On the second day of the program, I ran into FLJ.  I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since May, and when I saw him standing near the elevators, I was stunned.  FLJ cut his hair.  I loved his long greasy hair, and it had been his most defining physical characteristic; but his new, more professional style was somehow even hotter.

I stopped a few feet away from him, and when FLJ saw me, he came up to me, gave me a hug, and with a smirk told me that I looked great.  We didn’t have much time to talk because we both had interviews to get to, but I hoped that I would run into him again sometime soon.

The next week I went to a local dive with some of my friends, and just as I was getting to the bar, FLJ stepped outside with a couple of his friends to have a cigarette.  I ended up staying outside to talk with him instead of heading in with my friends, and when we finally made our way into the bar, he bought us each a beer. 

We stood at one end of the bar talking, while the rest of our group congregated a few stools down.  Over the next hour or so, FLJ completely opened up.  He told me all about his summer and his goals for the year, and expressed genuine concern over how I was doing.  

We ordered another beer to share, and as we both stood facing the bar waiting for it to come, FLJ turned my head to face him, and kissed me.  The voice inside my head screamed for me to pull away, and so I did.  But FLJ leaned in and kissed me again.  This time, I gave in and kissed him back. FLJ asked if he could come back with me to my apartment.  We downed the beer and left the bar without saying anything to any of our friends.

On the walk home, FLJ wrapped his arm around my waist and told me how good I felt.  He remembered exactly where my apartment was from the year before, and when we got upstairs, we didn’t waste any time getting into bed.

I don’t know what time we fell asleep, but FLJ woke me up early to tell me that he was leaving.  I looked at the clock and saw that it was 5am, realized why I felt exhausted, and asked him why he didn’t want to just stay until the morning.  He responded that he had to “get home to [his] lady friend.” 

…And I woke up.

“What?!” I screamed.  “You have a girlfriend?!”  I was furious.

He tried to explain that the girl back at his apartment wasn’t his “girlfriend,” but rather a recent acquaintance who had been kicked out of her apartment and needed a place to stay for a few weeks.  I told him that I couldn’t believe he was capable of being such an ass, and he responded by telling me that he knew that he was a terrible person and that I shouldn’t like him.  I watched him get dressed, and then he gave me as kiss on the forehead before he left my apartment

A few weeks went by, classes started, and I hadn’t run into FLJ at school or at any of the bars in the neighborhood.  In September, I started writing this blog, and published my first story about FLJ.

Days later, I went to a Fashion’s Night Out party with one of my grad school girlfriends.  It ended pretty early, and so my friend and I decided to stop by a bar on the way home that we knew a lot of our classmates were going to.  We weren’t really feeling the bar, and when we walked back outside, a line had formed to get in. 

My friend saw some people at the end of the line that she knew, and I walked over with her to say hi.   FLJ was among the group of guys in line.   I didn’t acknowledge him, and so he walked around the group to stand next to me. 

He told me that I looked really good and asked where I had been because I was wearing a cocktail dress.  I told him about the party and then I said that I shouldn’t be speaking with him and I would prefer it if he would just ignore me.  He pressed me, and asked if that was really what I wanted; I of course, said no.  He asked me why, and before I could answer, he stopped me.  We both knew the reason was because I (irrationally) liked him immensely, and he didn’t want to hear those words come out of my mouth.

It started to drizzle, and he put his arms over my head to try to keep me from getting wet.  I told him that I was upset with the way he treated me and that I thought he was an ass.  He told me that I was right to be upset, but that the “public [didn’t] need to know about [his] lady friends.”  I told FLJ that I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I knew exactly what he was talking about… my blog.

I decided that I needed a drink, ASAP, and so I turned away from FLJ, grabbed my friend and asked her to come back inside the bar with me.  Once we were inside, I realized almost immediately that it was a bad idea to stay, and so we started making our way back to the front door.  Did I mention that my friend, K.M., is awesome?

Just as we were getting to the door, I saw FLJ standing by himself, with his arms folded on the bar, ordering a beer and whiskey.  He looked to his left and saw two cute girls chatting over drinks.  I could see the gears spinning in his head.

I walked up behind him, put my hand on his shoulder and told him to have a good night.  He whipped around and grabbed my arm.  He didn’t say anything, but he gave me the look that he wanted me to stay.  I tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn’t let go.  I told him to let go; he dropped my arm, and I left.

A week later I ran into him at another bar.  This time, he interrupted me as I was talking to another guy (The Situation), and I basically ignored him.  I was very proud of the way I handled him, and decided it would be good for me to continue behaving that way.  

Another month went by, and I hadn’t seen FLJ anywhere.  Then, one night, my best friend and I decided to go to our favorite dive for dollar beer night.  I spotted him on the corner outside of the bar with a friend.

I did not ignore him.  Instead, I walked up to FLJ and his friend just as they were lighting up.  I asked FLJ for a drag of his cigarette (I know, I know, it’s awful), and as he was handing it to me, my friend (who was concerned for my wellbeing) tried to stop him.  Instead of whacking the cigarette out of his hand, though, she ended up burning him with it.  And after he finally gave it to me, he went to light another one for himself, but my friend took his lighter.  So I lit his cigarette with mine as my friend stood there in disbelief.

After chatting for a few minutes, FLJ gave me the look, and so I walked over to stand next to him and kissed him.  My friend, now in complete shock, grabbed his arm and marched him across the street.  I stood there awkwardly with FLJ’s friend for a few minutes until I thought it had been enough time, and I crossed the street.

I told my friend to leave FLJ alone, and without saying a word he walked back across the street to his friend, and they went inside the bar.  I asked my friend what she thought she was doing, and she told me that she was protecting me (which she was).  But, because I was drunk and emotional and acting like a crazy person, I told her I was going back into the bar to find him.  She told me that it was a terrible idea, and as I turned away from her, she grabbed my jacket.  I pulled my jacket off, threw it on the sidewalk, and walked back across the street and into the bar.

