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Last night I had my date with Buffalo Bill. He was cute, he was nice, and he was completely disinterested in me. Now if on the off chance he WAS interested, he showed it unlike anyone else ever has. However, I'm getting ahead of myself. And why do I feel like you're not surprised this is a story?
We met on a corner in the Lower East Side right in-between both of our apartments. He had offered to come pick me up (which landed him major bonus points on my imaginary score board as no Manhattan Man has ever offered to do so before), but I told him not to worry about it. We had dinner at a new sushi place that opened to great reviews and he spared no expense. The sake flowed like...wine...and he ordered so much food that we didn't even come close to finishing. BB wasn't a bad conversationalist by any stretch, but I'd say he made a B+ effort towards talking to me. I carried the full weight of asking questions and making jokes, he just was sort of along for the ride. And while I'm no Oprah, I think I do a damn good job of engaging people-- at least out on dates.
When we finished up with dinner, BB asked if I'd like to grab a drink somewhere else. As I was certainly enjoying myself enough to let the good man buy me more alcohol, I said I was down. Then, he throws in a curve ball and asks if I'd like to go a trivia night that his friend is hosting at a bar. I stutter for a second and then say of course, that would be fun. BB is grateful that I said yes because this friend has been hosting forever and asking him to come every time and he wasn't expecting a huge turnout so it really was important that he got out there to show his support. And hey, if you can't pretend to be a roll-with-the-punches kinda girl on your first date, when can you?
So as we're wrapping up with the check, I ask which bar trivia night is at. "Just don't judge it by where it is," BB responds. "OK, great," I'm thinking, "it's going to be at some shit LES bar." A minute later, I ask if it's within walking distance (as we're both just two to three blocks from our own places). He smiles and says "eh, we'll take a cab." "Oh man," I panic, "it's going to be at some shit Murray Hill bar!" But I just smile back. We're heading out of the restaurant and trying to hail a cab in the rain when he tells me we're actually heading out to Brooklyn.
Now, let me just interrupt myself right here to tell you that I never go to Brooklyn. Ever. I am all for the outer boroughs, HOWEVER, I believe that when you choose to move to one, you make a conscious decision that involves only yourself. You are no longer allowed to invite people over to visit you and hang out, and if you do, you are under no circumstances permitted to be upset when they fail to show. I do not travel to outer boroughs more than twice a year. Case in point: LE asked me to go to dinner in Williamsburg one night. I asked him if he was joking. He asked me if I was joking. I said I was not and genuinely couldn't tell if he was. He decided that idea went over like a lead balloon and never brought it up again.
Back to Buffalo Bill though. Brooklyn. I think the look on my face immediately betrayed my feelings about the trek out there...and in case it didn't, I verbalized them through a joke. "Don't worry, I'm not kidnapping you" BB responded. Really? Because that thought actually HADN'T crossed my mind. How creepy of you to bring it up. Now I damn sure am going to be wary. So...I got in the cab with him anyway and proceeded to go to a neighborhood that I've never been to on another island accessible only by boats and overpriced car services for which I did not have the cash to pay my return fair.
In the cab, it became apparent that BB was not feeling me. His body language had him so far away, he practically had his head sticking out of the window like a dog. His 6'4" frame was curled up uncomfortably on itself instead of coming within even 6 inches of my legs. By the time I seriously started to wonder what the hell I was doing, we were halfway over the bridge.
When we arrived at Trivia Night, not only was the place noooot empty, it was packed full of his friends. Conversation moved semi-smoothly and I think we had an OK time during the game. Besides the fact that I knew just two answers-- one of which was straight out of PageSix-- so I'm sure I blew him away. After the game ended, we pulled up chairs at a table with all of his friends and he began to talk to everyone else and take a cigarette break (I don't date smokers). By the time a friend texted me to check-in and see how it was going, I was drowning myself in coronas, talking to a guy in a Battlestar Gallactica t-shirt, and wondering what level of drunk I'd need to be to have a good time. "I'm wearing Marc Jacobs, having the perfect hair day, and drinking beer in Brooklyn. One of these things is not like the other," I responded to her.
By the time we left the bar, all I could think was that he owed a favor to the friend that set us up. We hailed a cab back to Manhattan, and as we pulled up at my apartment he said we should get together again after Thanksgiving. "Sure," I thought with an eyeroll. I mean the guy not only didn't try to kiss me, he didn't even try to kiss my cheek. The most spontaneous affection he showed me was when he fist-bumped my right answer.
So imagine my surprise when I got an email from him this afternoon saying how much fun he had last night and he'd love to go out again if I was up for it. From this, I thought two things. First, of course you had fun. I would've had a good time out with my friends too. Second, I realized that I know even less about men than I'd thought.
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