Dating in NYC: Optimism, Wishful Thinking and Straight up Delusion...
Dating in NYC, I’m convinced, requires a ridiculously high degree of optimism, wishful thinking and straight up delusion in equal measure.
Fueled by wine, boredom and a brief Hurricane Sandy hook-up with a guy who was about as far removed from my ‘type’ as I could imagine but who ended up being pretty awesome, I decided to try my luck on an online dating site. Suddenly, a whole new world of bang-ability had opened up to me. There was this massive new untapped market just waiting to be exploited and plundered. And I was ready to plunder like a boss.
I figured online dating was the best way to meet guys I would never meet in my everyday life. I was going to say yes to anyone who didn’t look like an axe murderer – or at the very least bring a pocket knife to our rendezvous. This way, I was sure to meet guys who didn’t fit my admittedly narrow definition of ‘hot’ and ‘interesting.’
As I went through online dating profiles, I tried to convince myself to be more open-minded. You don’t read? Words are so over-rated – who needs them when you have Buzzfeed. You’re a lawyer? I’ve always had a thing for Jack McCoy. Never met a cheesesteak you didn’t like? It’s ok, I’ll get past my dislike of chubby guys – maybe, I’ll stop going to the gym too. You’re unemployed but working full-time two days a week on your fourth un-produced screenplay? Who doesn’t like movies? Last year I saw two: The Hunger Games and Twilight.
I received my first date request a few days after I signed up, from a guy we will call “Bob”. “Bob” was a graphic designer, a few years older than me, and while I couldn’t tell how hot he was from his profile picture, he wore the hell out of a grey three-piece suit, aka, my kryptonite. We made plans to meet at a bourbon bar in Chelsea that Sunday.
I won’t fault you for thinking that this is the part of the story where delusion and optimism collide and the date turns into a madcap romantic comedy featuring an endearingly neurotic Sandra Bullock. I’m sorry to disappoint, but slow your roll.
Bob arrived. In my head, I hoped he was more of a Joseph Gordon Leavitt in “Inception” type. He was not. He was more of a Dwight Schrute in a suit. Except, he wasn’t even wearing a three piece suit, so what was the point of it all? Straight off the bat, I knew there was no way I was going to sleep with this guy. It was also at about this point that I realized I may be too shallow for online dating. But, I am a friendly sort and my mother taught me to never say no to free booze, so we sat and chatted for a few hours over Wild Turkey. He was nice enough, but we didn’t really have much in common. At the end of the night, I declined to share my personal contact information, fully intending never to see him again.
And this, dear reader, is where the optimism, wishful thinking and delusions make their appearance in this story.
About two months after this date, I get a personal message from “Bob” via the online dating website. He goes through the niceties before launching into his request.
“Hey Liz, I know this is super random but are you looking for a new roommate by any chance? If you are and you are down with adding a male roommate, let me know. Cheers.”
Bob is not British. I just wanted to make that clear. Or else, this would not be a story about a bad date, but a story about how I hooked up with a dude who has an awesome British accent.
I understand that finding a great rental is hard in New York City, and that you really need to think outside the box and tap all of your contacts to find that perfect living situation. But seriously, I’ve met you once. I was pretty tipsy. You did not wear a three-piece suit. I did not invite you to contact me further by giving you my email, phone number or even last name. If I don’t want to date you, don’t want to be your buddy, and don’t want to hook up with you even after four bourbons on an empty stomach, what crazy delusions are you operating under that have made you think I’d want to LIVE with you?
I know I said that dating in NYC requires optimism, wishful thinking and self-delusion. Apparently, so does finding an apartment.
-From the desk of Liz B.