You’re pretty cute. (I verified it with my friend several times throughout the evening, because I’d had a few beers.) I like how you squeezed your way in next to me and used the bowl of Goldfish on the bar as a conversation starter. Well played, indeed. I actually liked the peek of a tattoo on your forearm and the information that there were others, and when you told me you used to have a lip ring I had a flashback to college and the brief phase where I had a serious thing for punk rock guys with piercings and spiky hair. I like that you played Glycerine on the jukebox. I liked the look of total shock on your face when I told you I was 30, because I know in your mind you thought you were hitting on a 24-year-old. It was cute that you actually thought the Jets had a shot at signing Drew Brees. I like that you texted me today, just to say it was nice meeting me and that you hoped to see me again.
Unfortunately, though, I just don’t see us ever happening. You might be nice for a little fling to distract me from things for awhile. You seem like a fun guy to hang out with. But we have three major issues to look at, and I don’t see myself changing my mind on any of these anytime soon.
1. You’re 26. You left the Upper East Side after midnight to go to Murray Hill. Not my scene, dude. We can have a few nights where we shoot back some Patron, but I don’t see myself getting into anything more than that with a guy who goes out in Murray Hill.
2. You live in the Bronx. I’m willing to date a guy who lives in certain areas of Queens and Brooklyn. I am not willing to date a guy in the Bronx. The only thing the Bronx has going for it is Yankee Stadium, and it’s not baseball season yet. Sorry.
3. You said to me (and I quote): “I hope Sidney Crosby gets another concussion and dies.” You were probably exaggerating. (I really, really hope you’re exaggerating.) You fall into that category of sports fan I like to call “complete and total asshole.” Like I said, you were a nice guy. But I bet you turn into one of those crazies when watching sports. You’re one of the guys at the Garden chanting “Crosby sucks” and spilling beer on the Pens fan next to you. I could deal with dating a Rangers fan. But I could deal with dating a Rangers fan (or any fan of any team) who is a complete and total asshole to my team. I don’t think you realize the hole you dug yourself with that comment.
Who knows, maybe you’ll surprise me. Or maybe I’ll never hear from you again. I will keep your number in my phone, though, if only to have it to text you when Sidney Crosby inevitably scores the goal that eliminates the Rangers from the playoffs.