JESS

The Boy: Tom

Jess went on a first date with a guy she met out at a bar on a Saturday night. His name was Tom. Tom saw Jess on his way out and walked over to her, clearly because he thought she was a hottie with a body. He was really good looking, too. They had a very, very brief conversation (probably something like what I’ve transcribed below) in which no connection was made.

• Tom: “What’s your name?”
• Jess: “WHAT?!”
• Tom: “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?”
• Jess: “I CAN’T HEAR YOU.”
• Tom: “WHAT. IS. YOUR. NAME.”
• Jess: “OH. JESS.”
• Tom: “JEN?”
• Jess: “JESS.”

Really, Jess and Tom could have just grunted at each other to get through this minute-long-ish formality, so they can finally get on with the business of exchanging phone numbers (‘Jess FromPianos’ / “Tom BlueSweaterLES’).

After a few texts back-and-forth the next day, Tom asks Jess out on a date to “get drinks” because that’s apparently the only way we go on first dates anymore. Seriously, if a boy asks me out to dinner as a first date now I assume either of the 2 following things:

1. He is in his thirties
2. He is so into me that he wants to skin me and make a shrine in his closet

Sidebar: “Getting drinks” is annoying because it requires the girl to plan ahead and find the right full-to-hungry balance. The goal is to have eaten enough beforehand so as not to get sloshed after a first glass of Pinot Grigio, but still have room to split a charcuterie and cheese plate if the guy decides he likes you enough to invest another $9- $12 into the date.

OK. Back to story…

Jess and Tom “get drinks” and finally have a longer and audible conversation in which, again, no connection is made. Tom talks A LOT about himself and Jess concludes he is a narcissist and loses interest, despite his good looks.

Jess wants to leave the restaurant, but Tom orders a second round of drinks without consulting her, so she’s stuck for a at least a little while longer. Jess downs her second glass of wine, thinking it may subconsciously encourage Tom to drink his beer more quickly… but it doesn’t. Tom’s now talking about his position as pledge master in his college fraternity, so he hardly pauses to take a sip of his craft beer. Jess has now put on her jacket, buttoned it all the way, and is ‘half-sitting’ on her bar stool. Finally, after another 20 minutes, with still a few centimeters of beer left in Tom’s glass, Jess lies and says she needs to wake up early for an important meeting and leaves. Tom is oblivious to Jess’s disinterest and believes her lie because he is too cocky not to.

The next day, Jess doesn’t answer Tom’s text message and usually, that’s the end of it.

Natural progression of stranger faze-out:

1. Go on a date with a stranger
2. Don’t text stranger back (I’ve encountered at most 3 unanswered text messages before stranger gets the idea)
3. Go about your life without said stranger in it

The next Saturday night, Jess sees Tom out AGAIN at another bar.

Why, Universe?

I walk more than 4 minutes out-of-the-way on my walk home from the subway on days when I think I look pretty so that I can pass by the cute-boy-from-work’s apartment and “randomly bump into him.” I have never seen him once.

I see the same crazy-ass homeless man who screams at people and sometimes even chases them down the street at least 4 times a week in various parts of the East Village.

Tom is like the crazy homeless man in this story.

Jess sees Tom and makes a very concerted, and very obvious, effort to avoid him. She is fast-walking all over the place, awkwardly zig-zagging and pivoting, always aiming to occupy whatever part of the bar is the furthest distance away from Tom. Tom sees what Jess is doing, but just doesn’t understand it. He sends her a text message later, asking why she was running away from him.

• Jess: “I’m sorry. We met for literally a minute. Then we had a get-to-know-you session. Why would I fake it and play like I’m interested?”
• Tom: “Why wouldn’t u be after getting to know me?”
• Tom: “I’m so nice”
• Tom: “And good looking and wealthy and funny and fun”
• Tom: “Like all those and more”
• Jess: “That’s exactly why.”

I call bullshit because if Tom was really wealthy, like he says he is, he would have paid for a charcuterie and cheese plate. One with assorted pickled vegetables and confit, because it sounds fancy. Girls gotta eat.

