But He’s Gay!

The loud clang from the pub’s front door, opening and slamming shut, always made for a grand entrance.  I walked slowly toward the bar, smiling as I could hear the staccato of my favorite high-heeled boots on the pub’s hardwood floors, made me feel like shouting, “There’s a new sheriff in town!”

Luckily, I only did this in my head.

“Hello, Celebrity,” Belfast Bartender greeted me with his thick Irish accent from behind the bar.  

Belfast Bartender was my favorite bartender for a reason.   First, if I sat with someone he didn’t know, he always took the time to check in with me and ask if everything is okay.   That made him a gentleman in my eyes.  Second, he was a great mixologist and an entertaining one at that.

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The guy on the left is Belfast Bartender.

It wasn’t too long ago when I was having a pint while Belfast was working and I ended up talking to a young guy who said he was in town on business.  Had it not been for the beer and being bored, I wouldn’t have given this guy the time of day. 

When I finished my beer and announced I was leaving, the guy I was talking to pressured me into giving him my phone number.  

Too bad for him, I might have accidentally on purpose given him the wrong number.

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“Celebrity….he just didn’t seem like your type,” Belfast pointed out to me the next time I saw him.

“I know. I was clearly a little bored that night.  So believe me when I say this —  I’m giving  you full permission to break up anything you think is out of character for me next time.”

Fast forward a few months later….

“You look great tonight, Celebrity,” Belfast Bartender said as he walked around the bar to give me a hug.

I felt great.  I was happy to be out of the house and it was a perfect autumn night to slip into my favorite pair of jeans and break out my favorite Fall boots. 

Plus!  I had JUST washed my hair…

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I ordered my beer from Belfast and stood at the end of the bar by the waitress station.  To my right, half way down the bar, I couldn’t help but notice a group of people.  I didn’t recognize any of them, but it was hard to see with the lights being turn down low, you know, for ambiance.

(Who wants to be in a brightly lit bar?  Not me…)

“Oh, geez,” I said to the waitress. “We have a Stage 4 cling-on situation at three o’clock.  Do you know who that is staring at me?”  

“I’ve never seen him before. But he is definitely starting at you.  Good luck with that,” she said and walked away. 

The fact that I was there by myself, made me feel just a teensy-weensy bit uncomfortable.  I decided to find a seat at the bar and eyed a bar stool that had just become available.  Right before I pulled it out,  I looked over once more to the man who was still staring at me.

“My God, baby,” I heard him say with a thick accent, “come over here.”

I played it out for a second.  

You know, the who me? 

Oh, you meant me

As if I didn’t know…

With my best model walk, I moved past a few people standing at the bar and walked toward the man.  

He greeted me with a huge smile and perfect teeth.

“Yes, baby…hello….where are you from?  My God you are gorgeous!”

I was gorgeous? 

He was gorgeous! 

But it was his sexy-ass accent that totally had me captivated.  And even with my 3.5” high heels on, he was still slightly taller than me.

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“You are too funny,” I smiled coyly at him. “Where are you from?”

With a twinkle in his eyes his velvety voice purred, “I’m from Costa Rica, but I live in Florida now.”

We stood there smiling and admiring each other.  It was one of those rare instances where you meet someone and, just like that, you click. 

Call it chemistry, mutual admiration, or what have you, but it was definitely there.

“My God, baby.  Are you married?  Single?!  Whaaaat?” he said eyeing me up and down like a flamboyant artist who just unveiled a masterpiece. “I can’t believe someone like you lives here…”

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“Yes, yes, well thank you.  I grew up here,” I started to explain, which probably sounded more like an apology, than a reason.  “But, I actually really do love living here.” 

“You don’t look like you are from here…” he questioned.

“Thank you.  I used to live in New York City and Los Angeles.”

“Why would you leeeeeave, baby?”

But the real question was, what was he doing here in my small New England town?

Our admiration for each other was quickly interrupted when a short woman standing next to Mr. Costa Rica stepped in and introduced herself.

“Hello,” she said while extending her hand towards me, “I’m his realtor.  He and his husband are looking to buy property here.”

And there it was….the potential fun-factor had just been dialed down to a big zero. 

….or so I thought.

