I Handle Uncertainty With a Certain Aplomb. Not Really.

It was the day I was to hear from Dean regarding my proposition. He was to consult with his therapist and give me an answer. And then I might have a boyfriend! Alternatively, I might spend the next few weeks convinced that I was a love pariah, in the words of my favorite diarist.

I felt kind of queasy, though perhaps it was all the Swedish fish I'd had for breakfast. I keep my email account open on my desktop at work, so every time a new message hits my inbox there’s a ping! As soon as I heard the sound I would click on the window, only to find annoucements from The Body Shop or a newsletter from my college.

When did Dean see his shrink, anyway? The later it got, the worse my odds, I figured. If he wasn't interested, he might put off writing to me, whereas if the answer was yes, he had no reason to wait. I thought the earliest I might hear from was about 12:00 noon.

Noon came and went. At two o'clock I had decided if he hadn't contacted me by 5:00, the answer was no.

Time passed. I read other people's blogs. I read The New York Times. For variety, I did a little work. Just before 3:30, my computer pinged.

He had emailed me. The subject line was Very Well, Young Lady!

I thought, !!!

I opened the email: Yes, Dean had written, he thought it would be a good idea if we were to see one another exclusively. I read the words again. I guess his shrink had approved. I pictured Dean's shrink, seeing him with a beard and a strong resemblance to Sean Connery. I really, really liked his shrink, I decided.

I was happy, but also incredibly relieved I wouldn't have to spend the next few days valiantly trying not to be upset.

So I wrote back to say that I was really pleased.

Then I emailed Jefferson to give him the news.

I Gird My Loins and State My Case

The minute I left Dean’s apartment I placed a phone call to my sainted therapist: “Caroline?” I bleated to her voice mail. “This is Lily. I’ve precipitated a crisis with Dean. Can you call me back as soon as you get this?”

Then I went to work in the (mild) November rain, where I did what I always do when faced with romantic confusion: I emailed Jefferson. I had confided my crush on Dean to him some months ago, and he had been unfailingly kind in allowing me to blather on about it. Jefferson has also been the patient recipient of my more inane ramblings, like my astonishment at coming across a reference to Lesa Aldridge in an old Smithsonian magazine (kind of obscure: Aldridge is the onetime girlfriend of Alex Chilton -- he of the super-awesome Big Star, The Box Tops, and that Replacements song) as well as my disgruntlement at my sister’s choice of name for my newborn nephew (she named the baby after our grandfather. But that name was earmarked for my as-yet-unborn son!) Best of all, Jefferson always responds to my emails, and in a timely manner. Truly, yea, he is a paragon. And then, after some cathartic whining, I composed an email to Dean.

It was a very nice email, but it said that I was dumping him on the grounds that I didn’t think he wanted to be my boyfriend, and the casual nature of our relationship was turning me into a nervous wreck. I waited for Caroline to call me back before I sent it, since I never do anything without her approval. When she phoned I recounted my conversation with Dean. She suggested that perhaps instead of dumping him as a preemptive strike, I should instead ask Dean if he wanted to date me seriously.

“I don’t want to do that,” I whined. “That gives him the chance to reject me.” Also, it would make my email an ultimatum, which meant I was the kind of woman who gave ultimatiums: manipulative, scheming ... female. I preferred to see myself in a more flattering light.

But Caroline prevailed, since she is the therapist and I am the neurotic. I thanked her and then I sent the following email:

Dear Dean,

Hi. I cannot tell you how much I regret our conversation last night. I revealed information I suspected you did not want to hear and painted myself into a corner. But I learned my lesson, and that lesson is Lay off the pinot grigio. I'm still hungover. Jesus.

But the corner. As I said, I want to date you seriously, exclusively, whatever. But you said you weren’t sure you were capable of being in a relationship, which, alas, didn’t sound like a yes to me.