I found FLJ and asked him what my friend said to him.  He told me that she told him to stay away from me, and he added that she was right.  At that point, my friend came in, grabbed my arm, and told me to leave with her.  I told her no, but FLJ said I should go.  So I went.  Did I mention that my best friend is amazing?

I saw him in school a couple of times after that, but then a while passed without seeing him anywhere.  I sent him an email in December asking him if he wanted to grab a coffee, and that’s when I found out that FLJ was gone.  He took a leave of absence from school sometime in October or November, moved out his apartment, and out of the city altogether.

I’m not sure if he’s ever coming back.   

Only one of the two brothers was there, and when we walked in he had 4 pans going on the stove. We opened up a bottle of wine and watched The Chef at work in his tiny kitchen.  While he wasn’t a particularly physically attractive individual, standing in front of those burners, The Chef was, well… hot. 

We were all having a fun time talking, but when we sat down to eat, our conversation came to a halt.  The plate that The Chef put out was incredible.  He replicated a dish that they serve in his restaurant, and the delicate flavors were perfectly balanced.  I was enamored. 

After dinner, we went to a bar for a couple of beers, and as I was getting into a cab to head home at the end of the night, The Chef asked me for my number. 

We weren’t able to meet up again before I went home for the summer; but I gave him a call once I was back in NYC for the new academic year.

After a few failed attempts to get together, it became clear that our schedules were not in sync.  The Chef’s work shifts never ended before 1am, and I didn’t think that it was a good idea to meet up so late. 

Finally, late one night while I was out drinking with a girlfriend, I caved and texted The Chef to see where he was.  He met me at my apartment for a make-out session. 

The next day, he invited me to come out with him and some of his work buddies on the Lower East Side.  The only problem was that he wasn’t going out until after 1am, so I had to figure out something to do to keep busy until then.  Naturally, I went out with some friends and drank. 

By the time I made it down to the LES, I was pretty tipsy.  But chefs have reputations for being big drinkers, and so I didn’t think that it would be a big deal that I was well on my way to being drunk.  My friend and I met up with The Chef and his co-workers at a Chinese restaurant for a late-night meal and a couple of beers.  Then, we all decided to relocate to a bar.

For one reason or another, my friend and I decided to ditch The Chef and his friends for another bar on the LES and then I guess I tried to meet back up with him at the end of the night.  He wasn’t having it.  When I woke up in the morning and saw the text exchange between the two of us, I was mortified.

I apologized to The Chef via text, but it was not well received.  It was over.  I called my friend, the one who introduced me to him, and told her what happened.  She said that he would probably calm down and call me again eventually.  Two months passed without a word.  And then, one Sunday in October, I received this text message from him:

“hey, i’m leaving new york in january. i think maybe we should hang out again. but it’s up to you.”

I couldn’t believe it; my friend was right.  After some texting back and forth, I agreed to hang out with The Chef sometime in the near future. 

That Tuesday, I had my dinner date with The Situation, which turned out to be a disaster.  I was in such shock from that date that instead of taking the subway back to the west side, I decided to walk.  After a while, I realized that I was standing across the street from The Chef’s restaurant. 

I didn’t know if he was working that night, but if he was, it was late enough that on a slow night, he would be getting off of work soon.  I had to cross the street anyway to get to the subway, and not 1 minute after I did, The Chef came outside, his black knife bag hanging over his shoulder. 

He saw me, gave me a hug, and awkwardly asked what I was doing there.  “Did you know I was working tonight?  Are you like, um, stalking me?”  I told him that in fact I wasn’t stalking him, gave him a brief rundown of my evening, and asked if he wanted to grab a beer.

We talked for a couple of hours, and then decided to call it a night.   We both had to take the same subway line back uptown and my stop was first.  As we were nearing my neighborhood, The Chef said that he would invite me over, but his apartment was a mess.  I told him that I would literally only make-out with him, but if he was cool with that, he could come over.  He was.

In the morning, The Chef asked if he could see me again.  We scheduled a date for that weekend.  I was going to come over, he was going to teach me some of his knife skills, and we were going to cook dinner together.  I was stoked.  I love to cook and couldn’t wait to learn a few new techniques. 

The day came for our date, and when I texted The Chef to see what time I should come over, he totally flaked.  He asked to reschedule, and I agreed.  The next week, I texted him the day before our date just to be safe.  He flaked again.  He tried to reschedule again.

When I told him that I thought it was BS that he kept cancelling at the last minute, he insisted that he wasn’t cancelling because we never had any plans.  I referred him back to our text messages where we clearly set dates for our dates, and he basically told me that I was crazy. 

Am I crazy? Isn’t saying, “hey, come over to my place on Wednesday night and we’ll cook anything you want” scheduling a date for Wednesday night?  The answer is yes, it is.

I declined to reschedule; I was tired of being cancelled on.  I didn’t see The Chef again before he moved back home.  Every time I walk by his old restaurant I can’t help but think of him and, more importantly, how he never taught me those knife skills.

Our conversation wasn’t particularly memorable, but I do remember thinking that something was a little… off.  At the end of our conversation, The Philanthropist asked me for my email address, and despite my gut feeling, I gave it to him. Within five minutes of giving him my contact information, The Philanthropist shot me a two-word email telling me that it was “nice connecting.”  I thought that this was a bit of a cop-out and decided not to respond.

A couple of months later, in December, I registered for a conference.  As I was browsing the conference website for pictures from previous years, I came across a picture of a guy who looked just like The Philanthropist.  I had all but forgotten about my minor interaction with the 32 year-old months before, and I thought it would be pretty funny if I showed up to the conference only to find him there.

