This post has been a long time coming. If you’ve kept up with my online dating history, you know it’s been a weird ride. I’ve entertained myself on Bumble and experienced other weird blind dates, but my recent dating life has been pretty tame.
Tame, excluding the hippie/trumpet player/personal trainer I went on a few dates with a few months ago. Yeah, tame isn’t exactly the right word for him.
Our flirtation started as most do. I swiped right on Bumble, we matched and I hit dude up with one of my world famous pick-up lines like “Want to work me into your New Year’s resolutions?” (I told you this post was a long time coming). We’ll call dude “Marcus” from now on.
Marcus picked up on my sarcasm and was a decent texter. My one critique would be to scale back on the winky smiley faces (and emojis and bitmojis and every other moji he used), but whatever, I have no room to be that picky at this point in my life.
After some decent back and forth, Marcus asked me out. To the movies. Ugh. He wanted to see Fantastic Beasts at The LOT and, considering I love me some wizardry and a theatre I can drink in, I went with it.
The first date was pretty average. Marcus bought me a few drinks and some guac, we watched the movie, made out a little, talked a bit and went our separate ways. I wasn’t in love, but was also not NOT in love, so what the hell? I said yes to a second date.
Here’s where things get interesting. Marcus gave me a few options for date #2: his place (he has an awesome fireplace), my place (Little Italy is so cool), a bar by his place, or a bar by my place. Suave, Marcus. Real suave.
Despite the red flag, I was still somewhat interested and I like alcohol, so I agreed to the date. I chose the bar by my place because convenience (duh) and it just so happened to be the bar I go to on basically every date I ever go on. Yo, Craft & Commerce, I see you.
On the night of the date, Marcus told me he was Ubering and asked where to meet me (red flag #2). I told him to get dropped off at the intersection by my place and we walked to the bar together (a lesson in appearing inviting when you don’t want the dude to know your actual apartment number). He grabbed my hand while we walked and something clicked immediately…
This feels weird. This date is going to be weird.
As we stepped into the bar, my animal instincts took over and I made a bee-line to the bar to try and drown my weird sixth sense feelings about the date in some booze. Marcus saw me start to dart away and told me to hold up so he could put our name on the list to get into the speakeasy. I mean, I’d never been inside the speakeasy portion before so cool, but Marcus was obviously up for a long night. Kill me.
Once I finally got my drink, I decided to give the guy a chance and asked him how he got into personal training. “Wow, what is this, a job interview?” Marcus said in the douchiest (most douchey?) way. I mean, what can you expect from a personal trainer, right? Red flag #3.
After staring off into space and debating if I should leave right then and there, Marcus responded, “Haha just joking. Well, it all started back when I was 6 years old growing up on the East Coast. My parents both played in an orchestra and I ran around backstage. I basically grew up there, ya know? It was home. Anyway, I started playing trumpet when I was very young and was actually considered a child prodigy. I was gifted, but could barely read sheet music. Crazy right? Despite all that, I kept playing the trumpet and was accepted into a bunch of colleges for music scholarships. I had my choice of universities, but one professor in particular inspired me to choose his. He basically told me I could learn any way I wanted. I love being in the driver’s seat. So I turned down all of the other universities that chose me. Then, in my studies, I started researching the scientific method of how to become a perfect trumpet player. I wrote journals and journals – about 20 of them – analyzing how anyone could scientifically be a famous, almost perfect trumpet player. After much research, I made the heartbreaking discovery that I could never scientifically be a top trumpet player because my top teeth are 2 mm too far from my bottom teeth. I mean, I used to have really fucked up teeth. Anyway, after I discovered that, I gave up playing the trumpet and moved to California. Personal training is just, like, fun. So I do that now.”
What. the. fuck.
When Marcus finally finished, I looked down and my drink was empty. I kid you not, I drank my entire drink while homeboy told me his entire life story. I said zero words. I stared down the bartender and ordered another.
Once the second drink came, our names were called to enter the speakeasy. I chugged my drink.
We grabbed two seats at the bar, and while I knew I was not into this dude, I did want to experience the speakeasy vibes. Plus, I was tipsy enough to tolerate more of his useless babble. Or so I thought.
I ordered a tiki cocktail, and Marcus and I continued to talk about his weird past. Somehow, the topic of alcohol and other extra curriculars came up. “I only do a drug if I know it’s going to open my mind,” Marcus said. I was tempted to ask him if the mojito he was drinking was opening his mind, but I refrained. “I once meditated on a mountain alone for 10 days”, he continued. I ordered another drink.
Marcus then began to stare into my eyes. “You know, I love your green eyes”, he said. Hold up. Bitch, my eyes are blue. They’re blue on my driver’s license and they were blue when I won “best eyes” in my high school senior standouts. “No, I’m pretty sure your eyes are green,” he argued. I group texted my friends and asked them what color my eyes were. BLUE. I showed Marcus the texts. Red flag #594.
At this point, I was four cocktails deep and ready to call it a night. Marcus was sufficiently weird, but the shit he said was also so off the wall it was like watching reality TV. Absolute trash, but you can’t look away.
It started to feel like the night was officially over, but not before Marcus hit me with the “So, what are you looking for?” line.
By this point I pretty much figured out what Marcus was looking for (a hookup – possibly with an alien or the phantom of the opera). “I’m looking for a relationship,” I replied.
Marcus got nervous. “Oh, um, well this is awkward, but I’m not really looking for anything serious. I’m really sorry,” he said. I KNOW MARCUS YOU NERDY DOUCHEBAG. I told him we could be friends. He told me he couldn’t be friends with me because he would think about me sexually. And that was that.
A few weeks later, Marcus texted. “Hey, I know we’re both looking for different things, but I had a great time on our date and just wanted to wish you happy holidays.”
Yes, that’s how long ago this date was. Merry Christmas everyone.