Since I haven't been on any dates for the past 5 days, I've decided to recount a dating story from the vault. This story is actually about the end of relationship, if you can call it a relationship. The "relationship" was pretty much only 4 or 5 dates strung together and ended in a hilarious coincidence.
I've only been picked up in a bar twice in my post college life - that I can remember. Once by the guy checking ID's at the door of the bar (that story deserves it own blog post) and once by a British chap - The Brit. Playing the part of "I am a Brit, new to the States, talk to me!", The Brit bounced over to my little group of friends as we sat at the bar and promptly started chatting me up. At the time he told me he was at the bar with a group of friends that he played soccer with. But as I think back on the scenario, he was probably just walking around the bar alone trying to pick up women. That's where I come in. At the end of the night he asked for my number and that began our series of incredibly awkward dates.
I kept The Brit around because he was always dressed really nicely, and was constantly complimenting me while speaking in his fantastic accent. He was also a school teacher with a DC public school, which I gave him a lot of credit for. He probably got the crap beat out of him verbally every day. He was, after all, a scrawny little British guy who wore skinny ties and only talked about soccer and the holidays he took with his mum when he was young. Sure, his personality was a little off, but he was BRITISH, I kept telling myself.
One Saturday evening my two roommates and I decided to host a party at our apartment. The Evite went out weeks in advance, and a considerable number of people had RSVPd to attend. I decided to invite The Brit, because we had spent a lot of time together over the past weeks, and he would definitely charm everyone with his accent.
The night of the party, I waited for The Brit to show, but he never did! "This is so odd...", I thought. We had talked at length about the party, he knew where I lived, and he didn't answer his phone earlier. In fact I hadn't heard from all weekend. After a couple of glasses of wine, I decided to confront the situation the only way I knew how...I decided to call him at 1:00 am. Of course I got his voicemail..."Where are you? Don't bother calling me again!" I'm prone to overreacting at 1:00 am after several glasses of wine.
The next day I received a call from The Brit begrudgingly explaining exactly where he had been all weekend. The story goes that he went out on Friday night and picked up a young woman with whom he danced and made out with at the bar. They must have a had a great time together, because at the end of the night this girl invited him to go to a party with her the next night. She explained where the party was and who was hosting it. Slowly, and I'm sure to his horror, he realized the party he had just been invited to was mine. The girl he had hit on and made out with on the dance floor was a friend of my roommates.
Although the story sounded endearing when told in his wonderful accent, I laughed and told him how I guessed he had learned his lesson. I'm actually pretty impressed he called to tell me what had happened, his work in the DC public school system must have made him brave.
This proves that Washington DC is a very, very small place and the dating pool is slim. Or it proves that guys with British accents can pretty much go around picking up anyone they want.
THE END
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
A non date is what it sounds like...a non date.
A couple of weeks ago, I swore off dating for two reasons. I just couldn't stand the thought of getting rejected anymore by men who aren't that cool to begin with, and two, I don't want to spend my spring and summer obsessing about whether a particular man of interest likes me or not. Which, unfortunately, is something I do. Wouldn't you know it, the following week a seemingly nice, young, funny man asked for my number, and I was right back in the game again.
I met Philip on a low key night in DC while hanging out with a couple of girlfriends. My friend had invited her coworker and his friend Philip out to meet us for a couple of drinks. Philip had boyish good looks, a good job, and was extremely funny, and after a couple hours of great conversation and budding chemistry, I was delighted when he asked me for my number. Although he was several years younger than me, I thought, "why not?". This situation was proving perfect on my newly discovered "non-dating plan", I'd just go out for a couple drinks with Philip and hopefully have a good make out session at the end of the night.
Eventually Philip called me to hang out one Friday night. To be clear, he asked me to join him and his friend at probably the dirtiest, seediest bar in DC for a couple of drinks. This venue was perfect for my non-dating plan. Its clearly not a date if a guy invites you out with his friend to go to a windowless bar that reeks of awfulness and every surface is sticky or wet. I asked my friend to be my wingman, and we set off to see what the night would bring.
My friend and I arrived at the smelly bar to find Philip and his friend, waiting (and drinking quite a lot) just as planned. Philip and I picked up right where we had left off, flirting and laughing, and I thought for sure I had a late night make out session in the bag. I felt like I had reverted back to college again, and I frankly didn't care what anyone thought about that.
