Turns out I can't even BUY myself a boyfriend

In May 2009 I ventured to the Canal Room to see one of my very favorite singer/songwriters perform. I wasn't familiar with the act opening for him, but enjoyed her performance as much as the man I'd come to see. Rose was backed by four gentlemen: a keyboardist, a guitarist, a drummer and an upright bassist. When Rose introduced her band at the end of her set, she announced that 3/4 of the men were single (sorry ladies, the keyboardist had a girlfriend!) and she'd auction them off to the highest bidder if we approached her with an offer. I was so pleased! I'd had my eye on Phil, the string bassist, for the past hour. Tall, dark, handsome, sophisticated, and could he move those fingers! Watching him play was poetry in motion. However, I couldn't tell whether Rose was joking about the auction or not... either option seemed equally plausible to me.


I found Rose mingling with the crowd between sets and told her how much I had loved her music, admitting that I had never heard of her before but was now a fan... "and by the way, I'll give you five dollars for Phil." Rose looked absolutely delighted. She said she'd attempted the auction at every stop on their tour and I was the first person to take her up on it. She began searching the crowd for Phil, but he was nowhere to be seen. That was just fine with me, as I hadn't expected her to grab him immediately and declare he'd been sold (and that the highest bid was a mere five bucks)! She then told me to meet her at her merch table at the end of the night.

Before heading out after the last band, I made my way to Rose's merch table as promised. There was a line, but when she looked up and I caught her eye, she beckoned me to the front. She dialed her phone and simply said, "hey Phil, she's here" then hang up and said to me, "he'll be over in a minute." And in less than sixty seconds, there he was. Rose continued to ignore her waiting fans to introduce me to Phil, and then we talked for ten minutes or so. I apologized for only bidding five dollars, but said I hoped he could understand the life of a starving artist. He laughed and asked me about me: What part of the city did I live in? How often did I go to shows? What did I do for a living? He was adorable and sweet and took my number, putting it directly into his phone and asking for a precise spelling of my first and last name for accuracy. He said he was honored I had bid on him and that we definitely had to get together for a drink.

Of course he never called. And it was such a fun experience that I almost don't mind, and yet I do. Wouldn't that be the best "How I Met Your Mother" Story to tell the kids? "I was auctioned off at a concert and she bought me for five dollars." I've seen Rose perform a couple of times since then, but she now has a new string bassist. And I now have my eye on the drummer...

Lessons Learned From An Eight Year-old's Broken Heart

I’ve been on a series of good dates recently with several gentlemen (two of whom actually paid, which I have found to be a rare thing these days and -- call me old-fashioned -- I think the man should do on a first date).  But, not to fear, for regardless of  the recent evidence that there just may be some decent men left in the world (whether or not they are my perfect match, they’re at least out there), this blog is not doomed, for I was having my heart broken long before I knew the first thing about the birds and the bees.  So sit back, relax and enjoy the tale of my very first broken heart.

His name was Charlie.  And for a few fleeting days I was the envy of 40 eight year-old girls because Charlie was mine.  He was my boyfriend for two or three days when we decided the next logical step was to get married.  This was something I took extremely seriously, perhaps far more seriously than I will someday take my real wedding.  Charlie asked his friend Andrew to be the Best Man and I asked my best friend Elisha to be my Maid of Honor.  The ceremony was set for the following day at recess, by the swing set.

I remember rushing home after school to tell my mom the good news.  She was, of course, quite ecstatic for me and made sure my favorite dress was washed and ready to serve as my wedding gown in the morning.  She even french-braided my hair, something we rarely took the time to do before school.  Only for very special occasions, to be sure.

When I got to school I approached Charlie, batting my eyes and twirling in my dress to ask if he was ready for our big day.  Charlie responded that he had changed his mind about marrying me and that Dana was now his girlfriend.  I turned and walked away, devastated.  I still think of that moment every time I think of complete heartbreak.  Charlie moved away a few years later and I never saw him again.  However, with the recent advantages of Facebook I found him recently -- he shares a Facebook page with his girlfriend.  Why don’t you twist the knife a little deeper, Charlie?  Though in Charlie’s defense I must say that he taught some very valuable lessons: Never get married on a day’s notice, or to someone you’ve been dating for three days.  

