Why Tom Hanks? Because leading up to this date was a month of the all time greatest discourse I’ve been given the pleasure of partaking. Smart, funny, expansive (we’re talking Kafka jokes about my snuggie obsession) and all through FB Chat! All of this witty and exciting build up and here we are, finally meeting again in person for the first time since September, at the ACE Hotel in Midtown.

Coming from a networking event, I was already dressed appropriately with a feather in my hair… adorably humorous texts about how “Hipster Hogwarts is hoppin’” lead up to me at the door of the bar, being told they’re “at capacity.” Some drunk guy gave me a cupcake and then moments after swallowing, a man more gorgeous and stylish than I remember walks out of the door to have a cigarette and hugs me like we’ve known each other for years. “It’s so nice to finally get to see you in person.” It was the nicest hug I’ve received in a while. That and he’s the funniest person I’ve ever been on a date with and I’ve been on a lot of freaking dates.

When there wasn’t a place to sit, Tom Hanks went across the room to bring me over a chair. He loves white wines. He grew up in Europe. He’s as passionate and busy with work as I am… and he’s celibate. I was a little drunk at this point, so I initially thought he was kidding. If I had eaten since breakfast or not had that third glass of wine, or for Christ sakes thought before I spoke the giggling, “Stop it!” might not have been my response.

What Tom Hanks still doesn’t know is that I’m digging it. I know what you’re all thinking… “but Joneshaw, I thought you were a total nympho?!” and yes, you thought right. Please, throw back with me a second to Hot Beard, who collected playing cards off of the street a la Berger from SATC… One time years ago I found an eight of hearts in the street and kept it. The minute I picked it up, I thought “that’s how many people I’m going to sleep with.” Crazy. I know. But true. ESP.

How would knowing I have a “cap” for my sexual exploits make a celibate guy feel better? Well, because Shady Parkstein was number 7. That means the next person I’m going to sleep with will be my last. Finito. Dunzo. Closing up shop. I do not want to waste that on a one night stand or something that doesn’t work out. Its required to test the waters for sometime before I have sex again. All facts considered, unless George Clooney propositions me in the near future, it’s probably going to be a while before I have sex again, by choice.

But no, I did not share this nugget of a gem with this winner of the genetic lottery I was sipping wine with… that might have scored me brownie points. Instead, I went home with him, made out in his bed, and puked in front of him (3 glasses of wine + empty stomach + 108 lbs of Joneshaw will do that.) He then continued making out with me until in a horny, drunken, haze I made him feel uneasy about maintaining his celibacy. This made him go and sleep on the couch. All things considered, this was not a cute look for me.

In my hangover migraine, my first thought waking up was “shit, I’d never call me again after this.” And he over heard me telling an old friend/the waitress last night that I’m living with my parents. The next morning I did my un-PC impression of a homeless man while he walked me to the train which made him laugh as he hugged me good bye. I thanked him “exponentially” and went home. I text him “thanks again, have a good day at work.” Never to get a response. 

Some girls get upset and ask, “Why am I still single?” I don’t ask that question because then I remember nights like this one. Baryshnikov, my college boyfriend got puked on by yours truly after our second date, so I must REALLY like Tom Hanks to whip it out on the first… too bad he didn’t really like me enough to call me… after all was said and done with Shady, the first thing that came to my mind was… “Yes! Now I can follow up with Tom Hanks from months ago!” Figures, I’d blow it.

As a consolation prize for puking in front of him I offered him a freelance design job for my company… because I’m classy like that. I figured getting someone a combined total of $25k worth of work **might** make them forget you puked on your first date. We’ll see…

Bottom Line: You win some, you lose some, you puke on some… I think his celibacy is hot in an Edward Cullen sorta way. Regardless of how this turns out I’ll still let him be the happy ending character in the movie. He’s that good looking.

Next Up: Possibly some weirdo who likes Bordeaux from howaboutwe.com… I might give okChlamydia… errr, okCupid another try… we’ll see.

Your Undercover Lover,

Joneshaw

The first thing a “cool, dark, place” makes me think of is mold, the second is vampires, and the third is dive bar. Luckily, the latter is where Hot-Beard and I had our date last night. After twenty minutes of waiting, the door swings open and in swaggers an average-looking, too cool to be hipster (but still wears the V-neck undershirts with jeans and Chuck Taylors), with sapphire blue eyes, and as advertised, one super-hot scruff ala Justin Timberlake from around the time when he brought sexy back. He’s not Brad Pitt but I’m no Angelina either so let’s just say I wasn’t disappointed. We both knew who one another was and luckily there was no awkward, “Are you…?” And he was confident enough to go in for a hug right out of the gate! He was playing this first impression like a special-teams player in the fourth quarter of the Super Bowl.

Relaxed, confident, and smart… this guy makes transitions between literature, cinematic gems, philosophy, and his EXTREMELY eclectic taste in music seem effortless. Until he gets board with what he’s talking about and pauses until he can find something that interests him more to talk about…. Like the fake window behind me. By the way, he has ADHD or just knows a little bit about a lot of things and changes the subject before I notice that his expertise ended two sentences ago. Having picked up on this and realizing this date could very easily turn into a game of Bull Shit… I decided against calling his bluff after three beers for the sake of entertainment and seeing how long he can keep this up.

Then the smooth-operator jig all made sense: he is an Italian Catholic. Maybe not the fist-pumping kind, but deep down, they’re all the same and frankly, I’m not looking to join the “Pot of sauce for dinner at 2PM on Sunday’s Club” during this lifetime. My Mother would have been so proud, that is, until she found out that her dream of my “bruva del” church wedding is still squashed because he never received Confirmation (the Catholic version of a Bar Mitzvah except only the Bishop can perform the ceremony.) “Well, I’m sure there’s an emergency confirmation ceremony available if that’s the case.” Actually, HB, since you’re not a convert there isn’t. You’d have to wait and receive it with all the thirteen year olds in May. We then both shared a laugh about his “Billy Madison Confirmation.”  

Some people are artsy-flighty types and its part of their charm. He collects playing cards off the street and got mad when the SATC’s Burgher stole his idea. This was not my first tip-off that this guy was not playing with a full deck. He saves the Mormon pamphlets they give out on the train that he “finds organically” and gives them out to drunk people at parties as a joke. As nice as I am, I just can’t take him seriously. He’s more like a cartoon than a person and the novelty of being with someone not very down to earth wears off quicker than deodorant on a 101 degree day. Despite his barrel of quirks, it was very obvious that Mr. Hot-Beard was actually into me.  That last moment before we parted ways on the respective A and C trains, I just knew. He’s either going to kiss me or never talk to me again…

He didn’t kiss me.

Of course it’s important for everyone’s sanity to maintain a sense of play and spontaneity. I dig that. This guy’s sense of play just wasn’t my aesthetic.  Although HB was true to his picture and indeed had a Hot Beard, my date with him made me realize how important an intellectual connection is because conversation and spark is integral to a lasting relationship.  

Bottom Line: HB was good for a few beers on a hot day (alternating rounds of who paid.) He’s into me but if I learned anything from SATC, it’s that guys who collect playing cards from the streets of NYC will eventually dump you via post-it.

Your Undercover Lover,

Joneshaw