Monthly Archives: November 2013

Falling for the Nice Guy: What’s the Catch?

I am no stranger to blind dates, first dates, good dates, bad dates, and crying in the bathroom, but the past few years, especially since living in New York City, the guys who are actually nice seem like the stranger men to me. Call me jaded or call me cynical (my mom sure does) but when I meet someone for a date, and they are genuinely nice, it is rather shocking and out of the ordinary. And I don’t mean “nice” like they call you the right name or make sure you get off first. I mean nice in the fact that they hold the door, pull out your chair, ask you questions, and make eye contact.

Absurd, I know.

For the past few weeks I have been seeing someone who definitely falls into the “Nice guy category”. After our first date, I came home and called my friends and told them about every minute and mundane detail (like I do after every date) although where I normally would say, “…so I blew him and left” or “he drank white zinfandel with ice” I noted how nice he was – something my friends had very rarely heard me say when referring to a man. The nicest guy I have come across in the past three years is Harum, the guy who works at Dunkin’ Donuts.

All of their reactions were the same: “Oh my god, finally a nice guy”… “This is exactly what you need”… “Marry him.”

While my friends were all infatuated with him, I on the other hand, was on the fence.

So, I hopped down, ordered a pizza, and tried to figure out why I was so damaged and jaded.

After my fifth slice, I decided one more was enough and then called one of my girlfriends to talk this out. All of my friends are great and each one has a specific purpose. I have one friend I go to when I need to talk about work. Another one to talk about food. And another to talk about exercise. Actually, I haven’t talked to that friend in a few years…Hm. I hope he’s okay.

Anyways, I called my girlfriend who is really great at analyzing guys and relationships, and has more of a “real” attitude than some of my other friends. While finishing the last of the pizza, I listened to her tell me something I think, deep down, I already knew: You are attracted to assholes.

“Huh” I said. “I guess that’s kind of true.”

“Kind of true? James you dated someone for four months who only texted you after midnight. You dated someone else who forgot your birthday. And don’t make me bring up the guy who pushed you down a flight of stairs.”

“Okay, okay. I am attracted to assholes” I finally admitted. “But how do I stop?”

“How the hell should I know? I just texted a guy who thinks my name is Jennifer and asked him to come over. I’m in the same boat.”

I went out with the nice guy again, and just as expected, we had a wonderful time. He paid for my dinner, helped me put my coat on, and even walked me (out of his way) to my train. He has a successful job, his own apartment, and he reads from fun. He even gets his books from the library, not a book store. Swoon.

I spent the whole train ride wondering what was wrong with me. I had a great evening and liked him a lot, I just didn’t have the butterflies. I didn’t have the zsa zsa zsu. I didn’t have anything.

But there was something missing. I thought about the other people I have dated who gave me butterflies. They weren’t necessarily “assholes” or “jerks”, but there was some type of challenge. Whether it was the drive for passion or just the determination of keeping it interesting, there was always something keeping me texting them. Something that made me want to prove they should date me. But now, in this situation, I already had him. He is already interested. He wants to date me.

So why do I feel nothing?

I know that now, as a “mature” 27 year old, I need to be appreciative that someone so great thinks I am so great as well, but am I a fool for wanting there to be a challenge? Or should I just suck it up, stop playing games, and give this one a chance?

Hello? Answer me.

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Bugs Bunny

Last night I got out of my slump of watching episode after episode of Pretty Little Liars while trying to beat level 46 on Candy Crush and went on a date.

Me? Going on a date? On a school night? Unheard of!

For those of you that don’t know, my New Year’s Resolution this year, aside from quitting smoking, losing weight, and re-growing my hair, was to always say “yes”, especially when it comes to dating. And ordering Mac and Cheese if present on a menu.

So, while I was waiting for my lives on Candy Crush to be replenished on Tuesday night, I went on Grindr to see if anyone wanted to come over and “cuddle”. While no one seemed at all interested, this one guy messaged me and we began talking for a little over a half hour. When I said I needed to go to bed (aka I got more lives) he asked if he could take me to dinner the following night.

