That time D went on 2 Dates in 1 Day

Well hello there everyone. Happy Monday! I know we’ve been a little delinquent on our posting lately. We’re working on it, we promise! And to prove it to you, on this Monday, rather than a standard Message Monday post, I’ve got a post about a real date! That I went on! This is a dating blog, after all, so we should probably tell you about these things. This particular date was awhile back. In fact, this post is actually long overdue. Remember that time I alluded to the time I went on 2 dates in 1 day? Well, today’s the day I finally tell you all about it.

Back in mid-April (sidenote: how the F is it already the end of August?), I was dating D. As you may recall, following what ended up being our last date, on a Saturday afternoon, I went on an impromptu first date with another guy. We’ll call him Gillette. As luck would have it, the ultimate take away from my date with Gillette was that I really did like D. Annnnnd then D dumped me 4 days later. I don’t know if that’s karma, or what, but I know I probably won’t ever go on 2 dates in 1 day again.

To backtrack, earlier that week I got a message from Gillette on OKC. A really, really great message. Of the unicorn variety. And even though I was seeing D, that was still new, and I admittedly had a few reservations about getting involved with D. So I responded to Gillette, because unicorns are such a rare and mystical thing, and we hit it off immediately. He was a fantastic texter, and I’m super picky about texting. He was really funny, and there was a LOT of banter. I love banter. So when he texted me late Saturday afternoon and asked if I wanted to get dinner, I rolled with it. (By rolled with it, I mean called S AND L panicking that accepting made me a super slut somehow). 

He’d never had hibachi, and there’s a hibachi restaurant at Patriot Place, the outdoor mall built around Gillette stadium. His pictures, though not an outright lie, were misleading. But as soon as we got into the restaurant, the charming, witty banter began, and I had a blast with him. I thought it would be a little awkward at first, because when we got there, I remembered that hibachi is typically shared with strangers, but we had such a good rapor that that aspect wasn’t weird at all.

When we had finished our meal, he asked if I wanted to take a walk. I agreed, but wanted to head to my car first to grab a coat, and to drop off my leftovers. Long story short, we ended up driving over to the parking lot by the nature trail and cranberry bog that are behind the stadium, under the guise of taking our walk there. We didn’t even get out of the car. Well, that’s technically not true. We did get out of the car, but only to the get into the backseat for more comfortable make-out conditions. Also, I did a little re-arranging of stuff from the backseat to the trunk, because as Norman Bates can attest, the interior of my car is “not bad,” but also not great. My trunk is full of a bunch of random shit, including a sleeping bag I affectionately call The Sleeping Bag of Broken Dreams (which has actually come in really handy on more than one occasion). Which made the task of moving the junk that had accumulated in my back seat to the trunk comical. But I digress.

Now, to give you the full effect, let me just describe to you the conditions. This parking lot is more just like a gravel pit. There were maybe 3 other cars parked, and about 20 or so dry-docked boats in shrink wrap. Can you say romance? It was still light out, and I parked my trusty little Corolla in the most conspicuous spot possible. AKA right out in the open, rather than tucked in between two boats.

We ended up making out in the back of my car for awhile. I knew almost immediately that I was not into Gillette at all, despite the genuinely good time I had had at dinner. He was not a very good kisser. I know the existence of bad kissers is a hotly debated topic (actually, it’s not, because everyone knows bad kissers exist in this world), so I’ll rephrase and say that his style was not my favorite – he was of the sloppy variety. Also, all I could really think about the whole time was that I really wanted to be making out with D. But, Gillette wasn’t a totally terrible kisser either, and it was nice to be making out with someone (D was getting over a cold so there had been no making out earlier in the day while I was with him).

The next day Gillette texted me asking to see me again. I felt bad letting him down, but he was super awesome about it. I figured that was the last I would hear from Gillette.

I left the whole thing feeling a little bad about both Gillette and D, and kind of skeezy for going on 2 dates in 1 day. It’s not something I’ll likely ever repeat. I can barely handle going out with multiple guys in a week when there’s a chance that I’ll see at least one of them again. I know there’s no reason to feel bad about that, but it’s just not my style.

I wrote the bones of this post awhile ago, but had yet to finish it until this past weekend. Cut to a little over a month ago. I was seeing someone (who I’m no longer seeing, womp womp, and I’m not really ready to address it on the blog yet). Gillette texted me out of the blue and started chatting me up. He asked if I wanted to “hook up” again. I told him I was seeing someone. He said that he had started seeing someone too, but they weren’t exclusive yet, and I had been fun to hook up with. “Are you and your guy exclusive yet?” Ohhhh, Gillette, how the mighty have fallen. I mean, at no point were you actually mighty, but you had been a pleasant memory until that question.

I have a bunch of stuff to post about in the near future. I promise to be better about actually posting, rather than just thinking about it on the commuter rail. In the meantime, I know L has a date story to regale you all with later this week. We’re getting back on track folks (you know, if “on track” means going on dates that are blog worthy for all the wrong reasons). Good job us!

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Coffee Meets Bagel and The story of the Woodpecker

Remember that groove I was talking about getting back into? It continues to slowly right its course. I’ve progressed from just messaging before things turn sour, to actually going on dates again. Yay for progress!

A few months back, I joined Coffee Meets Bagel. A newer free dating site that I read about. Here’s the gist: profiles are pretty bare bones, and each day at noon the site sends me a new “bagel.” I can only view the profile they send me that day, which consists of a couple pictures and some basic info. I choose like or pass. If we both like each other, we’re “connected” and the site sends us an email, and sends us both a text that we can communicate through for 5 days. This sounded awesome, it’s free, and requires MINIMAL effort on my part. Dating, and online dating especially, is time consuming. And it can sometimes be exhausting perusing profile after profile. This site wasn’t going to make me do a thing. I could just sit back and wait for a match to be sent to me each day! Sign me up!