I think that the more I see you, the more I will want that kind of intimacy. So there are two options. One is I stop seeing you. Frankly, my nerves are shot and if we continue to date casually, there is a strong likelihood of a repeat of last night’s theatrics. I’m not up for that. The other option is you give some thought to us dating exclusively. And then you say, ‘OK, sounds good.’ That means we take our personals profiles down and you think of me as your girlfriend and when we get together we make dumb jokes and have sex.

…

Anyway. I’m sorry I haven’t got the nerve to talk to you about this in person. I will be disappointed if you don’t want to give it a go, but I will understand. (This part was not really true: I would have a hard time understanding. For once I was the victim of high self-esteem; I thought he ought to want to date me). I will miss you. I like you tremendously and think you’re lovely and, if this is it, I really hope everything turns out well for you. Take care. Many kisses.

Lily

I sent it and decided I would not check my email until the following morning. To facilitate this, I went home and went to bed. It was not yet 7:00 pm, but I’d had a trying 24 hours.

The following morning there was an email in my inbox from Dean. He too apologized for the conversation, said he liked me very much, and needed to discuss my proposition with his therapist. See? I thought, We have so much in common!

So then I settled down to wait for his answer. I didn’t cry, though. I’m done with that. At least I hope I am.

This is a Low

I don’t think I’ve felt this wrecked by a guy since 2003. Even when I was fretting so theatrically about Daniel, I never felt rejected, and my tears were slight and possibly the result of too much to drink. The problem with Daniel was that I was jealous, and morose about the fact that we had no future together. But with Jeremy, it’s worse: there’s no one to be jealous of, which means he just doesn’t like me, and there’s no reason we can’t have a future together, except that he doesn’t want one. That plays right into all my longstanding fears about my desirability.

I am so angry with Jeremy for not responding to my email, and angry with myself for having expectations and for feeling so disappointed and rejected, and just miserable in every sense of the word. Yesterday I started a new temp assignment, and when I went to the bathroom I wept for a good ten minutes, and the tears washed off my makeup and my eyes were swollen for the rest of the day. In fact they still are, ’cause I’m still crying off and on. I have a terrible cold and I’m afraid this is going to become a full blown depressive episode and I won’t be able to work and I’ll have no money and will never get a real job and will never stop thinking that if only Jeremy liked me, everything would be OK.

I still cannot get over the fact that he didn’t respond to my email. What kind of person does that? I made it so bloody easy for him! All he had to do was say, “Sorry, Lily, I’m not interested.” That was it. He didn’t have to meet me, or to disabuse me of any fantasies, or even to pick up the goddamn phone. I gave him such an easy out. But he couldn’t even be bothered to give me that courtesy. I wasn’t even worth that to him. But instead of hating him I loathe myself for not being the person that Jeremy wants to date, or even to be polite to. What kind of person dates someone for six weeks and then disappears without even an email? Well, a lot of people, actually, but I never thought I would fall for one of them! And at the back of my mind is the knowledge that he probably doesn’t treat everyone this way; he has had other relationships and must, after 38 years on this planet, have some sort of idea of etiquette. It’s just that I’m so unbearable that his usual gallantry is overwhelmed, and he has to pretend I don’t exist. And then I have stupid, stupid thoughts like, What if he was the right person for me, only he doesn’t know it? Ah. I’m crying again.