Dear Diary 1994: He loves me, he loves me not. I love him, I love him not.

A series of diary entries from last week and this coming week, 1994.  You’re welcome.

Nov. 14, 1994: NATHAN KINDA LIKES ME!  Amanda is going to take me skating on Friday.  Nathan’s going, too.  He said that he will couple-skate with Amanda first, then Kristin, then me.  Should I say yes?  Maybe - Maybe not.  See ya!

Nov. 17, 1994: Nathan doesn’t like me.  I don’t like him much either.  He’s only couple-skating with Mandy.  He doesn’t like Kristin much anymore either.  I’m starting to get a crush on Jason.  He was a new boy last year.  He’s really funny and sorta cute.  He’s number 6 on my Top 5 List of Guys.  Got to go!  See ya!

Nov. 18, 1994: I changed by mind about not liking Nate.  I LOVE him.  Tonight he asked Amanda to couple-skate and she said “no” because she can’t skate good.  Then he asked me and I said “yes.”  So we did.  Half-way through the couple-skate Nathan said “God, how many times do we have to go around this thing?”  One of my friends was skating around the middle of the rink clapping at Nate and I when we went by.  When Mandy and I left she said, “Bye, Nathan.  I love you” and Nathan said, “Bye, Mandy.  I love you, too.”  When we were at the rink I wanted to tell Nathan I loved him.  I just couldn’t, though.  So I said, “Nathan, I really really like…” I was so embarrassed I skated away before I could say “you.”  I told Amanda that I was never going to wash the hand Nathan was holding to skate.  Amanda told him and he made a weird face.  I said I was sorry and he said, “That’s okay, I like when people talk about me like that.  It makes me feel good.”  I LOVE NATHAN!

Nov.  26, 1994: Amanda called me today.  Yes, she couple-skated with Nate last night, but I don’t care.  There is an all-day skate on Monday.  Nate told Mandy to bring me.  That made my day.  If I forgot to mention, he KINDA likes me again.  Just KINDA.  Oh, at our pizza party on Friday at school, Jason didn’t want his soda.  He asked who wanted it.  He gave it to me!  How romantic!  (Not?)

Nov. 28, 1994: Nate doesn’t just KINDA like me.  He loves me.  Today he dumped Amanda for me.  Then he started to like her again.  So now he’s two-timing us.  This may sound pretty strange, but we don’t care just as long as he still likes us.  Nate and I have this thing that every time we see each other we say, “Hey Baby.”  Mandy dared me to mouth “I love you” to Nate.  He said something like, “Don’t be embarrassed, I love you, too.”  I was so grateful.  He says he likes Amanda better, but I don’t care.  Just as long as he likes me.  I MISS NATE SO MUCH!  We’ve only been apart about seven hours.

Sloppy Seconds

Two years ago I went out with a man named Hunter. We ate tacos and drank margaritas, moved to a second location for a round of drinks, then moved to a third bar to top off the evening. We discussed everything from baseball to politics and spent a good chunk of time trying to outdo each other with bad Mitch Hedberg impersonations. I considered it an excellent sign that he was interested in spending so much time on a first date; after all, it was a weeknight and we had hit up three bars! Totally living on the edge. If a dude really wanted to escape, wouldn't he chow down on his taco and hightail it out of there? Thinking that perhaps I'd been scaring men away by coming on too strongly on a first date, I decided to play it cool with Hunter and not go in for my usual "I know it's only been one date, but I like you so please call me" kiss. Much to my delight and surprise, Hunter initiated said kiss instead, and what a lovely kiss it was! He also said he'd like to see me again and would give me a call early the next week.


Monday: no call.
Tuesday: no call.
Wednesday: no call.
(It was no longer early in the week, but maybe he was really busy...)
Thursday: no call.
Friday: no call.

