That Saturday was absolutely perfect. The sunlight and lack of humidity made for great edges and great selfies. When we got to the restaurant, the wait staff had become noticeably more attractive than the last time I was there. There was one waiter in particular that kept flirting and from my sangria induced courage I decided to give him my number. My thought process went as follows: I don’t have all day to wait for you to build up the nerve to ask for my name and number, honey I have things to do, so here. Use it, don’t use it, I don’t even care. He blushed and was pleasantly surprised, so we left and headed back to the part of New York that no one has forgotten about. He text me and was really excited to get to know me, as they all are in the beginning, but chile let me tell you I have been fooled before, but that’s another story for another day. So a few things that should have indicated that this wasn’t the guy for me:
1) I told him multiple times I don’t like being complimented over and over again. Like don’t address me as Pretty or Beautiful. Just talk to me how you talk to any regular person you’re trying to get to know. Compliments in and of themselves make me dreadfully uncomfortable, if I express this to you, don’t keep doing it.
2) The day I met him he sends me a picture of him and his niece. I could be crazy, why are you sending me that?
3) He didn’t know proper usage of their, they’re, their, to, too, your, or you’re. I know this seems petty but for the love of God you’re an adult!
4) He asked me to send him a picture. Face palm.
5) He said that my eyes are very dreamy and that he wouldn’t be able to look at me for fear that I would hypnotize him.
A little info about me: maybe to another chick those things wouldn’t be so unsettling, and maybe I’m not normal. It is quite possible that I’m the weirdo and these are perfectly normal things, but I like what I like and me no likey that stuff. I like to be talked to like a normal person, not like an object you’re trying to acquire to add to your menagerie. The men in my life that I have loved both romantically and platonically won me over by talking to me like a regular person, and letting anything else happen organically. There were never any cheesy lines, or arbitrarily assigned pet names. Just regular, stimulating, interesting conversation. Yet you people insist upon talking to me about things that are of no interest to anyone. This is me, judge accordingly.
I expressed my concern that this guy might be a bit strange to my friend, we’ll call her Myra. “Jess, you’re so anal when it comes to dating. Stop being so difficult and give the guy a chance.” I’m hella immature so of course I laughed that she called me anal, but I thought maybe she has a point. I agreed to go on a date with him, but thankfully I didn’t let him pick me up from my house, give him any of my social media handles, or my last name because he turned out to be a stage five clinger.
He showed up to the date, and I swear to you he was the two faced man like that episode of Seinfeld where Jerry dated a woman who looked good in one light and not to so good in other lighting. His head was so wide, that I winced in pain for his mother. His upper body was really big, and his lower body was noticeably small. He had the most unattractive walk I have ever seen on a man. This is the only way I can describe it. There’s this thing that happens to women when they’re surfing the crimson wave when they have been seated for a long time and then stand up and gravity says eff you, and there’s a huge rush of blood. Now imagine that happens to you when you’re wearing white pants and you instinctively clinch your legs together to scurry to the bathroom. That’s how he walked. His legs were really tight together in the most effeminate way possible.
Things that happened on the date that were awful:
1) He said he doesn’t drink, but ordered three drinks in the hour we were sitting there.
2) He showed me pictures of his dog. Let me point out that his dog was a Pomeranian. I said out loud: oh this is happening, you’re showing me pictures of your dog.
3) He told me really weird detailed stories about his ex who is my namesake.
4) He didn’t know what a skirt steak was. Sir you work at a restaurant where they serve skirt steak, how Sway?
5) He tried to sing to me. “Oh no please don’t,” I protested. He then told me that in addition to becoming a firefighter, he also wants to do music but listed a bunch of reasons why that hasn’t happened yet.
6) He said that he knew how to dance really well and worked as a “motivator” for a DJ. Much like you would have, I asked what that is. “It’s like a person that tries to get the crowd really amped up during a show,” he explained. “Oh so like a hypeman?” I asked. “No,” he said. I was puzzled.