***
And then there’re the fantasies: for instance, Daniel, seeing how miserable I am, finds out Jeremy’s name and address and, unbeknownst to me, seeks him out and beats him up. “How could you hurt Lily?” he demands. Jeremy struggles to his knees on the pavement outside his apartment building, impressed by Daniel’s devotion to me, not to mention the fact that my defender is much hotter than he is. “She’s the loveliest, sexiest girl you’ll ever meet!” Daniel cries passionately. “Don’t you think she deserves an explanation for your appalling behavior?!” And then Jeremy, bloodied but enlightened, will be brought to his senses and declare himself totally in love with me. That’s the best one. The others are more like actual possible outcomes of seeing Jeremy, and could more accurately be described as nightmares: I ring Jeremy’s doorbell and demand an explanation. Jeremy, upon realizing who’s standing on his stoop, calls the cops. Then I start crying hysterically, the cops shake their head, and Jeremy never once ventures out of his apartment. If only this wouldn’t make me a stalker, I might do it (the demanding the explanation part, hopefully not the hysterical crying part). But it means I would forfeit whatever dignity I have left at this point, and might be arrested to boot. Or perhaps I run into Jeremy on the street and block his way until he tells me why the hell he couldn’t even reject me properly. Jeremy, flustered, says it’s because he thought I wasn’t interested in a serious relationship. I tell him, “All right! Let’s have a serious relationship! I’m all yours!” and then Jeremy panics and I am forced to see that that isn’t the reason at all, he didn’t cut himself off from me because I’m so wonderful, but because he just finds me boring or stupid or unappealing or all three. That scenario would require me running into him on the street, however, which is not too likely, unless I were to station myself on his block. And again, if the idea weren’t totally transparent and stalker-y, I might do it. Obviously the Daniel version is my favorite. Of course, as unhappy as I am, I hope I will not actually spill my guts to Daniel about this, since that would be pretty impolite, to whine about romantic misery regarding Jeremy to someone else I’m sleeping with. So I’m stuck.

I’m at the horrible point where I’m wishing it were three or four weeks ago, that I could have one more night to sort things out with Jeremy. I’m thinking about our time together over and over, when he said this or I said that, and how he looked when he fucked me… thinking how naïve I was, not to realize how lucky I was to have met him… yesterday at my horrible new temp job I was filing, and the very sight of the words “New Jersey” on a folder gave me a pang, because Jeremy grew up there.

And at the back of my head is the faint hope that Jeremy is out of town and hasn’t seen my email. I could find this out easily enough by looking at his online profile and seeing when he was last online. But I won’t, because I already know the answer.


Later
At last my therapist Caroline returned my call, just as I had about stopped crying for what seems like the seventh time in three days.

“Listen to yourself,” she chided, after I’d told her how Jeremy had not even responded to my email, and how insulted and hurt I was that he couldn’t even be bothered to write to me. (By the time I got through my recitation I had, of course, started weeping once more). “Do you really think he didn’t write you back because you’re not worth a response?” said Caroline. “That he has so much contempt for you? That’s ridiculous. Don’t you think he might feel ambivalent?”

Well… “But it doesn’t matter if he’s ambivalent if he’s not going to write me back!” I wailed.

Caroline said that my response to this whole affair suggests that what I really want is to have a serious relationship again, as evidenced by my spark of interest in Jeremy when he said he was interested in marriage, etc. I think my response suggests that I am a glutton for rejection. “I know this is hard,” Caroline said. “But you’re going to have to let this be the end, even without the closure you want from his response.”

I am in big favor of closure. In fact, I need it. Otherwise I can't let things go (no kidding!) and my obsessive thoughts (an example of which is this post, ahem) can inch into overdrive. It's very boring. “But I don’t want to let this be the end,” I whined. “I want him to get in touch with me! Oh God!” And I burst into tears. Again.

But then I decided that I will pretend that Jeremy is going to write me. He is going to send me a brief, polite email, one that will explain his feelings. And until his desertion completely sinks in, I will pretend that he’s going to get in touch at any moment, that he’s thinking about me and wants to tell me things. This is contrary to my entire philosophy, which is that it’s best to just expect the worst, but if it keeps me from collapsing in tears on the phone, I might give it a go anyway.

The Hazards of Email

Tonight is my date with Jordan. Yesterday he suggested that we meet in my neighborhood. I knew what that meant: sex chez moi so he could get home at a reasonable hour (by 10:00 pm, as he’d noted in an earlier email. I assume he has to relieve the nanny).

