A classmate of mine from elementary school has just started a blog detailing her terrible, horrible, no good, very bad dating life*. (Don't actually click the star. Just scroll down. I am evidently not as skilled at html as I once was and it doesn't jump anywhere.) Consumed with jealously that she’s getting so many hits despite completely uninteresting stories with an undeniably bitchy tone, I have decided to illuminate my readers on my own dating horror stories.
This is not the first time that I’ve delved into this realm. Please allow me a moment of shameless self-promotion to point you to my James Bond versus Indiana Jones dateability ranking, a discussion of the term “winter boyfriend,” and my short-lived blog where I faked Missed Connections and wrote about the hilarity that ensued.
So here's my story: In the interest of personal safety women do not typically reveal specifically where they live or work on dates. Makes sense. A first date is still a potentially crazy person who you don’t want showing up at the office or your apartment. Keep this in mind.
When I lived in NY I belonged to OKCupid**, a free online dating service that attracts people who are slightly less desperate than eHarmony users. The fact that I wear glasses and use full sentences generally weeds out some of the less savory characters. But then came Ediz***. He was Turkish, self-employed, living in Astoria and working in midtown. We met for Tuesday happy hour at a lounge in my neighborhood. Lounges are at best a little creepy but this one was creepier than most. Let me elaborate: The seating was the saggy type of sofa where you have no choice but to basically sit on the person you’re with. All of the cocktails had names like “tie me to the bedpost” or “jealous bitch” or “sex on the sofa.” The lighting was provided by colored bulbs and scented candles. And the bartender inappropriately suggested that my date get me drunk to take advantage of me.
So I maintained my distance from the man who thought this might be somehow romantic or classy. I sat far from him and mentioned several times that since it was a Tuesday I would have to leave early for work, in an undisclosed location. But then Ediz said…
“You work in Central Park right? I’ve seen you around. And then I recognized you on OKCupid”
WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!
Evidently Ediz was a pedicabber in Central Park and had seen me driving around in my sweet Parks Department Prius. Now my baseline state is road-ragey and I had a particular grudge against pedicabbers so I immediately wondered if I had run over a friend of his and he was enacting revenge.
I don’t recall much of the date except for his endless efforts to get me to drink more. He was really putting the pressure on and I was continuously and obviously resisting, avoiding, and literally drawing away from him. I even moved to an entirely different couch.
When I was finally able to leave he offered to walk me home. “No thanks” I said, “It’s not far.” He said he really wanted to see where I lived. I politely refused again. It was a surprisingly prolonged discussion. It seems that men aren’t really aware of the “don’t let a potential stalker know where you live” rule. Although I suppose you couldn’t be a potential stalker if you didn’t force the issue.
And despite all indications that I had no interest in him, Ediz tried to kiss me. I pulled some serious Matrix-level shit to avoid that. I am not joking. I had no idea I was that flexible.
|Just. like. this.|
Before you tell me that I overreacted and I didn’t give this guy a chance… my gut was right. He called and texted and emailed me incessantly for months. I was so so very glad that he also didn’t know where I lived because I have no doubt that he would have showed up on my doorstep. We have rules for a reason people.
And next I tell you about the time I invited a guy back to my place to “look at my new hockey skates.”
*It’s only fair tolink to it but don’t click on the link because I can’t bear for her to have more viewers.
**Ok I still belong to OkCupid, even though there are all of 5 people who live in Managua
***Name changed to protect the no good, horrible dates. Ediz is a real Turkish name which means "high" which cracks me up for some reason. Yes I GoogledTurkish names. This is nothing if not a well-researched piece.