Having a husband and being gay apparently wasn’t going to stop Mr. Costa Rica from flirting with me.  Instead, he laughed off his realtor’s comment and continued to make my night by making me feel like the most gorgeous creature on Earth. 

As he continued talking, I found myself hanging on to every word he said.

“Yes, my husband is a doctor and we’re looking at investment property up here…..my God, you are gorgeous!”

Gay or not, one thing was for sure, he had an air and style that only came from living in a big city. 

“Celebrity….?” I turned to look at Belfast Bartender standing behind the bar. “Would you like another beer?  Everything okaaaay?

“Everything is great,” I said, beaming back at him. “And, I’m great with the beer I have now, thank you.  I don’t think I should have another one.”

I turned my attention back to Mr. Costa Rica who was still admiring me.

And then, it happened. 

I felt his strong hand slip around my waist, and when nobody was looking, he stepped closer to me and looked deep into my eyes…

….then he looked down at my mouth…

….and looked back into my eyes…

….slowly, he tilted his head…

….and looked back down to my mouth….

….leaned in…

….and just like in the movies…

….his beautiful mouth met mine…

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….and it was fantastic!!!!!

In the middle of this amazing make-out session (mind you) in the middle of my brother’s bar, I heard the slam of Belfast Bartender’s hands on the counter and heard him yell, “Celebrity!”

I wasn’t the only one who heard it, because it also caused the realtor to quickly spin around.  “Hey!” she yelled at us, as if trying to break up two dogs in heat.

Reluctantly, I pulled away from Mr. Costa Rica and with my head swirling with the surge of endorphins, I managed to say, “Oh my God that was fantastic.”

“But he’s gay!” the realtor shouted at me. “And he’s maaaaarried!”

I felt like a child being scolded, but I figured that as long as my brother was nowhere in sight and not working, I didn’t really care and I was in the clear!

(Look, I’m not one to makeout with a stranger in a bar–that’s definitely not my style. However, having not properly had a makeout session with a man in months….possibly years, I figured the slight embarrassment that I had just caused myself, and possibly my brother, was well worth it.)

As we stood there smiling at each other and taking in the moment we just had, I could tell the realtor was about to do damage control. 

Because as fast as it started…

It was over. 

Completely miffed, the realtor grabbed her client’s hand and quickly dragged him out of the bar. 

I was left standing there feeling speechless…and warm all over.

“Celebritaaaaay….”

Dazed, I looked over at Belfast Bartender.  He stood there leaning on the bar with both hands, slowly shaking his head in disapproval, as if to say, what am I going to do with you?

“I’m sorry!” I blurted.  “He just grabbed me and started making out with me.  How is this my fault?!” 

If Belfast Bartender knew anything about me…he knew that was code for:

Please don’t tell my brother!

NEXT! 

~Carrie

I Got Your *ZING-ZING* Right Here!

Okay, I get the chivalry thing and I do expect it from guys if they want to date me, you know, like picking me up for a date and opening doors.  But let me tell you something, nothing turns me off more than a guy who asks permission to kiss me.

For instance, I’m hanging out with a bunch of guys the other night at The Shaskeen, most of them older and married and all them off-duty government employees with badges.

Meow.

As a single girl who has a lot of girlfriends, it’s nice once in a while to just hang out with the guys, especially older men, because they know how to have fun and still be gentlemen.  In other words, they don’t get their BVD’s all twisted in a bunch just because a tall, attractive red-head is hanging out with them.

This particular night was a blast, because their humor was in full swing that night.  After a few hours of laughing my butt off and watching these guys whoop it up, it was decided that we would go down the street to The Strange Brew.  Not my favorite place to hang out, but who was I to say no?

When I got to the bar, apparently everyone left to go home except me and two other guys.  Out of nowhere, as I was being handed my Jack & Coke, I noticed a cute, short, petite girl had joined us.   I wasn’t quite sure who she was or where she came from.  She just sort of appeared.  Was she the short guy’s girlfriend, friend or what?  Whoever she was, she was a lucky girl, because the short guy, who was completely into her, was super cute and had a killer smile.  So, that left me with the tall guy, who was very nice and fun to talk to but, for me, there was no love connection.  I just wasn’t feeling the spark.