7) He was sweating profusely, but refused to use one of the many napkins on the table and wiped it with his hand. All I was thinking the whole time he ate this steak without cutting it, and using his hands was: I wonder if the steak tastes more salty since he is in affect eating his own sweat as a garnish with it.
8) When we got in his car, he instantly played some Weeknd type song about performing cunnilingus really loud.
In hopes that maybe I was just being a bitch and this guy is perfectly normal, I agreed to go with him to the Brooklyn Bridge Park upon his suggestion. I googled and saw that it is a well-lit area where many people walk and run each night. As soon as I got in his car, he leans over and caresses my arm and tried to kiss me. I almost lost my shit and leaned alllllll the way to the window. “Are you having a good time?” he asks as if we are in a romantic comedy. “Ummm sure,” I replied. “I want to hear that you’re having a great time,” he says and I echoed this sentiment thinking, he’s joking right? We start walking along this board walk where he says that he only goes to church on special occasions, but would go more often if I wanted him to. (Face palm). The view of the city is beautiful and I almost enjoyed that until he proceeded to rub my arms and back as we were walking. His hand went lower towards my butt until I did a spin move and asked if he’s an affectionate person. He replies, “yeah, are you?” “Yes with people I know,” I replied. He got the hint and backed off. Which is a good thing, because I envisioned myself tossing him smooth over the pier with some sort of adrenaline based super human strength. When we got back in the car I started trying to think of ways to make sure he couldn’t drop me off at my house. I text Myra to call me in five minutes. I pretended she was my roommate asking me to stop at the bodega and bring her something home. Well my friend Myra took her role really seriously, and asked that I bring her tampons and cranberry juice. So let me get this straight sis, in this fictional scenario you have a UTI and you’re on your period? Sucks to be fictional you. I ask him to drop me at the bodega and he insists upon taking me home. “Do I seem like a stalker or something to you?” “No, not until you asked that question,” I thought. I hopped out of the car so fast when he reached the curb to avoid him trying to kiss me yet again. “Thanks this was fun, let me know when you make it home,” I said still trying not to be mean as I have been told in the past that I can be that way. I scurried into the bodega and wandered around until I felt the coast was clear. In fact I asked someone to peak out of the window and tell me if his car was there.
I called Myra when I got in, and gave her the rundown, and once again she accused me of being too picky. Let me stop here and say to never listen to your friends if your gut tells you someone is a weirdo. He text me that he made it home and asked if we could hang out again, and following Myra’s advice I said sure. I went to shower and get ready for bed and came back to my phone to see that he had text me five times back to back inclusive of a recording of him singing the song “Don’t,” by Bryson Tiller. The irony there is just next level. I could barely get through the first ten seconds of this dreadful rendition of what was one of my favorite songs at the moment. In his text he explained that although he knows I don’t like compliments I should know that I am a very beautiful person and that he controlled himself well by not kissing me because my lips look so irrresistable. Face Palm. Oh thank you so much kind sir for not accosting me with your mouth when it was obviously not welcomed. I went to sleep in preparation for a boot camp with Follow The Lita at Fort Greene Park the next day.
That boot camp kicked my ass. Post workout pain set in almost immediately, and when I got back to my phone, once again I had hella text messages from Johnny Bravo. I text back the next day explaining that he seemed like a nice guy, but that I just don’t think it’s gonna work. I got paragraphs of text messages in protest of my choice not to get to know him any further. My favorite was: I would’ve showed you the real because that’s what you deserve. I went out of my way to make you happy and show you a good time, and I didn’t give any negativity towards you.
So here’s the thing. If I have only known you for six days, I shouldn’t have to explain to you why I’m not interested. Just take the L and leave me alone. Johnny Bravo text me for three subsequent days demanding to know what he did wrong and why I wasn’t interested before he finally got the point. So once again, I gave the whole dating thing a shot and once again, it was an adventure to say the least. On to the next I suppose.