I swore I would never join one of those online dating services. When I did, it was on my mother’s suggestion. I guess she could see from my list of drug dealers, egotistical Italians and Spanish lovers that I needed some help. I don’t know why I ever went against my initial thought of dot-com dating, because when I met Kevin, I knew I was in trouble. When eharmony.com produced a total of zero matches for my personality, I tried Plentyoffish.com. It was free, and it was on the computer monitor in my college library when I sat down. A sign perhaps.
I signed up with a false email address and browsed promising boyfriends, one-night stands and future husbands. I must admit, I was surprised at how many good-looking men were desperate in the tri-state area. And clicking on their picture opened up a plethora of possibilities. Hobbies, religious beliefs, heights, weights, hair colors, occupations and penis sizes. It was perfect. You could weed out the 5-foot-11, mixed-race, “entrepreneur” who fathered four-plus children, or you could send a cyber-rose to a business executive from New Jersey who smoked occasionally and was looking for “long-term.”
After I virtually flirted with BizLawyer, ComedicGenius and Mr.Thriller, I really didn’t feel the love connection. How did I get here? I thought, scrolling through BlackSexxxy’s picture montage.
I clicked through a few more pictures and stopped on Kevin. He wasn’t bad looking and seemed normal. He had a few non-threatening tattoos and nice full lips. He liked to read books, eat Chinese and his occupation read “restaurant manager.” I sent him a flirty email, and he responded almost immediately. Kevin was from South Jersey and lived in a condo that his parents owned. He soon admitted that his restaurant manager position included making deliveries at a pizza place.
When we decided to meet a week later, I waited outside Penn Station in a black-and-red dress. I had curled my brown hair and put on red lipstick to look like a silent film star. I stood against the cement wall and took a big drag of my cigarette. It was 5:14, and he would be in Manhattan any minute. My cell phone vibrated in my purse, and I struggled to find it.
“Hello?”
“Hi. I’m here,” he said.
“OK, where are you? I’m on 34th and 7th. I’ll come meet you.”
“I’m right in front of H&M, and I’m wearing a baseball hat.”
I weaved in and out of rush-hour commuters and approached H&M. I could see a man on his phone and looking toward me. I smiled at him.
“I see you.”
We both looked at each other and hung up our phones in sync. I walked to him, and he kissed me on the cheek.
“It’s good to finally meet you,” I said.
Kevin handed me a single rose, and we started to walk.
He smelled of cheap cologne and cigarettes and wore an old brown leather jacket, a simple collared shirt and stained khaki pants. With my help, I think he could have been caught in ripped jeans and Diesel sneakers before the end of the month. I began to realize I was completely overdressed, and he didn’t comment on my appearance. Disappointment number one: When your date overlooks your well-spent primp time…it’s not even worth it.
I noticed that he looked drowsy. Drugged or something. Kind of like my brother did when my mother gave him Benadryl for his dog allergies.
We walked up Seventh Avenue and enjoyed the warm weather. It was a gorgeous afternoon in the city, and at this point I didn't care what we did or who I was with, because ultimately I was on a date with New York.
“So where do you want to eat?” I asked.
“I don’t care. I guess we’ll find something. I don’t come into the city often, so you pick.”
Great, I thought. As strong a woman as I may be, I hate being in control of the little things. I feel a man should map out the date ahead of time and take his woman out for dinner, dancing and perhaps a nightcap if he says the right things.
“OK, well I’m sure there’s something in this area. Let’s just walk,” I suggested. “So how’s your job?”
“It’s OK. I’m thinking about quitting, though.”
“Oh? How come?” I asked.
“Well my friend has a company, and I think I might help him with sales.”
“What kind of company is it?”
“He makes clear, translucent rolling papers, and I would go door to door to different cigar shops to sell them the product.”
I stared at him and said nothing. His speech was slow and forced. He smacked his lips together as he talked and blinked slowly.
“Wow. Do you think that's a good career move?” I asked.
“Yeah. I can make my own hours and shit. Besides, I think I’m gonna move back into my parents’ house anyway. Oh, yeah. Here, before I forget…” he said.
He dug deep into his coat pocket and took out a black laminated pamphlet.
“I brought you a sample of the papers.”
He handed me the pamphlet.
“If you want more, I can get you more.” His sales pitch was incredible.
“Oh…wow. Thank you,” I said.
I looked hard at the gift and then put his thoughtful present away in my purse. At that moment I knew it was a good time to disappear into the sea of New Yorkers and pretend to lose him. Kevin smiled at me and put his arm tightly around my shoulder. We walked forward and I felt a hard lump form in my throat.
“Want to eat here?” he pointed.
He stopped us next to a Chinese take-out storefront with a few tables that faced the window and plastic orange chairs. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore images of my girlfriends laughing and my mother with her jaw dropped to the floor.
“Sure.”
I swallowed hard and walked into the small store.
“You can have whatever you want. It’s on me,” he said boldly.
I looked away from him and stared up at the food menu. Somewhere in between deciding on pork fried rice or sweet-and-sour chicken, I transported myself far from the man standing beside me. I drifted to a small candlelit table in Tribeca, laughing over a bottle of Merlot and falling in love with a handsome gentleman across from me. He would confess embarrassing stories about his childhood and tell me how beautiful my eyes were. He would reach to touch my hand at the right moment and interlock his strong fingers with mine.