Being one who never turns down a free meal, I said yes.

The following day we didn’t really text that much, which I liked! He was very confident and just told me to meet him at the restaurant at 8. The restaurant he chose is actually 2 blocks from my apartment in Jersey, so I was extremely grateful.

This is very out of character for me, because when I am talking to a guy, I like to chat all day, every day, for about two weeks so I can know everything about them: their favorite color, where they grew up, penis size, and favorite Julia Roberts movie. I also like to stalk their Facebook page to see about 350+ pictures of them. But, with this guy, I only saw three pictures. All of his left side. All not smiling.

Again, it’s a free meal, I said to myself.

So I walked to the restaurant and a few blocks away I received a text message from him saying he was sitting at the bar. He’s prompt. I like that. I opened the door to the restaurant and spotted him immediately. Well, I didn’t necessarily spot HIM, I spotted his two front teeth.

The reason why he never sent me any pictures of him smiling was all making sense now. I walked over, gave him an awkward hug, and we were sat at a table. Ok, so he has buckteeth. That’s not the end of the world. I’m not that picky.

I started the conversation about work and explained to him a bit of what I do. When I asked him what he does, he said that he works at a medical office as an assistant, but his real passion is “club promotion.” He then went on a 20 minute tangent about how great that lifestyle is, yet how tiresome and lonely it can be. I just nodded.

Now, I love to joke around, but sometimes I forget that people (especially people who met me 18 minutes ago) do not really understand my dry sense of humor and sarcasm. I forget exactly how this came up, but I made an innocent “I’m addicted to cocaine joke”, as you do on a first date, and it did not go over so well.

I completely forget that he was from Columbia.

So, he responded to my comment and decided to tell me all about his trouble with drugs “in his past” and then proceeded to ask me if I had any lying around my apartment.

All in all, we had an average dinner. I am really good at coming up with things to talk about, so the conversation flowed, from the Yankees to quoting The Devil Wears Prada.

Once the waiter cleared our plates (and brought me my third glass of wine) the next words out of my dates mouth were, “Well, when I was in acting school…”

I quickly chugged the Pinot Noir in front of me and graciously asked for something with tequila. I was going to need to be extremely drunk to hear about monologue workshops.

The date was going longer than I had expected and hoped, and I don’t think I could have yawned or said “Gee, I have to be up early” enough for him to get the point. Finally, he sipped the remaining ounce of his Bud Light that had been lingering in his glass for the past fifteen minutes and asked for the check.

When Henrique or Miguel or whomever dropped off our check, he pulled out his wallet and said those lovely three words every guy likes to hear on a first date: “Wanna split it?”

Once we were out of the restaurant, I cheered to myself that I was free and I could run home, put on Pretty Little Liars and play Candy Crush. That was, until he offered to walk me home.

“No, no. That’s really okay!” I practically yelled. “It’s out of your way. The bus stop is right here!” But he would not let it go. So, okay fine. I let him walk me home because, in all my life of dating, no one has ever walked me home to my front door, so I was actually pretty excited about his chivalrous gesture.

When we finally arrived to my apartment, he kissed me good night. I opened the front door to my building and looked back at him, just standing there.

“Can I walk you up?” he asked. And we all know what that means, right ladies?

Since I had three glasses of red wine and a shot of tequila, I figured why the hell not. It’s been forever since I’ve had any type of physical contact that didn’t involve a body pillow or an electric toothbrush. We went up to my apartment, and started making out on the couch. Half way through, he stopped, hugged me, looked in my eyes and said, “Damn you’re beautiful.”

So, naturally I took off his pants and gave him a hand job.

Finally by 11:30, the date was over and I could take a cold shower and head to sleep. I figured he would get the hint that I wasn’t really interested and that the complimentary handy-j was just a token for him walking me home.

But he’s texted me 6 times already this morning. Time to move or change my phone number again.

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