My neighborhood is almost entirely devoid of bars and restaurants. There is a bar right near the subway station, which calls itself a sports bar, but, as my roommate Jenny says, it’s really an Old Man’s Bar. She’s been there a few times and likes it, but when I walked by last night with a view to meeting Jordan there, I couldn’t bring myself to go in. I’m not squeamish, really. Only there were no women there whatsoever, men were shouting (watching a game) and people were smoking, too. It just looked grim. So this limited the possibilities somewhat. About a mile from me is a restaurant-intensive neighborhood, but none of the bars there are in any way romantic or quiet. Plus, a mile is a long way to go when you're planning to meet at 6:00 for drinks, have sex and get home to another borough by 10:00. I was thinking I could just suggest he bring a bottle and I would cook dinner, but should I even reveal that I expect us to have sex tonight? Would cooking for him make me seem anxious for a relationship? I know that these worries are fairly ridiculous, but casual sex has the potential to be a minefield, and I want to get out with my dignity intact.

Finally I emailed him, suggesting a restaurant about ¾ of a mile from me, one we’d actually spoken about when we met, and then offered the local Outback Steakhouse (in a mall, not terribly sexy at all!) as an alternative. I just checked my email. He’d “prefer the Outback.” I bet he would! That would solve the proximity issue. I’m really nervous, as a matter of fact. He’s for sure dominant, and I don’t know what it will be like for me. And I have two roommates and a mattress on the floor of my bedroom. He’s a bona fide adult. Perhaps he’ll feel nostalgic when he sees the college-era poverty of my existence. Or maybe he’ll just be amazed that someone could be 33 and still living like a student.

Further news. I’d been emailing with a 32 year old self-described “incredibly dominant” writer (MFA from Columbia, whoo-hoo!) named Nick. Our emails had been not really about sex at all, just flirty.Which is exactly how I like them. Yesterday Nick asked me if I’d been up to anything “deviant” over the weekend – well, indeed I had! So I said yes, but declined to give any details. I didn’t want to provide a titillating “Guess what I’ve been up to” anecdote – it’s not his business, and I’d like to think I have a modicum of discretion. He pressed me, and I said that while I was happy to discuss my sexual proclivities, I wasn’t going to tell him the details of my weekend. That is solely for you, dear reader. The thing is, I don't want to discuss my sexual proclivities online at all. (Uh, I realize that's a bit disingenuous, considering that this is a blog). I’ll do it in person, but not via IM. Also, I think part of me was reluctant to give Nick the lowdown because, well, he’s dominant, and I am so wary of being dominated in any non sexual way, I felt compelled to refuse him. But I also felt that good manners required me to tell him the kinds of things that interested me, since I'd just denied him the details of my date with Daniel. So I did. That was uncomfortable for me. I can see Nick's point of view, that's there’s no point in meeting someone unless you know if you might be sexually compatible. But my feeling is, there’s not point in talking about sexual tastes unless you know you’re attracted to the person. Anyway, I swallowed my pride and went into a brief but reasonable amount of detail about the sort of experience(s) I thought I’d like, reiterating that I was inexperienced and would want to move at a snail’s pace. I ended the email asking, “Is this too vanilla for you?” I guess it was, cause I haven’t heard back from him. That’s just rude, I think. When you detail your sexual fantasies to a stranger as per his request, it is only polite to respond, even if it’s only with a “Ha ha ha! LOL!” A more appropriate response would have been the following:

“Dear Lily,
Thank you for being so open with me about your desires and concerns. Unfortunately, I think I am looking for someone with different tastes.
Best wishes,
Nick.”

This would have been a polite and respectful way to reject me. Now I’ve told a total stranger that it would be OK for him to come on my tits (I used the word tits, for God’s sake!) and he didn't even had the decency to say that sounded hot. Jackass.

