"C'mon, Dixie. You really should go out with him!"

I was sick of my co-workers telling me this. Sure, Bill was a nice guy, but that blonde, blue-eyed look didn't really appeal to me. I liked dark haired boys, who were a little dangerous, and something told me that Bill wouldn't like going to the dive bars that I frequented. I couldn't imagine him going to see a loud rock band with me. He just seemed so....wholesome.

But I was depressed after getting dumped yet again by one of those dangerous boys. I didn't even flinch when Rick dumped me; I was used to it by now. I remember his voice droning in my ear as I watched the ice melt in my glass of whiskey. He told me it wasn't working out as the Melvins screamed out of a dusty jukebox. I suppressed the urge to kick in his face.

So it was under these circumstances that I acquiesced to Bill, and we planned to spend the day together the following Saturday. He called me that morning to make plans. I was hangover and chain-smoking when I answered the phone, and was startled by the deep and scratchy voice that came out of my throat. "Hello" I said, as I imagined the giant hairball in my throat. His chipper voice on the other line made me think twice about meeting him, but a flash of Rick at the bar kept me strong. Maybe I need a nice boy, I argued with myself. I was sick of dating these loser musicians who couldn't even afford to buy their own drinks. There was more to life than sitting in dark bars and watching drunk people make asses of themselves; watching stupid loud girls roll around on the floor trying to get attention. Ironically, I never felt really comfortable in my own surroundings.

Bill said he'd meet me at 3:00 in front of one of those theme-restaurants in midtown; it was a halfway point between my downtown apartment and his Upper East Side apartment. I prided myself on avoiding the Upper East Side and its inhabitants in the past, but a new Dixie was emerging. I imagined myself with a coifed hairdo walking a toy breed while casually browsing Ann Taylor. Could I do it?, I asked myself, as I took a deep drag of my current Camel light.

I had no idea what Bill had in store for us, so I wore jeans, a plain top and engineer boots; I didn't want to wear a dress and treat this like a proper date. Besides, he was the one pursuing me, and I usually looked far worse than this. We met in front of the restaurant, and easily spotted each other between the large bodies with fanny packs around their waists.

"Hi!" he waved, as he grinned sheepishly. "Hello," I said as I took a drag of my cigarette. "I think I need some water. I'm really hungover." "Let me get you some." He walked to the corner vendor and bought me a bottle. This is never going to work, I thought. I'm a mess, and he is so together. I don't know if I can last the day. Bill came back and gave me the bottle of water.

"I thought we'd head up to Central Park," he said. I groaned inwardly. I was not an outdoorsy person. I hated the sun, and just looking at trees made me sneeze. But I smiled and gave an enthusiastic, "OK!"

We walked through the park to the pond and rented a rowboat. As we sat down, he pulled a bottle of wine out of his bag, and two plastic cups. I was grateful for the wine. I was really nervous since our date felt very romantic all of a sudden. He poured me a glass of wine. I lit a cigarette. The lake was littered with romantic couples in their boats, kissing and rowing circles around us. I took a few good swigs of the wine and set in for a long ride. We talked as he rowed. I felt awkward as he rowed, feeling like the little lady watching her big strong man. I was drinking the wine pretty quickly as I listened to him talk. He told me what he liked doing in his spare time, and all of his hobbies were athletic: mountain biking, rock climbing, running.

"Uh, I like reading. I write sometimes, too," I offered. He smiled at me.

The more stilted the conversation was, the more wine I drank. I chain-smoked. I felt so out of place, sitting here with this blonde, healthy guy, while I sucked poison in my lungs and guzzled booze. I had nothing in common with Bill, and his life was completely different from mine. I couldn't figure out why he was attracted to me and I was hoping the date would end soon. I just wanted to run back downtown and be among my own kind instead of sitting here on this dirty pond.

After a few hours, we left the park and he took me to his favorite restaurant. I was comforted as we took a cab downtown. We went to an Italian restaurant and he ordered an expensive bottle of wine. I felt awful. I wasn't attracted to him at all and he was putting so much effort into this date. Why did I agree to go out with him? I felt really low. We ate, and I tried to avoid his gaze, as the wine affected both of us. He was trying to get closer and I was trying to get further away. After dinner, he held my hand, and I knew he was going to lean in for a kiss soon. He had planned a perfect day and I was a big loser.

He continued to hold my hand as we walked uptown. I was extremely inebriated by this point, and this alone usually put me in the mood to at least kiss a guy. But when he leaned in toward me with half-closed eyes, I didn't feel anything. I kissed him back, and we stood there under a streetlight, kissing awkwardly. I felt nothing. He wanted to walk me home, but I stuttered out drunken excuses about his train being right here and I lived a few blocks away. I practically forced him down those subway steps.

I went home and passed out.

When he called me again, I told him I didn't think it was a good idea to go out again. I continued to see him often at work functions, and quickly got over the awkwardness surrounding that date. Awhile later, a girl I worked with told me he was pretty upset that we didn't continue dating. "But he deserves it," she added. "He dumps every girl he goes out with. He's known as a real player." I was shocked. I felt so guilty for not being attracted him because he seemed so nice. And, chances are, if I did continue seeing him, he probably would've dumped me in the same way that Rick did. Only instead of cheap whiskey, I'd be drinking expensive wine.