A++ for Effort
Last month, I left the security and familiarity of my job and home in New York City to relocate to Southern California. I'd decided to move for various reasons, but the point is I was going to start a new life. New home, new job, new me, new people... I have the first one covered, and I'm working on the second and third. As for the forth, I've certainly met more people in the three weeks I've been here than three whole months in NYC. But no one has been more desperate to become a part of my new life than John.*

I met John in a club. Not the sort of club the new cast of "The Real World" is pimping, but the sort that has bands playing. I accompanied a friend who was hoping to spend time with her object of affection. At one point, she left me to be with him, which meant I was now all alone and vulnerable from all sides.

There is nothing more intimidating nor impenetrable for a guy on the prowl than a gaggle of women. The odds of rejection increase exponentially with each female body. It's rare to see a woman all by herself, precisely because of the protection a group offers. Maybe it was the alcohol but I'd let my wingwoman leave my side and was oblivious to the fact that I was now a prime target for any man who wanted a small Asian women to love.

In restaurants, your waiter will approach your table to ask how the meal's going. After my friend left, I was approached by a guy who asked me how my night was and if I was enjoying myself. I was confused because despite my alcohol-induced buzz I knew I hadn't ordered a meal. My night was going fine, even though the band was putting me to sleep, and what did this guy want? I didn't vocalize that last part but I might as well have as I'm difficult to approach due to the combination of shyness and fear, which often results in a hazardous cocktail of one part aloof and two parts go-away.

But John seemed harmless, so I politely answered his questions, laughed where appropriate, but didn't go so far as to feign interest in the guy himself. After a lull in conversation, I noticed that he'd walked away, and heaved a sigh of relief that there was one guy out there who could take a hint. But that exhale of air was followed by a sharp gaspy intake because he returned with a chair that he planted himself in, mere inches away, exactly where my wingwoman should've been to protect me. As I was on a stool myself, the prospect of leaping off of it and skittering away was not within the realm of possibility because I have this weird thing about not hurting a stranger's feelings. There's the golden rule of "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Also, Pay It Forward scared the shit out of me.

When it was time to leave, he asked me for my email address. It seemed like a reasonable request, as that medium of communication is the least intrusive. If I didn't want to perpetuate this charade, I could just delete anything from him and he'd be just a memory. But, like I said, Pay It Forward freaked me out, so when he emailed me, I replied, even though he had taken it a step further and included his phone number, imploring me to call any time I wanted, which would be that never time.

It's not easy to prevent mistakes from happening when you've been drinking, like unprotected sex or giving your AOL email address/AOL Instant Messenger name to someone who shouldn't have it. So instead of an emailed reponse, I got an IM. Damn Pay It Forward!

F-- for Content
John wasted no time and quickly inquired about my marital status. I remained polite and non-encouraging. I told him that while technically single, I had not gotten over someone, so I wasn't available to start a relationship.

"I hear ya... the title is not their... technically... but your heart still feels him?"

With sobriety and time, I realized that John was not going to get anywhere with me because he was not only ridiculously flattering and brazenly forward, he was a horrible speller. Here's a tip to my would-be courters: never try to impress someone with a degree in English, whose last job was in a Managing Editorial Department, with 6th grade spelling.

"Boys will be boys and fear can take over. But in the words of Lenny Kravitz... 'you got to let love rule.'"

Another tip is never try to make a point about human nature with Lisa Bonet-era Lenny Kravitz lyrics, unless you're drunk off Pabst or post-coital bliss. Either way, it is unacceptable and I will laugh in your face.

"Your a sweetie. I knew that when I first looked at you. I'm very sensitive so I pick up on a lot of energys."

The spelling was irritating but I was kind of grateful for the comic relief.

"Well I would never want to get involved with someone who is in love with some one else. It would be nice to get to know you as a friend... and well if your heart was in a different space that would be cool."

I appreciated that. And I thought that meant he'd given up.

"I think your very attractive. When you have time come visit and I will show you this whole town. We will go on a day long picinic and dinner... Who knows maybe some dancing at night."

He really likes to spend a lot of time with his friends.

"Wow this text thing sucks... we should talk on the phone some time."

I had to admire his tenacity but, as the object of his tenacity I really couldn't. My excuse was that I wasn't a big phone person. Which, truthfully, I'm not. I told him how I was supposed to meet some people but I hadn't yet called them because of my phone abhorrance.

"Your so funny! All right... good for you... I'm not."

Not... funny? Well, not intentionally, no.

Things took a turn for the worse, even though I didn't think that was possible, when he felt obligated to share his photo with me. I'd seen him with my own eyes and he wasn't unattractive, just not my type. So it's not that the photo was a surprise, but rather the source. If you're not familiar with hotornot.com, go to it. Now.

It was the point of no return. He had no chance with me now. I associate that website with a large helping of egotism and a side of shame.

"And you need to come up and visit me... and have a romantic get away. What's up!!!! Ok Im being silly. But really come up any time. If your single and you want romance let me know."

I would, I told him. But really I wouldn't. There was no way I could misinterpret this guy's intentions. He had to realize that I knew what he wanted. This was one guy whose actions and words I would not have to read into. His objective was as out there as John Goodman's gut. But I wasn't going to help him reach that objective.

And yet he kept trying! With this!

Oh my God. Horses.

"Yes."

I just wasn't expecting that.

"I thought you might like horses."

I have no idea what gave him that impression. Or was this supposed to be some poorly hidden sexual innuendo?

That was the last I heard from John for nearly a week. I guess maybe he can take a hint.

* name changed to spare the guy a wealth of embarrassment