Anyway, on the brighter side. Last night, as I was checking my email in vain for a note from Nick, I signed on to IM and eventually I saw that Daniel had signed on, too. He said hello, ("Hi cutie!" -- sweet) we chatted, and as I was about to go he asked if I wanted to do something this week. By "do something" I assume he means have sex. Yes, I would, I said. We’re going to make plans tonight. Thank God his sexual tastes seem to involve nothing more than having a lot of it. Broadening my horizons, sexually speaking, is turning into a nerve-wracking experience.

Dissed?

I haven't heard from Pete re: tomorrow night. When I went online last night, I signed on to Yahoo Messenger as invisible, cause I didn't think I could face another long conversation with him (um, that doesn't really bode well for our date, does it?). But there was no message from him either there or in my mailbox. He appeared to be offline as well. I kind of hope we're done. That would make things easier, despite being a play-by-play rehash of the spring rejection scenario.

On the other hand, I did IM with Daniel, who seems very nice indeed, and appears so far to be without noticeably obnoxious and overbearing tendencies. He lives right near me, too, which is nice. And he loves the novels of Terry Pratchett, so obviously we are well matched!

I'm supposed to meet Jason for a drink this evening, but on Friday I asked that we schedule something soon, and he never got back to me. Should I write him and suggest we firm up plans for tonight? Or just give him til noon and then scratch it? I'd prefer to do the latter, which makes me think I ought to do the former.

My Weekend

On Friday night I had my date with John. He’s in his forties but looks to be about my age. Nice, not very tall, shaved head, athletic build. And gay.

Well, probably not. But as soon as we met I thought: “Hey! This guy’s gay!” He was a bit effeminate. So, not for me. We met at a bar on 9th Avenue – the sign was barely visible and I walked past it before I realized that it was the place. It was a kind of chic, darkly-lit place, and I had a few Tom Collinses and we talked. Nice and all, but nothing doing.

After two drinks we walked to the 8th Avenue subway stop and, at a distance of about two feet, John announced, “Well, I think I’m going to head off now…” and we parted with mutual expressions of goodwill, and no touching whatsoever.

I haven’t heard from Jim since Thursday morning. I guess my worries were for naught, then.

Oh! And Alejandro! Well, get this: On Saturday morning I saw an email from him in my inbox. I opened it to discover that Alejandro was canceling on me because he wants to “make love on a spiritual level,” and so, he explained, having sex with me would be wrong. (I’m sorry, I’m giggling as I type this). Alejandro really is a nice person, and I wrote back to say no problem, good luck, etc., but he's so earnest! Part of me was like, “Hey, wait, I want to make love on a spiritual level too! I’m not shallow!” But of course, I don’t want to MLoaSL with Alejandro. And, in fact, I am shallow, so he’s got a point. But Alejandro is so cute and sincere, I’m sure he’ll find someone who doesn’t mind the fact that he wants to MLoaSL, and has no time for the regular kind of sex that takes place on a physical plane, let alone fucking. Ah, well.

And I’ve got lots of stuff to relate about Pete. Namely, that I think he actually is an alpha male jerk. On Saturday he did, indeed cancel on me, but promised that "we'd be fucking by midweek." I ignored the assumption that I would still want to fuck him after meeting him, and instead asked if he was sure he wanted to. Yes, he said. So I ping-ponged: "The thing is, you're awfully familiar. I seem to recall flirting with you back in April ...." After I revealed myself to him as the girl he'd flirted with and then dropped (NOT admitting that I’d known who he was all along), he apologized, and now we’re supposed to meet for drinks on Wednesday. And, strangest of all, he is a twin, as I speculated last week! And they are fraternal but look identical. So my theory could have been correct, after all. Though it’s probably not.

