A very dear friend of mine set me up with a somewhat dear friend of hers, based on our shared love of words and other things that are funny. Deep breath. Lots of trust. Let's do this.
Date #1: Post-work drinks at Misfit. Let’s keep this fun/easy/casual. I get stuck at work for an extra half hour-ish, cutting close to the end of happy hour. Not one to miss out on a great deal, my date decides to stock up on cocktails, while awaiting my arrival. This would have been a smarter idea, had he not also decided to consume every single one of them within that half hour. Let’s just say, he was plastered by the time I located him at the bar. Let’s also just say, it wasn’t love at first eye-roll.
Memorable notes: Girls aren’t funny. Girls can’t write. He was expecting me to be dumber. He had already managed to accrue a grand total of 3 DUI’s.
Swoon.
Date #2: Writer-y thing at the Hammer Museum. Assuming that his ego-charged, unintelligent barbs were due to accidental over-intoxication, I decided to give it another go. We make it to the museum just in time, but the seats are already filled. Hashtag fail. Let’s go have a drink back at the house and figure out where to go! Hey! Actually, why go anywhere when drinks here are free?!
Right. Why would anyone ever leave the house? Let’s just say he kept both the cocktails and the over-aggressive-quintessential-negging flowing, and I ended up…well…crying. Yes; apparently, I do have emotions. Shuddershuddertwitchtwitchtwitch. Overall, not a great success.
…
He tells our mutual friend he is both apologetic slash mortified. In addition, he has decided to x-nay alcohol from his life.
Our mutual friend asks if there’s any way I would give the dude another chance, as he would really like to make it up to me. Deep breath. I get it. He’s a nice guy with drinking issues that make him less of a nice guy. I am willing to see how a sober date would go down, if only out of pure curiosity.
Cue: A barrage of fascinatingly half-hearted, yet persistent, attempts to have me meet him at x,y, or z bar/or his apartment. I ask which edition of Emily Post’s Etiquette he favors. He confidently asserts that he doesn’t believe in chivalry.
…
How charming.
…
In the interest of full disclosure, here are our final two conversations:
Him: Let’s hang out this weekend!
Me: I’m having a staycation in Malibu this weekend, but will be back Sunday evening, if you would like to pick me up and take me to dinner.
Him: Are you going to Malibu with a suitor?
No response.
I wasn’t, just in case you were curious. Shocking, I know.
Him: Come to my pool on Sunday!
I mean…
Literacy. Reading comprehension. Social cues. Anything?
One week later…
Him: Last chance. Meet me at [insert bar-name-I-can’t-remember] at 8.
Seriously? Last chance?
It hurts.
Me: How compelling.
And scene.
…
I really thought that one was going to work out.