dating

The perfect guy…almost

Google revealed that Safeway Guy was married. But, what if the bio that I had found online was out-of-date? He and I had such an amazing connection when we first met that I wondered (or was it hoped?) if he was single — or at least separated.

I wanted to find out so I decided to meet Safeway Guy for coffee yesterday as planned. I tried to remind myself that even if he was off the dating market, he was definitely a great professional contact.

I met him for coffee in the complex where I live and he works (at least until his company moves offices at the end of the week). He had said that it was okay if I brought my dog so I did. Safeway Guy and I had a perfect coffee date, but if he's married, was it a date?

He insisted on paying and getting me a little something to eat in case I was hungry. He was wonderful with my very shy rescue dog. It was so easy to talk to Safeway Guy about my thesis and former clients since he works in a related field. And, he confided in me about a delicate professional matter with which he was dealing. If we could have stayed at the coffee shop all day, we probably would have!

I kept waiting for him to bring up something about his family, but he didn't. I guess I can't blame him, but he was so seemingly perfect that I found myself hoping that the bio I had found online was wrong.

As we walked back to his office, he mentioned that he wished his offices weren't moving because he loves Foggy Bottom. The only bright size to the move is that his commute will be shorter from his home in Potomac.

"So, do you live with your family in Potomac?" I inquired, trying to be smooth.

"Yeah…I need to go to the bank. Do you want to walk up that way with me? I don't think they will allow your dog to come inside," he commented.

Wow! He dodged that question like it was a bullet! We hugged and kissed on the cheek goodbye, as he booked it into the bank. I guess he answered the question…sort of. But, I had hoped for a definitive,

"Yes, I live with my wife and two kids in Potomac. She and I are happily married, and you and I can be professional contacts or platonic friends, but that's it."

I continued walking with my dog, arriving back to my apartment 20 minutes later. In that short time, Safeway Guy had already sent me an e-mail! In the e-mail, he wrote that seeing me was the best part of his hectic day and that he looks forward to taking me out for a more relaxed lunch. And, if I'm being honest with myself, I'm looking forward to having lunch with him, too. Throughout the afternoon, we sent each other several more e-mails before his Internet service was disconnected.

A part of me wanted to believe that Safeway Guy wasn't still with his wife since he didn't fully answer my question. He and I aren't friends on Facebook, but he has a profile. The bio that I had found online the day before noted his wife's first name. I scrolled through his friends' list and found his wife's profile. Her profile pic features a photograph of their smiling family. So, I have my answer.

Am I tempting fate just by being friends with him? Is the fact that we have so much in common personally and professionally an asset as we try to build a friendship or just too risky? Is it possible to have a healthy friendship with a married guy?

Next time, I'm going to Trader Joe's. Shopping there is much less complicated.

Nice, but not too nice = just right!

In the fall of 2004, I figured that I should start dipping my toes back in the dating pool to see what was out there. At that time, I was looking for someone with whom I could have a "normal" relationship. I wanted a lot of great sex (obviously), but also some love and companionship.

I went back on eHarmony's website, and a guy named Austin caught my eye. He was two years younger than me, 6'1", black, good looking and well-rounded. We e-mailed for a couple of weeks before scheduling a lunch date at the old Cafe Asia on 19th Street. We exchanged phone numbers in case something came up at the last minute. The day before our lunch, my phone rang.

"Hi, this is Austin. How are you?" he said.

"Good, thanks. Is there a problem with lunch tomorrow?"

"Umm…no," he replied hesitantly. "I was just calling to talk."

"Well, I'm in the middle of something right now. Is it okay if we just meet tomorrow as planned?"

"Yeah. Sure. I'm sorry to have bothered you," Austin commented.

"No worries. See you tomorrow!"

I didn't mean to be rude, but I'm a big believer in chemistry. Much like a dude, I know within five minutes of meeting a guy whether I'm interested in him or not. The eHarmony website already did some of the basic compatibility matching for us. The chemistry part would either be there…or it wouldn't. I didn't care to have a whole lot of conversation before that.