But he wasn’t really picking that up, which was odd, because I’m pretty sure that when two people like each other – it’s not only obvious to the people around them, but it’s obvious to them.

You know, there’s a little flirty-flirt going on…

A subtle touch here…

A lingering look there…

You sit really close to each other…

The chemistry is obvious, and *ZING-ZING!* voila!

But, what about when only one person is feeling the *ZING-ZING!*?  Does only one person know it, or do both?  I know I can tell the signs when someone isn’t into me, so why is it that this guy, and maybe guys in general, can’t see when I’m not into them?  Just because I’m talking to you, doesn’t necessarily mean I’m into you.  In other words, I may like you, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that want to swap spit with you.

I’m pointing this out because by the time the end of the night came, and even though I gave no indication that I was into the tall dude, he asked, “Can I kiss you?” from four feet away.

I know he was trying to be a gentleman, but where is the *ZING-ZING!* in that?  Asking for a kiss?

Look, Hasidic Jews use a sheet with a hole in it to have sex, right?  And, to me, that’s the equivalent of asking permission to kiss a woman – especially from four feet away.  Women want the man to take charge and, in my book, the rule is, “If you have to ask, the answer is going to be no.”

The night ended with me giving the tall guy a ride to his car and again turning him down as he asked me out on a date.  No surprise there, right?

Fast forward two days later…

My brother asks me to be his date for The Shaskeen employee party.  I was delighted because we hardly get to see each other and we really enjoy being together.   At first, I was a little hesitant, because I didn’t know if I could I do another night of drinking so soon.  But, I figured, by the time the party started my liver would have gotten a good 48 hours of rest since the last time I did the Waltz with Jackie.  So, I agreed to go.

A Christmas party definitely requires one to dress up, so I did.  I decided to wear a knee-length, black dress and a yellow cashmere sweater with high heels.   I was conservatively dressed, but the “girls” were definitely out.   (If there is anything that you take from my blog, I hope you learn that men love the conservative/sexy look.)  And, damn, was I rocking the ruffles, cleavage and cashmere.

Even Nathan said I looked really nice when he saw me.

*DING!*

(You know when you are doing something right when you get your brother’s approval – you know is true a compliment.)

The party was great. I spent the evening chatting with The Shaskeen eclectic crew, hung out with my brother, and waltzed with Jackie.  I was definitely having fun.  Shots were definitely in abundance.

Towards the end of the night, four young guys walked in and join our party.  Nathan knew who they were.  (Who doesn’t he know?)  But to me, their crew cuts and muscular build gave them away, as it was obvious to me they were also all off-duty government employees with badges.  (Apparently, there are a lot of them in my town.)  I caught the tallest one in the group looking at me a few times as I was huddled in the corner talking with Nathan.  And, as soon as me and the tall guy caught each others glance, it was on.

Having a little bit too much liquid courage, me and Jackie eventually walked up to the off-duty guys and I introduced myself.  I end up talking to the tall guy who was very handsome and acted more reserved than his friends.  His friends had a touch of the Jersey Shore thing happening, so the fact that the tall, cute guy who had caught my eye was much more quiet than the rest of them, was a good thing in my book.

My conversation with the tall guy continued as we decided to sit at the bar…which brings me back to my previous point about *ZING-ZING* and flirting:

A subtle touch here…

A lingering look there…

Oh, it was on alright.  As we sat at the bar with his friends standing right next to us, the tall dude’s feet happen to be touching mine.  There was very little space for two pairs of long sets of legs, as I tried to cross my legs and squeeze them in between us.   Honestly, I couldn’t tell if my feet were invading his space or if his were invading mine – but we were touching and neither of us moving out of the way.

Bingo.

As the party was ending, tall dude gave me his phone number.  I looked for Nathan, but he was nowhere in sight, so I walked outside with tall dude and his friends.  Then his friend asked if him if he was going home with me or with them.  (Typical Jersey Shore assumption.)  I told them I had to go straight home.

My reply obviously fell on deaf ears, because his friends ended up ditching him as he walked me to my car, so I had to give him a ride.  (I know that this is something a group of girls would never do.  Is this what guys do so they can help their friend get laid? I’ll have to ask Nathan about that one.)

I just went along with it and was kind of glad I got stuck taking him home.

