This One’s For You, Jimmy

6 Jul

In early April, I went on a blind date with a Russian who had a very peculiar name.  He told me if I ever wrote a blog post about him to call him “Jimmy”.  So, this one’s for you, “Jimmy”.

We met at a wine bar somewhere in the West Village.  I didn’t recognize him at first because his profile pictures were old and looked nothing like him.  He was thinner in person, with lighter hair, a clean-cut professional look, and a Hello Kitty phone case.  During the first thirty minutes of our date, I mistook his Russian deadpan for extreme social awkwardness… to the point that I started brainstorming excuses for why I had to flee.  One of the first things he said to me was “I didn’t think you would message me back.  You must get dozens of messages a day.”  After another glass of wine, we decided to change venues.  He suggested another bar to check out, which ended up being packed, so we hopped around to multiple places before settling on a dark, cavernous spot.  A beer or two later, I figured out that nothing that came out of his mouth was serious.  His dry, Russian humor had been off-putting at first, but once I got used to it, he was cute… and funny.  I don’t know if I would have found the things he said half as funny without the accent, however.  We left the bar and stopped at a record store on Bleecker Street.  I bought a Liza Minnelli record for a dollar and took a picture of him holding a Barry Manilow album (which he uploaded to his OKCupid profile after I told him he would get way more babes with that picture).

I’m going to be honest with you.  I broke the number one rule of blind dating and went back to his place with him on the first date.  In my defense, it was basically across the street from the bar.  He had a small studio with a loft, a miniature kitchenette, and a “Keep Calm and Carry On” poster.  I asked him about the medals hanging on the wall and he said (you have to read all of his quotes with a Russian accent) “I run the race.  That is how you keep in shape.  That is why my body is in such great form.”  Once I was there, I realized what a Russian Lothario I had on my hands.  I had never gone back to anyone’s apartment with them on the first date before, but he was a Slick Rick and it was obviously a normal occurrence for him.  He wasted no time putting the moves on me, but I saw where things were heading and freaked out before anything happened.  I told him I had to leave, grabbed my bag and ran out the door.  He ran out after me and his door shut behind him, locking him out of his apartment in only shorts, a t-shirt, and socks.  I wished him the best of luck and bolted- promising myself all the way back to Brooklyn that this would never happen again.  He ended up taking the subway barefoot to his office on Wall Street at 2am to get a spare set of keys.  I decided I wasn’t going to hang out with him again, then recanted a week later, after he helped me file an amendment to my tax return.

The second time we hung out, I was with my coworker and a couple of her friends.  One of them had multiple facial piercings, a braided beard, black Jncos, and he kept buying us drinks and offering to crack everyone’s back.  I said I didn’t need to drink anymore or I would be on the floor, to which Jimmy responded with “I liiike!”  Eventually the back-cracker sneaked up behind Jimmy and began giving him a sensual shoulder massage, his flowing facial hair dangling over his shoulder.  Jimmy leapt up and said it was time for us to leave immediately.  I laughed about how uncomfortable it made him for the rest of the night.  We stopped at a sports bar to catch the end of “the game,” and he confessed that he had been stalking me on social media websites all day.  He informed me that not all of my Facebook posts were private, and that he had found my Twitter, my Instagram, AND MY BLOG.  Disaster.  He had read every single post, and hoped I wasn’t going to write about him unless I changed his name to “Jimmy”.  I promised him that I always change everyone’s name, as well as any other major identifying factors.  He said in that case, he wanted me to write about him because he thought my blog was funny.  I told him he hadn’t given me any good material yet, so he suggested the fact that, at one point in his life, he had come “very close to wearing necklaces.”  Again, we went back to his place (hey, he lived a few blocks from my work!) where he offered me an assortment of fruit from his imaginary kitchen- “apple, orange, peers, or plahms.”  I told him he was crazy and he said “You are crazy person definition!  The only crazy thing about me is I have plahms.”  He made me a Manhattan, saying he didn’t need to drink anymore because “we already broke the ice.  I mean, you saw the goods.”  Oh, alright.

The next time or two we hung out was at the restaurant across the street from my store.  He gave me statistical updates as to the number of viewers on recent episodes of Hugh Laurie’s hit show “House” and I made up excuses as to why I couldn’t go back to his place with him.  My favorite excuse was that I hadn’t visited the waxer in awhile.  Later in the evening, he announced “You don’t have a boosh, I will show you a Google of a boosh.”  This remains one of the funniest things anyone has ever said to me and I kind of want it etched on my tombstone when I die.  We continued to hang out about once a week.  Each time, he would make comments to the effect of him being a player, how there were multiple girls he was seeing, and how he has met a ton of people from OKCupid (Jimmy has probably gone out with all of your blind dates, guys).  But then he would talk about reading my blog posts in his spare time and ask me personal questions about other dates I was going on.

After a couple months of corresponding regularly via text message, he suddenly stopped talking to me for over a week.  I emailed him asking if everything was ok.  He replied with “Yes, just being unresponsive I guess.”  He then proceeded to invite me to see “21 Jump Street” with him at 11pm that night.  It is very difficult to get me to set foot in a movie theatre, but I didn’t want to be rude… so I replied saying that was a little late for me and could we go to dinner instead.  He suggested Noodle Bar (one of my favorites) and told me to meet him there at 20:30.  Ok, sergeant.  We had dinner, went back to his place, he bought me a cab home, and I haven’t heard from him since.  I assume he’s still trolling the world wide web, stalking random girls from OKCupid, then feeding them “plahms” before dropping trou.

This was my longest “relationship” harvested from OKCupid.  The website was basically like “OK, here’s a Russian sex addict, hope you have an OK time with him for a few weeks before you both move on to other OK people who think you’re just OK!”

That reminds me of another Keep Calm and Carry On-esque inspirational poster that hung in my Sex Ed classroom in eighth grade.  My teacher was a lesbian who tied her hair back with duct tape and was married to a man.  A large portion of her class revolved around how to properly wash your hands.  The poster said “The Main Thing is to Keep the Main Thing the Main Thing.”  I have always remembered that poster and thought it was the best worst advice ever.  A few months ago, I tried to buy a copy of it for my apartment, but, after a little research, discovered it to be some Mormon ballyhoo.  Never mind.



2 Responses to “This One’s For You, Jimmy”


  1. Another Creepy Artist « What's in the Box? - August 19, 2012

    […] I went out again with Jimmy a few weeks ago.  He had stopped talking to me for a couple months, but resurfaced after reading […]

  2. Thanks for the Franks « What's in the Box? - October 2, 2012

    […]  The man-whores who are only on the website to find people to have sex with such as Michael, Jimmy, […]

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