The Brit that ruined accents forever.

Did Heidi and I ever mention that we joined OKCupid one night while we were being drunk and silly? Well I've hardly ever logged on, but the tricky part of that site is that people instant message you while you are on, so it's very hard to not speak to at least one of them.

This guy, we'll call him The Brit, messaged me, I checked his profile, and I wasn't so into it, so I ignored him. Well then he pulled the "Did I not pass your approval test?" line which made me feel like an asshole, so I said hello back, and it went from there. His picture actually was cute enough - he looked like a dark haired, kind of serious but possibly suave British guy with blue eyes.

Boy, can pictures lie.

He asked for my gchat, and we decided to grab drinks that upcoming Tuesday evening. He gchatted with me throughout the day Monday and Tuesday, and we actually got along quite well in conversation. I was actually a little nervous going into the date, hoping that I looked okay and making sure that my hair and make-up were all fresh.

I arrived at the bar at the Ace Hotel and saw him from across the room. I had been worried he might be a little short for my taste, but I could fully see his height upon walking in and was relieved that he was at least 1-2 inches taller than me. Crisis averted.

Til I rounded the corner and got the full view. You know how we ladies sometimes have weight challenges in the 'love-handle' area? Well, I think that the male equivalent is the 'spare tire' zone. And boy, was he packing a spare.

I had never been on a date that had turned out to be chubby, so I was caught off guard for a split second. It looked like he had attempted to be put-together, but something about it all just read 'sloppy' to me... Ugh, no bueno.

So we have our drink at the hotel bar, and then he immediately interjects that he has planned our next destination. Oh goody.

We walk a couple of blocks to an Italian wine bar on E. 28th Street - a cute place, but I totally was over this date already. There just wasn't a physical attraction, even I could admit that, and I don't know what it is, but when someone continually is telling you that you are 'lovely' all throughout any of your conversation, the whole thing just feels awkward.

Of course, The Brit insisted on ordering a bottle at this wine bar, and as I was with Volleyball Guy, I didn't feel badly when I made an excuse to run to the restroom right at the time that I knew the bill would come. Maybe I'm a jerk, but I did not opt for this second destination or a bottle of wine.

He had a third destination planned apparently, but I cut him short and told him that I had to be at a work meeting bright and early and had to get home - it was already pushing 11 pm at this point, and I felt that I had been polite for as long as I could possibly muster.

We left the wine bar, and as I was reaching up to dig in my purse for my Metrocard, he took the liberty of grabbing my left hand and interlocking our fingers. Ew. Hand holding to me is actually somewhat intimate - I'd first make out with someone before I opted to hold their hand even - and I was completely grossed out that he made such a ballsy move. I pulled it away slyly, and kept digging for the Metrocard.

We finally reached my train stop, and I tried to make a quick escape, but of course, The Brit had other plans. He grabbed my hand again and then asked, "Might I kiss you?" in that British accent that I was now completely turned off by. I pulled away and kind of giggled, "Oh nooo, I'm a good girl...I don't kiss on first dates." (Such a lie.)

He accepted defeat, asked for a next date, I eluded that question, and dashed into the subway.

I arrived home to a text, "I had a lovely time. When can I see you again?" I slept on it, figuring out what to do, and I decided to continue with my attempt at positive karma and wrote back, "Thank you so much for a nice evening. I really appreciate your asking, but I just don't think that I felt a romantic connection. I'd be interested in keeping in touch and being friends, if you'd like."

Gosh, I thought that was nice of me. At least I didn't ignore him, which he had mentioned on the date was one of his biggest pet peeves.

His response? "Well that's one bloody way to say good morning."

What a sore loser.

The biggest let down of the date? I think that he single-handedly has managed to ruin any of the Queen's accents for me: British, Australian, S. African...they all just sound annoying to me now. Bummer.

Update: Ivory

I went out with Ivory last night. Yes, even after doing the 50-yard dash out of Brooklyn last weekend, we've been texting all week and I agreed to a Sunday night date because a) I *did* have fun with him on the first date and b) my karma is all fucked up after the Brooklyn incident and I need to set it straight.