Cut to a few weeks ago. I had gone into my office on a Saturday to try to catch up on the disaster that was my desk after vacation. I get my bagel, check him out, and click “like.” A couple hours later, I get a notification that we’ve connected! We start chatting via text and plan a date for Tuesday night. But a little while later, he says “why wait until Tuesday, want to grab a drink tonight?” The old me would have scoffed at that suggestion, while righteously screaming “who is he to assume I’m free on a Saturday night?!” But really – who cares? In reality, I had no plans for that night, and this actually took a lot of pressure off the night. No awkward texting for a few days, no nervous build up the day of the date. I was in, with the caveat that since I had spent the whole day at my office, I was wearing jeans and a hoodie (and going home to the ‘burbs to change would have taken 2 hours). He said he wouldn’t judge, and we made plans to meet at a bar out by BC (gross) at around 6.

We met at the bar, and after an awkward hug (ugh – why do strangers love to hug so much? We don’t know each other!), we proceeded to have a pleasant couple of beers. L was a grad student who was easy to talk to. Conversation was interesting and covered a variety of topics. I was having a nice time! After two beers he asked if I’d like to go back to his apartment for another drink.

Now, normally I would have said no to this, as it involved breaking two of the safety rules that I adhere pretty strictly to because I’m a total square. But I figured – hey, I’m doing everything different tonight, and I like him, so why not?! We hopped in his car and he drove into one of the adorable little neighborhoods of Brookline where he rented the top floor of a house. This is where the evening went downhill.

We walked up the private back stairs to his apartment, and the first thing I saw when we entered was a giant piece of plywood and a white sheet covering what he claimed was interior stairs from the house below, while I silently panicked that I was going to be murdered and hidden below the floorboards. The rest of the apartment wasn’t that comforting either. It was sparse. Mismatched furniture that was probably acquired on Allston Christmas. Multiple floor lamps, with cords everywhere. Dirty dishes overflowing out of the sink. Nothing on the walls. A giant leather couch across from a big screen tv. An area rug that was just slightly too big to fit between the couch and the TV stand, so rather than being tucked under one or the other, was just flipped up in front of the tv stand. That bothered me disproportionally more than anything else. I wanted to just get up and fix it. I couldn’t decide if the decor was more junior-in-college or serial-killer.

From a bookshelf, he grabbed a bottle of wine and told me to pick out some glasses. There were six to choose from. A set of rocks glasses, and two sets of highball glasses. Baffled by why these things were on a bookshelf by the front door, rather than in his kitchen on the other side of the apartment, I selected the taller highball glasses and sat down at the end of the couch. He grabbed a corkscrew, and sat down basically as close to being in my lap as he could, without actually sitting in my lap. He followed this up by fumbling around with the corkscrew before putting his arm around me and asking me if I could open the wine.

This was really off-putting to me for a variety of reasons. It is well documented that I do not like to be touched. But more than that, take your time dude. You don’t need to accost me the moment we sit down. I mean, I came back to your apartment, so I’m clearly not totally averse to things progressing that way. But handing me a wine bottle and sitting on top of me like I’m Santa is not the way to make that happen.

After I poured us each a glass, and with him still pressing the entire right side of his body into me, he rested his chin on my left shoulder and said sensually “tell me everything about you.” Oh Jesus. HAHAHA. Is that really your game?

At some point, he noticed the tattoo on my forearm and asked if that was my only tattoo. No, I replied, I actually have 4. “Ohh. Where are your other ones?” I explained where the others were, and mentioned that I’d like to get another one soon. To which he replied “would you ever be willing to get them removed?”

michael jordan dismayed

Look, I know a lot of people don’t like tattoos. And that’s fine. There are lots of things in this world that I don’t like that other people do. And although it’s annoying when people ask if I think I’ll ever regret getting them (I don’t think so, but sadly I can’t predict the future, so I guess it’s possible), his question was kind of insulting. Not “do you think you’ll ever want to get them removed?” But rather, “would you be willing to get them removed?” No. No I would not. I don’t care how much a future partner dislikes them, the only way these tattoos are coming off is if I want them to come off. Because a) word on the street is that it’s more painful to get them removed than it was to get them, and I cry when I stub my toe, and b) if you don’t like them that’s on you, not me.

I didn’t say any of that, I just politely explained no, not unless I decided I wanted them gone, and shifted the topic to something else. And that’s when he made his move.

What’s his move, you ask? His move involved a very brief, limp kiss on the lips, followed by covering my entire face with quick little kisses. And not in a sweet or romantic or hot way. Not just my neck or my cheek or something. Everywhere on my face. Like a chapped-lipped woodpecker. 

There are people out there who claim that “people generally aren’t bad kissers.” This tale is proof that that’s simply not true. 

I did not understand what was happening, so I just sat there like a statue waiting for it to end. When his facial assault continued seemingly without an end in sight, I had to awkwardly speak up. He stopped kissing me, but stayed all up in my business while explaining the secret to being successful at fantasy football until I indicated I was ready to call it a night. After that, any attraction that I had was gone.

Unfortunately, I needed him to drive me back to Cleveland Circle where my car was parked. It was surprisingly not that awkward. He talked animatedly about the details of the research he was doing for grad school, which I engaged in because it was admittedly very interesting. At least, it wasn’t awkward until it was time for me to get out of the car. Because he still thought it went well, and I … did not.

Date Rating: 2/10. I got a couple free beers and specific evidence to rebut the absurd claim that bad kissers don’t exist.

Lessons Learned: Despite the way this particular date ended, I actually really liked the vibe of the impromptu date. I should do that more often!