Don Draper Guy and Nicolas: An Imaginary Love Story

Remember last summer when I arrived five years late to the Heroes party and watched the entire series on DVD in the course of about a week?

Well, that’s happening again. Except this time it’s with the superior drama Mad Men.

What do I love most about Mad Men? Probably the fact that it’s about chauvinistic male advertising executives being hot. It turns out that I have a real soft spot for pompous manly men with archaic values and a tendency to demean women. I want one to demean me! Preferably while we’re making love after I’ve cooked him dinner. (Of course.)

You can imagine my excitement when, this morning on the train, I encountered a man who was the absolute embodiment of Mad Men heartthrob Don Draper. (The Metro-North is of course filled with hot, suited businessmen on any given day, but this guy was exceptionally Draper-esque.)

As I sat across from Don Draper Guy, I couldn’t help but notice that he was wearing a wedding band. I then couldn’t help but imagine the following love story in my head (written in italics so as to aid the reader in distinguishing glorious fantasy from depressing reality):

Don Draper Guy and I share in intense eye contact for approximately thirty seconds. He then makes a weird half-kiss, half-bite gesture with his lips that I correctly interpret as a declaration of his love for me. He slips me a note with his cell phone number on it. We immediately begin a soft-core sexting session right there on the train amidst the oblivious commuters who may or may not happen to notice that Don Draper Guy and I are digitally consummating our relationship before their eyes, but choose not to acknowledge it because, like all commuters in the New York metropolitan area before 10:00am, they’re miserable.

After several minutes of continued sexting action, Don Draper Guy ups the ante by suggesting that we both get off the train at the next stop, go back to Connecticut (via his private car service that he decided not to use that morning in an effort to be more down to earth) and look for houses with his realtor.

“What about your wife?” I say, and he shrugs. I correctly interpret his shrug as, “Oh, is this ring still on? My ex-wife and I have been divorced since this morning, and I’m now totally available and gay and in love with you! Will you marry me?”

I say yes, we buy a house, and I quit my job to take care of the children from his previous marriage while he keeps doing important business-y things in New York.

I start crossing paths with Don Draper Guy’s ex-wife while picking up the kids from soccer practice. Though our relationship starts off acrimoniously, we slowly bond and eventually become besties who meet for tea and talk about everything — including Don Draper Guy’s bedroom prowess. Alex and Sandy (my step-kids) love the fact that their mom and gay step-dad are able to be in the same room together without going all Madonna-and-Elton on each other every five minutes.

Our whole unconvential family arrangement troubles some of our more conservative neighbors, but I don’t care because we own enough acreage for our neighbors’ opinions to be non-factors. Also, Don Draper Guy loves and adores me and comes home from work every night to tell me how perfect and not fat I am.

We obviously live happily ever after.

It takes a very special type of desperate gay man to be able to dream up the above scenario, so I hope you’re impressed.

Here’s what actually happened between myself and Don Draper Guy:

He compulsively checked his BlackBerry while I stared creepily in his direction and possibly drooled a little. At one point, he crossed his legs at the knee — a daring train-move that exposed his argyle sock-covered left ankle. I briefly visualized him sitting at the edge of his bed sexily putting the sock on earlier that morning. Then a weird bug/fly thing started buzzing around us and he heroically shooed it away, which I construed as him caring about my well-being. Then we got to Grand Central and he disappeared immediately into the sea of emerging commuters walking toward the main terminal.

I proceeded to power-walk my way to work while wishing I could have just stayed home and watched Mad Men all day.



Strangers on a Commuter Train

First of all.  I am aware of how ridiculous it is that I started this awesome blog, garnered a few awesome readers after writing a few awesome posts about my awesome summer in Nashville… and then abandoned it once my real life resumed.

That was so not the intention.

But The Apartment Hunting Debacle of 2011 happened, and that kind of took over every aspect of my life.  It also forced me to spend a month traveling between Connecticut and New York five days a week.  The daily bitch of a commute combined with my final year of grad school and an internship in the music department of a major television network has turned me into the most unreachable human alive.

The good news is that I finally found a new place in Manhattan that meets my ridiculous standards!  So I can now devote the four hours a day I have been spending in my car/on the Metro-North train daydreaming about Alexander Skarsgard naked to more important things in life — like maintaining this blog and re-watching Ally McBeal DVD’s.

