(OK, I Googled him.) When I saw his sly smile and unruly black hair, I couldn't help thinking that, by comparison, my live-in boyfriend wasn't quite as darkly seductive or exciting.
I met the Brazilian in line for a film screening while visiting Manhattan from San Francisco.
I would fall for a brilliant guy with an irresistible smile who never quite fell for me but who possessed all the qualities I liked in a man: a sense of humor, certified smarts, smoldering looks.
Each time, these men—dashing chefs, moody architects—would give me just enough attention to keep me in their narcissistic orbit.
There were no witty phrases in his e-mails, no sense that he was teetering on that razor's edge between genius and madness.
Unconvinced of his romantic potential, I invited him over for soup, less a date than a get-together with an old friend.
We spent a passionate week together, and when I left town, I thought I was leaving behind a new long-distance boyfriend—one who, it turned out, didn't like to call or e-mail..
I thought our fling was the start of a relationship; he thought it was a fling, period.
She had a point, but the kind of guy she described sounded so boring I figured I'd be better off getting a dog.I passed over his profile, which depicted an earnest guy with bright blue-gray eyes wearing an old Guatemalan sweater.