to Adam. I already mentioned that we still converse, and quite regularly at that. He continues to entertain me with his escapades; and I entertain him with mine. I’d describe our relationship as ‘friendship’; nothing more nothing less.
In fact – and I’ll withhold the corroborating details – I’m pretty sure that had we met under different circumstances (i.e. those where I was actually looking to have a relationship in New York) then it probably wouldn’t have worked out with Adam. We might not even have met.
What I take away from my debaucheries in New York is a great memory. And a friend. J
The Surge of the Supreme Suburbanite
I’ve recently, on two separate occasions, had the misfortune to come face-to-face with a new type of man: The Supreme Suburbanite. Before I get into trouble with my male readers, I’d like to disclaim that this title can (and does) also apply to women. The basic definition of a Supreme Suburbanite is: “a home body with tight schedule.” It is important to distinguish that not all Suburbanites are Supreme; but all Supreme Suburbanites are, in fact, Suburbanites. There also exist Supreme Downtowners, which I confess I am.
I further illustrate this concept of The Supreme Suburbanite (SS) in the typical fashion: with a story.
I began talking to Sam on OKCupid (new mating ground!) sometime in early March. I was instantly drawn to his online persona: he seemed funny, quirky, and light-hearted. So, I initiated contact. We exchanged lengthy and detailed e-mails over about 5 weeks, mainly due to the fact that I was on vacation in an area not consistently serviced by Internet for 2.5 of those weeks.
For those of you who’ve been following my blog since inception, you’ll know that I’m not normally a big fan of prolonging the online relationship, favoring instead exchanging the basics, and then taking it offline to see if there’s chemistry there. Sam wasn’t forthcoming with the invite to meet outside Internet, so I suggested it.
Up until that point, there were only few minor flags about Sam; flags that I was choosing to ignore because of their triviality and my friends’ insistence that these were ‘normal things.’ Like the fact that Sam expressed that he was content with his Government job, and would likely stay with the Government for the entirety of his career. (Apparently it’s not uncommon amongst my peers to want some sort of job security! What a strange concept!) And the fact that he was an introvert, and as such diametrically opposed to my extreme extroversion. However, these were not deemed deal breakers, and thus I suggested we meet up later on in the week, and quoted my availability to be on Wednesday and Thursday evenings.
This is when Sam chose to reveal himself as the Supreme Suburbanite that he was. His response to me was:
Him: “We'll have to work with our schedules a bit. I don't generally go out during the week because it means I have to drive back into the city (since I live in Orleans). So if we did meet during the week it would have to be super early like 3:30pm. I work really early hours, so I'm usually up at 5:00am (which means an early bedtime!) My preference would be on a weekend, maybe early afternoon on a Saturday?”
Before we get any further, if you’re not from Ottawa, substitute Orleans for another suburb that’s within a 15-min drive of the downtown core, and away we go!
When I read this message initially, I laughed and shook my head in dismay. I re-read his response a few times, to make sure I understood it properly. I mean, who do you know that’s available for a date at 3:30pm on a weekday? Granny?!?!
After thinking about it some more, I proceeded to informally poll my friends to see if I was being unnecessarily mean-spirited. I really wanted to be wrong about Sam.
Now, one friend of mine in particular (Male friend), usually berates me for making superficial judgments about people based on statements similar to these. In an attempt to give Sam the benefit of the doubt, I consulted Male friend about the above message, since – not only is he a …well … male – he also lives in this “Orleans”.
Male friend: Are you instantly drawn to him, with all other practicalities aside?
Me: I suppose yes. I wouldn't have messaged him otherwise.
Male friend: So what are you unsure about?
Me: I am unsure about this: <insert text above here>
***Pause***
Male friend: Does that schedule generally work for you?
Male friend: LOL.
I live in Orleans.
Like it's so far. K.
Case closed.
Don't reply. The end. Or like have one random extremely time-specific date and not continue
I live in Orleans. To say downtown is too far is fucking pathetic. Pass on this idiot. […]
…and complementary personalities are okay. But like: “I can only meet on Saturday mornings? That's already a stance. That just clashes with you. That's a practical stance I mean, versus just ideological.
Me: do you have anything else to add?
Male friend: don't know that there's much else to say. Clearly his life is closed off and he's content with being restrictive.
