New York Posts - Day 26 - "The Date"

The other night, I was a little blue. I found myself sitting next to a bronze statue of 3 bears on the edge of Central Park and I was just discouraged. It started to rain, as it is wont to do whenever one is feeling especially periwinkle and I snapped open the red umbrella that I bought to replace the polka dot one of Liz's that I lost somewhere in Brooklyn. Right then, my phone beeped encouragingly. I think it is worth noting that, whatever detrimental effects technology might have on interpersonal relationships, cell phones sure can snap you out of a blue mood... just the sound of my phone delivering a text message lifted my spirits!

It's slightly underwhelming, though, when one looks at the unknown number and sees: "Yo. I'm bored and lonely. Where are you? Let's hang out."

I believe in polite society this is called a "booty call" but I'm generally pretty naive and didn't realize that. I mean, I got this text message at 5:30, don't booty calls normally come around 2 a.m.?? In any case, I would have assumed it was just a wrong number had not the message attached itself to a previous message from 2 weeks prior, which read: "Hey sorry, I'm probably not ready to date yet."

That's right. The man we will refer to as Ace The News Reporter was texting me. I responded thusly:

"Do you know who you are texting? This is Elise. Perhaps you remember me? We were supposed to go to Coney Island but before we could get that far, you repeatedly compared me to your ex-fiancee, finally calling me by her name." OH YES I DID!

Undaunted, Ace replied: "I know who this is. I'm still bored and lonely. If you are too, maybe we could hang out. I could use some Southern humor." Perhaps New Yorkers think that Missouri is in the south? I don't know. Some of them don't seem to be too smart.

I declined to move a muscle from my bench by the three bears but said that if he wanted to come to Central Park, I would keep him company. What can I say? I wasn't doing anything, and he was kind of pathetic. I mean, he broke up with someone! That sucks! Surely even my sarcasm was better than him sitting alone in an empty apartment.

So Ace showed up. And I kid you not, within 30 seconds of his arrival, I greatly regretted my decision to spend the evening with him. First, it started to pour. Then, he demanded that because it was pouring, I kiss him. Not seeing the connection, I declined. He insisted. I declined more vehemently. He insisted more strenuously, finally making a lunge at me and yelling, "Why won't you just make out with me!?"

To which I yelled, "Because you are desperate and pathetic!"

He halted abruptly. "Desperate and pathetic? That's low."

"That's what you said. In your text. 'I'm pathetic and bored.'"

"I said bored and lonely."

"Well, it's the same thing," I replied. Throughout these interchanges, I pondered why I was with this clown, wasting one of my precious days of life. Ahh, yes. Because when you break up with someone and agree to "see other people," you are then required to actually "see other people." And unfortunately, when you watch a guy on the news, you think to yourself, "Well, he's quite handsome and charming! He's probably not so bad!" And it doesn't occur to you until later, much later, that when he's delivering the news, he's probably reading from a teleprompter, and that you aren't seeing his personality at all.

Eventually it dawned on me that instead of waiting for someone to come and rescue me from this terrible experience, I could just get up and leave. I have an innate inability to willingly disappoint people... I don't want anyone -- even crazy men -- to think of me as a witch. I don't want to be that girl who was so full of herself that she got up and left in the middle of a date. But finally, I just said, "You know, I'm really tired, I think I'm going to head back to Brooklyn. Take care." And I got myself on the train and left.

That's one great thing about New York... since no one drives, its not incumbent on anyone to get you to your front door at the end of a terrible evening.