Oh my god, I went on the best date the other night! We’ve known each other for awhile now, but recently began to enjoy spending time alone together. First, we had a couple glasses of wine at a French restaurant before going to see a Broadway show. Afterwards, we went back to my place and made enchiladas and homemade guacamole. The next day we went to yoga, did some light shopping, got tickets for an upcoming concert, made steaks and spent the evening lounging around watching Netflix. It was an exceptional end to the week. Oh by the way, the date was with myself.
I go through phases of not wanting to go out (particularly on blind dates) and am currently in one of those moods. I would much rather mill around at home like a recluse- cooking, writing, and watching TV. I had a date scheduled with someone from OKCupid on my last day off, but I cancelled because I couldn’t bring myself to go out into the cruel world. Don’t worry, eventually I did force myself to put on something without an elastic waistband and meet some friends in Midtown.
When I was younger, I wanted to do everything with my friends or whoever I was dating at the time. Now, I’m finding that I like spending time alone just as much. I can do whatever I want, and I have no qualms about going to restaurants, plays, bars, movies, concerts, etc by myself. I am my own best date.
A few days prior, I went on a date that was not quite as enjoyable. I met a guy named “Steve” after work at a tavern in the Village. He was 34 and in his second year teaching music at a high school in Brooklyn, after quitting his former financial job on Wall Street. He was wearing a cowboy hat in all of his pictures online, yet stated that he was originally from New Jersey. Hmmmm. I wanted to meet him because, in addition to being intrigued by the cowboy getup, he seemed interesting and looked like Matthew Perry circa 1997. When he arrived at the bar I felt like I had won the lottery. Not only was he wearing a cowboy hat, but he also had on cowboy boots, a khaki linen sport coat, and a dress shirt unbuttoned down to his clavicle to reveal tufts of dirty blonde/grey chest hair. He may have even been wearing a necklace…or maybe I subconsciously added that detail after the fact. Additonally, he was tan, had a dart board nose, and a nice set of hitch hiker’s thumbs.
He had boasted in his profile that he was good at “making a woman feel beautiful,” as well as a certain sexual act that has an ugly, latin-derived name. I had agreed to meet him before thoroughly reading through his profile and when I saw he had written that, I wanted to cancel. That is something I don’t think you should announce to complete strangers…not to mention it’s tacky and if you were actually good in bed, you wouldn’t need to advertise it…not to mention you teach high schoolers, it’s a free dating website and kids these days are really good at googling.
Two gin and tonics deep, Steve was already planning vacations we should take together to Seattle, Portland, and Hawaii. Somehow we got on the topic of what I look for in a guy and he informed me that he was the perfect man for me. He asked me if he had mentioned how pretty I looked that evening. And then he asked me again twenty minutes later. The drunker he got, the more times he asked me that same exact question phrased the exact same way. I wondered if he was actually a robot in the guise of a cowboy and he needed to be rebooted. The third time he asked me I responded with “Haha, as opposed to all the other nights we’ve known each other?” The fifth time he asked me I responded with “Why yes, I think you did mention it.” I know, I’m a jerk… but I figured it was the one line that was programmed into his hard drive and he felt it earned him the right to declare his skill at “making a woman feel beautiful.” Steve also shared a lengthy tale of the great romance between his grandparents and how even World War II couldn’t keep them apart. It was a cute story, but sounded familiar…in fact, I think it was taken from the screenplay for the film “Pearl Harbor.” I’m sure that story is usually a real deal-sealer for him with the ladies.
Unfortunately, we were both taking the L train back to Brooklyn. By this point, he was pretty hammered and was loudly slurring some nonsense about how everyone on the train knew each other because they were all wearing bowler hats. He put a hand on my leg and managed to articulate: “I guess now is a good time to tell you that I just got out of a six year relationship. But I knew it was over for the past four years.” As my mom would say, “Oh goody.”
We parted ways at the Lorimer stop after an awkward hug and another pause for a kiss goodbye that would never be. I’ve had several of those at the Lorimer stop. I wish someone could hide at the top of the stairs leading down to the G train and snap photos of all of the awkward goodbyes I have with different people in the exact same spot. I returned home to a message from Steve that read “You’re pretty hot. I’d love to see you again.”
In conclusion, I generally have way more fun when I go on dates with myself. If I have too many gin and tonics, I drop myself off at home and am spared any awkward scenarios. Although some people may consider sitting at home alone, eating flan and watching five consecutive episodes of “Rosanne” pretty awkward. Which is fair.