#bumbledates

Literally NO.ONE. :

Who: The Mumbler

Where: Barrel

What: Drinks and chit-chat

Another first and last date has come and gone. 

Overall, this date was uneventful. I was late per usual (though an obnoxiously punctual person in real life, I make it a point to be at least five minutes late in my dating life to avoid awkwardly waiting alone or not being able to find a barstool, i.e. with The Cracker), but found him quick enough, avoiding the obvious “I’m meeting someone I met online and I’m not 100% sure he’s using a current profile pic.”

We went to Barrel, which happens to be right next door to Beauchert’s Saloon (the scene of my first Bumble date). Eastern Market and Barracks Row should clearly be avoided for future dates- bad dating juju going on there. 

Once again, the gentleman in question was smart, driven, shared similar interests (we may have swapped favorite podcasts), and attractive. Once again, zero spark. It was a nice evening- I had a couple beers, got to brag about my quest to read a biography about every president (have to fill my time somehow since I’m single as fuck), and got some great music suggestions (of course, none that I can remember...thanks for passing along your terrible memory, Mom).

Hands down, the most frequently spoken phrase of the evening was “what’s that?” My hearing is pretty shitty, thanks to a childhood full of ear infections, but this dude was straight up whispering. Maybe I was supposed to lean across the table to receive soft-spoken sweet nothings? Highly unlikely.

In addition to having a tiny baby mouse voice, The Mumbler was averse to eye contact. By no means do I want to sit across the table from someone I just met and stare deeply into their eyes intensely, but c’mon, dude! The only reason I know your eyes are some shade of brown is because you’re black and I’ve yet to meet a green or blue eyed black man (if you meet one, please send them my way).

No story involving my dating life is complete without a disastrous farewell. The Mumbler was not as daring as The Cracker, but upon exchanging good-bye, he appeared to timidly go in for a kiss, then think better of it, and then hold out his hand to shake my hand.

...what?!

Unfortunately, that wasn’t just my reaction upon reflection of the event, but my reaction immediately following. I believe my words were “you’re seriously going in for the handshake?”

OKCupid is sooooo three years ago now that everyone has a smart phone and relies on apps for everything. Seriously. My DAD even has an iPhone now (and his emoji game is surprisingly strong...though his Bitmoji gives me the creeps).

Though I’ve been semi-actively Hinge-ing and Bumble-ing (I really don’t have it in me to get back on Tinder. That place is a war zone), I’ve only been on one date. Naturally, my assumption is that while I’m apparently a hot commodity on Tinder (It’s a strange day when a black guy I’ve swiped right doesn’t swipe me right...this white girl loves chocolate, and it is reciprocated), Hinge and Bumble men find me hideous and fat and a loser and I’m going to die alone either aren’t as active on the app or don’t like what they see.

Since downloading both apps, I have been on one date. And of course, it was a disaster.

Who: The Cracker 

Where: Beauchert’s Saloon

What: Cheese and fancy cocktails

This was my first real date in months. Naturally, I brainstormed a million and a half reasons to cancel and was on the brink of an anxiety attack. Not only do dates give me anxiety (along with trying new things, calling people on the phone, my student debt, my trajectory to becoming a cat lady, etc.), but I arrived before him (despite being five minutes late on purpose) to a packed bar with zero place to sit. So I had to awkwardly hang out by the hostess stand waiting for him to show up. 

He showed up, after politely calling me to tell me he was a few minutes away (causing more panic on my side), only to leave us both awkwardly (His fault- he kissed me on the cheek upon greeting me. We aren’t in goddamn Europe.) standing by the hostess stand, waiting for stools to open up. 

After finally finding seats (veryyyyy close together), we ordered some drinks and a charcuterie board and appetizers and the standard first date banter began. I could tell straight away that I wasn’t into him. I mean, he was nice, funny, polite, and smart, but he was someone I would want to be friends with, not bang. Such a shame that bad first “app” dates can’t turn into friendships.

Then, out of no where....his voice cracked (See? I wasn’t being derogatory). Like a 12 year old boy’s. And given that I have no poker face, my attempt at pretending not to notice was an epic failure, forcing him to acknowledge it. Which he did so comically, and we continued a nice banter about some safe topic.

AND THEN IT HAPPENED AGAIN. SEVERAL TIMES. 

Luckily, I got a little better at hiding my surprise. Meaning, I didn’t have a total body physical reaction...I think my eyebrows got a good workout, though:

How he thought I was ready and willing (and prepared for) a goodnight kiss at the end of the night is beyond me. But he did. And I reacted badly.

Thank baby Jesus (who hopefully did not have the above little guys’ eyebrows) that both our Ubers were waiting for us at that moment. Well, kind of. Because we were on the sidewalk, so I had to face a silent five minute ride home with a perfect stranger who witnessed the event. The “event” being me turning my cheek to the dive bomb of a kiss, giving him an awkward hug and goodbye, and climbing into a jacked up Chevy Suburban (have I mentioned how short my legs are?).