You’ll never guess who was on the very first panel that I went to at the conference. That’s right… The Philanthropist.  And you know what?  He was cute, smart, accomplished, a great public speaker, and had the respect of everyone in the room.  I was impressed.  I also learned that aside from founding a non-profit organization that has over 10,000 volunteers worldwide, The Philanthropist had also started his own hedge fund in New York City, which he heads.  He was a catch.

The next day, at lunch, I ended up in a line right behind him.  The Philanthropist looked at my nametag and saw that I was from New York, just like him, and so he introduced himself.  After chatting for a couple of minutes, he asked me out on a date for when we got back to the city; I accepted.

Over the next couple of days I saw The Philanthropist around the conference and ended up in the audience of another panel that he was a part of.  While we never really got an opportunity to chat, we always said hello to each other.  And on the final night of the conference, which also happened to be New Years Eve, I ran into The Philanthropist as I was picking up a glass of champagne for the midnight toast at 11:45. 

He invited me to join him at his table for the countdown to midnight, but because I had already promised my mother (who was also at the conference) that I would sit with her for the toast, I invited him to come with me to my table instead.  The Philanthropist and I stood in the massive ballroom filled with over 1,000 people at a table with my mother and several of our family friends.  Upon the stroke of midnight, after having counted down from 10, The Philanthropist leaned in to kiss me.  I quickly turned my head to give him a kiss on the cheek.  After all, I had only just met the guy (discounting our online JDate conversation, which I didn’t think he remembered), and considering our setting, I didn’t think it was appropriate.

After going around the table and giving hugs to everyone, The Philanthropist asked me to go for a drink.  The New Years party wasn’t starting for a little while, and so I agreed to go to kill some time.

We left the hotel, found a cute wine bar, and stepped in.  The Philanthropist opted to sit next to me instead of across from me at the table, and I’m fairly certain that he was either touching my arm, leg, or hand the entire time that we were at the restaurant.  Despite how touchy feely he was, I had a great time talking to him. 

During our conversation, The Philanthropist admitted two things to me.  First, he hadn’t intended to ask me out until we got back to New York, but he met my mother earlier in the day, and his conversation with her prompted him to approach me that night instead of waiting.  Second, he was looking to settle down with a girlfriend. Because he and my mom shared a fairly extensive conversation concerning me, The Philanthropist already knew a lot about me, including that I was thinking of starting a business upon graduating from school. 

It started to get late, and so we left the bar to head to the party.  After dancing for a while, I was exhausted.  We both had early morning flights, and at that point I only had 3 hours until I had to leave for the airport.  It may have been a stupid decision, but because I wanted to talk with The Philanthropist more, I ended up going back to his room instead of mine.  We talked for a while and kissed a little bit, and I made it clear to him I wanted to keep things PG.  I fell asleep in his arms.

While I was waiting to board my flight at the airport, The Philanthropist texted to tell me that he was really glad to have met me and wished me a safe flight.  I was heading home with my mom for a week, and he was heading back to New York, so it would be at least a week before I would see him again.

As soon as the plane touched down on the tarmac, I turned on my Blackberry and saw that I had an email from The Philanthropist.  I opened it to find that somehow, while he was both sleep deprived and in transit, he managed to purchase the domain name for my start-up company for me.  I couldn’t believe it, it was one of the most thoughtful things anyone had ever done for me. 

Over the following week, while I was home, The Philanthropist texted, emailed, and/or called every day.  By day 2 I felt like I was in a relationship, and I have to say, I was totally into it.  Aside from talking to me on a daily basis, The Philanthropist was also having text conversations with my mother, whom he referred to as “mommala,” a nickname that she loved. 

When Sunday finally came and it was time for me to head back to New York, I couldn’t wait to see him for what would be our second date.  The Philanthropist invited me to come hang out in his apartment, which he told me was on Central Park West.  And I have to say, I couldn’t wait to see the place.  He picked me up in a cab at my apartment around 8 o’clock that Sunday night, and we headed over. 

That’s when the red flags started popping up. 

First of all, The Philanthropist didn’t live on Central Park West; he lived between Columbus and Central Park West.  Normally, this minor technicality wouldn’t bother me because when you live between two streets in NYC, it’s not uncommon to pick one in telling people where you live.  However, certain streets in the city carry a certain caché, and CPW is widely known to fall into such a category. 

Second, The Philanthropist’s apartment was, for lack of a better term, a shit hole.  I didn’t understand… why was a 32 year old hedge fund manager living in a teeny tiny one bedroom, with no natural light, in a run down building, which he had occupied since he was 24 years old?  I wasn’t expecting him to live in an extravagant apartment, but I was certainly expecting his apartment to be nicer than mine, and it wasn’t.  Something didn’t add up.

Despite his dismal living conditions, the first hour with The Philanthropist was great. We cuddled on the couch and talked.  But when we got to hour two, he started to pressure me to be more physical with him.  When I declined, he opted to do some work instead of continuing to hang out on the couch.

While he was going through his emails, he realized that the following night he had a party to go to.  He invited me to come as his date, but prefaced the invitation by telling me that the party started really late – at about midnight.  When I told him that I was down, he was shocked.  He asked me if I was sure that I could be out that late on a school night, and when I told him it would be alright if I was little tired for class the following day, he insisted that I not go.  I don’t know that I’ve ever been invited and un-invited to anything so quickly. 

Aside from texting and emailing me several times from work the next day, that night he texted me from the party telling me that it was a ton of fun and that I should have come.  Was he serious?

On Tuesday, The Philanthropist asked to take me out to an 8 o’clock dinner.  He picked the restaurant and told me that he would let me know when he was finishing work so I would know when to get ready.  At around 8, he called to tell me that he was finishing up at the office, and that he would let me know when he was leaving for the restaurant.  Maybe I have a skewed sense of what “finishing up” means, but when I tell someone I’m “finishing up,” I mean that I will be done within 5-20 minutes.  More than an hour passed before The Philanthropist called me back. 