It is my opinion that there is nothing wrong with living the suburbs. In fact, if you’re tired for the constant drunken brawls at all hours of the day that go hand-in-hand with downtown living, then suburbs are in fact a great place to be. In addition, in Ottawa, it’s the only place people (couples, families) with a cumulative income below <$150K can afford to buy property. However, what’s not right is thinking ‘a downtown’ is like the Lost City of Atlantis. Inconceivable, and most certainly, cannot be traveled to, unless on a special discovery mission.
To make this worse, if this was an isolated incident, I wouldn’t have written about it. It just so happened, that I went on a date this past Saturday with someone else, who – first of all, was 10 minutes late because he didn’t know where downtown was; and second of all, didn’t even know what Bridgehead was (for out-of-townies, it’s a local coffee house chain, with multiple locations; some even within a 10 km radius of the downtown). And no, this guy didn’t just move to Ottawa.
Folks! This is why Google (Maps) exists!
Anyways, back to Sam. In the end, even though I really wanted to go on a date with him, and tell him face-to-face that he was close-minded, irrational, and quite frankly OLD, so I just didn’t want to waste his or my time. So, I replied with an honest:
“I'm not sure there's any point to it. It seems that we have opposite schedules…I've twice been in relationships with people who had a schedule completely opposite to mine, and it just doesn't work.
He thanked me for my honestly, wished me luck, and I’ve never heard from him again.
From OK to bad to ugly: Part 1 of 3
Dear friends, we’ve now come to Date 4 of my 4-date weekend. Bachelor #4’s name was Darryl and he magically managed to piss me off even before we had ARRANGED a date. My standards must’ve really hit rock bottom by that time, since I had still agreed to go on a date with him. He – in fact – pissed me off so much that I figuratively jumped down his throat via SMS. Let me back up and explain:
After we exchanged contact info, it soon became apparent that Darryl was Mister Texty-Text. And – let me tell you – it’s not like he shared with me the meaning of life via SMS; his texts were irrelevant and meaningless. And he just kept texting me and texting me and texting me. At first, I thought it was cute, but let’s face it, THIS…
1:32 PM SMS # 1: Hi
1:35 PM SMS #2: How are you?
1:38 PM SMS # 3: What are you doing now?
1:42 PM SMS #4: I’m working.
1:50 SMS #5: It’s not very busy here at work.
… is only cute for the first 5 min. I didn’t say anything right away … I mean I hadn’t even met the guy. I let him go on for a bit, while trying to telepathically and physically (by not responding), encourage him into silence. But, Darryl was incorrigible. So, finally, when he texted me ...
3:15 PM SMS #1: What are you up to now?
3:16 PM SMS #2: Hello?
3:20 PM SMS #3: What’s up?
3:23 PMSMS #4:….
… not 2 hours later, something inside me snapped and I replied with:
“I’ll tell you what’s up. These text messages aren’t doing anything for me. AND, I don’t have unlimited texts.”
(I was super pissed off; I actually didn’t care if he texted me back at this point.)
He texts back:
“Sorry. Can I call you instead?”
Feeling half-stupid, half-guilty, I texted back saying that I would much prefer that, and apologizing for the harshness and inappropriateness of my retort. In hindsight, I should have just ignored him. So, he did call me later that night, and we arranged to meet up for a beer the following evening (Sunday).
By the time Sunday evening rolled ‘round, I was exhausted because I’d already been on 3 dates in the last 48 hours, and I had one more to go. But, who’ve I had to blame but myself?! Nevertheless, I was tired and eager to get the date with Mister Texty-Text over with. Deep down, I actually hoped that it wouldn’t go well. There’s something to be said for self-fulfilling prophecy…
We had decided to meet for a beer at the local brewpub. I was 2 minutes late for the date. He was later than late. (When will I stop being surprised by that fact?) But, when he finally walked in, he looked… OK. There was potential. We started chatting, ordered a couple of beers, and were generally having a good time. He was funny… in that dry sarcastic way that never fails to entice me. Honestly I enjoyed my date with him, and he with me. At least that’s what I had assumed when we both parted with the ever-so-awkward “we should do this again.”
That's it of Part 1 of 3. Please come back shortly for Parts 2 and 3. I guarantee you won't regret it!
Let’s play a love game
Who was it again that said that guys don’t play games? It’s irrelevant at this point, since that individual was uninformed. Boys/Guys/Men play games as well. Not only have I observed this myself, but it was explicitly stated to me by numerous male friends.
Admittedly though, we play different games. (If you’ve never read the book Love Bites, by it’s Happy Bunny, I highly recommend it. It has a great chapter on Games.)
