Deja Vu All Over Again

It’s finally happened now not once, but twice, so I think I have to move. I have to leave New York, and it’s environs because it’s just too sad. I have dated every man on the island and have started around again.

It’s true.

It’s one thing to be on a dating site and email someone and have them write back, “we went out a year ago, you never returned my calls” which proves you are not only a louse but senile as well. It happens to the best of us. There’s no particularly polite way out of that situation. I once said to a woman standing in line at a bank “So when are you due?” and she said “What are you talking about I’m in my 50s” to which I replied “Oh my god, you look so young!” I thought that was smooth. Fat and young, but ok, no one is perfect. My new parameters around asking women when they’re due is when a hand is sticking out. But ok, so you can work around that. The comeback for I blew you off a year ago and I’m still on this stupid dating site and hitting on you again just proves what ….. you’re cute but made a bad date? That’s a tricky one to get out of. But, I think, that error is normal. People who blew me off before ‘visit’ my profile all the time. Ruing their decision? I doubt it. People put up new pictures, change how much they recount loving to walk on the beach and laugh. It’s an understandable mistake.

However when you meet up with someone for a drink and think, wow, I’ve already gone out with this guy and not only did I not realize it but neither apparently did he, then, NASA, you’ve got a problem.

I had met this particular guy a few years ago, he was from Hoboken, and I had vague recollections of walking around Soho in painful heels while he looked for some particular couch, then eating Mexican food then going to a dark bar where I had to fight him off as he attempted the medical procedure called “extract your tonsils with my tongue and call it kissing”. It’s an unpleasant procedure and not enough alcohol that I could ingest has provided the right amount of anesthesia, but here I was sitting across from this guy again who had aged a few years, we all do, albeit not so well. But still, I wasn’t really sure. So I tried to probe a few questions, from little what I remembered. He lives in Hoboken, ok. Have you ever eaten Mexican? Do you own a couch? Then, have you been to this obscure dark bar before? Yes?!!! Aha! Oh you had a girlfriend lived around the corner? Hmmm. I was pretty sure but then he leaned over and said, I like to get really wild you know? And then I did know. I knew how badly my hair suddenly needed washing. Gotta go.

So I went home and started packing my bags but wait. So what. One freaky occurrence.

Fast forward to last week. I’m at a party where I know no one but the host. And him barely. He introduces me to a friend who is nice, well spoken, not foaming at the mouth or dragging his knuckles, in short, a man with potential. So the following day I ask, what about your pal there? My friend replies, oh he is just starting the process of divorce, which is code for, he’s going to barrel his way through as many women in as short a period of time as he can. That’s cool, not my thing so ok, ciao.

A few days later I’m talking to a guy online, because one apparently CAN pound one’s head against the same wall repeatedly and expect different results and NOT be insane. So we agree to meet. His picture is small but attractive although small is usually a warning signal not unlike open taxi windows. In winter. This is code from the prior passenger that the driver has bad breath, bad b.o., had a stinky sandwich recently or worse, had a stinky sandwich about 3 hours ago…..if you follow me. This was an unwritten code I learned the hard way. So we agree to meet at a given hour and as I’m leaving my house to go meet him he texts I’m early but don’t rush. Well I have a complete OCD thing with being late, even when the person is 30 minutes before the prescribed time, so I hop in a cab and arrive $12 later. There’s a guy standing there who recognizes me, doesn’t look like his tiny picture but is good looking enough, but somehow familiar. We start talking, great guy, nice guy, good guy and ….. do you see where this is going because I sure didn’t …. let’s just say I had paid $12 to meet someone I already knew.  Mr. Friend of a Friend who’s not really available because we’re in different places. You make the connection, you both laugh at it and under the table you drill your keys into your palm so that you have a mark to remember the pain of how stupid your life is.

I wonder how long it would take me to date every man in Paris, Texas?

 

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