Our little group quickly decided to finish our collective drinks and beers and head to an equally loud, yet slightly cleaner bar up the street. Outside the door to the bar was a highly intoxicated guy puking repeatedly all over the sidewalk. I'm telling you, the ambiance couldn't get any better. We made our way in and cozied up to the bar. This is when Philip went to the dark side.
Philip: Would you like a shot of tequila?
Me: Umm, I don't really want tequila, but I'll take shot. (The ordering of shots also fit nicely with my "non date plan"). A SoCo and Lime shot would be okay.
Philip: Okay, SoCo and Lime it is. (Smile, and then...) Hey bartender, 4 shots of tequila. And I need salt!"
Me: Why did you just do that?
Philip: It just came out. Sorry. (Then he smiled and chuckled. Be still my heart, blegh.)
Our little group, including my poor friend, begrudgingly choked down our shot of rail tequila. I looked at Philip with stinging tears in my eyes from the taste of the alcohol as the tequila burned inside my chest. "That was awful", I said.
After 30 minutes or so of more flirting and talking (I wasn't going to let the tequila beat me), Philip suggested we go somewhere else, and settled on going to a nearby bar that featured lots of alcohol, a DJ, and plenty of dancing. When we arrived, Philip handed his credit card instead of his Driver's License, to the bouncer. "You can't come in, you're too drunk", the bouncer said, laughing. Philip, in his embarrassment, turned around and explained the situation to me. I should have taken that as a sign to turn and walk away slowly, but no, I stuck by my man, and urged his friend to sweet talk the bouncer into letting Philip inside.
The details of the next 10 minutes or so are blurry, I'm not sure if it was the tequila or my brain's way of blocking out what was actually happening. In the span of those 10 minutes, Philip fell on the floor pretty hard inside the bar and then got up and ordered what looked like a whiskey and orange juice and chugged the whole thing. Looking at him with disgust, I was at a loss. All I wanted to do was have a good time. I should have left him, stranded, at the bar. But instead I took a different path, in fact, its probably a path well traveled by drunk girls everywhere. I grabbed Philip by the hand and drug him to the dance floor.
I won't go into the details of my dance floor antics, but they involve me dancing wildly and making out with Philip. Not my best collection of moments. At this point I had no idea how the evening would end with Philip, but I was determined to find out. He told me he had to go to the restroom and that he would be right back, grinning from ear to ear. I promptly ran back to my friends and told them how drunk he was. As if that would make up for my behavior as well.
Then nothing happened. Nothing. So anti climatic, I know. Philip disappeared from the bar, never to return from the bathroom and continue to crazily dance with me on that crowded dance floor. A friend of mine who was at the bar, promptly asked me what on earth I was doing with that guy. I answered that I was just trying to have a good time, and I had failed. I walked home swearing off all real AND non- dates. When I returned home, I angrily texted him "What happened to you!?!". The text made me feel better, I wasn't going to dare call him!
The next day, although confused by the previous nights events, I slowly got over it and decided not to think too much about what happened. Philip obviously got way too drunk to act like a normal person in public and his only option left was to split the bar before he puked on me or completely passed out. That's the story I was going with. What a great non-date! That afternoon I got a text message from Philip in response to my previous one sent the night before asking what had happened to him. He explained that he was hit by the "tequila bus", said that he was usually more of a gentleman, apologized, and then told me he had a nice time with me though. I'll probably never see him or hear from him again.
So that's how I found out that a "non date" is just that, a non date, nothing more. At my attempt at reverting into college party mode, I found out that it doesn't work as easily as it did when I was in college. But after all this is DC.
The End.
I met Philip on a low key night in DC while hanging out with a couple of girlfriends. My friend had invited her coworker and his friend Philip out to meet us for a couple of drinks. Philip had boyish good looks, a good job, and was extremely funny, and after a couple hours of great conversation and budding chemistry, I was delighted when he asked me for my number. Although he was several years younger than me, I thought, "why not?". This situation was proving perfect on my newly discovered "non-dating plan", I'd just go out for a couple drinks with Philip and hopefully have a good make out session at the end of the night.
Eventually Philip called me to hang out one Friday night. To be clear, he asked me to join him and his friend at probably the dirtiest, seediest bar in DC for a couple of drinks. This venue was perfect for my non-dating plan. Its clearly not a date if a guy invites you out with his friend to go to a windowless bar that reeks of awfulness and every surface is sticky or wet. I asked my friend to be my wingman, and we set off to see what the night would bring.