I gave up hope and cried, nay, sobbed myself to sleep. It wasn't Hunter I was crying over, really. It was men. I was exhausted from too much disappointment and heartbreak and angry for allowing myself to be lead on and get my hopes up so many damn times. My sister came in and comforted me as usual and I felt a little better... but someone who's been in steady relationships since she was 13 can't really understand the way it feels (Note: Sister, if you're reading this, I by no means wish to make light of your own heartbreaks. I know that you, too, have suffered. I'm just emphasising how alone I felt in this particular type of heartbreak. End note).

As with all such heartaches, I got over it.

A month later, I disembarked from the train and walked right by Hunter. I took several steps before realizing I had passed him, then turned around to see if he had noticed me. He was staring right at me. Feeling awkward, I kept walking, then decided to turn around again. He was looking away, but then looked back at me. We both kept looking at each other, then away, until I had walked far enough that he was no longer in my eyesight. That was the last I saw of Hunter. For a while, anyway.

The next year, I was living in a new apartment with new roommates and the three of us often compared date stories. One of my roommates had just gone out with a new guy that she was really digging and was gushing about the great time they'd had. I asked her his name. It was Hunter. That's how small New York really is, ladies and gentlemen: my random roommate and I ended up dating the same guy. My face visibly registered shock so I told my roommate about my own experience with Hunter. Then I went to my room because I finally had a boyfriend and he was waiting for me on my bed. Boo-yah!

But back to Hunter... my roommate told him about the crazy coincidence and he claimed to not remember ever dating someone with my name. That's either bullshit, or an illustration of what a jackass he really is. Sure, we went on one date, but only one year had gone by since then. Is it really that difficult to remember the first name of someone you spent several hours with, laughing and having a good time? Maybe I just take it for granted that I remember the name of every person I've ever met.

My roommate's relationship with Hunter didn't last very long, either. On their second date, he told her he'd like to be friends. Which they were, for a few weeks. He was coming out of the apartment once as I was going in and though he nodded to me and acknowledged my presence, showed no sign of recognition. Their friendship fizzled shortly after that. I think my roommate realized that, like myself, she had enough friends and no room for gigglefests with men who don't want to date us. At any rate, I was more than happy to offer this girl my sloppy seconds. Sucker.

Eric - The Saga's Final Chapter

It is finally time for the final chapter in the Eric Saga for which you have all waited to patiently.  (If you're new around these parts, I recommend reading posts from May 22 and July 26 first).  So without further ado...

To recap: Eric had left me alone in his apartment (the morning after I realized I was in love with him) while he went to coach a track meet.  In attempting to check my email on his computer, I found cyber sex IMs between Eric and an anonymous internet lover.  I fled the scene and Eric returned to an empty apartment and proceeded to get furious at me for invading his privacy.  He maintained he had done nothing wrong.

A while after the IM incident took place and I abandoned camp, Eric emailed me these liner notes from the Pearl Jam album Vitalogy:

I waited all day, you waited all day, but you left before sunset.  And I just wanted to tell you the moment was beautiful.  Just wanted to dance to bad music, drive bad cars, watch bad TV... should have stayed for the sunset, if not for me.

And I cried.  Even now I tear up when I read those lines and think about it.  Things like that always got me crawling back and he knew it; he knew my weaknesses.  (Note: I thought the above lines courtesy of Eddie Vedder were just for me, but I noticed one day that Eric had posted them on another girl's MySpace Wall.  The same girl he had the inappropriate IM chat with.  Awesome).

The sad truth is that it took far too many fuck-ups for me to learn my lesson.  So after avoiding his calls, but listening to his voicemail begging and pleading for three months, I gave in and called him.  I missed the sick bastard.  There is absolutely zero explanation for this because not only did Eric treat me like shit, but he was arrogant, manipulative and unattractive.  But somehow, despite all that, I found him irresistibly charming.  I saw his constant calls as pathetically sweet: He misses me that much?  Instead of seeing them for what they were: Wow, you are one sick bastard who preys upon women by manipulating them and you get off on it!  I refuse to take full responsibility for the suffering he put me through.  Yes, I was a complete idiot to go back so many times, but he was so damn persistent in his manipulations and knew how to get me to give in.

