Projecting

My friends are the best. They are the most supportive, fun, wise group of people one could possibly ask for.

Everyone has been asking me lots about Theradate, and everyone has advice. I realized this weekend, though, why the advice sometimes feels contradictory and less than helpful: Everyone perceives relationships through the lens of their own experiences. And I do that, too: when I have a bad experience, I vow never to repeat it -- like, when I swore to myself I would never date another European after La Moustache and I broke up.

But the thing is, there are lots of great Europeans out there. The fact that he is European wasn't the problem. And, while it can be helpful to think of people as types, the reality is that people AREN'T types. All men are complicated in their own unique ways -- and so am I.

Here's a sampling of the comments I've gotten:

"I worry that he is unclear in his communication. He reminds me of my ex, who is a few years older, like Theradate. It was so confusing to date him."

"I find it really concerning that he is moving so slow physically. I mean, is he attracted to you?? That's just like my ex who turned out to have major intimacy issues."

"I think he might be a drama queen. The type to get carried away by his emotions and love the initial excitement of a relationship, but not have the ability to stick it out through a REAL relationship. Like that guy in New York I had a fling with a few years ago."

"When I'm dating someone who I am worried may hurt me, I take it REALLY slow. That's what I would do if I were you. Remember that guy who broke my heart last year? I tried to do that with him because I liked him so much."

I talked to Theradate yesterday about my fears. My biggest fear is that he says and does lots of sweet things but they don't have much substance behind them. I also told him that I realize that there's no way he will respond to that by saying, "You're right, I'm a huge flirt and it's only superficial," so therefore the only way for me to figure out whether my fears are justified or not is for us to spend time together and figure out whether we are compatible. He told me that he really likes me, but that he recognizes that sometimes people get hurt even when both people are trying their best to be careful and considerate of each other. Rightly or wrongly, I trust him -- to at least try his hardest not to let that happen. I'll try my hardest, too, and that's really all we can do.

So, I'm going down south today to see him. He's making me dinner -- the first time he's cooked since 2005. I'm excited.

Rejection

So far during this round of dating, I feel good about my stats. Until last Monday, I had gone out on ten dates with four guys, all of whose company I enjoyed, and all of whom wanted to go on second dates with me. It didn't work out with any of them (mostly because the only one I was really interested in was Doctor O), but still, I enjoyed most of the dates and felt like they were a worthwhile use of my time.

On Monday, though, the inevitable happened: I went out with a guy who wasn't into me. After four enthusiastic suitors, it came as a bit of a shock, and it took me a while to clue in to his disinterestedness. At the end of the date, though, it became crystal clear. We walked out of the bar, I turned to my date and started to say, "That was fun!"

He interrupted me when "fun!" was halfway out of my mouth. "Nice meeting you. Good night," he said, turned, and walked away.

I was hurt and a bit horrified by his rudeness. I've gone out with many guys I'm not into, but I'm always polite to them and pretend like I had a good time -- mostly because usually I did have a good time, I just knew I didn't want to see them again. My strategy in this situation is to pretend I'm into them, then when they contact me I send them a polite breakup email (composed by my sister, Ms. Swamp) that goes something like this:

It was great to meet you the other day. You seem like a smart, thoughtful, outdoorsy guy, and a great teacher. I didn't, however, really feel a spark, whatever that means -- the more I do this, the more I trust my gut instinct on this stuff. I don't want to keep taking up your time if I don't feel that potential, but good luck with everything.

They usually take it very well, and I feel that this approach makes the situation as pleasant as possible for everyone involved. In fact, I half considered letting my Monday date know that the experience of going out with him was unpleasant for me, and suggesting he take an approach closer to mine.

On the same night as my date, my friend Surfer Girl went out on a first date, too. She texted me afterwards: "My date was awesome!!! How was yours?"

Unfortunately, it turned out that her date was, in fact, adopting my approach. He wasn't into her either, but while he was with her he pretended to be. By the end of the week, Surfer Girl was obsessively checking her email every five minutes and questioning what she had done wrong.

Hearing Surfer Girl's sad tale, which so many of us have experienced at one point or another, made me wonder if my date's approach wasn't so bad after all. I wasn't that into him, so in this case I wouldn't have minded in the least not hearing from him. But if I had been into him, I would have found out right away that the feeling wasn't reciprocated, and avoided those torturous days of waiting.

