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6:12 pm – I’m in the bathroom debating just how many layers of clinical strength deodorant will get me through the night when my phone buzzes. It’s a text from my soon-to-be date, a guy I met online a few days prior and have been exchanging snap chats of cats with ever since. "I'm kind of nervous. I've been drinking all day at work to calm down, so I'm pretty hammered.” I can’t tell if he’s kidding or not, but I decide this is a fantastic idea and down a shot myself.
7:00 – I walk to the bar in an all-out downpour and step into a gutter puddle up to my ankles. I’m sitting in the entryway trying to dry my feet with napkins when he walks in. His ginger beard has blossomed considerably from his photos, and he’s wearing black frame glasses a la Weezer and a t-shirt that says “Ludwig Van Beethoven.” I mentally high five myself because he’s more attractive than his pictures made him out to be.
7:01 – After a soggy hug, his first comment to me is, “You have freckles. You must be Irish.” I confirm that I am indeed half Irish and he hazards a guess at my other half – “Japanese?” Correct again. He asks if I have a crazy Asian tiger mother. I do. He tells me he has a crazy racist grandmother. “She thinks the racist crows in Dumbo are hilarious,” he tells me. “She ruins Disney movies.”
7:03 – We’re waiting for our table, and I tell him I like his t-shirt, which is tie-dyed yellow on the bottom half, giving it a sort of sweat-stained look. I’m not sure if I’m being ironic or not. “I changed out of my work clothes because I didn’t want to give you the false impression I dress well” he explains. I assure him I am under no such impression.
7:10 – We order drinks, and he informs me that his rule with first dates is that second base is always on the table. And that most girls want to sleep with him after the first date. He appears to be serious. I ask him if he is expecting me to sleep with him after this date. “Well of course I don’t EXPECT you to,” he tells me. “But I would prefer if it happened sooner rather than later.” I arch an eyebrow at him, but secretly I’m intrigued. I find his frankness weirdly attractive.
7:25 – I get a detailed description of his drug history. He prefers Ecstasy over Coke. It’s way more fun.
7:28 – I ask him if he travels much. “No, I don’t have a passport. I did steal my dad’s car and drive across the country right after high school though…it was a really transformative experience.”
7:31 – I decide he probably won’t be offended if I ask about his criminal history, so I do – “Jail?” “Once, for a DUI” he replies. At this point I’m less disturbed by this than I probably should be.
8:45 – He’s been generous with his drink buying and the more buzzed I get, the more his blunt candor grows on me. I decide to hop aboard his honesty train and warn him that I’m emotionally dysfunctional and have severe commitment issues. He tells me that works out just fine because he’s moving out of the city in a month. We toast.
9:00 – I’m praising the bartender for his very generous pours of pinot when my date interrupts to ask, “Don’t you have to be somewhere by nine?” In fact, I had lied in order to build an escape route into the date and tell him so. He is not offended. I am really starting to dig this guy.
9:32 – I actually do have to be somewhere by ten, so he walks me out. I tell him I’ll probably Google-stalk him when I get home now that I know his last name. “Don’t ruin the good thing we have going on by actually trying to get to know me,” he replies.
9:45 – We go to part ways, and he reminds me of his second base rule. I remind him that nothing is on the table unless I say it is, and to prove my point, I offer a fist bump instead. “I feel like we’re building the sort of relationship where I send you unsolicited dick pics and you avoid me forever. And I’m comfortable with that,” he says.
10:15 – I receive his final text for the night. “I’m at a strip club paying for second base right now. Thanks a lot.”