IZZY

The Boy: John

Izzy is slowly working her way up, what I call, the “Online Dating Seriousness Hierarchy”

ONLINE DATING SERIOUSNESS HIERARCHY

Grouper → Tinder → OK Cupid → Hinge → Corny shit like “Coffee Meets Bagel” and “How About We” → Match.com → Niche dating sites (i.e. JDate.com, VeganDating.org)

GROUPER

Izzy has been on a Grouper date before, which I was actually went on with her. None of us girls were interested in any of the boys on the Grouper date, but the night wasn’t a total waste. We were treated (aggressively suggested ordering and didn’t offer to pay) to a shark bowl (“LOL. Drinking with all these straws in my mouth reminds me a penis! TAKE A PIC!” ) and 2 orders of French fries, which we didn’t finish while at the bar. However, not ones to let perfectly decent fried food go to waste, my 2 female accomplices helped me sneak the 2^nd quarter-full basket of French fries under my puffy coat when leaving the bar. Looking back (sober), I realize that one does need to smuggle food that has already been paid for and there are “to-go containers.” At the time, however, I:

1. Thought I was super badass (not-actually-stealing 14 french fries, WOO!)
2. Didn’t give a shit if these boys thought I was a lady (…I’m not)
3. And my drunk subconscious probably wanted the smell of fried potato to stay with me, and on me, all night. (and throughout the night because I forgot to brush my teeth)

Also, is there nothing better than reaching into your pocket for change the next day and finding a soggy, yet still edible French fry? The hangover dream. Left overs are always better the next day, right? Before you judge me, let’s be real here. What are puffy coats good for if not hiding things and wearing pajamas underneath when running quick errands in the winter? Otherwise, you would buy a pea coat.

Important side note: This was a North Face puffy coat, not a Moncler. If I smuggled french fires wearing a Moncler, it would be the shoe-lace kind with truffle oil. Anyways, back to Izzy…

TINDER

Izzy then Tinder’ed for a while. Talked to a few decent dudes who she met through that, but most of them ended up sending her unsolicited dick pics, which are great for a few ‘giggs with your girlies’ but not ideal when looking for a potential mate.

OK CUPID

So, now Izzy is trying the next step up in the ‘Online Dating Seriousness Hierarchy’ – OK Cupid. This is the story of the first date she went on with someone she met on OK Cupid.

Izzy lives at home in a suburb outside of NYC, studying for an exam to go back to school, so she is matched with guys that live in other suburbs, sometimes a considerable distance away. Izzy agrees to meet a match, John, halfway between their houses at a restaurant- about a 25-minute drive away.

Izzy and John sit at the bar and things are going fine. Conversation isn’t great and John speaks without making eye contact. Whenever that happens to me, I just try and put my face in front of wherever that person’s eye line is being directed, even if that means a lot of jerky, neck-movement. Izzy isn’t as aggressive as I am, though, so John continues to address his few-word responses to the Goose Island tap handle slightly to his right.

About 15 minutes into the ‘date,’ John initiates conversation for the first time by asking Izzy if she wants to drive 25 minutes to his apartment, in separate cars, to ‘crack open a bottle of bourbon.” That sounds truly terrible, but nowhere near as terrible as what he actually meant by the invitation back to his apartment, so Izzy politely declines.

A few more minutes go by and John excuses himself to go to the bathroom. When he doesn’t come back 30 minutes later, Izzy texts him asking where he is he is

• Izzy: “Where are you?”
• John: “O my bad. Something came up.”
• Izzy: “Oh sorry you got your period. I could’ve given you a tampon. I have one in my bag.
  • Good effort, Izz. But the guy insulted the girl. Don’t insult the girl more by associating him with female genitalia because in this situation, and most, having the vagina means you are a better person with better morals. Next time, consult me and we’ll think of a great penis analogy.
• John: “Oh I should have been more specific. I was bored so I left.”
  • What a dick. (See!?)

I like to believe that people are good, and douchebags like John don’t actually exist. So I am going to go ahead and believe the following really happened:

John ate a too-old and thus, inedible soggy French fry from his puffy-coat pocket on the way to the restaurant and was fighting the urge to poop his pants during the entire short-lived conversation with Izzy. He was looking at the Goose Island mascot instead of Izzy so as not to reveal the dread of pooping his pants so apparent in his dead, stupid eyes. He asked Izzy to come back to his apartment so he can take an Imodium from his medicine cabinet. He really did get up to use the bathroom when he said he was going to but on the way, he shat himself. Shat himself bad. Too embarrassed to come back to Izzy with soiled undies, he faked disinterest, waited for Izzy to leave the bar, and then waddled back to his car and drove home in a terrifically gooey puddle o’ poo.