Pete's excuse for going AWOL last spring: he was in an on/off relationship, and that week it was on again. Not a very good excuse. But what was there to say? If I didn't like it, I could sign off and not IM him again. But I didn't. Now that we’ve been emailing again, I find him much less appealing than I did during the spring, Which just goes to show you: be careful what you wish for. I find all his explicit chat about fucking and blow jobs a little uncomfortable online -- isn't there a happy medium between making love on a spiritual level and being hammered over the head with a crudity that seems calculated to make the recipient uncomfortable? Or if not actually calculated, then at least stated knowing full well that the person you're talking to might feel uneasy with explicit language/intentions? When we IMed on Saturday night Pete was really pushing the dominance factor (e.g. he wrote, “I expect you to wear what I want you to wear,” etc. and “If I got you drunk I might have to fuck your ass,” to which I said, “In that case I’ll stay sober.” This was after I had said I wasn’t interested in anal sex. That's not quite true: I might be interested in it, but not with him.) Pete said later in the session that when he saw I wasn’t comfortable with strong dominance, he backed off, but still. I’m beginning to think I’m not submissive after all! When Pete said "If I wanted you to wear something, I would expect you to do it..." I was not exactly intimidated but really turned off. I think I made it clear that I really wouldn't be attracted to someone with such a dominant personality outside of the bedroom, but it made me feel off balance, and not exactly anticipating our date.

And thus far not once has Pete said a word about pleasing me. I mean, as I’ve said to him, I’m all into pleasing (I am!), which he says turns him on, but frankly I like a little reciprocity. This was revealed in spades last night when he said “I don’t do oral.” My instinctive response was “?!” and, "Now you tell me?!" but instead I wrote, “Why not?” in what I hope was a reasonable and calm manner. His response: “Just uncomfortable. Don’t like the taste. Don’t find it sexy. …. Deal-breaker?”

I was astounded, though perhaps not actually surprised. I thought it was sort of in keeping with his stance as this kind of “it’s all about me” sexual personality. On the other hand, I have never actually heard a guy say he didn’t like the taste before. Maybe not the taste of a particular woman, but not the taste of women in general. Does that mean he's a misogynist, or just a picky eater?

SIDEBAR Oh, God: once, in high school, one of my classmates complained that the girl he was sleeping with tasted of “hot mushrooms.” Christ. Though I suppose that’s better than tasting fishy. SIDEBAR ENDS.

I don't know if I'd want to go down on a woman myself, but then, I'm attracted to men. The idea that a man finds my taste revolting is somewhat inhibiting. There's something very relaxing and sexy about a guy who finds you so wonderful and erotic that he's got to stick his tongue inside you, you know? Eddie, for example, was rhapsodic: "You taste fantastic," etc. He actively enjoyed it, or at least he was eager to give that impression. That can only add to one's confidence in bed, even if, like me, you rarely actually get off from oral sex.

SIDEBAR I just read an email the guy I work for sent to a friend of his (he forwarded it to me so I could get the guy's address). And, ha! my boss broke up with his girlfriend and is, according to his email, "almost ready to start dating again" OK. That is probably the biggest breach of privacy I have committed in my entire career. Good thing I didn't reveal that his name is Ken Smith and he works for Dor--oops. (Obviously his name is not Ken Smith). But Ken Smith, as of course he is now known, is sort of cute for an older guy who's not a SRLI or an artist. He's a big guy, tall and broad, but not fat or bad looking. SIDEBAR ENDS

So now I really do have mixed feelings about Pete -- not sure I find his personality very attractive at this point, even though he knows tons about British comedy, which I feel usually indicates an appealing, self-deprecating demeanor. I really liked him better last spring! I think that if I do find him attractive, sex will be a one off. I find him rude, and I don't know quite how to express that to him without being really offensive myself. I also find him a bit intimidating, and he knows that. I think he likes the idea, which makes me defensive and irritable -- NOT the way I want to be with a sex partner.

