I’m not sure if this story is right out of some sleazy movie or from my worst nightmare.
I met Creepy Italian Guy at a bar last week. At this point, he shall be referred to as simply, “The Italian” because the helpful adjective of ‘creepy’ can only be added later. At this point, he’s just some suave European, who shows up late at a party. I’ve already had a few glasses of wine, but I’m far from drunk. I don’t notice him at first, but a mutual friend introduces us. He’s cute, I’m slightly buzzed, I’m thinking, “why not?”
And so, in my ultimate effort to flirt, I mumble the few words in Spanish I know, which I’m aware is not Italian, but I’m thinking, “They’re sister languages anyway, right?!”. I realize this odd pickup has worked, because now he’s telling me how cute I am when I speak Spanish (turns out he speaks Spanish as well) and now we are talking and getting to know one another. After a few minutes, he asks me if he can buy me a drink. I’m thinking, “score: pickup accomplished.” We walk to the bar, order two mojitos and make our way outside of the bar to chat.
Now, whereas I threw out some pathetic attempt to flirt, The Italian has this routine down. He’s pulling all the stops, and flirting with me like the world is going to end tomorrow. So, when my friend suddenly pops outside to tell me that she’s leaving (and that she’s my ride home), I readily give The Italian my number when he asks. I mean- game well played Italian boy.
In the car on the way home, my phone vibrates, “Nice to meet you- I hope we can meet soon”, the text reads. Smooth boy, smooth.
He calls the next day and we make a date for the next day. Now, I may have mentioned earlier in my post that I already had a few glasses of wine. While I wasn’t tipping over drunk, I was tipsy: I was happy delirium post a few drinks. What I thought at that moment was cute flirting, was translated in the morning to “too much”. I’m not one of those girls who swoons over needless romanticism. Yes, I think “Love, Actually” is brilliant and I cry at every sappy girly movie, but I’m not hoping my boyfriend’s going to surprise me every other day with a bouquet of roses or whisper sweet nothings in my ear. The Italian was this kind of guy, and so, I was in my pre-date anxiety mode, where I’m essentially thinking the following:
“Damn. I should not have made this date. This guy is not for me, we are not going to get on. This was a mistake. I don’t want to go on this date. I want to change out of these tights and skirts and makeup and wear my pj’s and browse pintrest.”
To drown these voices out, I open a bottle of wine. And, this is how my flatmate finds me when she comes home from work: sitting in the kitchen, alone, and in the dark, with a single wine glass and a half empty bottle of wine.
Now she was most likely thinking either two things: This bitch’s gonna kill my ass or,this bitch’s completely suicidal.
After explaining the situation (which apparently does not properly explain sitting in the dark a 6:30 pm with a bottle of wine) she gives me the usual, “you never know” pep talk, and ushers me out the door.
Onwards to Creepy Italian!
He texts me, as I’m making my way to Emek Refaim, “A few minutes late”. Wow- that’s so nice and thoughtful. He tells me to meet him around Burgers Bar, and as I’m walking closer, he doesn’t see me, runs by me, as if he thinks I’m waiting there. I’m thinking two things, “really? on a first date” but also, “wow, after shit ass Ari who would have -no- DID leave me waiting for way more than a few minutes, this is nice. I feel nice!” When I get to him, he’s out of breathe and smiling. This is cute- right? Anxiety? Pshhh- that earlier scene never happened.
But when he opens the door of Burgers Bar for me, I’m thinking, “Hmm.. we are eating here? I thought this was just the meeting point… ok….”. We sit down. He orders wine. Now, question: who orders wine at a burger place, and who orders wine at Burgers Bar? (Isn’t beer the natural choice?!) But, post flatmate’s “you never know” talk, I go with it. I drink the wine, and he’s yadayadaing about wine and Italy and I’m getting drunk, since I also drank half a bottle of wine at my flat.(And low and behold- the burger is not helping) I can tell 10 minutes in, that this isn’t going to work out though. He’s not for me. But the wine- ohh the wine. See, he’s doing horrendously corny things, like telling me how beautiful I am, how smart I am, and brushing my hair off my face, placing his hand over mine and giving me this sideways smile. This would normally make me puke a bit, but the wine let’s it go.I can tell I’m not into it, but I also just don’t have enough to care to care. I move my hand away from his grasp, but I don’t tell him to stop. (in which he then tried to catch my hand again… )
So after we finish, he tells me he wants to go on a walk. We wander through some backroads and we are in some dark alley next to a park.(Ok maybe it wasn’t that sketchy) My spideysenses are telling me “danger!”, but he grabs me and kisses me. Since I generally have a strict no PDA rule- I paranoidly check to make sure no one is around. And then I think, “Why not?” (there are a million why nots, but I don’t answer it- I just go with it) I mess around with him for a bit, until all of a sudden like a bolt of lightning, I stiffen. I feel nothing for him. Nothing at all. Why am I doing this? I back away and tell him I want to go home. Now. He’s seeming all too creepy, and I wish that I had an older brother at this moment, so he could roll around and grab me and yell at this creep to take a hike or something. He doesn’t understand my sudden change of attitude. I’m already all torn up inside about kissing boys, and here I am doing it with some guy I just met. Why? I don’t know why. I make him walk me home pronto. He insists on holding my hand, and I don’t understand why, and I really don’t want to hold his hand, but I also want to get home as soon as possible. I never want to see him again. He keeps turning to me and kissing me, as if he can’t stop himself, of which I keep answering, as if I can’t stop myself, “Please don’s kiss me.” The walk home feels like a million and one years, and once I’m home, I quickly say goodbye, dont’ let him in, and close the door behind him- even though he’s lingering on to my hands.
Home. Safe. I let out a loud sigh of anxiety relief and go running into my flatmate’s room. “I’ve made a huge mistake” I tell her as I stand stalking in her doorway stiff with stress.
I’ve added this date, to my most creeped out dates, and made a list of “Don’t dos” for next time. But on the bright side, I’ll always have my Creepy Italian Guy story. (accompanied by my heebie jeebie shivers)