When I walked into Cafe Asia, Austin was already seated at a table. He was cuter than his photo (bonus!) and had a great smile. We hugged hello, and he said,

"Wow! I'm glad that you hugged me because I didn't know what to expect after you didn't want to speak with me on the phone yesterday. I was hoping that you would be as nice and cool as you seemed on your profile."

I laughed and told him that I'm better in person. Weekday lunch dates can be awkward, but this one wasn't. Austin was a really good guy who liked sports and music and was very protective of his three little sisters. It was easy to talk to him, and nice that he was a total gentleman, paying for lunch, even when I offered to split the bill.

Normally, guys who are too nice annoy me, but Austin was kind without being a wuss or overly complimentary. He didn't seem interested in fast-tracking things with me (no talk of marriage or children on the first date), and he was genuine. Before the date ended, he asked if he could see me the following week, and I said that would be great.

The following week, I had a minor surgical procedure scheduled. Austin suggested bringing dinner and a movie over the night before the procedure so I would have some company and not sit at home by myself worrying. His caring and initiative won huge points!

He came over, and it was very easy to have him in my condo. He wasn't intimidated by my place, and asked a fair amount of questions about my friends and my parents. Simply put, Austin made me smile…and want to get to know him better.

As we watched the movie, he held my hand and ran his fingers through my hair. When the movie ended, he gave me a big hug and a small kiss, and told me that he hoped that everything went well at the hospital.

I had wanted a kinder and gentler guy in my life. I had found him! All my needs were met, and I slept soundly before the procedure.

Did Austin have staying power?

“Mom, I think I have frostbite!”

February 1994

After The Diminutive Russian and I split up, my heart was broken. I was 20 years old and had moved down to DC for a guy who started out as a bad boyfriend and ended up even worse. I spent the next month, going to class at GWU, dancing on the platforms at The Vault, partying a lot, and dating one of The Diminutive Russian’s friends.

Alexei personified Russian Hotness — 6’4″, blond hair, blue eyes and a body that could have been crafted by sculptors. Alexei also had quite a diversified portfolio. Sometimes he modeled, sometimes he worked as a bartender at The Vault, and sometimes he dealt pot.

Alexei was nice and uncomplicated. I don’t mean to imply that he lacked any abstract thoughts. But, after my intense relationship with The Diminutive Russian, it was refreshing to date someone who didn’t seek drama or evoke angst.

Alexei was up in NYC for a modeling gig, when ice storms began to rage through DC. The Mayor closed the whole city for a week so my friend, Bex, and I were holed up in our apartment. I felt incredibly tired and thought that I had gotten frostbite from the bitterly cold weather since I couldn’t feel my feet. “Please send me some good snow boots,” I asked my Mom.

The ice storms started to abate over the weekend, but I still couldn’t feel anything in my feet. In our infinite wisdom, Bex and I tried to wake my feet up. We poured hot water and cold water on them. Bex tenderly rubbed my tootsies with lotion. I even banged them on the coffee table. Nothing! Now and then, when I got up from the couch, I would fall, and call to Bex like that old lady in the Life Alert commercial, “Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.”

On the 14th, I was home, feeling quite out of sorts and waiting for Alexei to call to wish me a Happy Valentine’s Day. Bex had gone out to dinner with her boyfriend, and they came home to enjoy “dessert” in her bedroom. I tried to fall asleep, but I couldn’t. So, when the phone rang at midnight, I was wide-awake:

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Alexei exclaimed.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” I replied with a little less enthusiasm.

“I just got in from New York. Want to come over?” he asked.

“I don’t know…I’m not feeling that well…it’s late,” I commented.

“I want to be with you. I brought you chocolates from New York. I have a bottle of Dom chilling. I came back tonight just so we could be together on Valentine’s Day!” he explained.

I was so exhausted, but I did want to see him. And, I felt like I would be more motivated to go to school and Student Health tomorrow, if I was already at his place. I got my things together, and as I changed into my outfit, I realized that my legs were really cold. From below my knees, they were like icicles. And, I was walking so slowly. Maybe this wasn’t frostbite? Maybe I had an orthopedic problem or something?