We walked out to where Red Rocket was parked underneath the parking lot light. We both stood there trying to see if we could find his friends, but we weren’t really trying that hard.

And then it happened.

As we were standing face-to-face, we both stopped talking and all I can remember is staring at his beautiful mouth and then we kissed.  It was a wonderful kiss, because it wasn’t like a let-me-thrust-my-tongue-in-your-mouth-to-show-you-how-horny-I-am kiss.  No, it was the kind that was so sweet and sexy, because he took his time, standing there in front of me, so that I could feel his breath on my lips before his lips even touched mine.

*ZING-ZING!*

As I stood there kissing him in the parking lot, underneath the stupid parking lot light that was illuminating our make-out session, I could hear the other bar patrons as they walked to their cars, but I didn’t care.  There was no way in hell I was going to stop kissing him.

Eventually we got into Red Rocket and I drove him home, which only took about 5 minutes.   But in those 5 minutes, a million thoughts ran through my head.  I had gone a long time without nookie, did I really want to give it up for this hot stud who I didn’t even know?  Nah.  It would have been nice and the thought did run though my head, but knowing how long I had gone, I knew going a little longer wouldn’t kill me.  So, when he invited me to come inside when we got to his house, I declined.

*DING!*

But that didn’t stop us from continuing our major make-out session in my car.  That was fantastic.  It was getting late and I knew that if he was really into me and not just trying to get laid, that he’d be in touch with me again and we could continue this at another time.  So, I wrote my phone number on his arm (to be sure he wouldn’t lose it) and kicked him out of my car.  It was really late and I really had to get home.  But, before leaving, he asked me to text him when I got home.  I told him I would, gave him another kiss and drove off.

Points for him, right?

Yup, I thought so, too.

Days later, it came to no surprise that he never called or responded to my text I sent him that night.

*SHRUGS SHOULDERS*

Oh, well.  It was definitely fun.  But, I’m glad I used my better judgment and left when I did.  Besides, if all he was interested in was a one night’er, then I’m all set.  I’m not going to be anyone’s “Tuesday night girl,” even though a lot of women out there are okay with just being that.  Sorry, but a case of Herpes, HPV, or whatever else you can contract while still wearing a condom, just isn’t worth a night of sex to me.  And, I’m certainly better than being your average girl who is on somebody’s roster for a hook-up.  Just take a look at the statistics!  Yup…I’m all set.

Because, I’m better than that.

Next!

~Carrie

Swedish Dude and My Inner Turmoil

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.

John

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….

John: 

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….

Carrie

He responded with….

Carrie:

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.

John

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.

*DING!*

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.

Shocking, right?

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.

Hell, no!

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.”

I looked over to the bed and wondered when the last time his sheets had been washed. Eww.

“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?

Next!

~Carrie

The Ken Doll: How to Flirt On-line

I nicknamed this guy from OK Cupid “Ken Doll,” because he simply looks like one.  Dirty blonde, perfect teeth and 6’3″!! 

SOLD!

And, do I care he is only 29-years old?

NOPE!

How to Flirt:  Lesson #1

KEN DOLL: I like how you list “kissing” as something you are good at. By the looks of you, I believe it.

CARRIE:  Actually, I’m very good at it. I like it slow and sensual. Is that too much to say on a first email???? But, I do appreciate someone who values kissing. And how about you?

KEN DOLL:  Kissing is everything. I also like it slow and sensual. Sounds like we would at least be good at one thing together.

CARRIE:  Kissing IS everything. Sensual is my middle name. My name is Carrie. What is yours?

KEN DOLL:  That’s a beautiful middle name. My name is Ben.

CARRIE:  Ben, nice to meet you. Seeing that I shared my middle name with you, would you like to share yours with me? I think it’s only fair.

KEN DOLL: Aroused is what my middle name would be after this conversation.

CARRIE:  I can only imagine what your middle name would be after we kissed…

KEN DOLL:  And I’d hope your middle name would remain the same. Potentially a hyphenated version. You ever make it down to Boston?

CARRIE:  Of course.  I will be in Boston on Tuesday.

….to be continued!!!!!

That’s NOT How You Kiss!

MR. VERMONT:  Correct me if I’m wrong…but I get the feeling that I’m not a “match” for you?