I hopped in a cab and headed for the restaurant.  Even though I was coming from farther away, I managed to beat him there.  When he finally showed up, 15 minutes after I did, he told me that he had been across the street at Kinkos printing something for work.  I was irritated.  If he knew that he had to make a stop before dinner, why did he tell me to leave my apartment when he was leaving work?  I thought it was inconsiderate.

We finally sat down for out 8:00 dinner at 9:45, and over the course of our meal, the more I learned about The Philanthropist, the less I liked him.  On paper the guy was amazing and we were perfectly compatible, but in person, we didn’t seem to fit.  In addition, while he had been seemingly supportive of my desire to start a business the week before, when we discussed it over dinner, he was dismissive of my goals.

Normally after a dinner like that, I would drop the guy in a second.  But all I kept thinking about was how wonderful The Philanthropist had been the week that we were apart, and because of that I thought I would be an idiot to end it.  So when he invited me to come back to his apartment, I agreed.  We fooled around a little bit, but when The Philanthropist pressured me to have sex with him, I drew the line.  At that point, I hadn’t even known The Philanthropist for 2 weeks, we had only been on 3 dates, and I wasn’t even sure how much I liked the guy.

The following day, he was leaving for a business trip to Florida and the day after that I was leaving for a ski trip to Colorado.  That morning, I knew it was over.  Apparently, The Situation isn’t the only guy in NYC who thinks that the third date = sex date.  And while The Philanthropist didn’t verbally express to me that he was done with me, it was pretty clear to me by the way he kissed me goodbye in the morning that he was through putting in any effort towards getting to know me.

And you know what?  I was right.  The guy who used to text, email and/or call several times a day regardless of how busy his schedule was didn’t contact me once while I was away.  

After I got back from my ski trip, I had one mission: to obtain ownership of the website that The Philanthropist had bought for me.  I sent The Philanthropist what I thought was a very nice email explaining to him that I wanted to start working on the website, and asked if he would please send me whatever ownership documentation I needed to start working on it.

His first response was positive; and he told me how to start the transfer process.  Once I did the legwork on my end, I emailed him back to let him know that he could start the transfer.  He told me that he was in meetings all day and asked if was urgent or if he could do it later.  I told him that it wasn’t urgent. 

A couple of days passed and he still hadn’t transferred the website to my account, so I sent him a friendly reminder.  This is what I got in response:

I believe it was already done by my assistant or will be done by tomorrow…The nature of your emails, indicates to me a lack of personal interest in further getting together…no hard feelings here, but just not the way I generally do things…

I couldn’t believe it.  The guy who used to text, email and/or call several times a day, and who hadn’t done any of those things in what had now become a week was blaming me for us fizzling out?  I don’t know how he generally does things, but not contacting a girl for a week is a clear signal that you’re just not that into her. 

I let The Philanthropist know that his lack of communicating with me over the course of the week indicated to me that he was no longer interested in dating me.  He apologized and told me that he had been busy and that he would call.  More BS… he never called.  And after another week of waiting for the domain name transfer, I gave up on getting the rights to my website. 

One month later, completely out of the blue, he transferred the domain name to me.  At least he wasn’t a complete and total a-hole. 

Note:  People frequently ask me how much it cost The Philanthropist to purchase the domain name for me; the answer is less than $11.00.  

We stood there, face-to-face for a few seconds until he finally said something. After I had been talking with The Situation for a few minutes, I noticed FLJ standing near the bar out of the corner of my eye. Because I was enjoying my conversation with The Situation, I redirected my attention towards him. But a few seconds later, FLJ saw that I was talking to another guy, walked over to where I was, and standing directly behind The Situation, starting waving his hands above his head to get my attention. I ignored him.

So FLJ walked around The Situation, and standing between us, asked (in a flustered tone) if I had noticed him trying to get my attention. I told him that I didn’t with a what are you still doing here expression on my face, and he asked if he was interrupting something. I said that he was and so he apologized and walked away.

Because I didn’t want to be interrupted again, I suggested to The Situation that we relocate to a quieter area. Relocating to a quieter area quickly turned into making out in a quieter area. I thought that we were sitting out of the way enough so that nobody would see us, but it turns out that I was very, very wrong.

My friends, and pretty much everyone else at the bar, saw what turned out to be a very public make-out session. And after a few minutes of watching us (and making fun of me, I’m sure), my friends finally cut in and got me to leave the bar, but not before The Situation asked for my number and told me that he would call.

I didn’t think that he would call because really, what guy calls the girl he just drunkenly made out with at a bar? But, to my surprise, exactly three days later, he did. I didn’t answer because I didn’t recognize the number, but he left a really nice message asking me out for a drink that week.

And that’s when it hit me; I had no idea what The Situation looked like. I may have forgotten to mention it, but when I ran into him at the bar that Thursday night, I was smashed. And despite remembering that The Situation was short and “cute,” I could not for the life of me conjure an image of his face.

But because I remembered having fun with him, which was supported by my friends’ detailed description of just how much fun I had, I decided to meet him for a drink that Thursday.

I walked up to the wine bar hoping that I would recognize The Situation once I saw him; luckily, I did. And he was cute, just as I had vaguely remembered.

We ordered a bottle of wine and talked for a while. We were having a great time when The Situation asked me on a second date. His friend had 2 extra tickets to Bruce Springsteen’s last show at Giants Stadium, and The Situation invited me to come along. The concert was the next night, and even though I’m not the biggest Bruce fan, I agreed to go.

I learned two very important things at the show:

1) Bruce is amazing live, and

2) The Situation was from New Jersey.