Twenty minutes later, I arrived at Alexei’s house, and knew that I didn’t feel like myself when I turned down a glass of Dom. He had brought me a candy bar and a single red rose, which made me smile.

We moved into the bedroom, and as tired as I was, I wanted to have sex. I also kept thinking to myself that I needed to make sure that he didn’t touch my legs below my knees. They were so cold that I worried he would wonder if he was having sex with a corpse!

I sat in a meditation position, facing him with my butt resting on my feet. My arms were stretched out behind me and I arched my back as much as I could. I shifted positions a few times by swiveling from side to side, but managed to move my legs as one unit. After we were done (or more accurately, after he was done since I was too tired to orgasm), we went to sleep. I remember that he made some comment about how cold my legs were. I just laughed and said, “It’s freezing in here!”

The next day in class, I noticed that my hands were numb and that it was tough for me to write. I had promised my Mom that I would go to Student Health, and one of the guys from school offered to walk me there.

A nurse at Student Health said that it was neither frostbite nor orthopedic. She thought it was neurological and gave me a referral form. As I checked out at the front desk, a Student Employee said,

“You look really tired. One of these doctors is right upstairs. Why don’t you go up and make the appointment before their office closes so then you can go home and go to sleep?”

That made sense to me so I walked upstairs, holding on to whatever wall or table I could. When I got to the receptionist desk, the secretary gave my referral form to one doctor who suggested that she show it to another doctor. Lucky for me, that doctor had a cancellation right that very minute!

I don’t know if you believe in miracles or blessings from above, but I do, and the events of that February afternoon remind me of why. As it turns out, the doctor who received my referral form from Student Health and offered to do a consultation right then and there was one of the experts in this area of neurology. From the one line on my referral form that said “tingling in hands and feet, difficulty walking,” she knew what was wrong and pretended to have a cancellation so that she could see me asap.

Within a few hours, I had a spinal tap and was admitted to the hospital with something called Guillain Barre Syndrome (GBS). I didn’t have frostbite. I was going paralyzed!!! Guillain Barre starts in your feet and hands and works its way inward. The majority of people arrive at the hospital with almost total paralysis, and it can be life-threatening if it reaches your lungs or heart. For you history buffs, a 2003 study believes that FDR had Guillain Barre, not polio.

GWU is a teaching hospital so doctors kept coming into my room to ask me questions.

“When did you last have sex?” the doctors inquired.

“Last night,” I replied.

“But you couldn’t feel your lower extremities?” one doctor asked.

“So? It was Valentine’s Day and I’m dating a really hot Russian model!” I explained.

[The doctors in the room just stared at me with wide eyes and said nothing for over 30 seconds before someone moved on to a different topic.]

Yeah, I really said that. What did I have to hide?

It took a while to get my strength back, but thanks to GWU Hospital and Physical Therapy, I did. And, yes, I know how lucky I am!

Oh, and if you’re wondering, Alexei visited me in the hospital and came to my house quite a few times while I was recouping. A nice, uncomplicated guy was just what I needed at this time in my life!

The Beef — a contender for the Best Worst Boyfriend

I put a link to my blog on Facebook to increase traffic, and got an interesting comment from an ex-boyfriend, The Beef, about how he should move back to DC. I'm not sure if he meant that he would do better in this town than most guys or that I would do better dating him, but either option was amusing.

Why did I find this so funny? Because The Beef ranks up there on my list of Best Worst Boyfriends! We dated in 1996 for several months and again in 2001. (Oh, if you're realizing that I have a pattern for recycling my exes, then pat yourself on the back.) I will list his pros and his cons, and let you make your own determination about whether he was a good boyfriend.

