Sunday, December 11, 2005

Date #1 with A.

I met A. recently. He's a mutual friend of a lot of my friends. The minute M. and I broke up, my well-meaning (and actually awesome) group of guys and girl friends from my Ivy-League university immediately started conspiring to set me up. I got a lot of emails with the subject line "great guy for you!" I learned after the fact that while M. was and is universally liked (I keep saying he's wonderful), the consensus was that he wasn't necessarily the best for me. According to my crew, it was a question of timing.

Have I mentioned that practically the millisecond that M. and I broke up, even my most stubbornly single friends settled down into a serious relationship? I couldn't believe it. I literally have maybe two single friends left. The rest of my time is spent cajoling my attached friends into joining me for my nightly round of cocktails. I can see how people become alcoholics, especially in New York City.

Anyway, A. is everything that M. is not: ultra-rich (family money--his dad was Vice Chair of one of the city's most prominent investment banks), successful, not a partier, well-rounded, short, not cute and dorky. I think, Bingo! I am finally going to date somehow who knows how to take care of a woman. Full discolsure: A. and I hooked up in my hotel room out of town the first night we met and had a fun time fooling around. We didn't have sex but I definitely enjoyed myself. Mainly because I am probably the hottest girls he ever hooked up with in his life and I could tell he was into it. Also, I decided to start taking after another one of my girlfriends, who when she used to date (before she settled down in HER serious relationship), went out with hot guys, made them get her off and then kicked them out, high and dry. The epitome both of feminism and The Rules: what a great freaking dichotomy. At the time I thought it was wierd but I've changed my ways. Let him do anything and everything to me. I am not about to least to the fullest extent of my abilities. Too bad for him.

After our first encounter, A. kept calling me. I had to admire his persistence. Didn't he ever see Swingers? I knew right away that I wouldn't ever be into him, but finally after blowing him off for weeks, I agreed to go to a movie screening and out to dinner with him last week.

We met at the screening. He was neurotic about us getting seats so he made us go really early. The theater was only half-full. It was a painfully long, boring and mawkish movie. I could smell his breath--mothballs--on my left side so I kept shifting to the right. The seconds ticked by and I could barely contain myself from checking my cell phone every single second. I used to love going to movies with M. Whenever I covered my eyes during scary or sickening parts, he would reach over in this cute, gentle kind of way, smile and pull my hands away, clutching them in his lap. I would just bury my head in his shoulder instead.

Finally, it's over. We leave the theater and walk outside into the frigid, windy November New York City night. He immediately puts his arm around me and tries to full-on make out with me. Ugh. I realize that we did hook up already, but seriously. Who did he think he was?

We get into a cab and head downtown. I pay for the cab, because he only has $4 in cash. I don't really mind, though. I am never that girl who never pulls out her wallet. I at least pretend I have class! We walk a couple of blocks, trying to pick a place out of the over-crowded ones. Finally, he decides on a restaurant that's pretty expensive. But it's nice (I'd been there for lunch once or twice), and it's not as crowded as all the other ones, so we go in.

Sitting at the bar and drinking red wine is the only enjoyable part of the evening for me. And I don't mean just because of the Pinot Noir. We bond a little bit over family craziness, even though he is a loud talker and laugher. I start to bristle at that when the host finally gives us our table.

He proceeds to complain about money he spends going out with friends (cry me a river--he's a billionaire, remember?) and haggles with the waiter to recommend a bottle of wine that's less expensive than the one originally . After this, I have to force myself to engage in the inane conversation even as he's sweating and the zit on his forehead turns whiter and whiter and he keeps kissing me even though the restaurant is small and the people next to us are practically in my lap. I am so grossed out and embarrassed and the waiter is looking at me like, "why the fuck are you with this loser?"

Suffice it to say, I do not prolong the night. He walks me the three blocks it takes to get to my apartment and puts his hands on my face and kisses me. M. kind of stopped kissing me like that after a while, but it still makes me think of him. In no uncertain terms, I tell him he is NOT coming up to my place. Date #1 with A. will definitely be our last...unless he offers to fly me out to Aspen for New Year's. Is it so wrong that I want a guy who can take care of me? That was neve M.s strong suit, and trust me, I am queen of taking care of myself.

I got upstairs, listen to some depressing music and call M. I'm not even drunk.


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