Bloody Hell, I’m an Idiot

So I arrived in NYC’s Chelsea neighbourhood last Sunday afternoon as I had been given an assignment for work here in Lower Manhattan. I have a couple of friends, one of whom I’ve already blogged about – Simon – living up here and I figured that during my week here, I’d be just meeting up with them and catching up.

Previously I’ve had issues with Simon crossing the line, thinking he’d wanted a relationship with me. I had addressed this to him once already saying that I did not reciprocate the feelings he had feeling “extremely comfortable” with me (and why the hell does this sound semi-creepy even coming from someone I know…). I’m pretty sure the message caught him off guard as he doubled back and said he wasn’t looking for a relationship after all and such.

I figured if he really had gotten the idea that we should be treating each other as friends, it would be all okay to meet up Sunday night and just catch up a tad at a bar in the Chelsea area, right?

Wrong. My oh my, I guess I’ve just learnt that some people simply don’t get it.

I had just returned from dinner Sunday evening at the Emporium Brasil on W 46th Street and emerged from the subway to meet him at the Whole Foods in Chelsea on 25th and 7th. I figured I’d just give him a hug just like I do all my other friends. Strike one: He tried to kiss me, but I managed to dart my face just left of his. You’ve got to be freaking kidding me, right? This is NOT good. It felt awkward, but I didn’t feel unsafe.

We strolled to Rogue on 25th and 6th and figured we’d chat and catch up. We sat inside, at a high-rise table with only two chairs, myself sitting across him. Him: Still looking for a steady job, got some leads, but no offers yet. He does have a temporary marketing job that lasts until November, but nothing else. Joined a gym in his spare time, which I told him it’s what I did during my rather brief gap last year. Updated him on the things I do in my spare time. Running. Friends’ weddings. Family. All that jazz.

In the middle of our conversation, one of the waitresses comes up to us – after we’d ordered a Sam Adams and Red Stripe and commenced drinking – and asks if we’re willing to move to another table. Now with only a beer in hand, I had no problem with this. I immediately darted to the back of the restaurant, looking for a table with only two chairs, but there was none to be found. Instead, we wound up at a three chair table against the wall – and go figure – Simon takes the middle chair. I sit against the wall, trying to create a bit of distance between us.

Oh yeah, that didn’t work out too well. As our conversation continues, I do catch him slowly inching closer. Does he not remember what I told him? Or is this guy just hopelessly confused? As he inches closer, I continue to try and put a bit more distance between us. One problem: my back is against the wall. And then…strike two: Apparently there’s a part of something I said that he didn’t catch. So he leans in alright, gently touching my thigh with his hand.

Alright, that was it for me. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, granted I did have to go, but I needed to get away from him. Dear goodness, I was fuming at that point, and was debating how I’d cue myself out. Thankfully when I came back out, the waitress had popped back with the check. We left Rogue and then circled the streets to get back to the subway.

Of course, his “attempts” didn’t end there. I figured he was going to try and slip his hand into mine, so since I was carrying my thin-handle dark-brown leather bag, I placed BOTH hands on the shoulder that the bag was on, so that Simon wouldn’t be able to try and hold my hand. I also walked the street at a bit faster pace, to which he commented “wow you walk quite fast even for a New Yorker” to which I replied “well yeah, this is how I am, always on the go,” hoping it might make him think I might not be as appealling to him or something. Of course that didn’t work – strike three: he tried to just randomly wrap one of his arms around me, which thankfully I caught in a window reflection of a building we were walking by. I continued walking faster, much to his frustration, until we came to the nearest subway station. I told him I needed to catch up on rest, but in saving face, he said he understood and we parted ways.

What a sigh of relief I had getting out of there. Never again.

And of course he texts me Wednesday and tells me that he wants to meet with me for another drink. Needless to say, I told him I had other plans that night. Geez.

And in other news, I am meeting other cool people that I click with at least on a friendship level. Could be more, it’s possible. Ah, we’ll see how things go.

Just don’t want to deal with this guy again. Even if he just wants a hook-up, I’m not interested. Not what I’m looking for. Of course, I’m annoyed at him, but doubly annoyed at myself for thinking he possibly could have gotten the hint. I thought guys generally were better at understanding rejection than girls.

3 thoughts on “Bloody Hell, I’m an Idiot

  1. I don’t think you are an idiot, you just have to realize some people are idiots. They don’t get signs. They don’t get clues. They are oblivious to the world. You have to spell it out for them. I AM NOT INTERESTED. STOP TOUCHING ME. That usually works. Just think, you’ll know beter for next time…

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