Pros:

1. The Beef is articulate, intelligent and active politically. He worked for the RNC and the Congressional Black Caucus. The Beef was a player in politics at an age when most of us are merely excited to vote; and

2. He is an amazing lover. The Beef is not a euphemism, and he knows how to work his kabob.

Cons:

1. When we reconnected in 2001, The Beef had just moved back to DC and was living temporarily at a friend's place. Shortly after we started dating again, I headed off to California on vacation. The Beef called and asked if he could stay at my place indefinitely. I felt bad for him and saw some potential so I said sure. My friend, Nicole, commented, "Only you could go away and have your relationship move forward." I wouldn't say that The Beef was a freeloader, but he definitely wasn't doing as well professionally as he once was;

2. When I returned from my trip, I was looking forward to seeing him and opened the door with a huge smile on my face. My smile turned to a look of wide-eyed shock, when I saw my apartment. There were roaches in my studio. There were several trash bags that were just in the middle of the room, despite the fact that the trash chute was 30 steps away. His stuff was all over. I like my place impeccably neat so I was freaking out.

"I missed you so much," The Beef said. "I'm so glad you're back. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I can't live in this mess," I replied;

3. The path of destruction went on…and on. I had a bizarre burnt sienna stain on my carpet, a cigarette burn on my comforter, and a huge black ink stain on my duvet. He didn't apologize or mention any of those things to me in advance so it was like a torturous scavenger hunt. One of my picture frames was broken, and I asked him where the photo of my parents was.

"The photo is right there," he stated.

"That was a two-sided picture frame. Where's the other picture of my folks?" I inquired. (For some back-story, my Mom passed away in 1997. Pictures of her are things that I understandably treasure.) He said that he didn't have it;

4. We went to a birthday party for a guy I dated a bit in college, and The Beef drank a lot of vodka. I don't have a problem with that, but out of nowhere, I saw The Beef's version of Mr. Hyde. I made a comment about how he kept talking to this girl at the party, and he started screaming at me. I asked him to calm down, but he wouldn't. For the next two hours, he proceeded to talk about how: a) fat I had gotten; b) my health problems aren't a big deal; and c) I'm so spoiled. Through his entire tirade, I did not shed a tear, and just told him that he was way out of line.

The icing on the cake? He said that I made him so mad that he wanted to hit me and screamed that I was a bitch.

"OK. You can leave now."

"Where am I supposed to go? It's 3am!" he exclaimed.

"I don't care where you go. You only need to call me a bitch and threaten to hit me once."

As he was getting his Hefty bags together (he used trash bags in lieu of luggage), the picture of my parents that was missing fell out of the bag. He claimed that he didn't know he had that.

He apologized for his behavior the next day, but I told him that there was no excuse for what he said. I was done;

5. Several weeks later, I had friends come over for dinner. I went to set the table, and pulled out all of my small plates. The plate on the bottom still had food on it. Apparently, The Beef didn't wash the dishes before he put them on the bottom of the pile in the back in the cupboard. Gross; and

6. The following month, my phone bill came. While I was on vacation, The Beef made $75 in calls from my home phone to a (900) number. I e-mailed him about getting the money back. He insisted that the (900) number was for Technical Support for his computer. More like Testicle Support, if you ask me! He said that he would get me the money, but I knew that he never would pay me back.

I called one of my girlfriends, after I found the dishes and the phone bill came. In both conversations, I opened with the same line:

"I HATE THE BEEF!!!"

It’s a Dick in my In Box!

Last spring, I finally came to the realization that Internet dating is not for me. I've done it a few times over the years, but I've found that the guys I meet online typically fall into one of two groups:

1. Want to get married and/or have children ASAP. Such a cavalier approach to something as serious as marriage freaks me out. I am in no rush to get married, and want to really know someone well before I stand in front of him and say that, "Yes. This is forever." When guys from online sites talk about relationships and commitments by the second date, I never stick around for the third; or

2. Just want to get laid. Now, I'm fine if people are up front about that, but don't place or respond to an ad about a relationship, when you really just want a casual encounter.