But yes, I did give in and eventually called Eric back.  We talked on the phone periodically and two months later he came to visit me.  I was working in a Barnes & Noble at the time and he met me there about an hour before closing, sat on the floor of the Children's Department and read Dr. Seuss while I worked.  It was around Halloween, so we went back to my apartment and he read me Poe's "The Black Cat" by candlelight on my fire escape while we imbibed in some delicious wine.  It was romantic (even though I had sworn off further romance between myself and Eric) and I was genuinely happy to be in his company once again.  I couldn't deny that we made a good team (when he wasn't being a sociopath).

I drank too much that night and ended up getting pretty sick, but Eric was a trooper and took care of me.  He rubbed my back and held my hair while I knelt over the toilet.  I woke up in my pajamas, in my bed, my face nestled safely in his armpit, and I was happy.  We went for a long walk in the morning, a perfect Fall day and I was sad to see him drive away that afternoon.  Fall is Eric's favorite time of year and we had some pretty amazing days together during that season: apple picking, throwing football, reading Poe, going for walks to admire the foliage.  Eric once told me that Autumn always made me think of me.  I hope it still does.  And I hope when it does, he realizes he's pathetic and I was far too good for him.

So yeah, things were going pretty well for a while.  We talked on the phone almost every day (and I hate talking on the phone).  Even though we were not romantically involved anymore, we used each other as outlets for sexual frustrations... but since we never saw each other, this consisted only of what could be achieved through the use of telephones.  I refuse to elaborate because I'm ashamed of it, but you can draw your own conclusions.  Eric always maintained he was single, a point I was adamant about because I did not ever want to be the other woman he was getting his kicks with while actually dating someone else.  I had been on the other side of that and it wasn't a fun place to be.  So we played our little games.  Sometimes I enjoyed it and sometimes he guilted and manipulated me into getting his way.  But giving in was easier than dealing with his whiny guilt trips.  Oddly enough I considered him one of my best friends.  I told him everything about my life and went to him when I was upset.  Somehow, when he wasn’t the thing that was making me upset, he always managed to make me feel better.

While things were going well, I kept trying to get him to come up and visit me again.  He seemed eager to do so, we would plan for a weekend, but he'd call Friday evening around the time he was supposed to be leaving and cancel on me.  He always had an excuse.  Once it was because his dad was sick and he had to stick around to look after him, once it was because an uncle unexpectedly came to visit, once it was because the week had just been so busy and he was behind in grading and grades were due on Monday... you get the idea.  I was suspicious, of course, but he always sounded so damn genuine!  God, I am a sucker.

The final straw came in January when we had a weekend visit planned.  By this time I knew to expect a call on Friday night to bail on me.  And sure enough, my phone rang around 6:00:

"Hey... I just don’t think I can make it up tonight."
"Eric..."
"I know, I know.  And I'm really sorry, I am, but...
"Okay, what came up this time?"
"I had a doctor's appointment and he found a lump.  I don't have the test results yet, but he thinks it's probably Testicular Cancer."
"What?  Are you serious?
"Yeah, so I probably have Cancer and I just don't really feel like making the trip tonight."
"Oh.  Wow.  Okay.  But it might not be Cancer.  You don't know yet.  So yeah, take it easy this weekend and let me know when you hear something..."

That was the gist of our conversation.  So I hung up, but remained suspicious.  Was it possible Eric really had Cancer?  Sure.  But after the excuses and other various stunts he pulled I the past, it seemed unlikely.  I wasn't convinced enough that he was lying to blatantly call him out on it, but skeptical enough to call him back and question about it further.

I asked him more questions about his doctor's appointment and though he gave satisfying answers, I was still upset that he stood me up yet again.  I argued that if he really might have Cancer, wouldn't he like to be with someone who has always been able to cheer him up (me)?  Apparently not.  Sure, I felt a little bit guilty to be giving him such a hard time, but I was feeling very let down and didn't quite believe the story he was feeding me.  While on the line, I heard a door slam, immediately followed by a girl screaming at him.  Well, this was certainly an interesting turn of events!  What the hell was going on?  Eric asked me if I'd hold on a minute and presumably slipped his phone in his pocket, but I was still connected on the other end.