In any case, I'm pretty sure I don't have the cojones to reject someone to their face, so I'm going to stick with my approach. Which reminds me, I need to send the breakup email to my date from last weekend.

Hindsight

Slinky gchatted me yesterday afternoon as I ate my turkey sandwich in a cafe and planned the schoolweek ahead. "I think you should cancel your date with Dreamy II," she advised. "Do what you want. But it seems strange to go out with someone while you're dating someone as regularly as you've been dating Dreamy I. If I were either DI or DII, I wouldn't like it."

I thought she had some good points, so I consulted with my sister, who was conveniently located across the table from me. Ms. Swamp seemed a bit more on the fence than Slinky, but agreed that if I felt like I was forcing myself I shouldn't do it. So I crafted a kind email to Dreamy II informing him that I had to cancel, explained my discomfort, and asked if I could get in touch with him at a later time if I am still single. Hopefully my email was nice enough that he'd consider it.

When I saw Dreamy over the weekend I studiously avoided the topic of exclusivity, thinking it was best to wait until after my date with DII to bring it up. Now, in hindsight, I realize that a better order of events would have been: talk to DI, feel him out, THEN decide whether to cancel my date with DII based on conversation with DI. Well, unfortunately this ideal chronology of events did not occur to me until too late. In any case, it's not a debacle; if things don't go my way when I talk to DI, I think DII will still be on board for an outing.

All of this makes me wonder why it always seems to be women who bring up the topic of where a relationship is heading. It's not like Dreamy is giving off vibes of feeling totally confident about things between us; quite the contrary. When I told him on the weekend, "If you're tired we can leave dinner on the early side," he heard, "If you're tired you can go back home early." When he got back from his trip abroad and emailed me to accept my dinner invitation, I didn't respond for a couple of days. 36 hours after his acceptance, he emailed me again to ask if he was still invited or if I had changed my mind. I imagine he would feel better having a clearer idea of where he stands with me, too. Still, it never seems to be the boys who bring the topic up -- even the ones who are experts at having Difficult Conversations.

Subcommittees

Over brunch and a walk in the park today, I met with several of my fellow committee members of a few subcommittees I've been asked to join. They include the "Should Li'l JC commit to or break up with her boyfriend?" subcommittee, the "Helping M be more socially proactive" subcommittee, and the fashion subcommittee, which is dedicated to helping everyone be more fashionable. (Well, everyone except me, because I'm already a little over the top for Boston.) My own subcommittee also met, to discuss "What should Heathen's next steps with Dreamy be?"

As I've mentioned before, Dreamy is not among the many, many men who have problems with communication. He is an excellent communicator, as we established on our very first date when I expressed frustration with men's communication skills. We've already communicated well about any number of topics, from our feelings about each other to our parents' relationships to our Wise People. However, after Dreamy gets back from his far-off work-related trip, I'm ready to take our relationship to the next level. I've even invited him to make his debut at my sister's house, a much-anticipated event. But before that happens, my subcommittee has given me homework. The homework is to discuss a few topics with him, including 1) exclusivity, 2) what we're looking for, and 3) the fact that he has a yearlong commitment to a job in New York starting about a year from now (subcommittee, feel free to correct me, but I'm thinking the New York conversation will be an ongoing one that I will raise now but without the intent of resolving it right away -- unless, that is, he's not interested in a relationship because of his upcoming move).

Thanks to Dreamy's superior communications skills, I'm not anticipating any difficulties with my homework assignment. I'll keep you posted.

Prêt-à-porter

As Earl, the hurricane with buck teeth and a mullet, wends his way toward Massachusetts, it seems increasingly unlikely that Dreamy and I will be able to follow through with our plan to watch an outdoor movie in a park tonight. As an alternative, Dreamy invited me over to his place to watch a movie. Cuddling up with Dreamy and a movie as Earl unleashes his wrath sounds very... nice. However, I got a piece of sisterly advice yesterday from Ms. Swamp: "You've only been on two dates with him," she reminded me. "If you really like him, don't get too physical at this point."

Darn sisters! They're always ruining all the fun. But she's right, of course. Dreamy is a little bit old-fashioned (BUT not in the least bit paternalistic, my Wise Woman would be happy to know), and it's probably best to take things slowly. I plan to take him up on his offer to drive me back home after the movie. Still, I might wear my new Parisian underpants that my French cousins gave me for my birthday, just for good luck. (I haven't worn them yet because they seem so beautiful and delicate; I just take them out and gaze at them once in a while.)

