Confessions of a Married Ukranian

I don’t think I shared this when it happened, but in my epic fail trip to Boston, I met a guy on the bus on the way back. He is a Ukranian guy I’d met when he asked me about how to solve a Rubik’s cube (which I had been solving at the time). Bonding over Rubik’s cube solvage and a discussion about skydiving lead to us sharing emails and going on a bike ride a few weeks ago. 

It was awkward.

A fun ride in the park, of course, but very strange as far as unconfirmed first dates go. It was one of those ambiguous “hanging out” sessions where you just don’t know if it’s supposed to be a date, friendly, or a business connection.

Last night I didn’t really want to get together, but I’m on this new kick where I try to say “yes” to things as much as possible to be open minded (newflash to myself: if your instincts do not immediately say “yes”, do not say “yes”.) I had already said “yes” too many times. Last night was our second “hang out/ date/ wtf.”

I arrived at the Park Slope bar we had agreed to meet in. Some band he wanted to see was there. I was already crabby from being tired and also being lost in Park Slope, but I was trying to be cool. I figure at least I’ll have some wine, listen to good music, and be able to mention in person that I don’t see this continuing and just clear the air about the dating vs friend zone confusion. As soon as I got there, he tells me in broken English:

“So, I need make a confession to you. I am world’s worst liar.”

Me: “Okay. What are you talking about?”

Him: “I am 38 years old. I have marriage for 10 years. I have 8 year old daughter. I did not tell you this on purpose.”

Me: “Um. Yeah. I don’t remember any of this. Why didn’t you tell me?” (Fingers crossed that it’s just an oversight)

My second "date" was comparable to this.

Him: “Well, because from this perspective, it looks like I fall in love with you? I have bad sleep for weeks. I think of you all time. And my marriage I re-valuate. I am at that point in my life.”

Me (in head): What. The. Fuck? I am an accessory to a mid-life crisis.

Me (out loud): “Wow. Um. This is a lot to process.” 

I ended up drinking 2 more glasses of wine. Because, mainly, what ran through my mind was “I can’t wait to blog about this.” So much awkwardness. Sometimes I stay just to see what happens, and this was looking up from a content perspective. 

Him: “Would you like to listen to the band?”

We had come to hear the band. I’d assumed they were having a warm up session, but apparently the show had been going on for a while.

Me: “Sure.”

We went to the back to see the band. It sounded like 7 people throwing brass instruments down a well. Retrospectively, it was Brooklyn and they’re probably playing for free in a bar that is the size of Carrie Bradshaw’s walk in closet. A jam session is about what I should have expected.

Me: “Awesome.” (Apparently, I am actually the world’s worst liar.)

He ended up giving me a ride home since it was dark when we left. Due to a previous discussion we had had about Crème Brulee ice cream on our bike ride, he had bought me some. He had it wrapped up in some cold paper towels to keep it from melting. Just waiting in the car. 

Nothing creepy about any of this. Nothing at all.

Now today I’ll have to let him down in an email, throwing around terms like “inappropriate relationship” and hoping this doesn’t turn into something weird and stalker-y. This guy only knows the area I live in (I had him drop me on the corner) but hopefully he doesn’t wise up to which apartment. 

What immediately comes to mind was when I was in college and I used to get index cards and hair clips left in plastic bags on my car windshield in my apartment parking lot. Usually with cryptic notes like “I love you, Ponytail” on the index card. Never even figured out who left those, but let’s just say I’m very happy that I’ve never been kidnapped and forced into a trunk at knifepoint. Seems like that should have happened to me by now. 

Also, I think I am done with my “Yes Girl” thing.