Archive | September, 2012

You’re a Lucky Girl

17 Sep

Hi everyone – Happy Fall!  Clearly, I took a summer hiatus from the blog.  I spent nearly every weekend out of the city at the beach and, to be honest, didn’t do much dating.  However, I recently got back in the game with an end-of-summer date.  Here are the dirty details:

I met Luke online and we went through the requisite steps before meeting up for our date.  He informed me that he would only be able to grab a late-night drink over the following couple of weeks because of a busy work schedule.  I was fine with that, but wasn’t prepared for him to be completely unable to plan it.  That evening, we engaged in a drawn-out text conversation about where to meet:

Luke:  I work at X St. and Y Ave.  There are lots of bars around here, and I assume you’ll be passing through this area.

Me:  I’m actually back up by home already.

Luke:  Okay, I could head up there if you had something in mind.

Me:  Well, I don’t know much near X St. and Y Ave., but have you been to This Bar, which is in between the two of us?

Luke:  No, I haven’t – but there are lots of bars near X St. and Y Ave.  I could suggest something if you come down.

Me: (Feeling annoyed, but knowing I just need to stop this texting).  Okay, I can meet by 9pm – just let me know where to meet you.

Luke:  Let’s meet on the corner of X St. and Y Ave.  We can figure it out from there.

Apparently “lots of bars” were too hard for him to choose from, so we needed to meet on a corner.  Okay, not the best start.  But hey, it’s a date.  I gave myself a little pep talk (“Don’t judge, you may end up having a good time.  This isn’t easy for anyone.”)  Upon exiting the cab, I noticed Luke walking towards me.  He approached with an ass-out, one-limp-armed hug, said “Hey” in the most blah voice ever, and began walking down the street.  His greeting seemed appropriate for a girlfriend who had cheated on him with his best friend, a girlfriend who he was meeting with to have “one last talk” before she officially became his ex.

We went to bar on the corner of the exit of a really busy bridge, so traffic was whizzing by our outdoor table.  A full half-hour passed before Luke asked anything about me.  By that point, I knew where he lived, what he did for work, what school he attended (both grad and undergrad), and his dog’s name and favorite walk route.  Even so, most of his descriptions were limited to a few words.  When I asked him what he’s been doing on the weekends over the summer, he replied, “Not much.”  That was it.  When I asked if he has friends from college in the NY area, he replied, “Yeah, some.”  That was it.  He also went on to mention his ex-girlfriend twice in the span of an hour.

Then I asked about his job – he had moved to NYC a few months earlier and had begun working at a new place.  As a follow-up to the “not much” response regarding his weekend activities, I wondered aloud whether he may have to work a lot on weekends since he’s at a new job.  Luke’s response:  “Yeah, I want to make money, so I work a lot.  Actually, I want to make a lot of money, so I work a lot.”  Well, that’s attractive.

While I was hearing about his college experience, he let me know that he lived near the World Trade Center during the 9/11 attacks.  I responded that it must have been such a strange time to be in New York, and that I could only imagine since I was out of state for school.  Since we were on the topic, I mentioned that my dad actually worked in the World Trade Center and was there on September 11th.  I received a blank stare in response.  Feeling awkward and confused by the lack of response, I nervously added, “Yeah, he worked above the 100th floor and had to walk down.  It was really terrible waiting to hear from him to find out whether he got out, and we were so lucky that he did.”  Luke’s response?  A flat “Yeah, that’s a lot of stairs.”

Ten minutes into this date, it was clear to me that this wasn’t going anywhere.  During the first drink, Luke stepped to the street side of the barrier near our table to smoke a cigarette.  Somehow he slipped through the internet-matching cracks, as I don’t typically get matched with smokers.  Nothing against smokers, but I just know it’s a non-negotiable for me in the dating world.  Later in the evening, I returned from the bathroom to find him smoking again on the street by our table.  As he talked to me, a girl approached him and asked him for a cigarette.  She took it from him and then turned to me. “You’re a lucky girl!”, she exclaimed.  “Oh really?”  I replied.  “Why’s that?”  The girl explained it to me very simply.  “He smokes Parliaments!  Nobody ever smokes Parliaments anymore.  Whenever I bum a cigarette, the person always pulls out Newport Lights.  Newport Lights are disgusting!  Parliaments are the best.  Seriously, you are one lucky girl.”

Yes, I sure am.