The Nubbin (Archive from January 8, 2006)

Okay so there's a guy. He doesn't live in NY which doesn't matter so much (I travel so much anyway, who cares where he lives). The problem is I don't want to like him. Dating is like a series of painful job interviews. Until you get comfortable with someone it's all just a bunch of awkward encounters. Sometimes the awkward encounters include dinner but that's about all that can be said for them. And mostly they include equally awkward physical contact. 'Cuz come on, it's like 9 times out of 10, the son of bitch don't know what he's doing anyway.

Back to the guy...

On second thought, instead of talking about him, I will share the tale of The Nubbin. I never like anyone. Everyone knows this about me. I like someone for about as long as it takes for them to start liking me. And then I stop. So I had just broken up with my ex-boyfriend (this was like 4 years ago) -- he cheated on me, broke my heart, the whole nine. A few weeks later, after I got tired of crying my eyes out and putting pins in the voodoo dolls, I was out at a club and I met this other guy. He was cute, he was smart (so freaking important to me, seriously. Girls always say that but I mean it.) and he pulled some line about locking his friend out of the apartment by accident and having to go back and let him in. It was quite similar to when you're in college and the guy says "Do you wanna come back to my dorm room to see my bong?" or stereo or guitar or whatever it is in his room that he just has to show you. You go with him under the pretense of checking out his bong, but you know what's up. You're just playing along.

So we go back to his place and in the cab it was like we had been dating for years. We were just comfortable. He was successful. He was a Yankee fan. He was even Italian -- my mom would have been thrilled. We get back to his place -- a doorman building in the East 50s, very impressive to a girl who was living in abandoned office space at the time -- and we go upstairs and we're rolling around on the bed, as you do. And he pulls it out. And its a nubbin. Like a 2nd bellybutton. Like "Huh? How do you pee with that thing?"

This story proved 2 things to me. 1 -- While size doesn't matter as much as you guys fear it does, a nubbin is a nubbin and there is nothing you can do with that. And 2 -- Dating sucks. 'Cause there is always something wrong.

So this guy that I think I like... I may just forget about him.