Prologue:
The mirror in my hotel
room is strategically positioned to catch my waddle past it toward the
bathroom, which makes it a shame that Old Overholt makes me pee so much. When I
look at my reflection- hunched over with a beer gut and no pants- I can't help
but wonder what kind of creature would want to date this mess? I’m not
particularly charismatic, and even if I was the greatest lay in the world (I'm
not) you wouldn't know it from looking at me. So what the hell, ladies?!
What is it you find attractive about me? Are there no other men? Are all the
attractive intelligent guys gay?
These are the questions
that keep me up nights. How is it that I, a somewhat (read: significantly)
unattractive, long-winded, incredibly negative individual, is having success in
the dating world? It seems unfathomable. My ex-roommate, a recent female convert
to the city, used to say I was like a "bear with an apartment." I
don’t disagree. So why the interest?
Well it turns out there
is, in fact, a simple explanation: it's a numbers game. Where I live there are
more women than men. It's really that simple. According to Trulia Trends, a
real estate website, Boston has the third largest female-to-male ratio, with
New York City a close fourth.
Now ladies, the news gets worse: while we get Washington D.C., Boston, and New York in our top five, your top five are:
When I recently informed
a female colleague of this her reaction was exactly what you would expect,
"Is abstinence or lesbianism an option?"
So there you have it,
the only reason that I was able to get dates, while still being me, was a
direct result of there being, literally, no one else.
Part I: New York Slummin'
After about a year since
signing up for OkCupid, I noticed that my dates had been getting progressively
less interesting. At first the novelty of an Amazon.com-style approach to
dating —rating a person, adding them to your wish list with the
intent/hope of putting them in your cart and seeing them within 2-4 days— seemed not only
appealing; it was downright phenomenal. To me, their slogan ought to have been,
“All the ease and convenience of online shopping, plus the chance to get laid!”
My enthusiasm was, unfortunately,
short-lived as date after date started to seem identical to the last. Immediately
after the initial few minutes of pleasantries she would undoubtedly ask where I
worked and how many siblings I had. Though I would invariably tune out the
answer, I would politely reply and ask the standard "and you?" follow
ups. I understand that the act of normal human coupling involves minutia (read:
life story) but recounting my own stories bores me as much as hearing yours. Sometime
around the 10th consecutive date that opened with, "So… what do you
do?" I knew I was in trouble.
That was when I stopped
trying. Dressing up for dates became a quaint but obsolete convention, while
showing up at least partially-drunk became novel. I even went so far as to go
for the nuclear option, changing the venue from an uncrowded bar, to a packed
Jazz club where conversation was almost impossible, thus eliminating all need
for speech, and the opportunity to ask whether or not I had any pets.
Part II: Jazzin' It Up
So then I met Lucy (name changed). Lucy is from Cleveland. This was before my move to Boston and thus before my apathy when it came to checking a profile prior to asking someone out.
According to Lucy's
"Personality Test":
I was floored by the
fact that she is less love-driven and romantic than I am —How the hell would that
even look? Was she going to bring another date on our date?— and agreed to meet
her outside the Jazz club.
I showed up half-drunk
but early enough to smoke a cigarette (nothing says "please fuck me"
quite as much as smelling like a 90’s bowling alley) and open my book in the
hopes that she would ask me about what I am reading rather than what I spend
the 40-most-soul-sucking-hours-of-my-week doing. Lucy is punctual and overly
affectionate, which is out-of-character if her profile is to be believed. She
goes right in for a hug (which makes me think she is a smoker) but is awkward
and doesn't quite know where to put her hands. My first take on this aborted hug-maneuver
is that she was probably recently told to show more affection, and like a robot
running beta software attempted to comply.
The club is loud as
usual, and I order myself a scotch. In between songs, she compliments the venue
and the view. Unfettered by attempts at casual conversation, my only
contribution is to mention that I had previously stolen several light bulbs
from the bathroom of this club because my bathroom had similarly odd bulbs that
I can't seem to find in conventional stores.
As the band plays on I
periodically catch a glimpse of her looking over at me, puzzled by what is
going on. At which point I realize her bewilderment is directed at my body
motions. In what must essentially look like a full body dry heave to the rest
of the world, I am attempting to drunkenly "bop" my way along to the
music.
The band finishes their
set, and I ask "Do you want to go to a nearby bar?" she mutters
something about having to be up early and we head downstairs to flag her a cab.
We both light up a cigarette, and she turns to me and says, "That was
really fun, but I could never date someone like you."
"Like me?" I
ask incredulously,
"What the fuck are
you wearing?" she replies.
I suddenly am very much
aware of the fact that my "Slummin' it" bravado extends to my
clothing. I am wearing a ripped Nirvana T-shirt, baggy stained jeans, and a
torn hoodie with some sort of insane print on it. In essence I have regressed
to an outfit that even my 10th grade self might scoff at. It had not occurred
to me I had sunk that low that fast.
"Shit," I say,
suddenly aware of myself. "Yeah, holy garbage this is bad even for
me."
"You look like
shit, and you were boring all night."
"Yeah, sorry, well
at least you got to see Dizzie's" I reply, opening the door to a cab that
just pulled up.
"Well maybe our
next date should involve some clothes shopping." She says before closing
the door and driving away.
Our next date? What the
hell just happened? Why would we even bother to go out again?
Part III: Negative Nancy
Over the next few weeks Lucy and I would go on several dates. Each time, the date would consist of an activity I had chosen (for which I was sure to be berated,) followed by an evening filled with admittedly creative insults at my expense. They would end with an awkward kiss goodbye and a promise by her to text me the following day to set up the next date.
Her nightly insults
included (but were not limited to):
1.) You dress like a
hobo.
2.) You drink too much.
3.) You talk too much.
4.) You never pick
anything fun, just bars.
5.) Your friends are
annoying.
And my all time
favorite...
6.) You are hands-down
the most annoying person I have ever met.
This may leave you to
wonder, why would I go out with her? Well for one thing, she wasn't wrong,
nothing she said (with the exception of the perhaps hyperbolic sixth point) was
false. I was/did all of those things. For another we had yet to have sex, and I
kept thinking (though I have no idea why) that it was still an option. Mostly
though, it wasn't boring. In five
dates I knew nothing of her family, or her life. We had discussed neither her
job nor mine and there was no mention of where we went to school or what we
studied there. Hell, the only reason I knew she was Jewish was because she was
constantly belittling me and telling me I wasn't good enough for her. It was
ideal.
But alas, it did not
last. While for me the relationship was enjoyable, if confusing, for her it
must have been insanely frustrating. Deep down, she probably thought that
reciting my faults night after night would result in a change in my behavior. When it didn't she just gave up.
Lucy, it appears, came
to the conclusion that in a world where the odds are against her, she should grab
hold of whatever she can get, and rebuke that thing (read: me) until it looks
what she wanted in the first place. What she hadn't counted on was that
sometimes being berated is more fun than being asked, "So, what do you do
for work?"
