Boys, Boys, Boys

Okay, since I've been getting requests for updates, here's where we are on the dating front.

Cute Biochemist Curing AIDS: Gave him the boot last week. We had four (FOUR!) missed connections where he was all vague about plans and said he would call "closer to the time when we would meet up" and didn't. Whatever. I put up with that bullshit much, much longer than I ordinarily would have, because he would always have a good reason, or would call right when I was about to write him off, doing just enough in the nick of time to keep me interested. Feh. He's still really hung up on his ex. He mentioned her so often than I can tell you which version of QuarkXPress (a specialized, kind of uncommon graphic design program) she left installed on his computer. Bye! Bye now! Thanks for playing! BUH-bye!

Konservative Kisser: Yes, he of the Melting Up Against the Car session back in July. Is back. Or was. He emailed five weeks after the Personal Hazmat Situation to ask if I wanted to make out again. I'm embarrassed to say that I was simultaneously really offended AND rather interested, thank you very much. (Yes, that breaking glass/rolling parchmont/licking stamp sound IS my women's studies degree flinging itself off the wall and mailing itself back to Syracuse University; why do you ask?) We had the strangest conversation I've ever had in my life about our, uh, intentions. And then he got cold feet, and life reminded me of the people and things that are most important to me, so we agreed to give ourselves "time to think" and I haven't heard from him since. Which is good and right. And saves me money on postage more profitably spent supporting NARAL. Next!

Law School Student with Childhood Exposure to Crackpot Father: Is apparently not back in the city yet and emails sparodically. He sent an oddly worded email about my thinking "he must simply be a terribly unreliable person!" Which reminded me of the guy who was having the slow blossing love affair with his flute, for some reason. Not great, and probably not going anywhere.

Jacques the Cop: Actually, I need advice about letting this guy down really, really gently. In theory, he seems great. He's not like anyone I've ever gone out with before. He's Haitian, speaks French Creole fluently, an NYPD officer in his last year of law school, owns his own home. Our email exchanges were lovely. Then he started talking about our eHarmony commercial and how great it would be "a year or two down the road." (This is the one you've all been waiting for.) That made me make the same face Ariel the Little Disney Mermaid makes when Prince Eric suggests her name might be Mildred right before the Sebastian the Crab conducts the Everglades animals in "Kiss the Girl." (If you actually got that reference, I apologize if you just peed yourself.) So I emailed him to ask why he thought we would end up being eHarmony Commercial Worthy, and his answer was so nice that we met for dinner at Appleby's. I'll just tell you that, in person, the chemistry WAS. NOT. THERE. for me. He's nice, kind of a big teddy bear. I could see myself being his friend, if I were friends with people who make the argument against gay marriage by saying it opens up the legal process for polygamy and man/boy love. Which I'm not. So I was polite and listened proactively and was home before 11 p.m. And he's very smitten. I don't want to go out again, but I don't want to tell him that by just "closing the match" on eHarmony. Help? Please?

Finally, I will just close by saying that I'm not at all excited about a different boy that my friend Julia (hi Bebe; viva Las Vegas) christened my "Casual New Friend." I am not at all blown away by our first date. I am not at all touched that he likes Bella. I do not find the fact that he's an inner-city high school teacher who loves his job at all endearing. I'm not at all happy that he wants me to meet his friends, or that he calls when he says he will, or that he loves landscape photography as a hobby and is really a damn. good. shooter. I definitely didn't want to jump the random man in front of me in the check-out line tonight simply because he was wearing the same aftershave that my Casual New Friend uses. I am impervious to the fact that he's the type of dork who wears white socks with black shoes.

My heart is made of stone. I wear "my suit of armor even when I'm eating my Lucky Charms" these days. If my ability to be hopeful could be captured in a iconic image, my hopefulness would be a dry, shriveled peach pit. Nope. I'm not interested in my Casual New Friend at all.