Despite his proclivity for fist-pumping to Bruce’s music, I started to like The Situation. I had a great time with him at the concert, he was a total gentleman, and he refused to let me pay for anything.

The next week, The Situation asked me out to dinner in his neighborhood on the Upper East Side. I had been to his neighborhood before, and I met him at his corner. I knew that there were a ton of cute restaurants to the south of where we were standing, but The Situation started to walk north. We quickly came across a Blockheads, and he suggested we go there. I categorize Blockheads as a place to go for margaritas, and I wasn’t planning on drinking because I had class in the morning, so I vetoed his choice.

We walked a little farther, and The Situation pointed to a bar. I felt bad because I had already put my foot down once, and so I asked if their food was good. The Situation assured me that it was, and after showing the bouncer my ID (no I’m not kidding), we went inside.

It was dinnertime on a Tuesday. There were three people sitting at the bar and two lonely booths in the back. The waitress seated us at one of the booths. It was dark, the music was really loud, and after looking over the menu (and perhaps noticing how miserable I looked), The Situation asked if I wanted to leave.

Instead of continuing north, we finally headed south and found a cute Italian place. The conversation at the start of dinner was strained, and it wasn’t until the middle of dinner that The Situation became more engaging.

Dinner ended on a high note, and after we left the restaurant, The Situation asked me if I wanted to come up to his apartment. It was still pretty early, but I didn’t want The Situation to think that I would be coming up to hook up, and so I told him that I would come up to watch an episode of something, but that I would have to leave immediately after that because I had class in the morning.

So I went up to his apartment, and we watched an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm. After the show was over, we started to make out a little bit on the couch. When, suddenly, The Situation stood up and walked to his bedroom.

I followed him into his room and, with his clothes still completely on, The Situation got into the bed and pulled the covers over him. He motioned for me to join him, but I stayed in the doorway. “You’re not going to get into bed with me?” he asked. I told him that I wasn’t and that I had to leave in a few minutes.

…And then he threw a temper tantrum “Do you know that this is our third date?! Our third date! And you’re not going to sleep with me on our third date!?!”  And with that, he pulled the covers up to his head, just below his eyes, and turned to face the wall.

I went back into the living room, put on my coat, and picked up my purse. I returned to The Situation’s room and asked him if he was going to walk me to the door. With the covers still over his face and his back to me he said, “No. I am done with you. I am never speaking to you again.”

I let myself out of his apartment and, thankfully, haven’t heard from him since.

(Thanks go out to my dear friend, J.K., for suggesting the nickname on this one)

We were both in town for the same conference, and the next day I ran into AK between seminars. As he leaned against a doorframe, he stopped me as I passed by. In the light of day I noticed something that I had completely missed the night before – AK was hot. He was 6’0,” thin, and had an angular nose. He also had great, seemingly effortless style.

We talked for a few minutes in the doorway about how our days were going, and then the conversation turned to what seminars we were going to next. I wasn’t sure where to go, and AK was on the panel of a seminar that was starting soon, so I decided to tag along with him.

We were early for the panel, and so the two of us sat in the back of the room for a while, talking. During that conversation I learned a lot about AK. He was 37, recently divorced, and living in Eastern Europe. I am 23, never married, and live in New York City. Needless to say, on paper we were not the most compatible of people. But despite what some might call insurmountable differences, there was definitely a spark.

The group from the night before was planning to go out to a different bar that night, and after the panel was over AK asked if he would see me there. I said that he would, and later that night, at the bar, AK found me. He bought me and a girlfriend a round of drinks, and we all talked for a while. My attention was diverted from our conversation when another friend came over, and by the time I turned back to him, AK was sitting at the bar with another blonde.

I moved to another part of the bar, and before I knew it, it was last call.  A small group of us decided to continue drinking in someone’s hotel room, and for some reason we left the hotel room door open. As we were all sitting around, beers in hand, AK and the blonde walked past the open door. They turned around, and we invited them in to drink with us.

Once they each had a drink, they told us a truly fantastic story, which I will paraphrase. Apparently, AK and the blonde graduated in the same high school class. In high school, the blonde was a cheerleader, and AK was a dork. While they each had secret crushes on each other, they never got together because of social stigmas. This was the first time they had seen each other since high school graduation.

Their story was sickeningly adorable, and it was pretty clear that the two of them were set for the night, so I turned my attention to other members of the group. The next day, I spoke to a friend who had been in the hotel room and who had continued to talk to AK and the blonde. He told me that the two believed their meeting was kismet, and he would be surprised to learn that they hadn’t gotten married in the next year or two.

That was that, I thought. Certainly a mutual secret high school crush dating back almost 20 years would trump whatever chemistry AK and I had shared for a day or two.

The next night was the last night of the conference, and the final event was a party. As I was saying my goodbyes to everyone before heading in for the night, I saw AK and the blonde together in a corner and opted not to say goodbye.

I didn’t get much sleep that night because I left the party late and had an early morning flight, and I was looking forward to catching some Zs on the first leg of my flight home. I sat down in my window seat, pulled my hoodie over my head, and just as I was closing me eyes, I heard someone say my name. I looked up, and was stunned to see AK standing in the aisle next to my seat. “Is anyone sitting there?” he said, pointing at the seat next to me. “No,” I said. He sat down.

We talked for a few minutes, and then the flight attendant began reciting the flight safety information over the PA system. After about a minute of speaking, the flight attendant paused. We thought she was finished, but she wasn’t, and she continued her announcements. She paused again. She spoke. She paused. She spoke. AK and I looked at each other and burst into laughter. We were apparently the only two people on the plane who thought the flight attendant’s belabored announcements were hilarious.

Once the flight attendant had finally finished, we talked about our plans. I was heading home for a week and then back to New York to start the spring semester, and AK was staying with his sister in Boston for a while before heading back overseas. AK wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he returned home; but he was thinking of spending some time traveling through Western Europe and writing. After a few months of that, he thought he might move to either New York or Boston.