My friend and I arrived at the smelly bar to find Philip and his friend, waiting (and drinking quite a lot) just as planned. Philip and I picked up right where we had left off, flirting and laughing, and I thought for sure I had a late night make out session in the bag. I felt like I had reverted back to college again, and I frankly didn't care what anyone thought about that.
Our little group quickly decided to finish our collective drinks and beers and head to an equally loud, yet slightly cleaner bar up the street. Outside the door to the bar was a highly intoxicated guy puking repeatedly all over the sidewalk. I'm telling you, the ambiance couldn't get any better. We made our way in and cozied up to the bar. This is when Philip went to the dark side.
Philip: Would you like a shot of tequila?
Me: Umm, I don't really want tequila, but I'll take shot. (The ordering of shots also fit nicely with my "non date plan"). A SoCo and Lime shot would be okay.
Philip: Okay, SoCo and Lime it is. (Smile, and then...) Hey bartender, 4 shots of tequila. And I need salt!"
Me: Why did you just do that?
Philip: It just came out. Sorry. (Then he smiled and chuckled. Be still my heart, blegh.)
Our little group, including my poor friend, begrudgingly choked down our shot of rail tequila. I looked at Philip with stinging tears in my eyes from the taste of the alcohol as the tequila burned inside my chest. "That was awful", I said.
After 30 minutes or so of more flirting and talking (I wasn't going to let the tequila beat me), Philip suggested we go somewhere else, and settled on going to a nearby bar that featured lots of alcohol, a DJ, and plenty of dancing. When we arrived, Philip handed his credit card instead of his Driver's License, to the bouncer. "You can't come in, you're too drunk", the bouncer said, laughing. Philip, in his embarrassment, turned around and explained the situation to me. I should have taken that as a sign to turn and walk away slowly, but no, I stuck by my man, and urged his friend to sweet talk the bouncer into letting Philip inside.
The details of the next 10 minutes or so are blurry, I'm not sure if it was the tequila or my brain's way of blocking out what was actually happening. In the span of those 10 minutes, Philip fell on the floor pretty hard inside the bar and then got up and ordered what looked like a whiskey and orange juice and chugged the whole thing. Looking at him with disgust, I was at a loss. All I wanted to do was have a good time. I should have left him, stranded, at the bar. But instead I took a different path, in fact, its probably a path well traveled by drunk girls everywhere. I grabbed Philip by the hand and drug him to the dance floor.
I won't go into the details of my dance floor antics, but they involve me dancing wildly and making out with Philip. Not my best collection of moments. At this point I had no idea how the evening would end with Philip, but I was determined to find out. He told me he had to go to the restroom and that he would be right back, grinning from ear to ear. I promptly ran back to my friends and told them how drunk he was. As if that would make up for my behavior as well.
Then nothing happened. Nothing. So anti climatic, I know. Philip disappeared from the bar, never to return from the bathroom and continue to crazily dance with me on that crowded dance floor. A friend of mine who was at the bar, promptly asked me what on earth I was doing with that guy. I answered that I was just trying to have a good time, and I had failed. I walked home swearing off all real AND non- dates. When I returned home, I angrily texted him "What happened to you!?!". The text made me feel better, I wasn't going to dare call him!
The next day, although confused by the previous nights events, I slowly got over it and decided not to think too much about what happened. Philip obviously got way too drunk to act like a normal person in public and his only option left was to split the bar before he puked on me or completely passed out. That's the story I was going with. What a great non-date! That afternoon I got a text message from Philip in response to my previous one sent the night before asking what had happened to him. He explained that he was hit by the "tequila bus", said that he was usually more of a gentleman, apologized, and then told me he had a nice time with me though. I'll probably never see him or hear from him again.
So that's how I found out that a "non date" is just that, a non date, nothing more. At my attempt at reverting into college party mode, I found out that it doesn't work as easily as it did when I was in college. But after all this is DC.
The End.
Where do I begin?
Welcome to my blog! I'm a twenty something professional living and working in Washington, D.C. And I'm single. After recounting a particularly frustrating dating experience to a friend, it hit me...I have to write this stuff down. The posts that follow are a (hopefully) humorous look at my dating shenanigans throughout my years of living in DC and my attempt at discovering the lighter side of my screwy relationships.
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