I'm Not A Foodie, I'm Just Fat A.K.A Roasted Chicken With A Side Of Broken Heart

It was a chilly April day, and I stood in front of what used to be Virgin Records. Now a casualty of the shitty economy, it had been converted to a Citibank. Yet another reminder of how NYC was slowly transforming into a banal wasteland. I was nervous, yet excited; a woman had sought me out online! This was a rarity in that women do not normally seek us penis wearers. Rather, we are the ones on the other end of the keyboard hoping they haven't closed their Okcupid account. Filled with disgust, after a barrage of losers before us had sent them one sentenced e-mails with horrible grammar proposing sex or pictures of their member in its photoshopped glory.



Her name was Glory and once I saw her, I was smitten. Her smile could light up a room and her laugh made my heart go gooey. I should have known this would end in disaster. The chemistry was off the charts or at least I thought so. That is always the mistake isn't it? Believing that there was a little David in all of us and that if we all just accepted it, my life would be so much easier.

The reality is, I will probably never know what was in her head. Because, the only little David in anyone was in my pants.

"I'm a foodie" she said smiling while she took a bite of her chicken.

"Oh my God me too!" I lied. I was not a foodie, I was just fat. I never adventured into the land of exotic meals. In fact like the hippo, I was a creature of habit. Pizza for dinner, while I laid in my bed like a wounded cow on the side of the road.

We shared dinner, she tore into her roasted chicken. While I nibbled on my hamburger, nerves suppressing my appetite. Glory was a fellow Latino who had lived all her life in NYC. It was neat to have someone to relate too, when it came to talking about little idiosyncrasies of the Latino culture. I built this image of her as a very sweet, kind and honest girl.  The type of girl you take home to mom and bring in to your circle of friends. The kind  who worries about you when you're sick and is there for you in your moments of need.

I was in a delusional state of blissful ignorance. I should have kept my feet on the ground. Instead I was halfway to Saturn only fated to crash into Uranus or Myanus rather. We spoke often on the phone. As always, I ignored the obvious red flags. She had once rejected a lousy date by telling the man that she was pregnant with her x-boyfriends child. Instead of say, running for the hills when I heard this, my bliss only made me see this as charming. She never had a relationship last more than six months? Heck, it be gratifying to be the first guy to break that barrier.

Truly I was a nimrod.

The second date we did the classic dinner and a movie. While the Muppets sang about my nostalgic childhood, I gently reached over and held her hand. I did not notice she had tensed up. Once we got to dinner, she began to recite the "I need things to be slow" speech.  It's funny what your mind is willing to put up with in the search for love. You look over glaring warnings that you are careening toward the cliff of disappointment. "Yes! I will wait! You're worth it" my inner moron screamed.

It's times like these I feel as if I missed the class on human interactions 101. Because, my more experienced friends tend to laugh at me once I get to the speech portion of the story. The "I want to take things slow" speech tends to mean you freaked me out and I do not want to be near you anymore. Does it always mean that? Of course not but, maybe I missed some subtle inflection that would have told me the difference between honesty and rejection.

I will never know for sure. All I know is that my phone calls after that date were not answered. Excluding a hasty "I will call you back," for two weeks I heard nothing from her. I was now demoted to texting hell.

I hate texting, it is so impersonal and too easy to fall into a dating limbo. It is the bane of my existence. Texting has become the number one form of communication between people. It's so easy to lose touch with someone. Intentional or not, all you have to do is not respond. It is yet another barrier between folks.

She then drops the bombshell “My grandfather has a 50/50 chance of living” she texts me. The following portion of the story could either make me look like a complete asshole or schmuck. I leave it up to you fellow reader to decide which category I fall under.

Shocked, I offer my support and prayers for her grandfathers predicament. She thanks me and tells me that she is just not in any capacity to continue to date in this trying time. Let's be frank, who would be up for a date in central park while your grandfather hangs on to life by a thread?  I may be dense but I am not a complete idiot. Well maybe 80% of the time…

What a shitty Christmas! I thought to myself, as I put down the phone. I had thought I had some doozies in my time. One involved a goat, a chicken and pancakes but that is a story for another time. I felt so ashamed. Here I was bothering this poor girl while she watched over her grandfather in his hospital bed. I pictured her parents crying as they spoke to the doctor. Who you couldn’t hear over the Sarah Mclachland music playing over them.

Imagine my shock a few weeks later. When I am reading her latest blog post to see a picture of her serving her grandfather fresh cookies out of the oven. Oh and she wasso over this, that she included a picture of herself smiling with a drink in her hand celebrating the holidays. After all why shouldn’t she be celebrating we were all witnesses to a miracle. Praise Jesus and Santa! It’s a holiday wish come true. Now If only I could have that million dollars and a supermodel with low standards; show up on my doorstep.

Dear reader, what do you think? Am I an asshole for being so cynical? That I don’t believe someone can go from having a 50/50 shot at living to eating oatmeal cookies in a matter of weeks? Or, am I just a schmuck for not seeing this coming or holding on to the hope that it may be possible such a enormous recovery?

This are the questions that keep me up at night. Am I just the victim of unfortunate timing or the target of a coward with a great imagination? Maybe that girl next door with the incredible smile had a dark side I never saw or maybe she just never existed in the first place. The world may never know…