So, my undergarment decisions have been made for the evening. But what else do I wear?? What is the proper attire when heading out for a date in the middle of a hurricane? A dress and my red child-size LLBean galoshes, perhaps?

Waxing philosophical

Hmm, I wonder how many double-entendre titles I can come up with about waxing?

I went to see my Wise Waxer yesterday in preparation for one last trip to the beach with my cousin today. I probably won't be seeing her again until waxing season resumes in the spring, so I had to soak up every last bit of her wisdom while I could (I would totally pay the $35 waxing fee for it, even if she neglected to remove any hairs).

I talked to her a bit about my breakups, telling her two-minute versions of both my La Moustache and l'Artista relationships. Then I mentioned my upcoming date that I'm uber-excited for, and reflected, "I think he's a good one. He isn't drop-dead gorgeous, which I think is a good sign."

She looked at me sagely and nodded her head slowly. "It can be a good thing when men are less attractive than women," she replied, "but you never know. I thought my first husband would never cheat on me. He was chubby and unattractive. But when I was 28 with two kids, a four-year-old and a two-month-old, he came home one day and told me he was leaving. I didn't see him again for a year." When she went out to buy diapers a few days later their joint bank account, consisting mainly of the earnings from stores she owned, had been closed. The stores were in her husband's name.

"You're making my breakup story sound like a walk in the park!" I cried, shocked. "That must have been horrible. How did you survive?"

"It was the best thing that ever happened to me," she answered. "I found out how strong I am. It gave me such a boost to my self-esteem -- after that I can do anything. I started my businesses up again. I was so resourceful. I had to raise my kids and I had to make money, so I just went on with my life."

A few months later, she met her second husband. "I didn't want anything to do with him," she explained. "He was so good-looking, he had this beautiful body. I told my brother (who had introduced them), 'What would I want with this guy? I date men who are ugly and have money. Get him away from me!' He told me okay, but he had a feeling he'd be good in bed." So she started dating him, telling him that she wanted nothing from him, didn't want to ever get married again, didn't want any money from him. He didn't want to marry either. Fourteen years later they finally got married, and they've been married ever since. "You just never know about a person," she said, "but don't trust them in the meantime. Men are selfish." She spit the last word out furiously, seconds after talking affectionately and tenderly about her husband.

So, I guess there are no generalizations to be made about good-looking versus not good-looking men. Some of both are good; some of both are bad. I think it can be nice when beautiful women date less attractive men, and the men dote on them. Unfortunately, not all unattractive men realize how lucky they are to have a beautiful woman.

From what I know so far it seems that Dreamy is a cute but not overly handsome good one. He did well on the five areas that my dating guru Li'l JC instructed me to take notes on:

1) Shoes -- I know I talk a lot about shoes, but in the end, the right guy can pull off any shoes. I think my opinions of people's shoes are really just a reflection of my thoughts about the person. It's all about being comfortable in your own shoes.
2) Manners -- impeccable. Paid for everything, walked me partway to the subway, texted me to tell me he had a good time and apologize for not walking me all the way to the subway.
3) Food -- he admits to being a terrible cook, but appreciates good food. That's cool with me. I've resigned myself to not finding another l'Artista.
4) Books -- I didn't ask what he read most recently, but we talked a bunch about Jonathan Kozol. He's read more Kozol books than I have, despite not being in the field of education. Pretty impressive.
5) Siblings -- he's the baby of the family, two older siblings. Seems to have a good relationship with both.

Let's hope he continues to do well.

Changing the world, one man at a time

I went away to beautiful, bucolic Martha's Vineyard this weekend for a brief getaway with my college roomie and her family. Unfortunately, my mind was filled with disappointment and chagrin after my latest unpleasant encounter, courtesy of Le Canadien, and a fruitless 6 months of dating. It's not that I expected to meet my next boyfriend in the first six months, but the rudeness and lack of communication I've encountered are disheartening, to say the least. Not all of my friends have experienced this, but lately I've been talking with a few friends about how it seems that some people believe that, when you meet someone online, the normal rules of politeness do not apply, and one can be more blasé. Of course, I've had plenty of experiences of people I didn't meet online being rude as well...

Two days of sand, sun, babies, beer, and gingerbread architecture later, I felt better, though still not excited to get back on the wagon. I did anyway, but with a new mantra: "Believe the negatives, ignore the positives." A real, professional dating guru -- though, in my opinion, no more qualified than my non-professional gurus -- recommended writing this and posting it on one's mirror.

