And just like that, I'm a TV news producer.

***

So I dumped the boy after two dates. I went over to his place. We popped in Dr. Strangelove (I won out after a game of rock, paper, scissors), drank some wine, talked over the movie, started kissing, he stops and says, "I don't think this is a good idea," we keep talking, he invites me back to his room, lights candles, sits away from me, more talking, and then:

"Look," I said, "I know what I want. If you don't know what you want, I'm not going to wait around."

"What's wrong with just hanging out?" he asked, sheepishly.

"There's nothing wrong with hanging out, but I have enough guy friends."

So I walked out. When a man says he's not "relationship material" and "can't imagine ever having a mortgage," and then invites you back to his room to "listen to music," he's not giving out mixed signals -- he's a douchebag. When a man tells you the last relationship he had was in senior year of high school that lasted a whole three months, it's unlikely you'll make it past that. And when a man freely dishes out compliments without acting concurrently and consistently, you've definitely got a nuclear dud on your hands. I mean, shit, I know I'm "special," I don't need him to reaffirm it!

Anyway, I should've known the night would end poorly when I stepped into the lobby of his apartment eight hours earlier and realized it was a student residence, one deeply lacking in parking spaces. (Who needs 'em when you got bikes, right?) I looked up at the fluorescent lights, took a deep breath, and said aloud, "What am I doing here? I'm too old for this shit!"

Glad I didn't need a fancy dinner and some action between my legs to figure the kid out. But if this is how it's going to be, I am dreading the rest of my 20s.