This is the first edition of post-first date assessments. If they’re all as hilarious as this, I think I might publish a book.
I pinned this guy for having some potential. He’s a professional musician (which covers the artistic outlet criteria), brews his own beer (yay, interesting hobby and free booze), and he wears cool glasses (style points). Granted I didn’t talk to him much pre-date, but he seemed nice enough and I dug his music. He asked me out to give me a beer tasting lesson and I gave in for a Sunday evening date. (but not before giving friends all possible details, just in case he roofied my drink and made me his house pet. Also I arranged for a couple escape route calls in case it was unbearable)
A friend dressed me, so you know I was looking... fly. And we got a big breakfast at the diner so I wouldn't vomit right away. (Although there was some weird licorice gravy that was questionable in nature) I got there 5 minutes early and he got there 10 minutes late, sweaty. I thought, 'well at least he ran and called to say he was running late.' I didn't take points off, but he didn't get any either. We sat at the booth and I let him order for me. I admitted that I didn’t like the first beer, a super heavy IPA, even though that was his fave. Conversation went fine. I smiled a lot, not because he was particularly funny, but I think you should be smiling when you meet new people. I dig that he teaches kids guitar, but doesn't dig actual kids. Plus he has two dogs, sorta. They're at his parents, so I guess not really.
The waiter came around and asked if we wanted another round. My date looked at me and said “yeah, same thing.” Uh, yo, dude. Didn’t I just say I didn’t like it?? So I had 3 (or maybe 4) more.
On our fifth or maybe fourth drink, he looked at his watch and said that he had to go feed the meter. So we downed whatever number drink that was, he went to the bathroom, I put in money for my drinks, and we headed out. He had asked me if I had paid and I said yes, but after we got a couple blocks away I realized he was asking me if I paid the entire bill, which I did not because why the fuck would I do that? I only paid for myself, and I thought that was a kind gesture. Essentially we only paid half the bill. Soooo, I'm never going back there again.
We got to his car (which was right in front of Woodys), and I gave him all the change from the bottom of my bag because he didn’t have any. We walked all over god's green earth (or Philadelphia's gross sidewalks) looking for this one bar, and eventually ended up at Nodding Head, where we had another drink- another IPA that I didn’t like. He paid, the entire bill this time.
At this part of the date I realized that he had really bad posture and girly hands. And god, that Jeff Goldblum mouth! And his hair was blah. What you do with your hair says a lot about you. Maybe I was being overly harsh. Or maybe all that walking sobered me some. I kinda liked his glasses and his shoes, but if I ever saw him naked, all he would have is bad posture AND THAT MOUTH.
He offered to drive me home and I accepted because nobody likes the subway and drunk driving sounded preferable. (don't worry. i wore a seatbelt) He pulled up in front of the building I live in, put a hand on my back as I reached for my bag and said he thinks he's going to call me tomorrow to ask if I would like to do this again sometime. I mean I guess he was still debating it at that point. And then he leaned in... and I thought "omg you're touching me. Jeff Goldblum is touching me. Jeff Goldblum is watching you poop. Bathroom stall. Poop. Kiss." So I quickly offered my cheek and drunkily made it to my room, totally forgetting and neglecting the fact that I had feet (and a sprained ankle).
I fell asleep fine (read: I was intoxicated enough to pass out in my clothes), but awoke to the smell of fried chicken. The cleaning lady was frying chicken at 6am this morning. what. the. fuck. Immediately, I ran to the bathroom and puked up milkshake and biscuits (or what I think was biscuits and milkshakes). And then I proceeded to lay in bed and think about Jurassic Park, as a music video, while scrolling through the progressively incoherent, hilarious texts I sent last night.