Furthermore, I made a decision. For my sanity's sake, when people are rude from now on, I will inform them of what they did that I didn't like, and tell them how I wished they had behaved differently. I'll do it in a friendly, polite manner. Culprit #1, the Brazilian, has already received his missive. Now I'm contemplating whether it is worth my while to vent my feelings to Le Canadien or not; it's hard to even think of what I might say to him. Some of these guys are just beyond hope.

But who knows, for the ones who aren't quite beyond hope, maybe my email will help them to be more upfront with the next unsuspecting female who crosses their path.

"The Classic Dip'n Run"

I was introduced to a new term by my friend Slinky last week: “the classic dip'n run.” This is apparently what has happened to me with the Brazilian.

The first thing that comes to mind when I hear the term is a similar expression from Michael Chabon's amazing book, The Yiddish Policemen's Union. The expression is “dip his beak into him/her,” and it refers to sex (yes, it's totally gross and I love it because it aptly conveys the sleaziness of many of the male characters in the book). Dip'n run could be interpreted as a reference to a man who disappears after sex. However, I choose to interpret it in a nonsexual way: my personal definition is that it refers to a situation in which a member of the male species tries out a relationship with a female for a short time, dipping into relationship territory, then flees out of fear of commitment, weird personal issues, or other mysterious reasons. (Who knows what they're thinking; when I asked my friend Li'l JC this question, she responded, "They're not.")

Presumably, the Brazilian made it back to the U.S. after his extended, volcano-induced stay in Europe. However, he has neglected to contact me, and I have not received a response since sending him a questionnaire several days ago inquiring if he a) is too busy to have a social life, b) doesn't want to see me again, or c) eloped in Europe and is no longer single. This is frustrating for a number of reasons, number one being that I left a pair of cherished earrings at his house, and number two being that I haven't seen him in a month but have spent much of that time thinking that he was excited to see me again. I didn't just think that because he offered to bring me back a gift from Italy or talked about going to the Cape together this summer, I also thought it because when I told him to let me know if he didn't feel excited about going out with me again he replied, “Still very excited!! [Please note the two exclamation points] I just haven't slept very well lately and spent way too much time in a windowless shop. Sorry about that!”

Another reason that I feel frustrated is that, in my humble opinion, he is significantly less attractive than me. This is a first for me; usually I have boyfriends who I consider to be my equals in attractiveness, but I liked the idea of being the more good-looking person in the couple, and plus I did feel attracted to him. If I were the Brazilian, I would be very excited to date me, and I would certainly not play with my emotions in this inconsiderate way.

I do feel a bit disappointed that I won't get to see the Brazilian's futuristic machines or taste the allegedly delicious chocolate that they emit, but in the end, I got few fun days with him and a whole lot of anxiety and annoyance. Not worth it. And if anyone thinks I'm going to mope around about this minor setback, think again! After my ordeal with La Moustache, this is child's play. As my friend Li'l JC put it, “You are more seasoned than a good wok.”

Ring My Bell

I had a few moments (okay, hours) of obsessive self-doubt this week, during which I became convinced that I would never hear from my Brazilian beau again. This despite the fact that he told me that he wants to help me trim Green Bean's wings next time he needs clipping, go for a picnic when it gets a little warmer, do some experiments to determine why my car keeps growing a pond in the backseat, and has sent me several text messages since I last saw him. AND I'm not even sure if I like like him yet, and we've only gone out three times. To help me through this obsessive moment, I turned to several girlfriends, who assured me that everything will be fine one way or the other, and I need to lighten up; which of course I knew already, but still it helps to hear it from a friend.

One of my dating gurus, Li'l JC, had an additional piece of advice. She objected to my preferred mode of communication, the text message, and told me (or rather her handsome new boyfriend told me, through her) to “nut up and call him.”

To say that I am allergic to phone calls is to put it mildly. I frequently daydream of throwing my cell phone into a body of water, possibly the pond in my car since it's so conveniently nearby, especially when it is ringing. It is not unusual for me to notice with a sinking feeling in my stomach that I have sixteen voicemail messages that have piled up, or more. I would rather send an e-mail than make a phone call, rather receive a text message than listen to a voicemail. Besides, it can be stressful for people whose first language is not English to talk on the phone in English, as I well know from many experiences on the other side of the fence. (My new squeeze's English is astonishingly good, maybe even better than mine; still, his accent makes mundane statements like “I have to go to the bathroom. Be right back,” sound impossibly romantic.)