“Know what you want, dollface?” Kevin slapped me on the back. Startled, I tripped forward, smacking my head into the glass counter.
It was going to be a very long night.
I signed up with a false email address and browsed promising boyfriends, one-night stands and future husbands. I must admit, I was surprised at how many good-looking men were desperate in the tri-state area. And clicking on their picture opened up a plethora of possibilities. Hobbies, religious beliefs, heights, weights, hair colors, occupations and penis sizes. It was perfect. You could weed out the 5-foot-11, mixed-race, “entrepreneur” who fathered four-plus children, or you could send a cyber-rose to a business executive from New Jersey who smoked occasionally and was looking for “long-term.”
After I virtually flirted with BizLawyer, ComedicGenius and Mr.Thriller, I really didn’t feel the love connection. How did I get here? I thought, scrolling through BlackSexxxy’s picture montage.
I clicked through a few more pictures and stopped on Kevin. He wasn’t bad looking and seemed normal. He had a few non-threatening tattoos and nice full lips. He liked to read books, eat Chinese and his occupation read “restaurant manager.” I sent him a flirty email, and he responded almost immediately. Kevin was from South Jersey and lived in a condo that his parents owned. He soon admitted that his restaurant manager position included making deliveries at a pizza place.
When we decided to meet a week later, I waited outside Penn Station in a black-and-red dress. I had curled my brown hair and put on red lipstick to look like a silent film star. I stood against the cement wall and took a big drag of my cigarette. It was 5:14, and he would be in Manhattan any minute. My cell phone vibrated in my purse, and I struggled to find it.
“Hello?”
“Hi. I’m here,” he said.
“OK, where are you? I’m on 34th and 7th. I’ll come meet you.”
“I’m right in front of H&M, and I’m wearing a baseball hat.”
I weaved in and out of rush-hour commuters and approached H&M. I could see a man on his phone and looking toward me. I smiled at him.
“I see you.”
We both looked at each other and hung up our phones in sync. I walked to him, and he kissed me on the cheek.
“It’s good to finally meet you,” I said.
Kevin handed me a single rose, and we started to walk.
He smelled of cheap cologne and cigarettes and wore an old brown leather jacket, a simple collared shirt and stained khaki pants. With my help, I think he could have been caught in ripped jeans and Diesel sneakers before the end of the month. I began to realize I was completely overdressed, and he didn’t comment on my appearance. Disappointment number one: When your date overlooks your well-spent primp time…it’s not even worth it.
I noticed that he looked drowsy. Drugged or something. Kind of like my brother did when my mother gave him Benadryl for his dog allergies.
We walked up Seventh Avenue and enjoyed the warm weather. It was a gorgeous afternoon in the city, and at this point I didn't care what we did or who I was with, because ultimately I was on a date with New York.
“So where do you want to eat?” I asked.
“I don’t care. I guess we’ll find something. I don’t come into the city often, so you pick.”
Great, I thought. As strong a woman as I may be, I hate being in control of the little things. I feel a man should map out the date ahead of time and take his woman out for dinner, dancing and perhaps a nightcap if he says the right things.
“OK, well I’m sure there’s something in this area. Let’s just walk,” I suggested. “So how’s your job?”
“It’s OK. I’m thinking about quitting, though.”
“Oh? How come?” I asked.
“Well my friend has a company, and I think I might help him with sales.”
“What kind of company is it?”
“He makes clear, translucent rolling papers, and I would go door to door to different cigar shops to sell them the product.”
I stared at him and said nothing. His speech was slow and forced. He smacked his lips together as he talked and blinked slowly.
“Wow. Do you think that's a good career move?” I asked.
“Yeah. I can make my own hours and shit. Besides, I think I’m gonna move back into my parents’ house anyway. Oh, yeah. Here, before I forget…” he said.
He dug deep into his coat pocket and took out a black laminated pamphlet.
“I brought you a sample of the papers.”
He handed me the pamphlet.
“If you want more, I can get you more.” His sales pitch was incredible.
“Oh…wow. Thank you,” I said.
I looked hard at the gift and then put his thoughtful present away in my purse. At that moment I knew it was a good time to disappear into the sea of New Yorkers and pretend to lose him. Kevin smiled at me and put his arm tightly around my shoulder. We walked forward and I felt a hard lump form in my throat.
“Want to eat here?” he pointed.
He stopped us next to a Chinese take-out storefront with a few tables that faced the window and plastic orange chairs. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore images of my girlfriends laughing and my mother with her jaw dropped to the floor.
“Sure.”
I swallowed hard and walked into the small store.
“You can have whatever you want. It’s on me,” he said boldly.
I looked away from him and stared up at the food menu. Somewhere in between deciding on pork fried rice or sweet-and-sour chicken, I transported myself far from the man standing beside me. I drifted to a small candlelit table in Tribeca, laughing over a bottle of Merlot and falling in love with a handsome gentleman across from me. He would confess embarrassing stories about his childhood and tell me how beautiful my eyes were. He would reach to touch my hand at the right moment and interlock his strong fingers with mine.
“Know what you want, dollface?” Kevin slapped me on the back. Startled, I tripped forward, smacking my head into the glass counter.
It was going to be a very long night.
