legalese

Sylvia—a cute, blonde lawyer in her early thirties—was another girl I also met online. After a few e-mails we made plans to meet up for drinks on an early Thursday evening. I had already decided to play it cool and show up fifteen minutes late, to cover up the fact that I was slightly nervous. As I'm waiting in front of my building for a taxi, and just as it's pulling up, my neighbor—and occasional hookup—Celia appears with her dog. I didn’t say where I was going, but I was waiting for a cab, smelling good and slightly well dressed…I was pretty sure she’d figured it out.

The date was a success. Nothing special, but we laughed, talked, had a few drinks, and really enjoyed ourselves. Standard good date material. It lasted some 3½ hours and only concluded at that point due to Sylvia having to be in court the next morning. Afterwards, on our way to the subway, we hold hands, and half a block before the subway, under a tree, in an unlit part of the block, we kiss. It was nice. Kinda romantic, you might say.

We get to the station and I ask her if she wants to get together sometime this weekend—in a previous conversation to set up this date she’d said she had plans on Friday but was free Saturday and Sunday.

“I’ll have to check.”

But I thought you said you were free…

“I know, but I may have made plans.”

Oh, ok…

“No, I’m not trying to be evasive. Let me check. We’ll talk or e-mail tomorrow anyway, so…”

What the fuck was that about? Was she tipsy and didn’t know how to react? Did she feel pressured? Did she not feel a physical connection, despite the kiss? Anyway, we get on the train, talk some more, kiss briefly twice and mutually state how much we’d enjoyed the evening and how glad we were that we’d done this. My stop comes first, we say our goodbyes and since I’d had about 5 whiskeys and had to work the next day, I went straight home, had a bite and then to bed.

The next morning there was a note under my door. It was dated from the night before so I may have not seen it when I got home.

Guess who?

Miss Celia wrote me a three-pager—complete with a drawing of her dog at the end—in which she states “with respect and love towards the wonderful human being” that I am, her desire to “remain good neighbors and acquaintances, rather than attempt to be real friends or friends with benefits”. Let’s see…this was the second time she’d had this ‘talk’ with me. The last time I ended up going up to her place and having sex. Of course.

I start thinking that blowing her off two nights prior night—she wanted me to come up and have sex—coupled with seeing me on my way to be with someone else may have set her off. Whatever…

Meanwhile, I didn’t call or e-mail Sylvia. I wasn’t going to chase after her having gotten “Let me check” the previous night. Granted, there was also the possibility that I may have come on a little too strong. Which was another reason for me not to call. When I finally do hear from her, days later via e-mail, not only was she not interested in a second date, but from her account you would think we’d been on two different dates! WTF?! So, suffice to say, that was that. (Come to think of it, why would anyone date a lawyer? You don't want to break up with someone who has that kind of legal know-how trying to mess with you out of spite, now would you?)

As I take stock in my recent dating letdowns, I start contemplating the possibility of resorting to hookers if this nonsense continued. (CraigsList, are you calling my name?) Nothing too expensive, but I'd make sure they’re hotter than the slightly skanky looking ones from that HBO show about the Bunny Ranch in Nevada. Bet on it. Ha!