To kick off my renewed blogging schedule (I’m thinking a solid once a week), I figured I would start with a story that’s been going on for about three weeks now and has joined “dark chocolate cravings” on the list of things that I think about on a bi-hourly basis.  It is called:

Nic and Lenovo-Guy: A Tragic Love Story

One rainy Monday morning a week or so ago, I was sitting quietly on the Grand Central Station-bound Metro-North train from New Haven as it made a local stop in Fairfield, where more commuters joined the party.

Up until this point, I had engaged in my usual behavior of taking up a two-seater with my book bag and an array of Dunkin Donuts breakfast items.  Strategic placement of this luggage coupled with a mildly unapproachable facial expression is usually an effective method of ensuring that no one tries to sit with me.  It’s not that I’m anti-social; I just find that it’s in everyone’s best interest to limit my interaction with other humans before 10:00 am.  I think that’s fair.

In any case, this was a particularly crowded train.  Within seconds, I was approached by a tall man in a yellow raincoat whom I tried not to look at.  However, I could no longer pretend that he didn’t exist once he said “Is anyone sitting here?” for the second time in a row.  I reluctantly responded honestly and offered him the seat.

As he removed his raincoat and placed it in the overhead bin, I got a better look at him.

Oh.  Em.  Gee.

The man who had so brazenly interrupted my morning alone time was a freakin’ dreamboat.  I’m talking lean muscle mass, flawless bone structure (sound familiar?) and great hair — all packaged in a nice three piece suit that did wonders for his totally squeezable ass.

Now that a hot professional man was sitting beside me, I suddenly became acutely aware of my every move — as if he were paying close attention and waiting for me to scratch my face in just the right way so as to signal that it was okay for him to go ahead and just start making out with me.

However, it became clear that we may not have been on the same page when I noticed from the corner of my eye that he was in fact paying no mind to my existence.  Instead, he was busily typing away on his laptop, which I couldn’t help but notice was a Lenovo. 

After mentally excusing him for using a PC, I started thinking of creative ways to initiate a conversation.  I got carried away and ended up daydreaming the following exchange:

  • Me: “Hey there.  Nice Lenovo.”
  • Him: “Oh, I’m really a Mac guy.  This is just my work computer.  By the way, I’m a wealthy investment banker.”
  • Me: “Oh, I see…”
  • Him: “I love you.  Let’s move in together and get gay-married!” (Moves in for romantic kiss.)

I’m pretty sure he was straight, but still.

Regrettably, we ended up not speaking for the entire train ride while I listened to Mariah on my headphones and he typed away on his Lenovo.

Fast forward to this past Tuesday night on the Metro-North, this time heading back to Connecticut from New York.  As per usual on rush hour evening trains, I was relaxing in a window seat trying not to acknowledge the existence of whoever it was sitting next to me as I sipped on Merlot from a plastic cup.

Yes, I drink on the train.  Usually just a couple of those mini-wine bottles, but sometimes I’ll be ghetto and have a straight up forty of Bud.  I wish I was kidding, but drinking on the train is probably the only thing that has kept me remotely sane during this whole experience.


Anyways, after a few minutes of riding side by side, I inevitably glanced in the direction of the man to my right.  And there was a Lenovo in his lap!!!  I surreptitiously scoped out the rest of him.

Verified.  It was Lenovo-Guy.

Oh.  Em.  Gee.

Of all the thousands of commuters who take the many Connecticut trains that depart from Grand Central Station every 30 minutes, somehow Lenovo-Guy and I ended up not only on the same train, but next to each other in a two-seater — again.

This was clearly a sign from God, so I decided to just go for it and strike up a conversation.  Here’s what happened:

  • Me: “So –“

He looked my way.


Rather that follow up my “so,” with an actual question or comment, I got all nervous and awkward.  I decided to clear my throat and start fidgeting with my phone so as to indicate that I was clearly not talking to him.

He went back to his Lenovo and I kept drinking my wine, supremely embarrassed.

  • Note: this was weird, as I’m usually quite social — even around hot investment bankers.

The only thing I learned from this whole experience is that I hate Lenovo computers.  When I’m old and fat and alone with no one to love but my five cats, I will blame Lenovo and potentially take legal action.


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