…And This Was My Friday Night… in Open Diary 2001-2018 (Pre-Prosebox)

  • July 28, 2002, midnight
  • |
  • Public

Why didn’t I listen to you guys and just leave him the hell alone??

Name: Brice

Age: 41

Occupation: Architect; former art gallery owner/art investor

We met: On Friday, after my golf lesson (first scramble with the other classes) at the new wine bar where we’d tried to meet a week earlier (he’d canceled on me because of custody issues with his ex).

We did: Ate a very late dinner and tasted champagnes and wines. Talked.

Convo: I was tired and distracted the whole time. Not stimulating whatsoever.

Part of personality I liked: Seemed fairly adventurous. Had a couple of cool stories about when he owned the gallery.

Part of personality I disliked: Obviously seriously depressed about his recent divorce. Bitter. Sad. Traumatized.

Part of appearance I liked: Tall.

Part of appearance I disliked: Um. Okay. Where do I start?? He looked nothing like the photos he sent me. In the photos, he was so unbelievably gorgeous. Happy, smiling, nice hair, nice build, nice everything. The man I met was a completely different person. He must have lost 50 to 60 pounds since the photos were taken. His clothes were just hanging on him. He was gaunt. Pale. His hair was greasy and mussed. His skin looked horrible. He was a mess.

Highest Point: The champagne. Oh and the cous cous.

Lowest Point: I don’t know which is lower: when I first saw him on arrival, or listening to him drone on and on about his ex.

How it ended: We walked to my car. I can’t even remember if we hugged or not. I just couldn’t wait to get home and crawl into bed.

Chances I’ll see him again: Slimmer than his post-divorce skinny-ass self.


Last updated 5 days ago


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