As on date #1, everything was good at the first spot, a nice tapas bar on the Upper West Side, then en route to the second...the requests to come home with me began, and continued every five to ten minutes. Now, I'm not sure when I became such a prude, but I've decided to make this one wait a while.

So...at some point I decided to share my dating secret with him. He was telling me about some girls hitting on him at school....so I nicely suggested that maybe he should start fucking one of them so that he wouldn't be so horny and we could just chill a little.

I don't think he liked that suggestion so much? He told me that he didn't want to do that, he only wanted to be with me...at which point I told him that I am not monogamous. I don't think he liked that either.

Anyway, at least I'm honest. But, I do believe what I told him. Heidi's Secret to Dating #1: Keep a fuck buddy on the side at all times.. Any woman who's woken up at 7 AM with a snoring naked 3rd date in her bed knows that sexual frustration doesn't usually lead to good places.

Tequila and Texting do not mix.

Texts from last night:

Him: Hi Diana, its Pothead. How are you?

[six hours later] Me: I'm well thanks, how are you?

Him: I'm a year older, 27 now. We should go for a drink at The Wine Bar sometimes.

Me: I'm sorry, I hate The Wine Bar.

Him: Oh ok, you got a place you like to go for a drink?

Me: Well I mean I do have a boyfriend though... Does that matter to you?

Him: Well, he's your bf, not mine, i digged you that night, you're really cute.

Me: Well thanks. I have a question. What was the guy doing on the roof with just suspenders and boxers but no pants?

[thirty minutes later] Me: Pothead my love...please tell me the suspenders story

-Pothead calls. I don't recall the conversation, just that I know I really egged him on even further. We hang up.-

Me: It was so good to hear your sexy voice.

Him: Hehe, really? Glad you like it babe.

Me: You speak french, can you tell me what menage a trois means?

Him: It means me, you and another cutie.

Me: How about you me and another guy?

Him: Lol, you're funny, you're game like that? I never done that, but i'm like that energy bunny, you only one of me ;)

[I think he meant, "you only need one of me"...]

Him: I'm back home, we should meet up, i'll teach u more sexy french.

Me: Hm, menage a trois. What about you and Ivory Coast?

Him: What??? You're serious? i don't know about that ...come on babe, let me drop by and say hi, i haven't seen you in a while.

Me: I'm actually really serious. Is that a problem?

Him: Ok, let's meet up and talk about what you want to do, imma take a shower, let me know, if you serious, i can seriously drop by and get down to some serious business... Nope that's not a prob ...just say the word, i'll be right by your doorstep, coming to put some dick between your legs, just say the word. Lol, we can alternate...seriously u got me in the mood, i wanna tear your ass apart babe...

-At this point, The Beard was listening in to us girls laughing so hard at the text messages that he grabbed my phone, and decided he was going to answer Pothead for a while. I didn't argue and let him text away. I'm seriously going to hell. The following messages sent from "me" are actually The Beard...-

Me: The only thing you'll be putting in me is a serious bout of nausea.

Him: Ok, i get it...but you started with this, i just played along. i didn't think you were serious at first, that's why i asked you, but think what you want to think.

Me: Take it easy buddy I'm sure there are women lined up around the block to have your awkward sexual advances texted to them.

Him: I didn't make any advances until you teased me about having a sexy voice and wandering about menage a trois ...i called you see how you were doing and if you wanted to meet up, that was it...anyway, it doesn't matter now.

Me: [this was Heidi taking the phone back and trying to wrap the convo up] Dude pothead I'm just drunk and was playin'. Dude its all good.

I'm going to hell. I'm going to hell. I'm going to hell.

Karma & The Principal

After diagnosing my MDFM situation to be a direct result of my bad karma, I have made a conscious effort over the last few months to right my wrongs and leave a good, I dunno...vibe or something, out in the dating world.

I had pretty much set everything in a positive direction until a quick little slip of the Blackberry occurred this weekend.