I proceeded to listen to twenty minutes of fighting between Eric and girl (whose name I think was Maria so that is what I will call her).  What I learned from the angry shouting match was that Maria was not only Eric's girlfriend, she lived with him.  I do not know exactly what they were fighting over, but she was extremely pissed off and called Eric "controlling" and "manipulative."  Even though I couldn't tell what the fight was about, I found I agreed with everything Maria was saying about Eric's nature and took her side.  Before my connection was lost I heard Eric yelling that he wanted her gone and she better not take her set of keys.

I waited a while and called Eric back and asked, "what was that all about?"  His reply: "What was what all about?"  I hadn't realized until this point that he had completely forgotten he'd never hung up the phone after talking to me.  I informed him that I had listened to no less than twenty minutes of the verbal warfare.  Of course, he once again berated me for invading his privacy, but couldn't put up much of an argument since he was the one that forgot I was still on the line.  He nonetheless tried to make it all my fault.  After that futile attempt, he moved onto other excuses: "We aren't even dating!  She's just crazy."  And my personal favorite: "I don't know how she even got in!"  I told him she probably came in the front door with her set of keys, at which point he became flustered and I informed him I was hanging up.

Suddenly, it all made sense.  The reason he always cancelled on me at the last minute was because he couldn't very well tell a live-in girlfriend he was going to New York to visit a friend with "benefits" for the weekend.  The reason he always called me at 3:00 in the afternoon and left voicemails that said "Hey, what are you up to?  Thought I could catch you now."  (Of course you won't get me at 3:00 in the afternoon!  He knew damn well I worked a 10-6 and couldn't take calls during that time).  But he couldn't very well call me while he was at home in the evenings with Maria, could he?  What an asshole.  I was beyond livid.  I don't know if there are adequate words to describe the anger and betrayal I felt.

I gave myself the weekend to cool off, all the while ignoring his repeated efforts at communication with me.  I knew I had to put an end to it, but dreaded that final call.  Sweet lord I hate confrontation.  Monday night, rehearsed dialogue in mind, I called Eric and said those four words no one ever wants to hear: "we need to talk."  He was attentive and did not try to interrupt me as I told him that I had been on both ends of his betrayals.  I knew how Maria would feel if she knew about me and I couldn't stand that he had put me in that position without my knowledge.  He had been incredibly dishonest, and furthermore, I had put up with his deception, manipulation and emotional abuse for far too long.  In closing, I said, "If you really do have Testicular Cancer, I wish you the best, but please do not ever contact me again.  This is where it ends."  He put up no argument.  In fact, in a rare show of complacency, he said, "You're right.  I'm so sorry."  And that was that, but unfortunately even that was not the last I'd hear from him.

He texted me five minutes later to say that his life was in shambles and he was a confused idiot because of it.  He told me I deserved someone a million times better than him and wanted nothing but the best for me and thanked me for staying in his life as long as I did.

I did not respond.

However, a week later I received a desperate voicemail from Eric, begging me to call him because he really needed to talk to me.  Fearful that the Cancer prognosis was in fact true, I called him back immediately.  The Eric on the other end of the line was calm and collected: "Hey, thanks for calling me back so quickly!  How are you?" -- "I'm fine!  But how are you?" -- "Great!  It was a really good day.  I just wanted to hear your voice."

Furious that I'd allowed him to pull one more over on me, I told him I had to go and hung up.  I am quite happy to say that was nearly two years ago and I have not talked to Eric since.

That's not to say he hasn't tried.  A month later I had to have his phone number blocked because I was tired of ignoring his constant calls and texts.  I preferred to not even know when he was attempting to get in touch with me.

When the calls failed, he resorted to email.  I received an email from him about once a month for eight months until I realized that I could also block emails.  I've now been completely Eric-free for a year, though (not to flatter myself), I assume he still tries from time to time.  That dude does not stop!  It's like the line in Austin Powers when, after many futile attempts to kill one of Dr. Evil's cronies, Austin screams, "Why won't you die???"

