I’ve written about “Life online,” dating via the internet. (There’s only two pieces so far.) But, we all know what starts online may jump off the screen, and onto the bar stool next to you. So, here it is, Life IRL, actual dates with actual dudes and actual hilariously terrible outcomes. Because let’s face it, when you’re a single gal in your 30s most of the outcomes are going to be hilariously terrible.
Let me tell you about the “Pretty Boy.” Monikers will be used only to protect my dating life… I want to have more hilariously terrible dates, of course, and I think I would have less of them if I used real names. I met the Pretty Boy, or PB, on Tinder. We both swiped right. Match made in binary heaven. And then we even, gulp, chatted via Tinder. And then we texted. And through all this abbreviated discourse we realized we actually sort of knew each other. Had some of the same friends/acquaintances. Then came the casual, Hey, what are you doing tonight? I’m out at [insert bar] with my friend, wanna meet up? Because in your 30s you have some how lapsed back into hanging out in a group before you get to that one-on-one date. (We’ll discuss that another time.)
Back to PB. So, PB meets my friend and me out at the bar. Then we go to another bar, we’re having a pretty good time, laughing, flirting. Then the group tab comes and if you are anything like me, a pet peeve of yours is when all of a sudden it takes everyone 30 minutes to find their wallets. Embarrassing. Fortunately, this is not really an issue with my friends. We are all pretty awesome about taking turns picking up a tab. But throw a new person into that mix, and we got issues. PB starts slowly going for his wallet and is asking about how much HIS drinks were, meanwhile I have already put my card down, and the bartender is picking up that little folder holding the receipt and my card, because PB is still getting his wallet out. Ok. This is where I should have just determined this dude sucks, not again. But, instead, like a moron, I give him another chance, because we did have some pretty good conversation and he did drive me home, and was a gentleman about it.
The next weekend is more of the same, Hey what are you doing, wanna meet up? Except this time he’s suggesting the place, a bar he was headed to in his neighborhood. So I get a Lyft, and pop on over. Happy Hour oysters and wine (beer for him). Conversation is ok, a little too vague and overly flirty, but ok, when he is actually talking to me, and not texting. Ugh. I see a guy friend across the bar, who comes over to say hi, and PB barely acknowledges him, texts furiously while my friend and I talk, then gets up to go to the bathroom. And my friend and I are both looking after him, going, Ok, weird. BUT I STILL CONTINUE THIS PSEUDO DATE. PB and I talk about what we might do next, and I suggest that eating something other than oysters might be good if we are going to continue drinking. PB seems uninterested in ingesting anything other than liquids. Mind you, this person is an adult, actually older than me.
We come up with a game plan to head downtown, where we each have friends, but first we are going to drop into a bar in the neighborhood PB likes. I again mention that eating would be awesome, which seems to fall on deaf ears. This bar PB wanted to go to is some random hole in the wall hotel bar. The place looks like “pros” pick up businessmen there. We sit down, I again ask about whether the bar serves food, and PB simply replies, I donno’, gets the bartender’s attention, orders a drink, then asks me what I want to drink. I say water, and instead of then asking about a menu, PB makes fun of me for ordering water. I again explain that it would be great to eat something, and excuse myself to use the restroom. My fault, I leave my clutch on the bar when I go to the restroom. This is someone I know, someone my friends know, he’s proven to be a decent person from the last time we were out, I think nothing of leaving him with my clutch. He apparently thought nothing of my clutch as well. I walk out of the bathroom to find PB walking down the hall towards me, to use the restroom. I ask him, You just left my purse on the bar?? The answer comes, Yeah, I’m sure it will be fine, he then pulls me to him -meanwhile I am thinking, I hope I get back to the bar before my purse disappears- and he says into my ear, You know I’m going to fuck you tonight. EW EW EW EW EW. Ha ha ha, ok, man, is my reply, as I wiggle away from him to get back to the bar. Amazingly my purse is still there. Thank you, Baltimore.
This shit gets better. So we leave the sketchy hotel bar, and standing outside, PB says we should go downtown now. I say great, we can get a bite before the next bar. PB is not amused with my interest in food, Yeah, well, where would you want to go, he asks, and I can hear the dread in his voice. How about Stuggy’s? (Just one of the greatest places to get a hot dog piled with deliciousness, ever.) His reply is basically a snort, You want a hot dog, seriously? At this point I would take a hot -dog from 7-11 just to have SOMETHING to eat. So then he says, let’s Lyft down, and proceeds to look at me. Yup, this dude now expects me to Lyft us downtown where likely we will NOT be going anywhere to eat. I look back at him, and say, yeah, sounds good. He looks back at me (stand off) and says, So… are you going to call a Lyft? I look back at him, Oh, you don’t have the app? He looks at me, Nope. I look at him, You should probably download that. I look at him more. When it is obvious he is not going to do shit, I get a Lyft.
