Today in LUST: You Don't Get to Do Both

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Do you know those people who expect way more from the world than they have any right to? A few examples:

1.) Danielle from the Real Housewives of New Jersey: Have you seen the first episode yet? This show is going to be amaaaazing. But I digress. Danielle, honey, you either get to pick up dudes on wealthymen.com who call themselves GucciModel, or you get to have the expectation that the guys you date will not be assholes. You don't get to do both.

2.) Guy I Dated for Eight Months in 2007: Walking around the West Village, he would sniff "So sad how gentrified it is now. Look at all these privileged brats." [Sidenote: Where has he been the last 40 years? He's just noticing this now?]. He used to go to parties and bemoan how preppy and conformist everyone was. He mentioned a few times that he sees only "explosions of color" when he orgasms. And he complained -- eyes rolling -- about how, one time, when he went to a formal charity event on the Upper East Side dressed in a kimono, that "No one got my outfit! Ugh, they're all so boring."

His occupation? Hedge fund manager.

Come on: You either get to be a condescending bohemian relic, or you get to manage a hedge fund. You don't get to do both.

3.) My Date from Last Night: When we first met, which was last week, he struck me as both intensely waspy and profoundly awkward. It was like being on a date with the love child of William F. Buckley and Rain Man.

Still, I decided to go out with him again because (a.) his degrees would indicate he's really stinking smart, and (b.) I have this theory that the more awkward a guy is, the less likely he is to be sleazy. I wasn't exactly turned on by his constant blundering, but I thought maybe he was just one of those really nice guys who is clueless about dating. I tried not to get caught up on all the superficial details, like the fact that he made me wander around in the rain for 30 minutes before he realized I might like to go to someplace that had, you know, a ceiling.

Last night, I show up for our second date, which is a 6:40pm movie. He arrives with ketchup on his chin.

After the movie, he asks -- in his jittery Mid-Atlantic accent -- whether I want to pick up some sandwiches from the deli for dinner. Sigh.

"No," I tell him. "No, I don't." I suggest that, if we want to have something to eat, we go to the cafe across the street. I am thankfully, finally, mercifully able to have a glass of wine (he doesn't drink, naturally, because that might make him fun to be around).

And here's where the date takes an unexpected turn. In rapid succession, he begins discussing rape (we had just seen the Tyson movie) and how "some women are coy, so 'no' doesn't always mean 'no'"; how he used to date cougars when he was younger because they're so desperate; how he never wants to have a serious relationship of any kind; how he has recently decided that he prefers to date girls in their early 20's or younger (he's 45); and finally, that the reason he lied and said he was 35 on his profile was so he wouldn't scare off the 18 year-olds he's trying to bed.

Theory officially disproven: There is not an inverse relationship between awkwardness and sleaze.

And still, despite the contortions my face found itself in while he was saying these things and the vague appearance of nausea I had about me for the last hour of the date, he texted me the next morning, hopeful that I would want to go out with him again -- although his intuition told him I "didn't find our dinner conversation amusing." Oh, I found it amusing. Believe me. Just not remotely appealing. Dude, how did you expect me to react? Please realize: You either get to act like some sleazy lothario, or you get to act like you have Aspberger's. You don't get to do both.

4.) Have your own story? Put it in the comments. Pretty please!