Backstory: Pete

I didn't get around to mentioning this before. When I posted an ad on Craig's List on Tuesday evening, I immediately got a reply from Pete. Pete and I had an email flirtation back in April. We eventually set up a time to get nice and drunk, with the implicit promise that, should we get on well enough, and if I was drunk enough, we would go to bed together. Shortly after this he first postponed our date and then disappeared entirely. I found it pretty upsetting, cause we hit it off -- he could quote Father Ted and was dry and mildly self-deprecating. Exactly my type. I knew I didn't do anything wrong, so why did he change his mind? My mind worried at the rejection. Of course, there was no real reason, except he wasn't interested in me.

He'd cancelled our date, claiming to be sick, and didn't respond to my very brief email a few days later. So eventually I wrote him a short and, yes, polite and friendly note, indicating that it would be both appreciated and appropriate for him to explain why he'd changed his mind. I actually composed it on my phone at the joint birthday party Marc and I shared in April, and showed it to my friend J. He read it, laughed, and said it was absolutely correct and reasonable. Bless J. But thank God we were below ground and my cell reception was bad: drinking and texting do not mix!

SIDEBAR: Appropriate! That's my favorite term. That's what I aspire to: appropriateness. If you can't do the right thing, do the appropriate thing. SIDEBAR ENDS.

So in this rigorously pleasant and non-chastizing email I even offered him some reasons he could supply for his sudden lack of interest, such as: "I no longer fancy nerdy girls/I have met the love of my life/I am moving to Alaska." It was meant to be a not too serious kind of ending, so I could write him off without feeling bereft and rejected. He never responded, which was the worst part of all. The whole incident bothered me for some time.

Anyway, when I got his email on Tuesday night I was all of a dither. He used an email address I hadn't seen before. So late Wednesday night I emailed him back with a photo (not one he'd seen before) from the email address that shows me as Lily, my nom de guerre. I figured that if he recognized me, he wouldn't respond and if he did ... I could always pretend I hadn't recognized his photo. Then, later that evening, there was another email from him: he's certainly persistent. And so last night we spent about an hour on IM, a pastime that I actually hate. It feels really awkward. I hate innuendo online, I don't like revealing my sexual preferences via email (though apparently I don't mind being an exhibitionist in this blog. Hypocrite. Sigh.) and suggesting that I will do x, y, and z in bed. I think euphemisms are dirty, somehow, dirtier than any of the activities or orifices they refer to, because they're coy and sly. The phrase "something for the weekend" makes me feel the same way.

The thing is, I cheated.

I realized this while I was trying to fall asleep last night.

See, at one point last night he asked me for another photo. I then sent him one I knew he hadn't seen (it's not very flattering, I don't send it out). He wrote back, "Is that all the pics you have?" after commenting that I looked "compliment, compliment ... fuckable." That was the tenor of our conversation. Being called fuckable is of course flattering, but generally I don't encourage that level of risque-ness prior to actually meeting someone. I think he was trying to sound more nonchalant and aggressive than he actually is. At least, I'm hoping that's the case. He made another comment about having an orgy with me and my roommates (poor Anna. she would be horrified!) I do think it's in poor taste to show an interest in your current possible sex partner's roommates before you've bedded and properly complimented her. You know? I dismissed it as him trying to appear dominant, as per my post. But maybe, in fact, he is an insensitive alpha male jerk. (But how could that be? He completed my Morrissey quote just last night.) I could live with alpha male qualities, I mean, I'm not looking for a relationship. Only I don't find them attractive. I might not want to sleep with him if he really is this crude and borderline obnoxious outside of the bedroom.

I said that yes, those were all the pictures I had, but afterwards I realized I wasn't really playing fair. He asked for all photos: maybe he did recognize me and wanted confirmation. So he could disappear again, probably. But that's his right, I suppose. So I just sent him my photo, one he's seen before. I can't help but think he must know it's me. Assuming that he remembers me. Which I do. If he didn't before, how could our lengthy IMing not at least jog his memory? Even if he does do this all the time, which I'm beginning to suspect is the case.