Let's rewind to Friday, where I had a planned date with The Principal (as in, of a school). We had met on Match.com, and because he lives in Brooklyn (aka Geographically Undesirable), we decided to meet at some beer bar in Union Square. Because Muffy and Heidi were heading out for what sounded like way more fun than my Principal-date, I met them prior to heading downtown, and admittedly got a little drunk.

Three martinis and a $17 cab ride later: I met him, he was okay cute, we had a semi-boring conversation, I diagnosed that as good of a job as I was doing being able to pretend that he was entertaining me, he was doing a poor job of pretending that I was amusing him, and we mutually cut the date short about an hour and a half in. Cool, no big deal. Then right at the end of the conversation at the bar, I do a little head-tilt at something he says, and I try to re-evaluate if he actually is indeed interested in me. Either way, we leave, we walk toward the main street where I can catch a cab and he can catch his train to Brooklyn, we stop for a moment for me to mention I need to head to the left, and he looks, and says: "Okay, nice meeting you. Good night." And turns and walks away.

I was a bit taken aback at his super abrupt farewell, although admittedly not disappointed to escape the lame date and head back to the girls, but at least I then felt positive in his lack of any interest in me.

Until Saturday.

The girls and I were a few drinks in, making fun of his abrupt exit and decided to make light of the situation. I sent The Principal a quick email from my Blackberry:

"I had such a wonderful time meeting you last night. I'd love to see you soon.

Diana"

I said "wonderful"? "Love to see you soon"? I was sure that this would make his eyes bug a little that this was my response to our Friday night meeting.

Fifteen minutes later the good ole Blackberry beeps with a response:

"I had a great time too and would love to get together again. When are you free? How was your night tonight? Hope you had fun!"

Whaaaaaaaaaat? You have got. to be. kidding me. And more than anything, because I decided to mess with his head and in all honesty make fun of him, does this mean I have to work on karma reparation all over again??? Unreal.


....But now that I reflect on this situation and the juxtaposing evening with Delaware, I'm thinking that it may be quite possible that the MDFM Phenom really is taking a turn-around...

Anywhere But Brooklyn.

Single women everywhere re-hash male behaviors and determine that most guys are assholes. The male version of this conversation apparently concludes that most women are crazy bitches. Last night, I was the crazy bitch. For sure.

Once we sent Diana safely off on her dreamy date, Muffy and I decided to go ahead and head to Brooklyn to Pothead's birthday party. We left the fine island of Manhattan around 2:30 AM....25 long minutes later, the lights disappeared, the shops disappeared, the people disappeared...and we'd arrived at the "house party" in Brooklyn. On a deserted and scary block.

We weren't feeling it, but at this point, we'd spent 25 minutes and 25 bucks getting there, so decided to head in. In a moment of brilliance, Muffy begged the cab driver to wait five minutes "just in case" since our chances of finding a cab once there were none to none.

We go in to find 8 people hanging out in a bright, quiet apartment. Um, OK. We say hello and happy birthday to Pothead who tells us that Ivory Coast is anxiously awaiting my arrival on the roof.

Then the fun really begins. We head to the roof to find Ivory Coast, dressed to the nines in a track jacket and beanie, so stoned that he can only giggle like a Japanese schoolgirl....sitting alongside Suspenders, aptly named because he was in his boxer shorts being held up by suspenders. Um, what? Yes, underwear and suspenders.

We're not really sure what the fuck is going on at this point, but we are positive that we need to bounce. Muffy signals to the cabbie from the roof that we're coming back down, and we tell Ivory and Suspenders that we're out. They ask me where we're going - my answer: "Anywhere but Brooklyn." They are down, I guess, because they say that they are coming with us. Suspenders scampers away to put on his jeans, and Ivory Coast scampers to...put on another track jacket? Not sure. We tell them we are heading down to have a cigaratte and we'll see them in the cab.

Somewhere between that conversation and the door of the cab, we think better of it, and decide it's time to bolt - solo. We jump in the cab and tell him to step on it.

The best part: Ivory still asked me for a "walk and dinner" tonight.

I gotta work on my dating karma.