The strange terror that filled me at the thought of picking up my phone and calling the boy who 48 hours before I was comfortably recounting my life story to hearkened back to an earlier moment of receiving romantic advice, nearly 20 years ago. I was eleven years old and in the fifth grade, and my dream had come true: my crush of the past six years had asked me, through a friend, to be his girlfriend (it was the old-school form of a text message). I had been in love with him since I first spotted him in soccer practice at age five, and had remained in the thrall of his black eyes, full lips and bad-boy reputation ever since. I raced home, eager to share the thrilling news with my sister. I could hardly believe this was really happening to me, and I thought that my whole life, from that point forward, was sure to be changed forever.

My sister was exuberant when I told her, but then gave me the advice: “If you want to have an open, communicative relationship, you have to call him and tell him you accept in person,” she counseled. I have no idea where my sister got this misplaced, weirdly precocious wisdom from; it would have been great advice if only I had been a college student instead of an elementary schooler. However, she was my big sister, and even though I would have preferred to jump into the ocean in mid-February than call him to accept his offer, I knew I had to follow it. After all, didn't I want an open, communicative relationship, fifth grade-style?

So I called and did the deed, and it was one of the most awkward conversations of my life. “Umm, hi, T? This is Heathen. So, I heard you wanted to go out with me? Well, yeah, that would be fine. Okay, bye.” It wasn't exactly an auspicious beginning for a healthy, communicative relationship. I can't recall exactly how long the relationship lasted, if it was two weeks or three, but I do recall that we did not speak for the duration of it, except once when it was my day to collect hot lunch tickets; when T got to the front of the line we mumbled “hi” to each other while studiously avoiding each others' gazes. After a few days of this torture, T's friend called me to break things off. No, he didn't even have the decency to call me himself to break up.

Well, sorry Li'l JC, but I have decided to disregard your advice. You can blame my sister. It's possible that my new love interest will become the most recent victim of the Disappearing Man Syndrome, but in the meantime, I'm working on diversifying my assets so I won't mind as much.

Relationship Debris

Anyone who has spent longer than, say, 20 minutes with me knows that I am a huge fan of the Modern Love column in the New York Times. Actually, to be more precise, I have a love-hate relationship with it. Sometimes it makes me tear up a little or laugh out loud, other times it fills me with frustration and I have to e-mail it to a bunch of friends accompanied by snarky comments. The most recent memorable article was about a man whose grandfather joined Facebook, then, to his chagrin, became friends with his ex-girlfriend. It was hilarious. (And yes, of course, I've written several drafts of Modern Love columns about my recent breakup to submit to the Times. I still feel like I need to let some time pass before I'm ready to submit anything though – it is, after all, a very public forum.)

Last week's column, about how one woman handled a breakup, was a huge miss as far as I was concerned. First of all, it wasn't actually written by the woman whose relationship ended; it was by her friend, and second-hand stories are inherently lame. Second of all, it was about how her friend dealt with the breakup by having a performance artist dressed in a bear costume named the Death Bear visit her house and remove all paraphernalia related to her ex-boyfriend and bring it to his “den;” this is just weird and annoying. It took place in Park Slope, and when the New York Times writes articles like this, as it often does, it reinforces a lot of people's stereotypes about Park Slope, which as a former Sloper I find offensive. And, finally, it was hard for me to relate because this kind of cleansing ritual is utterly antithetical to my philosophy. (I support people who it does work for, though – it just doesn't happen to be a modality that works for me.)

My friend and dating guru, Li'l JC, is such a person. She received a lovely tangerine-hued KitchenAid mixer as a gift from an ex-boyfriend, and told me that she seriously considered giving it away when they broke up. I, on the other hand, received a crimson KitchenAid mixer from my ex-boyfriend, La Moustache, and the thought of giving away my $300 mixer never once crossed my mind. I also wear every single day, even in the shower, a necklace designed by my friend Yummy Mummy and purchased for me by Moustache, as well as a watch he bought me (not in the shower though). I frequently wear the fuzzy brown hat he had my milliner make for me, as well as the antique pearl earrings he gave me (except that I left them at a friend's house in December – accidentally on purpose, perhaps?). Even my vacuum cleaner and coffee grinder were former possessions of Moustache's that I received in the divorce settlement. As if that weren't enough, I have two paintings on my bedroom wall by my ex-ex-boyfriend, l'Artista. And, for Christ's sakes, La Moustache and I had a pet bird together! What am I supposed to do, give my little bird away to a crazy man dressed in a bear costume?? Over my dead body. Even if I did get rid of every single object connected to my exes, there are a thousand little habits that would remain: when I did my laundry recently, I was reminded that I learned my underwear-folding technique from La Moustache's mom.

