Date Number Three: The Russian Yogi

I meet a guy and I think I know him enough about him, but I don't really know him until a situation arises that shows his true colors. I need something to test his mettle, or my own in this case. My Russian yoga partner and I met in a free yoga class in Riverside Park and continued to run into each other at other yoga classes, so it was inevitable that we began to talk for a while after class. We hadn't gone on a official date per se, at least not until now.

He was a raw foodie, meaning he doesn't eat anything cooked - ever! Everything has to be organic and unprocessed, things such as raw vegetables, raw fruit, steak tartar, nuts, and raw grains instead of pasta or bread. It's an unusual lifestyle choice and "Yogi" wanted to introduce me to some "raw food" so I was about to find out the length and breadth of how unusual his lifestyle was.

He picked me up near my job (plus half a point for the car since it's a "smart car") and we drove down to Bonobo's by Madison Square Park for some raw food. I am amazed that a place like that exists and makes enough money to survive. We ordered raw pineapple and coconut pies, the crust of which was made out of chopped nuts and dates, and some raw coconut water. He wanted to sit in the park to eat and chill. The pie was cold and good and crunchy, and the coconut chai juice was somewhat drinkable if not tasteless (plus a point for twigs-n-berries food not entirely sucking).

I decided not to hold his lifestyle against him, and we were talking about his childhood in Russia and his interest in wrestling, when he started going on about the gay men in wrestling. Then he mentioned his "theories" on why some men are gay. Some crazy quack scientist said that being gay is the result of imbalances with the pituitary gland and "Yogi" believed this guy. Er, what? Oh my. So I told him my sister is a lesbian and he said, "Oh, well most women are gay because of some horrible experience with a man." I am seething inside but I must be polite, "No, that wasn't her experience," I tell him. "Well, something else must be wrong with her," he says.

Oh no. You didn't.

Minus, minus, minus points ad infinitum for even suggesting such a thing you underdeveloped primate. I am gay-friendly, obviously, and fairly livid. I think he senses my annoyance and quickly changes the subject, so I let the conversation continue and we get up and stroll around the park until I'm calmer. We sit down again and he has his arm on the bench behind me and, after talking for a while, he wraps his forearm around my neck and is forcefully pulling me towards him for a kiss. I squirming to avoid this dude's puckered lips, trying to manuever myself out of a chokehold that this neanderthal has put me in. "Dude!" I yell at him in the middle of the park, once I wrench myself away. "You can't do that! I'm a fucking girl! That shit hurts." Fortunately, I'm not in pain, but if Stone Cold Steve Austin was there at that moment, I'd make sure that he'd deliver the stunner to this yahoo.

I am also secretly wondering if "Yogi" is gay (plus a point if he actually is).

No really, it all makes sense. The homophobia, the 'wrestling' moves, the smart car. I pointedly look at my phone and tell him that I have to get home to get some work done, but he wants to have a drink. And now I know I am a fool, and too good of a sport, and too good for him. So we head over to the bar Live Bait, which is what I am feeling like at the moment, and we have a drink. He orders white wine because he can't drink beer (it's processed) and now I'm sure he must be hiding in the closet.

The icing on the cake, so to speak, were his final words of parting. I gave him a hug goodnight (He is - now past tense - was my yoga partner so I had to be kind and polite) and he said, "You have a birthday coming up, right? I hope you're not expecting anything because I don't do birthdays."

The fact that I was going home alone was enough of a present. So now I have to find a new yoga partner. I think I'll pick a girl this time. Does that make me a lesbian? I'm telling you, this is dating in New York. I could not make this stuff up.