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: The Student

I was thankfully let off the hook on the whole putting-up-The-Student situation. He ended up being able to stay with a friend of his for the entire week, so I don't have to stress over being on my best behavior or having an immaculate apartment - phew.

He is still coming to town, however, and will be staying in the neighborhood, so chances are that I still might see him. He had originally expressed that he wanted to see me while he was here regardless, but things have been a little weird communication-wise since that conversation, so it's kind of up in the air at this point. I think that the problem lies in me not wanting to make myself vulnerable to a) a guy and b) a 21-year-old guy, so I've been acting somewhat standoff-ish, which is totally not how we have ever communicated with each other in all the time that we've known one another.

Anyway, there was some passive aggressive Facebook flirting that went on last night that is so dumb that I'm hesitant to share, but hey, I think we're all operating on full-disclosure mode here, so feel free to feel awkward for me as you read this:

The Student's Facebook Status: "New York City tomorrow."

Other people commented, and then...

Diana: Are you so excited? Prepare for the heat!

The Student: I'm bringing a good amount of shorts and a mickey mouse water fan to cope with the heat.

Diana: You know you're a native New Yorker when...you personally own a Mickey Mouse water fan. :)

The Student: Hahahaa very funny Di

That's it? Really?

This is what I get for making out with a 21-year-old in his dorm room.

Volleyball Guy

It took me about a week to think of a moniker for Volleyball Guy so that I could write about him. And really, I don't know that Volleyball Guy is even the right one to have decided upon. It was either that or 'Natural Gas Analyst', since that's what he does for a living, but to be honest, this guy was so nondescript that I just found myself fumbling to come up with something good to call him. So we'll just use the name that he chose for himself on his Match.com account.

VG was an okay looking guy in his Match pictures, and he was super nice in his emails. (I really need to always remember Heidi's advice for me and stop being drawn to the 'nice' guys. Nice = boring.) We met on Tuesday night in Union Square, and the moment we met I could tell that this was not going to go very far. His khakis were just a size too big, but he had belted them quite nicely, so that he had that illusion of having a FUPA, and he looked like a really unfortunate combination of Jewish and Italian. And to have sealed the deal on my becoming immediately disinterested, he spewed sarcasm from the moment that we said hello.

He also ended up not having a plan of action for once we met up (such a date foul), so I ended up leading us to a wine bar that I knew semi-nearby. I tried to order just a glass of wine, but he insisted on a bottle. $70 and 2 rounds each later, I snuck into the bathroom to text Heidi to escape, while I let him pay the bill. Hey, I didn't want a bottle to begin with, so I felt little to no guilt for that one.

I ended up ditching out early, offered some lame excuse when he asked to take me out again on Friday (I mean, who in New York really has to pick up a friend from the airport on a Friday night?? I don't even have a car. Hello, Diana, think quicker on your feet next time.), and headed out to meet friends.

On Friday, the dreaded follow-up text came: "Hey! I forgot I was going to dc to visit a friend late next week and weekend but would you like to get dinner with tues or wed? :)"

I dwelled on my next move for a good four-and-a-half hours before finally deciding to promote good karma and to do something that I'd never done before. Instead of just rejecting him with a rude silence, I texted him to let him know I wasn't feeling it: "Hey, thank you so much for thinking of me, I really appreciate it, but I didn't feel a chemistry the other night. I wish you the best of luck in meeting someone great though. :)"

I have to say it was much better of a move than having to dodge a couple more days of text messages, and hopefully he'll pass on that same respect to the next girl he isn't interested in. Because doesn't it just totally suck when the guy you were crushing on just doesn't answer?

Another one bites the dust.

It's going on two and a half months since Delaware resurfaced and we started our little dating affair. Walks in Central Park, movies in Union Square, dinners in Soho, dinners on the UES, drinks in the East Village, wandering through the Upper West Side, and after each and every date, a return to whoever's apartment was closest. The apartment-return would see us watching movies, sitting on the roof taking in the NY skyline, sipping some more wine, talking, making out, making out, making out.

Which can be fun. When you're 16.

However, these days, I'm a twentysomething professional living in New York City, on my own, in an apartment of my own, and I would seriously appreciate, especially after the two month mark, even just the slightest of a boob graze. (Because let me tell ya, Delaware, your love of dry humping really does not turn a girl on.)

I really don't get it. I've tried to further the situation myself, and managed to make a little bit of progress, so I thought. But only he reaped those benefits, let me tell ya.

The girls and I have had many a discussion on what the issue here might be. Shy? Maybe. Physically incapable? No, shot down that theory the night I took it upon myself to be a bit aggressive.

So after long, careful observation, we've come to the conclusion that I just can't see him anymore. I can't take the torture, and at the end of the day, I do not want to be the aggressor in a relationship.

Therefore, I must say, Sorry, Delaware. I hate to be mean, but I just can't date a 28 year old virgin.

Romancing: The Match.com Way

I received a message from a guy on Match.com asking me about my week, telling me about his, and then rounded out the nice-enough message with: "I have a theory about you, by the way. :)"

Upon reading that last line, in stepped the side of me that gets defensive when people think that they know me before they actually do, so I responded with a short: "Hi, what's this theory that you've got?"

His response: "My theory is that you like men who are optimistic and upbeat because you like those qualities in yourself but at the same time you feel those qualities lacking in yourself and so want a man to fill them. How did I do? :)"

This, of course, brought out my I-don't-need-a-man-to-fulfill-me side, and I got too annoyed with his lame psychoanalysis to even answer.

I kinda feel sorry for him now that I retype all of this... I mean, was this the best pick-up line he had???

Texts from Last Night

Last night, I used the excuse that I was having an argument with my "boyfriend" and therefore could not go meet Pothead, who is a friend of Ivory Coast. I thought that the commitment aspect of that would give the not-so-subtle hint that I wouldn't be interested in visiting with Pothead.

Apparently, there were still gray areas.

Text received:
"Hey, I'm sorry to hear that you are having bf trouble. Come out have a drink, let me put a smile on your cute face :)"

Umm....I'll take a rain check.