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