Still, I have a sick feeling that I haven't heard the last from Eric.  I feel as though some day he will find a way.  I know he has friends who live in this city and it's entirely possible I could just run into him on the street.  I often imagine that confrontation and though it would make me sick to my stomach, I've rehearsed the hell out of it.  Sometimes I even check New Jersey headlines to see if he's dead or in prison.  Neither would surprise me too much.

The Curse of the Fourth Date

And once again I find myself without a boy to kiss.


I've noticed a very upsetting pattern in my dating experiences and I call it the Curse of the Fourth Date. Other than Eric (who I am not taking into account because in all of our stops and starts, we were never "on" for more than four dates before we were "off" again), I have only made it past a fourth date on ONE occasion. ONE. But even more disturbing than that fact alone is what occurs on this fateful fourth date. Here's the setup: A gentleman and myself have just finished a.) watching a movie, throughout which he alternately held my hand and stroked my hair; b.) drinking a bottle of wine in his bedroom while listening to music and making out; c.) walking around the city at night, talking and kissing; or d.) eating a candlelit dinner. As the date comes to a close, I expect the usual goodnight kiss and vow to call me to plan a future date. At least, that is what I used to expect. Now I expect to hear the very worst as night closes in on the fourth date, for after each of the above referenced scenarios, I have instead heard some version of the dreaded "let's just be friends."

This is excatly what happened to me last night just as I was settling into a comfortable dating routine with an adorable male who was clearly enjoying my company. Apparently he was enjoying my company a little too much and everything else I have to offer not quite enough. Sometimes being friends is a good thing. In fact, my two closest male friends are results of dating experiences that just didn't work out and yes, we decided to "just be friends." But I have enough friends now. Hear me, loud and clear: "I do not want to be your friend!"

The worst part is probably that, as described above, the friendship invitation comes completely unexpectedly. There has never been anything that I can look back on and interpret as friendship gestures rather than romantic or passionate. And then out of nowehere... BAM! The guy that I was seeing up until last night prefaced his declaration of independence by saying, "So... there's something I should probably tell you. And I know that makes it sound like it's probably going to be bad, but it's not!" He then explained that he was in a six-year relationship that just ended four months ago and while he thought he was ready to date again, he apparently is not. He told me how much he really does like me and how much fun it is to spend time with me and he hopes that we can still do so... in a friendship capacity.

I understand, I really and truly do, and I was of course flattered by his compliments, but... how is that not bad? I knew exactly what was coming when he began his speech and it would honestly be so much easier to hear "I just don't like you and this isn't working" as opposed to "I like you so much that I want to be your friend! Isn't that great?!?"

He also told me that as we continue to hang out, maybe something will evolve and that it would be "serendipitious." And while I think that the possibility therein presented was sincere, I know how these things work. The first time I encountered the Curse of the Fourth Date, I thought that being friends was a fantastic idea! Obviously we would continue to spend time together and he would eventually realize he was hopelessly in love with me. I waited for that day for two years and it never came, so I promise you that I will not make that naive mistake again. Sure, I'll continue to hang out with this former suitor who tramped on my hopes for a future together last night, but I know how it will end because once you enter the Friend Zone, there's no going back. And I can guarantee you that when he's ready to start dating again, I'll be playing the role of Wingman instead of Girlfriend.

Dear Diary 8/27/96: "Yo Homie! Why haven't my prayers been answered?"

On this day fourteen years ago...

Dear Diary,
Christian means everything to me.  He looks even sexier this year than last.  Amanda told me that today when coming out of a class, he said, "Yo Homie!" and slapped hands with a friend.  That is just the thing I would have done.  I LOVE his personality.  But even though I've been praying since last November that we'd have a class together, we have not.


(Note from 8/27/10: I was going to comment on the multitude of reasons this entry is ridiculous, but I feel that would be redundant, as hopefully those reasons are fairly self-evident.  I will say that at the time it was written, I had never even spoken to the boy in question that I claimed meant "everything to me."  Yet in defense of stirrup-legginged seventh-grade me... Christian was a pretty smokin' twelve year-old).