Unless. See, he told me he lives with his brother. Maybe now I'm corresponding with the brother (assuming they're identical twins) whereas before I was just writing to him! Does that sound reasonable? No, it does not.

It's moot anyway because I am fairly sure he's going to cancel on me. First he suggested we get together tonight, but I said it would have to be later, since I'm meeting John for a drink at 6. After the nerve-wracking innuendo-y convo with Pete, meeting John should be comparably relaxing. Then he said Saturday. So we've got plans for Saturday. But the chances of a replay of last spring are, I should think, quite high, considering how closely he's stuck to the script so far, what with the persistent and flirty emails, the avowed attraction and declared intent to fuck me. So his imminent cancellation -- or his simple refusal to respond to my most recent email, which contained the incriminating pic -- would make this whole fiasco my own damn fault. You know, "fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice..." I should have told him I knew who he was right away. But I was so excited by the thought of meeting him. I thought it might be fate or something. But all right. So now I know. Stay tuned.

He Had Me at...

Morgan cancelled on me. I'm not even going to consider the implications.

However, I finally got an email from Jewy but Agnostic (JAG – hey! Cool acronym!) boy. And he wrote, "...I should warn you that next time I write, I'm probably going to ask if you want to meet in person. Unless you viciously insult me in your next e-mail …”

I think this is both appropriate and sweet. Though he had me at Jewy but agnostic.

Oh, and get this

I just want to rant a bit because ... well, because.

I go on lots of dates with men I meet online. I think it suggests something not too flattering about me, but nonetheless. I started online dating back in 2000 or so. Only very occasionally do I actually meet men at work or a party. Earlier this year it occurred to me that my social circle was no longer expanding. Like, it's reached this sort of critical point where I've already met everyone I'm going to meet. It was a weird feeling. Lots of my friends are in steady relationships, or married, or married with children.

Anyway. So! Let's see. I'm on the nerve personals --- fast cupid, you know? This one guy emailed me months ago. He sounded nice and not hideous looking, so we emailed back and forth. I am excellent via email -- witty, charming, etc. I'd date me. Anyway, there was a hiatus in our emails due to some technical difficulties with his computer (he said) and when he wrote to me again about a month later, I'd forgotten about him. Anyway, we went back to emailing. My protocol is I generally wait a day or two to respond, and I don't ramble or complain. (though obviously the opposite applies on this blog).

So a few weeks back he wrote to say that since I didn't sound psychotic, he'd give me his phone number and maybe we could arrange a time to meet. I thought the psychotic crack was a bit presumptive, especially as I take antidepressants ... I didn't say that, however. I wrote back to say that while meds had rendered me pretty normal (with a joking emoticon), I wouldn't call him because I really hate talking on the phone to guys I haven't met. I mean, the potential for awkwardness is so high. I hate those dread silences, when you're both desperately trying to think of things to say, and you can't even make eye contact and smile or order another drink. I really do avoid calling people I don't know, not just in romantic situations. Anyway, I added that I'd love to get together with him, but could we arrange it via email.

I never heard from him again.

Then I was also corresponding with a guy from Craig's List, which is like the heroin of the online community. Craig's List is for the hardcore. He asked me if I wanted to hear a band on Wed. night. I said, What time? I generally go to bed early, or something along those lines. Because, you know, I do go to bed early on weeknights, otherwise I have a hard time getting up in the morning. He wrote back to say about ten, and why, did I have a curfew? So I responded, saying that although I knew it was lame and nerdy, a 10pm show was too late for me. After all, I live in Queens. Say they actually start on time, and only play for a half hour. Still, if they're playing downtown, it'll probably take me the good part of an hour to get home. So I said I'd like to meet up for a drink, earlier, however.

I never heard from him again.

There was also this other guy, also courtesy of Craig's List. We emailed a bit, and then he just disappeared.

That's three men in one week who dissed me! Jesus, I'm like the bubonic plague.