These plans did not sound like the plans of a man who had just reconnected with the love of his life. I started to think that perhaps my friend had overestimated the connection he witnessed between AK and the blonde. And just as I was starting to think that the blonde might be out of the picture, AK said, “so, are you going to give me you number, or what?” I tried not to smile too widely as I typed my number into his phone.

We were only about 20 minutes into the flight, and we spent to the rest of the time talking about art and travel – two of my favorite interests. It turned out that we shared a similar taste in both.

The plane started to descend, and we both sat quietly. We occasionally looked at each other and smiled, but we didn’t talk. AK’s sister was on the flight, as was my mother, and after we got off the plane we were only able to say goodbye from a distance as our family members dragged us in separate directions to catch our connecting flights.

I realized after I walked away from him that I didn’t have AK’s number. And just as I was starting to think that I had made a terrible mistake, I received a text message:

“It was really great seeing you this morning. Have a safe flight home. Keep in touch. – AK”

I was relieved. I texted him back and invited him to come museum-hopping in New York if he had time before returning home. He said he would let me know if his schedule allowed for it.

A few weeks went by without a word.

Shortly thereafter, I went on a trip with some friends. The flight attendant on our return flight home once again dragged out the flight safety announcements. I turned to a friend of mine who was sitting next to me, but she was immersed in her book, unaware of the flight attendant’s ramblings. I laughed to myself and thought that AK would find it humorous, too.

I’m fairly certain that he has returned to Europe by now, but I hope that AK will call when he’s back, stateside. In the meantime, I will always think of him when a flight attendant loses her will to keep the flight safety announcements to a minimum.

I think I first met CHH freshman or sophomore year, but it wasn’t until senior year, when we had a class together that we became friends.  He wasn’t really my type physically, but he was crazy smart, read The Economist, and was really interesting.  And that counted for a lot. 

One day after class, CHH invited me to a party he and his housemates were throwing.  I invited a group of my girlfriends to come-with, and after we were all good and drunk, my friends started pressuring me to make a move.  I was too shy to approach CHH, and so one of my friends pushed me into him when he was standing alone.  After apologizing for my friend’s behavior, I built up the courage, took a deep breath, and asked him, “Would it be appropriate if I kissed you right now?”

I know, I know… Not surprisingly, he said no. 

The next few weeks in class were mildly awkward, but CHH and I still chatted the way we always did, and by the end of school, things were normal.  After we graduated, I honestly thought I would never see CHH again.  He was moving to D.C. and I was moving to New York, and we really weren’t close enough to keep in touch. 

But we had some mutual friends, one of whom was also moving to NYC.  And early in the fall, CHH came up for a visit.  I met him and our mutual friend out at a bar, and because our friend spent the majority of the night hanging out with his co-workers, CHH and I ended up talking with each other alone for most of the night.

At the end of the night we all decided to share a cab uptown. I got in first, followed by CHH, and then our friend.  As we sat in the backseat, CHH reached his hand down and placed it on my knee.  When I turned to look at him, he moved his hand up, grabbed my hand, and held it for the entirety of the cab ride back to our friend’s apartment.  When we arrived at my friend’s place (where CHH was staying), the guys got out and I continued to my apartment alone. 

The second I was by myself, I called one of my girlfriends from college who was with me at his party months before.  I was ecstatic.  “You won’t believe what happened!” I told her.  “Do you remember that guy? The ‘would it be appropriate if’ guy? I think the attraction may be mutual.” 

A few weeks passed without a word, and then CHH told me that he was going to be coming back to NYC Thanksgiving weekend.  That Friday, I met CHH and some of our mutual friends at a hookah bar downtown.  After the coals of our hookahs died, we all decided to check out a lounge nearby.  We walked because the lounge was only a few blocks away.  It was cold out, and CHH saw that I was freezing, so he took off his scarf, wrapped it around my neck, and walked with his arm around me all the way to the lounge.  When we got there, he and I made our way to the bar while the rest of our group checked their coats. 

CHH bought me a drink and then we went upstairs (the lounge had two floors) to the dance floor.  We were dancing together, our faces practically pressed together, our friends nowhere in sight.  I thought that this was the moment when he was finally going to kiss me.  But instead, he stopped dancing and said, “You know, we should go find everyone else.”  We found our friends and brought them back upstairs to the dance floor.

Just like the last time, when it was time to split up for cabs, I got in, followed by CHH, and then our mutual friend.  And just like the last time, CHH reached his hand down, grabbed my hand, and held it for the whole ride uptown. 

When we got to our friend’s apartment, just before CHH got out of the cab, I whispered to him that he could come back uptown with me instead of staying at our friend’s if he wanted.  He replied that he couldn’t because it was really bad timing, but that he might the next day.

I couldn’t believe it; CHH turned me down, again.  And this time I didn’t even say anything awkward.

When I got back to my apartment, CHH texted me.  He told me that he was sorry, he had a horrible day, it was bad timing and he wished me a goodnight.  I didn’t respond, and so he sent another text telling me that I shouldn’t be mad.  I replied that I wasn’t mad, that I thought he was into me but I must have misread his signals, and that it wasn’t a big deal.

I thought that my answer was sufficient, but CHH wasn’t satisfied.  He texted back, reiterating that he was really sorry and that it was really bad timing.  That agitated me.  I can handle if a guy isn’t into me; not everyone is going to like me.  But what I can’t stand is when a guy feeds me excuses to try to persuade me that he is into me, but that for reasons x, y, and z he can’t be with me.  Especially when he has given me signals (like holding my hand), to make me think that he’s interested.

So I sent the text that ended the conversation.  I told CHH that I was a big girl, that I could handle it, and that he should have a goodnight.  And that was that; he didn’t call the next day, and I didn’t see him before he returned to DC.

