Hey, I was looking around a bit here and I came across your profile. I thought you sounded like an interesting woman who can be adventuresome and knows something about how to enjoy life. I also thought you were quite attractive and had a warm, pretty smile and soft eyes. That’s a difficult mix of traits to come across these days it seems.
That was Swedish Dude, who turns out to be a psychologist. Boy, could he write an email! Lengthy, well-worded, long emails – just love them! That alone caught my attention plus, I noticed in his profile that he looked really good in aviator sunglasses, rode a motorcycle, and from what the pictures depicted – he traveled a lot, especially to go skiing…and I love skiing! So, I reply to him….with an equally lengthy email, which I’ll only bore you with my first paragraph….
I thoroughly enjoy your emails – you write really well. Your initial email caught my eye because it was a far cry from the “Hey, what’s up?” which I usually get from admirers. Writing seems to be a lost art these days….
He responded with….
I would agree with what you said regarding writing being a lost art. In some respects, I think language usage is sort of a lost art, which translates into taking thoughts that one can clearly articulate and getting them down on paper, slowly disappearing. I think there was a time when the whole notion of being able to express oneself in a clear and well thought through fashion was sort of a point of pride. It was something that people wanted to be able to do. That whole focus on internal experience and the desire to understand and make use of it is considered less valuable on a sociocultural level where everyone is worried about what they have, or don’t have, and what they might lose if anything changes in the world around them. However, I digress… 🙂 I think this is straying into the realm of waxing philosophical and/or social commentary… we can get into that over a drink sometime.
Meow! Tickle my brain with such talk, you naughty boy! I was sold!
After a few more email exchanges, he suggested that we meet for a drink at the Standard Grill Bar in the Meat Packing District of NYC. I was intrigued by this 6’2″ psychologist, even though I had just had a really good date with Interior Designer Dude. However, Swedish Dude was only 39-years old, whereas, Interior Designer Dude was 52-years old. Regardless, I was heading out for a date…after all, the Dating Gods were smiling down upon me and I was going to take full advantage of it!
We met on a Tuesday night. I was expecting it to be a slow night out on the town but, remember, this is New York City. Who was I kidding? The weather was still nice and warm, which meant that everyone was out to enjoy the last few days of warm weather.
When my date arrived, I was a little disappointed that he did not dress up at all – not even a little. Of course, I was in a black pencil skirt and wore high heels. The “girls” were showing a bit, but I counteracted my obvious cleavage and tight skirt with a black, conservative short-sleeved sweater. (You can never go wrong with a sexy/conservative look.)
I was feeling a little kitten-kitten meow-meow all dressed up. I knew the outfit worked, because all heads turned as I approached the bar to wait for my date. And when my date walked up to me, he too had a smile on his face.
One drink in (red wine of course) and we were discussing my date’s career being a psychologist. I was fascinated by it, but couldn’t understand the whole point of being a psychologist.
“What do you mean you don’t give advice? You sit there and listen to people for an hour, and not once do you give advice? That doesn’t sound fun to me.”
You know me, if I have to sit and listen to someone for any length of time, that person will certainly get my two cents on whatever issue is on the table. It’s like breathing to me – both are a necessity, and definitely come natural.
Second glass of wine in and I noticed my date was getting better looking, and my hormones were coming alive! Uh-O…. I caught myself looking at his mouth when he spoke….and then I was looking at his big man hands…I love big man hands! He had a short, blond beard that outlined his jaw and I imagined that it was soft to the touch. I wasn’t listening to him anymore, but imagining what it would be like to kiss him. He must have read my mind because he stopped talking, and suddenly kissed me.
We ended up talking and did more kissing here and there. Our conversation had turned to talking about the patrons at the bar. It was really amazing to see the assortment of characters stroll up to the bar and order a drink. It was a typical New York scene – lots of rich stock brokers out on the town with their hot mistresses.
It was getting late and now it was 1:45am. I told him I had to leave for the second time – or was it the third time? All I know is that I was leaving no matter what. I had to get up early for work!