At this point I should have just ordered a Lyft and Lyfted my ass the hell away from this tool bag. But I don’t, because I had the delusional hope the night was going to magically improve. It didn’t. Waiting for the Lyft, PB suggests we pop into another bar. Ok, cool. He goes right for the bathroom, I do the same. I come out, and PB is heading for the door. Ok, that’s a bit tacky. And I am not about tacky. So I say, Well, did you want to get a drink here while we wait. We probably don’t have time, his response. I show him we have 10 minutes. Well, ok, he starts, what do you want?
What do I want? I want you to stop being such a knuckle head and make it appear at least as if you want to impress me, or feed me, or do anything a damn grown-up would do on a date. What do I want? Well, at this point, I NEED tequila. He makes a face and groans, I can’t do tequila. And that is when I knew I was definitely NOT going to sleep with this jackass. We do shots of fireball. And I pay the tab. Because I am a moron, and his slow reach for his wallet was just too painfully embarrassing, standing at the bar with the bar tender waiting for someone to man up. I manned up.
By the end of the night my tabs for the evening were about double his. Which is hilarious because he clearly has a decent salary, judging from his JCrew magazine wardrobe. PB probably gets away with being a cheap jackass because he is pretty. I am sure he rarely hears no. I am also sure he is a shitty lay, with his self obsession and selfishness. Back onto my terrible choices during this night. I actually get into the Lyft with him, and go downtown. I direct the Lyft to the bar where my friends are, but this neanderthal actually yells over me in the Lyft, tells the driver not to listen to me, and to stop at the street where his friends are. And of course the Lyft driver listens to him.
We get out of the Lyft, and I walk right on past the bar PB walks into, he only JUST notices I am not following him, and shouts down the street at me, Hey, in here! Yeah, no thanks, I yell back over my shoulder, I am going to the bar where my friends are, where I paid the Lyft to take us, see you later. Oh, well, ok, text me later, then, was his reply. HA HA HA HA HA Yeah, sure PB, I’ll do that. I finally meet up with my friends, we hang for a moment, then proceed to another bar, where we actually cross paths with PB and his friend, who knows some of my friends. And my friends invite PB and his friend to come to the bar with us. They decline, because they are now going to the bar we just came from. About an hour later I start getting texts from PB: Hey, what’s up? Where are you now? Are you meeting up with us?? Come to [insert bar]. I finally call him back.
PB: Hey, what’s up? Where are you?
Me: At the bar with my friends.
PB: Well, come over here.
Me: Where are you?
PB: [insert bar]
Me: Dude, that is a mile away from here, I am not walking a mile.
PB: Get a Lyft then, we’re ready to leave, anyway.
Me: Yeah, that is definitely not going to happen. I am done paying for Lyfts for you to entertain yourself all night.
PB: Oh, come on, don’t be like that, come over.
Me: Not going to happen, I’ve ordered a Lyft, I am going home.
I shit you not, when the Lyft driver picks me up, just as my phone is dying, he says to me, I am so glad I found you! I could tell you had a rough night and needed help. Apparently he could hear the bitter surrender to the complete fail of a date I just had in my voice when he called to find out exactly where I was in the milieu of bar patrons. I had reached a new low in the night, the Lyft driver pitied me.
I get home and there are about 7 missed texts from PB when I plug my phone in. What’s up? Where are you? Are you coming? Dude? Where are you?
I text back, I am home now. Fortunately, the Lyft picked me up right when my phone died.
PB: You should have come to the bar.
Me: And pay for a Lyft so I could get you back to your place where you were going to fuck me? Yeah, no. There were a few points in the night where you could have shown the least bit of interest in me, and you MAY have had a chance of fucking me. But you didn’t. and you’re not.
Does this guy not then text me the next day: Hey. Then: What’s up? Then: Are you mad at me? And when all those texts are ignored he then messages me on Facebook a couple days later: Hey, what’s up?
I then text him: Listen, I am not texting you not because I am mad at you, but because I am just completely not interested in you. You are a self centered selfish person who never once gave any consideration to the person he was on a date with. You were crass, you expected me to pay for you to be driven around the city, and you were interested only in entertaining yourself. You probably get away with that shit a lot because you are attractive, but I’m attractive, too, and I don’t need to put up with your bullshit. And I doubt it would be worth it anyway, because people as self centered as you are shit in bed.
His response was the normal run down of pathetic excuses. Hey, I’ll give him credit for even responding to that text with anything other than: Go fuck yourself. But it was clear the list of excuses were a sort of last ditch effort to fuck me, and that was not on my To Do list.
Life in Stilettos 