third time is not the charm

A few weeks ago I had three "dates" in the span of one weekend, with women who, coincidentally, all live in my neighborhood:
Friday night with a cute law student named Cathy; Saturday with a sexy singer/songwriter named Rita; and on Sunday, it was the lovely Denise, a marketing analyst (I think). And they all ended badly.

Cathy and I met over drinks at one of our local bars and hit it off from the get-go. She was smart, attractive and quite opinionated.
I didn’t have a problem with the latter until she started ragging on people with children at length, and made it clear she wanted none of her own. OK, so not girlfriend material for me but she was quite the hottie, so I figure if I play my cards right, I’ll get some sex out of it. Nope.

We finish our drinks and go for a late night snack at a nearby 7-11, where she proceeds to pig out on a couple of cheese dogs.
Fine by me; I love a girl with an appetite. I then walk her home and as we stand in front of her building, we kiss. Cool.
Then, she drops the bomb:

“I think you should know that I’ve been in an on-and-off relationship with someone I’ve known since we were six.” (She was 31.)

Great.

She goes on about it, implying it's currently off, but there's major ambiguity there. So, I throw in my two cents.

“Listen,” I said, “I’ve been in a similar dysfunctional situation with someone for two years now, but I’m looking forward to extricating myself from it as soon as possible. And I think you should, too.”

(Of course, this must’ve been the alcohol serving as my spokesperson, because although what I said was true, there was no reason for me to bring it up with a woman I clearly had no intention of considering for a serious relationship. Or was it my crotch doing the talking?)

“Yeah, I guess.”

So much for Cathy.

+ + + + +

I invited Rita to a show at a new concert venue in the neighborhood. She had to take care of something immediately before the show,
so we decided to meet inside. There we met up with friends of mine who were acquaintances of one of the singer/songwriters on the bill. Rita, on the other hand, was known to the evening's headliner and was interested in seeing him perform. In between sets, after she met my friends and they’d gotten all chummy, Rita was asked why she’d been late getting there. She told a boring and convoluted story that had the unintended (?) result of alerting us to the fact that SHE LIVES WITH HER EX-HUSBAND. The night's positive vibe kinda quickly dissipated after that.

At one point, she excuses herself to go to the ladies’ room, and I’m bombarded with questions regarding my prior knowledge of Rita’s domestic situation, by friends who are quite upset.

“I didn't know 'til now. But I could sense there was something weird going on,” I replied. “When we met, at one of her shows, there was this dude hovering around who seemed like more than just her personal assistant. However, she was flirting with me and accepting my invitation to go out, so I kinda put it in the back of my head. But it kept nagging at me 'cause I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it.”

At my insistence, we left halfway thru the headliner’s set and I told Rita I was bailing on another show we’d planned on going later that evening, also in the neighborhood.

“I’ve had enough for tonight. I just want to drink.”

“Well, I’m driving and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

"How ‘bout back to my place so we can have some angry sex?", I thought. I settled for a bar nearby.

What Rita failed to mention was that her ride was a late-model Mercedes. All of a sudden, her living with the ex made me feel even more uncomfortable. Not because of the car itself, but because it made me think of whose money was possibly behind it.
And all the different scenarios I came up with in my head felt really weird.

She drops me off in front of the bar, and before I get out she profusely thanks me for the evening, hints at some personal issues she's dealing with, and promises to get together soon. She then leans in closer, gives me a kiss, and drops the F-bomb.

“You’re such a good friend.”

Now, I really needed a drink.

+ + + + +

I’d been introduced to Denise by a mutual friend and neighbor late last year. I subsequently ran into her a few times at a local bar, but failed to notice until months later that she was a girl I’d been matched with online; one who I’d contacted but never heard back from.
I should’ve left it at that. But no, Mr. Looking for Love had to take things a step further. Ugh.

I meet her at that same local bar after she’d been partying earlier in the evening with friends out in Manhattan, and tell her about our online “past”. She apologizes for not responding and gets a little apprehensive at first but, ultimately, gets a kick out of the whole deal. But after a few drinks I notice Denise begins to get slightly incoherent and even a bit antagonistic, which is quite likely due to the alcohol being coupled with the copious amounts of weed smoked with her Manhattan friends, leading to her lovely chemically-induced makeover.

Now, I for the most part don't have a problem with whatever party favor gets you thru the night. But if what you regularly consume and enjoy leads you to becoming a subtler version of The Hulk with lip gloss, um, no can do.

I decide to call it a night. Who’s got time for a 34 year-old frat girl? Not me, anyway.