My date walked me to my car and there we had a nice, long make-out session. I liked the way he kissed me…. (Maybe I shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine!) I asked if I could give him a ride home to his downtown apartment by Wall Street, and he said yes. I didn’t get home until 2:45am, and I had to be up at 7:00am. I wasn’t too happy about that as you can imagine…
The following day, I decided that, yes, there would be a second date, but noticed that Swedish Dude didn’t care how late I had stayed out, nor did he ask me to text him when I got home. A far cry from Interior Designer Dude who had made sure I was home by midnight and sent me a text to make sure I arrived home safely. (A very lovely, and sweet text, I might add!) I got nothing from Swedish Dude!
*DEDUCTS 5 POINTS OFF SCORE CARD*
A week later, we went out to dinner for our second date. I don’t know if my game was off or his was, but I was expecting our date to be a little more……fun. I’m fun, and I wasn’t making him laugh, nor was he making me laugh. To boot, our conversation fell flat – it was back to discussing his job again, because it was the only thing we had to talk about. Yuck.
Hmmm….he didn’t ask me anything about myself.
*DEDUCTS 25 MORE POINTS*
About four days later, we plan our third date. I’d meet him at his apartment downtown and we’d go from there and grab something to eat. The night of our date, he invited me into his apartment while he grabbed his coat. It was a typical bachelor pad. However, this bachelor pad even included a friend from San Francisco who was staying for the week. Swedish Dude’s apartment was only one bedroom, so his guest was left to sleep on the living room floor on a blow-up mattress. OK, I’m not going to judge. We’ve all been there – especially those of us who have lived in NYC – everyone wants to visit, and they usually have to sleep out in the living room. I get that. But, it was still a buzz kill. And at the least, make sure there are no dishes left in the sink!
We leave and go out for sushi. Thank God the sushi was really yummy because, once again, our conversation was about his work and analyzing people. Even with two Sakitini’s I still wasn’t feeling the “fun” factor. After dinner, we hit a local bar for one beer, then headed back to his place. It was cold outside, and I just really wanted to get into my car and leave, but he wanted me to come upstairs.
When he open the door to his apartment I could see a silhouette of his guest from San Francisco getting into bed. I introduce myself, and the mysterious man waves back, not really saying much. Me and my date slip down the hallway to his bedroom which, by the way, didn’t have a door. Swedish Dude kept kissing me and trying to make the moves, and all I could think about was his friend down the hallway who was within earshot! What the hell? What are we in college?!
His bed wasn’t even made, clothes were strewn on the floor.
Where are my candles?
Where is the music?
I need ambiance…!
I was thinking of all these things that were wrong with the situation, but in reality, I knew I just wasn’t that into him. Plus, I was so close to being Penis Free in 2010 and I questioned whether or not I should give up that title for someone I just wasn’t into all that much.
I had held out this far, why should I give it up for someone who I’m obviously not into. Just for sex? Hell, we didn’t even get to have the sex talk yet! I decided to keep Princess on lock-down and excused myself to go home!
“It’s really late. I better go home,” I said.
“You can spend the night here.”
“No, that’s OK…”
(I’d fallen for that trick before…..sleep over – sure, right!!)
He walks me to my car, and as he kisses me good-bye, he laughs a little and says to me in a serious tone, “Carrie, I can see that you are struggling with some inner turmoil.”
Inner turmoil??? Oh, right. Just because I have foiled your plans to get laid, now it’s on me? Now I’m being labeled as the one who has a problem, and it’s called, “Inner turmoil”? Screw that! Your problem is that you’re an ass-hole who has not, once, asked anything about me – and who is just trying to get into my pants. How about that?!
I wished I had the cojones to say that, but I didn’t. Instead, I just smiled graciously and said I was leaving.
*HITS IMAGINARY EJECT BUTTON*
Swedish Dude might have looked good on paper but, in reality, I just wasn’t clicking with him. There was no spark….no laughter….no jokes….no nothing and more importantly, he didn’t take any interest in me. I just felt like I was being analyzed all the time. And who needs that?