Games girls play
Let’s examine the following scenario:
Girl: “Why don’t you come over and watch movie with me?”
Boy: “I am tired and want to go to bed.”
What she’s thinking: Hmm, he doesn’t want to come over. Maybe he’s angry with me. Or, maybe he’s lying. He’s probably cheating on me. Or, he’s playing poker with the guys, or hitting up the clubs. Maybe he’s lost interest in me. What if I’m not pretty anymore? Etc.
What the guy is thinking: I’m tired. I’m going to bed.
As the result of the female neurotic processes the girl will now attempt to telepathically figure out what the guy is “really” thinking. Once she feels she’s done, she’ll determine some sort of punishment for the guy, and will consequently attempt to inform him of it, telepathically. Poor schmuck!
I have been guilty of such behavior, though perhaps not as coo-coo. A while back, I was “seeing” a guy, and after talking with him – either via phone or e-mail, on a daily or bi-daily basis for a few months, he didn’t call me or communicate with me for a week. So, I figured he was mad at me for some reason, and did something he later termed as inappropriate. It also turns out that he hadn’t called because he had been busy.
Girls’ psycho behavior makes guys put the following warnings on their online profile:
“Ciao! Firstly, save the drama for your mama...”
“SO IF YOU WANNA PLAY GAMES SORRY BUT F**K OFF” [sic]
“im not into head games” [sic]
To be honest, this turns me off. Since I know that guys play games as well (perfect lead in to the next section, don’t you think?)
Games guys play
By far the most popular game they play is the Asshole game. What is this? Since guys are not telepathic – and have never claimed to be – they respond to girls’ games by generally behaving like assholes (i.e. not calling back, displaying un-gentleman-like behavior, etc.) because they just can’t figure the girls out. This is simply an adaptive response to girls’ unreasonableness. For ages, men have tried to figure out why women are so nuts, and figured out that the best way to address it is to act like a total asshole because that’s what we expect of them anyways. And some girls even like it! (as crazy as it sounds.)
So generally, if a girl is to question out loud: “Why are you such an asshole?” Guy responds: “Because that’s how assholes act.”
It’s an infinite loop. The only way to stop this insane behavior by the genders is COMMUNICATION (e.g. discuss expectations for your relationships.) If you need a lesson on communication, I can lend you my textbook from Sexual Behavior course from university. It has EXCELLENT advice.
In the end, I reiterate that men’s game is really a response to girls’ behavior. The only way figure guys out, is to take their words at face value.
Grandpa the Cupid
Are you a victim of matchmaking/matchmaking parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings, or other random family members?
Until very recently, I have never been able to empathize with my friends whose family members continually try and hook them up with nice boys, or nice girls. That doesn't happen to me. My parents – being very young – just don’t have friends with sons my age! I guess I have been blessed. At least, that’s what I thought, until I went back to Motherland.
Let me remind you that last time I went back – 2 years ago – my grandfather had been intent on introducing me to the “nice, smart, 30-year old gentleman” who worked with him. Alas, that didn’t happen, and the nice young man was very disappointed – or so Grandpa claimed. This time, I hoped to escape my grandfather’s meddling in my love-life, which is really just a major ploy to try to get me to move back to Russia.
But, no such reprieve was to be had by me. Within 10 minutes of getting into the car to go to my grandparents’ datcha (the Russian version of a cottage, albeit a lot more rustic), they announced that my potential husband had married someone else. In case you are wondering, that was the EXACT wording used (except, in Russian). Something inside me died at that news. There were tears, many, many tears. They were silent tears of relief.
But, my quiet hurrah was short-lived. My singlehood was the subject of many-a-conversations that ensured in days that followed. In fact, I was eventually forced to have a strongly worded discussion with my step-Grandma, during which I, in no uncertain terms, revealed that I had absolutely no intention of moving back to Russia for a guy. For a great job, maybe; but for a guy – great or not – definitely not! Grandma was miffed. So, she told Grandpa. And so, over dinner, they proceeded to make a mental list of boys who would move to Canada. Feeling defeated, I let them. I believe that there was only 1 suitable candidate. He’s probably short.
However, in the end, I persevered. I promised them that I will go to Harvard for my grad degree and it is there, that I will find my beloved: someone who is tall and smart. In fact, I made it seem like it was their idea. Genius, eh?
Oh Lord, what have I got myself into?