Months passed without a word, and I went back home for the summer.  Then, in late June, CHH moved from DC to NYC and posted this on my facebook® wall: “hi… i live here now. we should hang out!”

I was sort of excited.  I thought that maybe if CHH and I hung out on our own, instead of as part of a group, something might change.  And even if it didn’t, it would be nice to see him.  So, when I got back to New York in August, I texted him. 

He invited me to a concert in Brooklyn, but before I left Manhattan to meet up with him, he called to tell me that he was leaving and heading back to his apartment in the village.  I asked him if he was in for the night, and he said that he wasn’t, so we decided to meet for a drink.  He gave me his cross streets, and I got into a cab to meet him.

As soon as I got off the phone with him, I got butterflies.  I still wasn’t sure if CHH was interested, but this was the night that I was finally going to find out.  I stepped out of the cab and into his neighborhood, and texted him to let him know I was there. No reply.  So I called him.  No answer.

I stood on his street corner, by myself, at midnight, wearing a skirt and heels for what seemed like forever.  He never showed. 

Not only was I crushed, I felt like a streetwalker.  And with every glance I received, I felt even worse.  After waiting for 20 minutes, I sent CHH a text telling him that as much as I enjoyed his street corner, I was heading home. I found the nearest subway station, and with my nose to the ground, went back uptown.

I woke up the next morning to a text message from CHH sent circa 4am. He was “so so so sorry,” but he had passed out and had only just woken up to see my text and missed call. Later that day, he called, told me that he owed me, and asked if he could take me out to lunch.  Against my better judgment I agreed.  I told him that I was free all week and he should let me know when he had time. 

You’ll never guess where CHH took me to lunch… nowhere. That’s right, he never followed-through.  And a few weeks later, when I was hanging out with our mutual friend, he mentioned how CHH told him about how he had stood me up and still hadn’t taken me out to lunch. So CHH was fully aware of the fact that he still owed me, but didn’t care to do a thing about it. 

After a month or so elapsed, I was down in CHH’s neighborhood, and against my better judgment, I texted him to see if he wanted to join me and my friend for a drink.  He didn’t come, but I had opened up the lines of communication.  He texted me a few times after that, but I was always an afterthought.  He never made plans to see me, and would contact me when he was already out to see if I happened to be in the same area. 

Finally, one night in mid-October around 11pm, CHH texted me something about how he was out at sushi and sake, and after a few texts back and forth, I asked him what he wanted.  This was the latter part of our conversation:

CHH: “haha just seeing if you were around. see you later”

Me: “See you when I see you”

CHH: “lol. you are so cynical”

Me: “Says the boy who owed me lunch in aug”

CHH: “lol. fair enough. when would you like me to make it up to you??”

Me: “Um… 2 months ago. I don’t even know what you would be making up to me at this point. You kind of suck.”

I was so proud of myself.  I immediately told all of my girlfriends that I had finally stood up to CHH, and they all agreed that I did the right thing. 

About a month later, I was planning my birthday party, and I was faced with the decision of whether or not to invite CHH.  I was inviting many of our mutual friends, and I thought that it might be rude of me not to include him.  All of my girlfriends thought that it was a terrible idea, and that because it was my birthday I could invite (or not invite) anyone I wanted.  I assured them all that it would be fine, and that he probably wouldn’t show anyway.

I was having a drink and talking with some of my friends, when I saw him.  I couldn’t believe it, CHH showed up to my birthday party with a couple of our mutual friends.  He and I talked over a beer, and after a little while, our mutual friends wanted to leave.  He sort of stood there for a minute, perhaps debating whether he should stay or go, and ultimately decided to leave.  Before he left I told him not to be a stranger.  I haven’t heard from him since. 

The new guy was 6’1,” wiry, and ridiculously smart – he was getting his PhD at Princeton.  We chatted online for a little while and exchanged email addresses.  After emailing back and forth a few times, three things became clear to me:

1) Princeton was squeaky clean,

2) incredibly cheesy, and

3) a total sweetheart.

These discoveries led to me to develop two concerns about our compatibility. First, for lack of a better description, I wasn’t sure that Princeton could keep up with me.  A big night out for him was having a couple of beers and playing a round of pool with a few friends; and for me, that was practically what I do on my nights staying in.

Second, we did not share a sense of humor.  Not only did Princeton insist on using puns at least once in every email, he used them in terribly awkward ways.  For example, Princeton grew up near a mall I once went to on a search for a pair of boots, and in response to telling him the story of my search, he wrote: “You should have stopped by my house to say hi; we would have been sure to “give you the boot.” ”

Yea…

But because he was really nice and had some interesting things to talk about, I continued to subject myself to his awful humor.  And after a week of emailing, Princeton asked if he could have my phone number so that he could call me to have an actual conversation.  I agreed.

That Saturday morning I was lounging around when a phone number with a New Jersey area code showed up on my caller ID; I thought it was him. But what I heard on the other end of the line when I picked up the phone was not the voice of a 24-year old male; it was the voice of a 13-year old boy who had yet to hit puberty.  I confirmed that it was actually Princeton. Twice.

After the shock wore off a little, we started talking about Princeton (the school).  I told Princeton (the guy) that some of my friends who went there for college always rave about their alumni weekends; so he told me his favorite story from their most recent one.  It went a little something like this:

Princeton was attending some sort of magic show, and the magician called him up to the stage.  The magician performed a trick whereby he “chopped off” Princeton’s head, and Princeton spent the rest of the day looking for it. 

There were at least two puns in the story, which I have blocked from memory, but I promise you that they made the story even worse.  I didn’t laugh when Princeton finished describing the magic trick and his subsequent quest for his head, and so he just kept repeating, “so I spent the rest of the day looking for my head” in his incredibly high-pitched voice.  That also did not make the story any funnier or more interesting.