Tennis Boy fell into the second category, although I had initially thought we were looking for the same things when we met in 2007. He was well educated, attractive, international and athletic. Our first date consisted of taking his dog for a long walk in the park. He seemed respectful and considerate — to both the dog and me. I don't keep a tally as to how well a date is going, but if I did, he would have scored quite a few points.

For our second date later that week, we went to a lounge. Again, he did and said everything right. Conversation with him was easy, and he had a good sense of humor. He paid for my drinks. He walked me to my car at the end of the night. He gave me the tiniest kiss on the lips (closed mouth). He was heading out of town the following week and then I was going to be out of town, but we planned to see each other when I got home.

Two weeks later, I was back in DC, but he had a bad cold. We texted and e-mailed a few times, and I figured that we would eventually go out again. I wasn't pressed about it, though.

So, imagine my surprise, when I saw that I had an e-mail from him at 1am. The subject was "I'm thinking of you," and there was an attached photo. I clicked on it, and stared at my computer screen with a look of shock on my face.

Tennis Boy had sent me a photo of himself naked. If you think this might have been an artistic or subtle shot, think again. He took the picture from the neck down and in the center of the shot was his hard dick. Tennis Boy was sitting on a stool as he was posing, and in the background was his disgustingly dirty kitchen floor.

When I told a friend the story, she asked, "How did his dick look?" I guess that didn't even matter to me since the e-mail was so inappropriate that I just deleted it. Another friend commented, "It is never a good thing to send genitalia pics online." For serious! How did he go from Mr. Chivalry to Mr. Dick in my In Box?

I didn't reply to that e-mail, but he wrote me again. He intimated that he thought I was more open to those kind of things. Eww! Again, I didn't reply.

I was telling the story to a few friends at a local bar, when one of my boys said, "Wait a minute. Is his name…?" Yep. From the basic information that I shared at the bar, my friend knew the guy, and was not necessarily surprised that he did this.

Well, I guess I should feel lucky to have gotten out when I did. Someone else can deal with Tennis Boy, his fetish for unattractive naked self-portraits, and that gross kitchen.

Nothing says a first date like The Port Authority

I went on Match.com for a few weeks last March. Some of my friends in NYC had been using the site, and I thought it would be a fun diversion from Lawyer Boy. If you’ve read my entries about Brooklyn Boy, you know that one match was a bust. Mr. Port Authority is the other guy I met through the site.

From his profile, Mr. Port Authority was totally my type. He looked so much like my ex-boyfriend, Matt, that it was almost freaky. He also loved sports and was preparing to start his surgical residency. (My hospital stories are almost as entertaining as my dating stories so I tend to hit it off with people in the medical profession.)

We spoke several times over the phone, and I was preparing to see him when I got back to DC. In our last call, he asked me to leave NYC early or go back to DC for just a night, which I viewed as illogical and too eager. I don’t understand guys who get so clingy before we’ve even set eyes on each other.

I tried to look past this yellow flag since I was interested in meeting him. Two days later, I was at the hair salon in NYC, when I got a text from him:

“I’m in NYC for the day! Want to get together?”

We started texting back and forth, and he said that he was in the City to drop some info off at hospitals and to try to see me. Hmm….the Cling-O-Meter is rising and that’s not a good thing.

I knew enough about the residency match process to know that the results were coming out in a week. This guy is clearly not Type A or anything close to that if he waits to speak with hospitals until the 11th hour. His stock is falling since I’m far too motivated to deal with someone who isn’t at least a Type B.

I asked him where he was and he threw out an address that was THREE blocks from my family’s apartment in NYC. I exhaled and tried to convince myself that this was just a coincidence. I don’t remember if I told him where in NYC my family lived, but it was a tad creepy.

“Where were you thinking of meeting up?” I texted.

“What if we meet at The Port Authority for a hug and coffee before my bus leaves?”

The Port Authority? Who wants to meet someone for the first time at The Port Authority? That building is just one notch above a sewage treatment plant. My friend, Amy, summed it up perfectly when she said, “Does he want to kidnap you and take you to New Jersey?”

