I have, to my knowledge, been only one person's Bad Date Story.
But, oh, good heavens, what a terrible date I was.
And so, my friends, in this quippish version of New York Dating Rules, I offer:
Never go to a party before meeting someone at a bar.
So, yes.
Where are we now... This must have been last year, either during the early spring when E and I were temporarily split or during the summer when it was decidedly over. It could have even been last fall, for all I know. I seem to recall working where I am now, and my friend Caitlyn being at the... second? thing that I went to, and if she was there, she was probably working where she is now...
See, all bad signs, so far.
I had been chatting up this girl on OkC for a few weeks, I think, and we were supposed to meet up for drinks.
"Later in the evening?" I said. "I have a work thing."
"Sure!" she said.
Oh, what fools were we.
I did, in fact, have a work thing - happy hour with my peer group. I also had an ex-work thing, where the lab I used to work at was having a potluck. I started bonding with someone at the work happy hour and drank one more drink than I thought I would, so I was already feeling pretty cheery. Then, there were many bottles of wine at the potluck. Then I realized I was already late for my date.
I bolted out the door, and as it shut behind me, I heard my old boss say, "Wait, did she just leave?"
Yes. Yes I had.
I went to the bar, a lovely establishment on the Upper West Side known for its 90s punk status and its current super-bizarre alternative ambient-noise Saturday night bands. They also happen to have a drink special wherein you can get a shot of whiskey and a beer for like $4.
I think you can see what's about to happen.
Only, you're somewhat off.
So this girl showed up, and I remember next to nothing about her, except for that I thought we were getting along pretty okay. And then she drops it on me -
"I don't know, I could see you and me being friends, I just don't know if I'm in relationship-mode."
Which, as everybody knows, is the first date equivalent of "It's not you, it's me."
So I said, "Great! I bet the next round that I can get that girl's number before you."
And then I proceeded to pull at least five girls in the bar into weird competitive flirting circles. Somehow, the girl I was supposed to be on a date with stayed out for another few hours. Talking to me. While I was drunkenly telling her to hit on random Norwegian girls from the large group that had come from the nearby hostel.
In summation, I know going on first dates can be nerve-wracking and sometimes you can get butterflies that make you feel like you're about to vomit, but drinking pre-date is legitimately always a bad call.
Unless you're drinking champagne. There is no wrong time for champagne.
{also I just got a twitter! come, follow me and observe my champagne-fueled adventures.}
But, oh, good heavens, what a terrible date I was.
And so, my friends, in this quippish version of New York Dating Rules, I offer:
Never go to a party before meeting someone at a bar.
So, yes.
Where are we now... This must have been last year, either during the early spring when E and I were temporarily split or during the summer when it was decidedly over. It could have even been last fall, for all I know. I seem to recall working where I am now, and my friend Caitlyn being at the... second? thing that I went to, and if she was there, she was probably working where she is now...
See, all bad signs, so far.
I had been chatting up this girl on OkC for a few weeks, I think, and we were supposed to meet up for drinks.
"Later in the evening?" I said. "I have a work thing."
"Sure!" she said.
Oh, what fools were we.
I did, in fact, have a work thing - happy hour with my peer group. I also had an ex-work thing, where the lab I used to work at was having a potluck. I started bonding with someone at the work happy hour and drank one more drink than I thought I would, so I was already feeling pretty cheery. Then, there were many bottles of wine at the potluck. Then I realized I was already late for my date.
I bolted out the door, and as it shut behind me, I heard my old boss say, "Wait, did she just leave?"
Yes. Yes I had.
I went to the bar, a lovely establishment on the Upper West Side known for its 90s punk status and its current super-bizarre alternative ambient-noise Saturday night bands. They also happen to have a drink special wherein you can get a shot of whiskey and a beer for like $4.
I think you can see what's about to happen.
Only, you're somewhat off.
So this girl showed up, and I remember next to nothing about her, except for that I thought we were getting along pretty okay. And then she drops it on me -
"I don't know, I could see you and me being friends, I just don't know if I'm in relationship-mode."
Which, as everybody knows, is the first date equivalent of "It's not you, it's me."
So I said, "Great! I bet the next round that I can get that girl's number before you."
And then I proceeded to pull at least five girls in the bar into weird competitive flirting circles. Somehow, the girl I was supposed to be on a date with stayed out for another few hours. Talking to me. While I was drunkenly telling her to hit on random Norwegian girls from the large group that had come from the nearby hostel.
In summation, I know going on first dates can be nerve-wracking and sometimes you can get butterflies that make you feel like you're about to vomit, but drinking pre-date is legitimately always a bad call.
Unless you're drinking champagne. There is no wrong time for champagne.
{also I just got a twitter! come, follow me and observe my champagne-fueled adventures.}