(If you forgot who Mr. VT is – click here.)

I figured if the man had the guts to ask that sort of question, then he deserved an honest answer.

CARRIE: Yes, you are correct. I have been struggling with the fact that I really like you, but I’m not feeling the “zing.” I was going to tell you tonight after you got out of work. *sad face*

MR. VERMONT:  No problem! Good luck to you, Carrie. It was really nice to have met you. 🙂

CARRIE: I’m sooooooooo sorry. This is the part about dating I really hate and I certainly didn’t want to do this by text! I want you to know that you have renewed my faith that there are still good men out there!

MR. VERMONT: I can always use a good friend…so feel free to stay in touch!

And that, my friends, is how you break it off with someone! The key is to be honest and gracious. The truth may sting, but it’s necessary, because nobody likes to be left hanging.

Right?

Later that day, I was writing in my favorite corner, at the Shaskeen, when I got a text from someone who I thought had blown me off: Finance Guy. Why that particular nickname? Well, from what he wrote…it was obvious he was a finance guy!

His first email to me went like this:

“I liked your profile…sounds like you love travel like me. I’m from Danvers, MA but I am actually staying in Laconia NH while I ponder living in Boston, Manchester NH….or New York, City. I returned from Asia two months ago (spent 10 months living in Singapore and Shanghai on a semi-sabbatical from real life) and before that was in technology investment banking. I’ve lived in NYC before (law school at Columbia and now a grad degree from NYU) and if I do choose to live in Boston or Manchester, I will probably buy a place in NYC anyway, because I love visiting my friends there. I ran my own firm for 7 years before my break and made some successful investments. I’ve got a great family too and most of them are spread between northern mass and southern nh.”

Talking about a sales pitch! He intrigued me, so we went back and forth with a few email exchanges, but once I went off to my 10-day trip to Florida, all communication ceased. I got nothing from him, except he asked to let him know when I was back from my trip. Really?

That confused me.

Wasn’t it obvious that I was a hot commodity on the market? Hello! Finance Guy…I’m a tall, smart, pretty red head, never married, no kids. If you asked me, I would think that’s a pretty rare find these days. I’m sorry, are people like me really that abundant? How could he not realize that another guy could easily come by in a 10-day span and capture my attention? Which, by the way, is exactly what happened – Mr. Vermont came into the picture and stole the show, until I met him in person for our first date.

So, there I was, sitting there in my corner at the Shaskeen, surprised to see a text from Finance Guy. But, really, after what I’ve been through over the past few years, nothing surprises me anymore. Screw it. I’m just going to go with the flow…

FINANCE GUY: What are you up to?

CARRIE: I’m in my office cubicle at the Shaskeen, writing. You?

FINANCE GUY: I’m driving by your town right now, do you want me to stop by so we can meet? I have to meet my brother at 7:30pm, so I can’t stay long.

CARRIE: Of course!

FINANCE GUY: OK, I’ll be there in 15 minutes.

I grab my purse and make a mad dash into the Lady’s Room to freshen up. My face looked a little dewy the summer humidity, but it looked fresh – glowing even! However, my mane of red hair was not looking so good as it was doing it’s own thing and having Frizz-Fest. I knew I couldn’t do anything about it – it was just going to have to do.

Walking back to my corner in the bar, I pass Megan, the bartender, a fellow road-grimy single female like myself.

“You are not going to believe this,” I tell her, “I’m meeting another guy here in ten minutes.”

I sit down and try to keep working, but we all know that wasn’t happening…

When Fiance Guy walked into the Shaskeen, the first thing I notice was his build. Six-foot-two and 47-years old…wow, lookin’ pretty damn good for his age. He had a very square face – typical Irish features – oh, and very short hair and blue eyes and, of course, big man hands…

I’m interested!

We sit down at a table and we both order a Harpoon UFO – my favorite. The conversation was flowing and the attraction was mutual. Nathan arrives for work and came over to say hello to me. I introduce him to my date, and they ended up having a brief conversation. Nathan is good like that – he’s always gracious and eager to talk with anyone who walks into his bar. (Personally, I really think he should run for mayor, because he’d definitely win.)