I decided to pass on this tempting offer [insert sarcastic eye roll here] and suggested that we wait to meet until we were both back in DC. By this point, my friends thought he was a stalker. I thought he was needy and socially-awkward. Regardless, Mr. Port Authority was making Mr. Starbucks look good, and that’s not saying much.

Purple Thong Boy

This is an oldie (a dating adventure from 2002), but a goodie.

I met Michael at Cheesecake Factory on a Saturday morning. That should have be enough of a sign that he wasn't going to be my Prince Charming. But, he was tall and very attractive with light black skin and a Georgetown degree so I gave him my number.

We would meet for drinks now and then. It wasn't serious (no love and no sex), but he was fun to hook up with. Michael always seemed to travel with at least one — and often, several — of his boys. I would get calls from his best friend, Charles, and some nights, both of them stayed over at my place. Back then, I was living in a studio and just had a bed and no couch so sleepovers at my place were quite cozy. But, Charles was always very respectful and Michael was amusing so it wasn't a problem.

On one particular day, I was at work and got a call from Michael. He and his friend, Dylan, wanted to take me out to lunch. I rolled up to the bar at Friday's and found them both already buzzed at 1pm. This Friday's doesn't get much traffic during the day so I felt really bad for all the senior citizens having lunch there. Michael was all over me like it was 3am and we were leaving a club.

He then started talking to Dylan about how much he liked kissing me and wouldn't Dylan like to kiss me. Dylan seemed open to it, and I replied, "Sorry. I'm not MCI. I don't do Friends-and-Family." (An MCI reference is dated, I know, but those ads were all over TV back then.)

I had to head back to the office, but Michael and Dylan mentioned that they might come over later and we could go out to dinner. I just told them to give me a call. Several hours later, as I got home from the gym, my phone rang. It was Dylan, saying that he and Michael were coming by with Chinese food in an hour. I told him that I was pretty beat, but if it was just for a few hours, that was cool.

Shortly after the call, Dylan showed up at my door with a bottle of wine.

"Where's Michael?" I asked.

"He went to get the Chinese food. He should be over in a little."

An hour later, I was starving and Michael still wasn't here. Dylan left a message for Michael, but he didn't call back. By this point, the wine bottle was almost empty and I hadn't had a glass. As Dylan got more and more buzzed, he kept moving closer and closer to me. Then, he offered to give me a foot massage. Umm…no thanks.

Finally, I just said, "Is Michael really coming over?"

"Well, I think so. But, you know him. He's probably out with another girl."

"We're not in an exclusive relationship," I replied. "He's free to date whomever he chooses, as am I. I just don't feel comfortable having you over if he's not coming."

"Oh. Okay. Can I just use your bathroom?"

"Sure," I said.

I kept watching the movie and was trying not to fall asleep. But then, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Dylan came out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a lavender thong. What kind of guy wears a LAVENDER THONG? (Most guys I know wouldn't be caught dead in a thong — ever.)

I tried to look away because it was like watching a train wreck. He then started prancing around in the thong, jiggling his package. "You want some of this?" he asked.

"NOOOOO! Put some clothes on and get out of my place."

"Don't you like me? I know that I could satisfy you. Michael said that you were really fun."

"Get the hell out of my place! NOW!"

He put on his clothes and left. The image of him in the thong still haunts (or amuses?) me to this day. It was so wrong that it was funny. No guy should be wearing a thong unless he's a professional bodybuilder. And, Dylan was definitely not that.

A few days later, Michael called and I told him what happened. He had absolutely no idea that Dylan had even come over to my place, let alone under false pretenses. When I told him the purple thong portion of the program, he was livid. Michael and Dylan worked for Michael's father's company. Dylan lost his job because of this since Michael and his dad thought this was so irresponsible.

Even though I only spent a few hours with Dylan, I will never forget him. Thank you for the laughs, Purple Thong Boy!

Happy New Year's everyone!

Brooklyn Boy — Part I

I recently ended a relationship with a man I loved…a lot. I know that it was the right decision to break it off with him, but it still hurts.

