Death (to me, anyway) of The Man

Grapefruit juice with Skyy citrus and a splash of Freca, crudo misto, a nice oaky glass of Chardonnay, orechiette with creme fraiche and smoked salmon. I could get used to this dating thing. At dinner, I kept thinking: I could DEFINITELY be into being single & dating people all about town. I might get fat on wonderful dinners (for the record, when I know I'm going out I'd rather eat nothing all day/the previous two days and then be able to indulge on whatever I want for dinner than eat diet food for two days straight and get a paltry little salad at a resto) but I think I'd be happy. Fabulous conversation, ran into his friends who were all "so glad to finally meet you!" etc etc etc (yes, after 2.5 dates. Wait. It gets weirder!), lovely all around. Apparently I had forgotten that dating does not just = wining&dining but also hooking-up and the ensuing awkwardness. Note to self.

Next stop: wine, cheese, dessert. Next stop: Dirty Ketel One martini with blue-cheese-stuffed-olives. Next stop: My apartment. He drives me home. Leans in to kiss me in the car outside my building. I turn my head, he kisses my hair, I sprint out yelling THANKS and run upstairs! He calls me 30 seconds after, ranting and raving and basically just berating me.

The Man: I don't understand blahblahblah mixed signals blahblahblah you said you wanted to kiss me blahblahblah I really like you blahblahblah.
Me: How are you going to wait all night, not invite me to your apartment, and then try to kiss me in YOUR CAR with my neighbors watching?!
TM: [Continued berating] You should have invited yourSELF to my apartment.
Me: How ridiculous!
etc etc etc.

Somehow it culminating with me throwing a trenchcoat on over my sweatpants, hunting down a cab who thought I was an escort, showing up at his apartment, spending the night sleeping but no "sleeping with," fully-clothed, the worst hook-up in the history of the world.

Can we please enroll this guy at U(niversity of)G(etting)A(ss), or the C.H.S(choolof)O(ral)S(ex)*? No wonder he's still single at 35! (Also, please note, he is balding.) Apparently the elite New England prep schools are teaching their students nothing but how to give purple nurples (Deerfield, Exeter, Choate). My left nipple is like a bloody mess and it is seriously painful. His tongue was thrusting inside my mouth like a lizard except it was more fat and disgusting than a lizard tongue could ever hope to be, and I just was MISERABLE but felt like I should just get it over with until finally I couldn't take it anymore and I pretended to be offended that he tried to put his hand down my pants and rolled over and ignored him.

Worst. Date. Ever.

*Disclaimer: not that I'd know.