A half hour later, Finance Guy announces he has to leave. It was an awkward moment as we stood there. Do we shake hands? Do I hug him? I could tell he wanted to hug me, but he hesitated and said, sounding a little panicked while looking over his shoulder at Nathan,”Your brother is over there.”

Coyly, I replied, “So what! He’s not looking now,” and gave him a kiss on the check.

Three days later we meet in Boston for a drink. Boston! I had not visited the city in years, so I was really excited to be there.

We meet at the Westin Hotel bar. He was staying there because he was flying out of Logan Airport to Washington DC the following morning to pick up his two kids so he could have them for a week. Originally, our plan was to have a drink in the lounge and then go watch some live music, but our conversations just kept going, so we ended up staying at the bar.

Two beers and three hours later, he invited me to his hotel room for a glass of wine. I knew he just wanted to get me to his room so he could kiss me. So, I agreed but, only on one condition – that he behaved himself! Shortly after he poured the wine, he went for the kiss. The whole evening had gone well, so I wasn’t expecting what happened next.

Slowing he brought his mouth up to mine and then without warning, without even kissing my lips, he stuck his whole entire friggin’ tongue in my mouth!  Making things worse (I know…what can be worse than that?) is the fact that at the same time he was shoving his huge tongue in my mouth, I had instinctively reached around his 6’2″ frame and put my hand on his back – only to feel something crunchy under my hand. It was a double whammy. Oh, God noooooo…!!!!! Pulling back, I gently said to him, “Can you please not use your tongue?” and then proceeded to try to kiss him, thinking that, maybe, I could show him how to kiss properly…

Fat chance.

He was a hopeless case, and because I was so grossed out by the fact that my hand touched what might have been a very hairy back just pushed me past the point of no return.

The sirens and fire alarms were all going off in my head.

Please step away from the man and find the nearest exit. Carrie, this is an emergency. Please find the nearest exit and leave. Do not walk – run!

Look, there is hair on a man’s back, which, hey, some men have it which I don’t mind – and then there is this guy’s back! I was horrified. No, I was horrified, grossed out, and beside myself at the same time. How in the world could this man have been married for ten years. Ten years?! I couldn’t even get past the first kiss with him – never mind shacking up with him for ten long years!

Trying to be cool and not show my utter disgust, I left, but he insisted on walking me to my car, which was in the garage a few blocks away from the hotel. It was raining, so once we got to my car I told him that I would give him a ride back. I know, I can’t help myself…I’m too freaking nice…even after someone shoves their whole tongue in my mouth.

Ick! Ick! Ick!

We got into my car and as I drove up to the garage exit and the automated parking attendant announces that owe $30. Thirty dollars! And wouldn’t you know, Finance Guy…yes, that’s right, “Mr. I Shit Money”…didn’t even reach for his wallet. So, I’m out of money and I get assaulted by his nasty tongue…

God has a horrible sense of humor and, believe me, I’m not laughing.

The ride home felt like an eternity, because all I could think about was how much I wanted to wash my mouth out with Listerine.  Scope wouldn’t have cut it.  I needed the heavy-duty Listerine and, of course, lucky me, I didn’t even have a bottle of water in my car, or even one measly stick of gum. Nothing. I even dug to the depths of my purse and frantically searched all four corners hoping to find something.

Something.

Anything!

Seriously, if I had found a used wad of gum stuck inside a crumpled-up wrapper that had been there for months, I would have popped that sucker right in my mouth and happily chewed it like it was the freshest piece of gum I had ever had. But, why would I have such luck?

Lesson learned: Never, under any circumstances, leave the house without gum.  Ever.

The following day I told Beth about my horrific date.

CARRIE: Can I break up with him via text?

BETH: Yes.

CARRIE: Sweet! 😀

BETH: What are you going to say?

CARRIE: “Although I really enjoyed our first date, I don’t feel as though the chemistry is there for me to go on a 2nd date…”

BETH: Oh – that’s perfect.

CARRIE: “….because you don’t know how to kiss and you shoved your big NASTY tongue in my mouth and it MADE ME WANT TO VOMIT.”

BETH: STOP! Now I gotta vomit!

Next time a guy decides to shove his tongue in my mouth like that, I’m taking my friend Lisa’s advice and I’m just going to bite the thing off!

Next! Next! Next!