Monthly Archives: March 2002

Last weekend I was at lunch with B.N. and there was a cute guy who kept staring at me. I boldly gave him my phone number on my way out. Later that afternoon, he called. His name is N. (I assume he has a last name, but I don’t know it.)

So we went out last night to a bar called Pop Rocks (his (bad) idea). I’m not quite sure how we managed to get in, since they clearly had an age requirement of 12 and under, but there we were, shrieking in each others’ ears and looking ghastly under the unflattering neon lights. At one point I tried to get a little familiar and he said, “this isn’t a date—it’s an official hang”.

What did he think, I gave him my number because I wanted his thoughts on Frida Kahlo?

I asked him what it would take to turn this into a date, and he said, “I don’t date people this early—I don’t even know you yet.”

Then he exchanged phone numbers with two other guys in the bar.

Then he spent the entire cab ride home alternately feeling me up and tweaking my nipples.

Then he wouldn’t let me come up to his place because it was a mess.

Men baffle me utterly.

In an attempt to salvage something out of the time and energy I’d invested in him, I invited N.E. over for dinner and sex. Technically, the invitation was for dinner, but sex was strongly implied. He arrived and, within fifteen minutes, asked what time the express train stopped running. So I had to make a yummy dinner and sit through it with an unfunny dinner companion, all the while knowing I wasn’t going to get any. And to top it all off, I looked over at the clock at 9:12 and realized I’d forgotten to set the VCR to tape Angel. When dinner was over, N.E. offered to help with the dishes, but I refused. What I said: “No, you’re my guest, you’re not allowed to touch the dishes.” What I thought: “I want you out of my apartment right now.”

At least he was annoying enough that I no longer think he’s hot.

And if anybody has Monday’s Angel on tape, please let me know.

Last week I went to a party for my friend H.O., who had just published her first book of poetry. I spent half an hour flirting with her very cute and smart and funny friend L. (last name unknown). As I was leaving, I took H.O. into a side room and asked her what the story was with L. She said, “He’s my boyfriend, but I’m breaking up with him tomorrow.” It was only then that we realized he was standing in the doorway and had heard the whole thing.

Maybe I should give him a call, since he’s single now and everything.

Last night I was at E.S.’s apartment and we were making out and all I wanted was to get the sex over with so that we could eat the cookie dough I’d brought.

I worry that my priorities are misplaced.