You can't get rid of the past; every important person in your life shapes you in some way, and for me it's better to keep my memories and the possessions that go with them and use them to reflect and learn. I don't believe in karma, or that wearing a sweater given to me by an ex could condemn me to a life of celibacy. I can understand the urge to get rid of everything connected to someone who has hurt and betrayed you, and I have sometimes taken breaks from things that remind me of people I don't want to think about, putting them in storage until I am ready to see them again and remember that period with less pain.

One particularly difficult decision I had to make when I moved out of the apartment I shared with Moustache was whether to bring my own mattress with me, or Moustache's. I thought about it a lot, and finally chose Moustache's. It was better quality, and after three years of sleeping on it, I was used to it. Of course, it had a lot of memories attached to it, but when I got to my new apartment, I flipped it over. Now it's like brand new. I sleep very well in it each night, and only occasionally have nightmares about La Moustache.

The Amazing Disappearing Man!

It's only been six months or so since my breakup, but in that short time, I've been kissed and dissed an astonishing three times. I'm not talking about the “I've enjoyed spending time with you, but I'm not sure we're meant for each other...” kind of diss. I'm talking about the Amazing Disappearing Man diss.

You probably know what I'm talking about. You hang out with someone, you think you like each other, things are starting to heat up... and then BOOM. The phone calls stop. It's like a stone wall has descended, and you have no idea why or where it came from. It's immature, bewildering to the dissee, and indecent on a basic human level, and I will go on the record as saying I want nothing to do with men who engage in such practices.

Thankfully, I haven't cared about any of the men this has happened to me with recently, although the most recent – a Jewish Paul McCartney look-alike with a shaggy mop of gray hair – was very cute, and kissing him was quite fun. Still, the fact that when my friends asked me to tell them something about him all I could say was, “I don't know – but he's so cute!” was not a great sign. I had some indications that he was not very reliable before I went out with him, and considered calling off our date. In other instances, I was getting ready to do the dissing myself. (My dissing, however, involves a thoughtful e-mail.) It's a weird, unpleasant experience when someone disappears, even when you're not into them. And, in this digital age, there is absolutely no excuse for it. Yes, it's hard to pick up the phone and make a breakup call, but sending an e-mail – even a text message would be better than nothing – is easy as pie. Plus, after you've done it once, all you have to do is cut, paste, change the name and details, and hit send! Or if you haven't done it before and don't know what to say, ask your dating gurus to send you their breakup templates, as I did last week. (Yes, in the past week I've been both disser and dissee.)

It's happened to friends of mine in particularly painful ways. One friend was dating an older, very put-together man some years back, and was nervous about bringing him to her apartment. When she finally did, he seemed distracted and left early, never to be heard from again. Another friend slept with a man she really liked for the first time, only to have him vanish into thin air shortly thereafter. Men, it is always unacceptable to disappear, but even more so after you've slept with someone!

Even though you know in your heart of hearts that when he stops calling it's over, it can be very hard to give up hope after someone disappears. You keep making excuses in your head: “He's just so busy with work. Maybe he went on vacation. He might have had a car accident!” I actually Googled a guy who kissed and dissed me recently just to make sure he wasn't murdered, because he had seemed so into me up to that point and I was genuinely worried. (Turns out he's still alive. Until I blocked him, every time we were on gmail at the same time he would swiftly go from green to gray. I can see you making yourself invisible when I log on, lame-o!)

Which leads me to another point: When you pull your Disappearing Man stunt, from that moment forward it will be very awkward if you ever run into her. Easy to avoid by just writing a quick e-mail to say it was fun getting to know her, but she just doesn't give you that quivery feeling in your tummy. Some men who have disappeared on me in the past were friends of friends or classmates of mine, and they had to know we would inevitably be at the same party or cross paths at school one day.

I'm sure there are women out there who do this, too, but it does seem to be something men are particularly prone to. Women are more courageous in such situations. So men, if you just aren't that into her, woman up and send that e-mail, or chat, or text message, or tweet, or Facebook wall posting! (Okay, some of these may not be great choices due to their public nature. But the point is, there are plenty of options.)