We talked for a few minutes longer and then I told him I had to go.  Our conversation, albeit brief, confirmed what I already knew.  If a guy’s best story from Princeton’s alumni weekend is about getting “beheaded” by a magician, he is definitely not the guy for me.  

The only information my mother knew about the son was that he was an entrepreneur who worked in the prison industry.  “The prison industry?” I asked skeptically. “Yea,” my mom said, “he distributes food or something to prisons. It’s a legitimate billion-dollar industry, and it’s not like he’s in prison, or deals with prisoners. Just meet him, OK?”  I agreed.  I mean, what else was I doing all summer other than working, right?

Prison Guy texted me soon after; and he seemed nice.  But after a week of texting back-and-forth, he still hadn’t asked me out for a particular day.  I woke up one Saturday morning, and I had nothing to do so I asked him if he was free and wanted to grab lunch.  He texted back, “I’m in your front yard.”  “Excuse me? You’re where??” I replied.  “I’m in your front yard with my dad.  Your mom is giving us your jet ski and we’re in the process of towing it.” 

My bedroom is at the front of the house, and so I tried to peak through my window blinds as stealthily as I could to catch a glimpse of Prison Guy.  I couldn’t see him through the trees, and decided to put my best foot forward, get cleaned up, and go outside to meet him.  I didn’t have high expectations.

I have never showered and gotten ready in such a short amount of time in my entire life.  I mean really, record speeds.  And as I was about to step outside, I caught sight of my mother in the house. I told her that I couldn’t believe she invited Prison Guy over without waking me up and giving me time to get ready.  Didn’t she know the importance of first impressions?

I made my way outside, met Prison Guy’s dad, and then I caught sight of a svelte 6’2” tall 26-year old lifting our jet ski.  His dad called him over and introduced us.  Prison Guy was… cute! I was pleasantly surprised, and by the look on his face, he was too.  We ditched our parents and went out to lunch.

The rest of the weekend the four of us hung out: Prison Guy, my mom, his dad, and I.  It was surprising really nice.  Throughout the weekend we talked about the fun things we could do all summer; and at the end of Sunday, Prison Guy asked if we could go out the next week.  I told him absolutely.

Over the next couple of weeks it became clear that Prison Guy wasn’t that into me.  I rarely heard from him, and anytime he asked me out, he cancelled. Finally, 2 days before heading back to New York City, I received the following facebook® message from him:

“hope all is well, I’m stupid for not hanging with you… err”

What am I supposed to do with a message like this?  Yes, Prison Guy, you are stupid for not hanging out with me.  But apparently you found something (or someone) better with which (or whom) to spend your time for the last 2 months.  And it looks like in the end you thought maybe you made the wrong decision? 

Too bad, so sad. 

I turned around to see a 6-foot tall, dark haired, blue eyed, square jawed, gorgeous guy smiling at me.  “Did you go there for college?” he asked, pointing at my sweatshirt.  It turns out we went to the same school for undergrad.  We chatted for a while and I learned that the hottie was enrolled in the business school (and that he was Jewish). I can’t tell you how many people have told me that I’ll find someone when I stop looking, and after meeting B-School Boy, I started to believe them.  

Over the next few weeks, I saw B-School Boy in the library five days a week: Monday – Friday.  We occasionally sat at the same table, and usually flirted. Seeing B-School Boy at the library every day made studying for exams a little less grueling.  Knowing that I would have a cute boy to hang out with during study breaks made it a lot easier to sit in the same place for 12 hours plus per day. And I was motivated to dress in things other than a variety of stretchy pants.

B-School Boy knew that I was heading home for the summer soon after exams ended, and almost every time I saw him he asked when I was leaving.  I had a little over a week to hang out in the city before I had to head home, and I thought that B-School Boy was so interested in my schedule because he might want to get together outside of the library before I left.

Exams were almost over, and B-School Boy still hadn’t asked me out, so I brought two other girlfriends to the library to meet him and judge whether he liked me based on our interactions. They both agreed that B-School Boy was heavily flirting, and they wondered why he hadn’t taken the next step yet. 

We came up with two possible explanations:

(1) I had met B-School Boy right before we both had exams, and so he might not have asked me out because we were both so busy with studying.

(2) From the day that I met him, B-School Boy knew that I would be leaving for the summer and he didn’t want to start anything before I left.

Deep down I knew that these reasons were BS.  If B-School Boy actually liked me, he would have asked me out despite exams and summer break.  I left the city to go home for the summer and sure enough, about one month later, B-School Boy found himself a girlfriend.

I haven’t seen him since. 

Unemployed Guy wasn’t particularly good looking, or interesting, or funny; but I was still upset over Hedge Fund Guy, and so I used this opportunity to drink.  After a few drinks in the Times Square area, Unemployed Guy suggested we move the party farther downtown, to the Union Square area.  We went to Coffee Shop and drank more. A lot more. 

Before I knew it, Unemployed Guy and I were back in his Union Square apartment.  He popped in a movie, and we started making out.  Things were heating up and before I knew it, Unemployed Guy was standing in front of me, asking me “latex or lambskin?”  Had I entered an alternate universe?  I had heard about lambskin condoms in health class in the seventh grade, but I didn’t know that they still existed, or that people still purchased them, or had ever purchased them for that matter.  I didn’t know what to do.  I was terrified.  I got the hell out of there.

Because Unemployed Guy was, well, unemployed, he had a lot of free time on his hands.  He facebook® friended me, added me on twitter, and texted me every weekend for the next 3 weeks.  It was all a bit too much.  Luckily, exams were fast approaching and I was heading home for the summer, and so I used those as my excuses for not being able to see him again. 

The texts finally stopped in early July, not a moment too soon.