I'm not a serial monogamist and know that I'm not ready to be in another relationship anytime soon. But, I still enjoy dating and going out for drinks with guys. So, I gave this Brooklyn Boy a chance.

He and I met earlier this year for coffee when I was wondering if I was ready to start dating other people. (I wasn't, as I was far too in love with Lawyer Boy, but I tried.) If I close my eyes and imagine the perfect guy for me physically, Brooklyn Boy fits the bill. Think 6'2" tall, dark and handsome with an athletic build. Brooklyn Boy's inside is as appealing as his outside. He's motivated professionally and well rounded with a love of traveling, foreign languages and sports. I like being able to talk politics with someone one minute and NCAA basketball the next. The fact that he spoke quite a bit about his family and how close they all are increased the value of his portfolio for me. Meeting someone for a quick coffee usually doesn't leave me wanting more. With Brooklyn Boy, it did.

So, now that I am officially single, I decided to e-mail Brooklyn Boy. He was game for getting together for drinks at a bar in Gramercy. The bar was modern, yet romantic, with dimmed lighting, lots of candles and velvet couches. On a Monday night, it wasn't too crowded for us to hear each other. The more we talked, the more I wanted to talk more.

He asked me when I was last in a relationship. I was honest with him and said that I recently ended something serious. I commented that I hoped he and I could keep getting to know each other and see what happens. Brooklyn Boy seemed fine with that…or so I thought. We were just sitting there on the couch, and out of nowhere, he tries to kiss me. Not a little peck, but a full-on open-mouth kiss. We haven't even spent more than three hours together cumulatively, and he's acting like we're at a frat party! (20-something City Girl would have been open to that, but 30-something City Girl is not.) I was totally caught off guard, but managed to steer the kiss to just a peck on the mouth. Thankfully, he didn't push it. We ended the night with another peck and agreed to see each other next week.

Was it naive of me to think that he wouldn't push it on our next date? Maybe. But, I was looking forward to spending more time with Brooklyn Boy and could not have foreseen just how bizarre that date would be.

Is there a Puma inside of this City Girl?

I traditionally don’t date younger men. It’s not a rule that I have, but more of a preference. Someone my age or a few years older tends to be a better match for me personally and more relatable professionally. So, imagine my surprise when I was asked out by a guy who graduated high school the same year that I graduated law school. I’ve heard the term, “Puma,” used to describe a woman in her 30s who is dating a guy in his 20s. But, is there a Puma inside of this City Girl?

A few friends told me to “Go For It!” If Cameron Diaz and Drew Barrymore can do it, it has to be en vogue, right? I’ve gone out on a dates with guys who are 8-10 years younger than me, but have never seriously dated anyone that young. A 20-something guy can be full of energy under the sheets, but what happens when the initial cute factor wears off? I need a man to challenge and inspire me, not a boy looking for direction in his life.

Signs that I might not even care to grab a drink with this particular guy:

1. He asked which school I went to, and I responded with a well-respected women’s college. To which he replied, “That’s a smart school.” Umm…yeah. I didn’t even think he could handle the information that I was a lawyer and back in school to complete a third degree so I kept that information to myself;

2. He brought up the fact that I am in my prime at 35. (The two guys in their 20s who I dated in the past were also very-focused on this, too.) I’m all for research and statistics, but I’d like to think that women get better and better with age. 35 is my prime for now, but I bet I’ll be even more in my prime (sexually and otherwise) at 45;

3. He wanted to meet me at a bar…at 11pm…while he was with his buddies. I realize that all dates don’t need to be romantic or expensive, but I’m more of a one-on-one date kind of girl. I’m also used to coming home at 11pm, not going out at that hour; and

4. He asked if I was single and ready to mingle. Seriously.

I’ve been told that I have an aggressive personality with guys. However, I don’t think I’ll be “Roarrring” with a younger guy anytime soon. This City Girl needs a guy with Ferragamo or Prada loafers on his feet, not Puma sneakers, to bring out the Tigress in her.