Context: I wound up scheduling my first 2 tinder dates on the same day. I don’t see what girls have to complain about with this whole dating thing. After being out of the game for two years, I had already lined up a doctor and a lawyer for the same day. I know … it sounds like the start to a bad joke. But honestly, I had high hopes seeing as one was a doctor and one was a lawyer. Okay fine I’ll just own it; I’m being a bit of a ~basic bitch~ right now, but can I just say one more time: a doctor AND a lawyer!!!
The doctor was actually my very first match. He was tall and adorable, a wine connoisseur and sailboat enthusiast. I didn’t even discover he was a doctor until about 20 messages into the conversation; I guess I was just #blessed that he deemed me worthy! He was super sweet and easy to chat with. However, he was only in DC for a conference before heading back to North Carolina, the homeland of southern gentlemen. After investing a significant amount of time into chatting with this guy, I wasn’t about to let him talk himself out of an afternoon with me because “it couldn’t go anywhere in the long run.” So I suggested that we find something fun and iconic to do in our nation’s capital (GET ON MY LEVEL) because I was new to the city with time to kill before starting work, and he was only visiting for a short time.
He suggested the Holocaust museum.
The HOLOCAUST museum.
Unfortunately, being new to the city, I didn’t have a better suggestion anyway, so I decided sure – why not!? (Plus everyone says it’s very well done, for like, the Holocaust museum?).
Most. Depressing. Date. Ever.
We had barely any time to exchange pleasantries before entering the depths of the museum. Once inside, silence overtook us. We read the horrific and depressing history of World War II and I interjected the occasional “it’s frightening how powerful propaganda can be” or “that’s so sad/terrifying, etc.” to let him know I was still there. Not exactly the best atmosphere to get to know someone, some may say?
Overall it was a very enlightening experience, but SHOCKER, the museum is not designed for first dates. I have since learned that there are places such as the Spy Museum, Natural History Museum, the Architectural Museum, the ZOO … pretty much anything aside from the Holocaust museum, that would make for a decent first date in DC.
To his credit, the lunch afterwards was lovely as we discussed our mutual love of sailing and swapped University stories. But there remained the looming awkwardness and unspoken rule of “let’s just not discuss the first half of our date.” Well just like we had both predicted … it didn’t go anywhere in the long run. Or the short run. Like, if I used a snapchat filter, it would say ‘0 mph.’
I went into my date with the lawyer knowing just the important things: that he looked like a Latino version of Zac Efron, and he was attractive, and was male, and would pay for things. Quadfecta. The chatting on Tinder was rather frank before he proposed a date, time and place to meet. Here was a man with a plan who didn’t mess around! Yeah, buddy.
On second thought … I prefer someone who knows how to mess around, at least a little bit. He had proposed that we meet at the Clarendon metro station, then pick a place for drinks. I was coming from happy hour with J and L, so I was like “DRANKS$S.” He showed up in athletic clothes with his bike because he needs to get in his 20 minutes on his bike per day on top of his normal workout routine. Yeah, totally, same. I couldn’t tell you what that workout consisted of exactly – I zoned out about 2 minutes into the conversation and just pictured soarin’ and flyin’ with my personal Troy Bolton. We wandered around trying to find a bike rack near a bar of his interest – because the bike racks right beside the metro clearly weren’t good enough for his “baby” (cue me vomiting).
Once the bike was parked, we wandered into the nearest sports bar. We walked up to the bar and he asked me for my drink of choice. I went with my go-to: whiskey sour. He orders my drink then orders a soda with lime. Then he explains that he doesn’t drink. Um what!? Buddy, you asked me out for drinks. No judgment, I have plenty of friends who don’t drink and they are some of the most fun and interesting people I know. But if you don’t drink, don’t ask a girl out for drinks!
At this point, I was for all intents and purposes drinking alone. I am strictly a social drinker so this felt a bit off. And reminded me of the fact that I’ve graduated from college, which is rough, ok?! I like to be on the same level of alcoholism as the people I am with, and I was wayyy ahead of this guy seeing as I had come straight from happy hour. It was becoming more and more clear by the nanosecond that this date wasn’t going to go well either. But, I was buzzed and I can talk to a brick wall when I’m buzzed, so I decided just to roll with it.
When he brought our drinks over from the bar to the high top, he brought with him a food menu and handed it to me saying I could order anything if I wanted to. Part of me wanted to capitalize on the opportunity to pig out because I had already pegged this date as a loss. But then, brain blast, Jimmy Neutron! What if he doesn’t eat either?? Having someone watch me drink was bad enough, but watching me eat without participating would have been too awkward. So, I went with the “I’ve already eaten” and prayed to Jesus, Allah, Beyoncé, and all those other deities that my stomach growls wouldn’t betray me.
For the next 45 minutes I had the pleasure of hearing Mr. Sober wax poetic about himself and his deep sea fishing. I invoked my first amendment ‘Freedom of speech’ rights and interjected something about my own deep sea fishing experiences, and received a “NO, I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS EVER DEEP SEA FISHED, AND I WORK IN A COURT OF LAW” in return. K? I dodged this oceanic bullet and edged the conversation back to #gainz. FINALLY, he showed some interest and asked about my workout routine. He wanted to know SPECIFICALLY a) how many push-ups I could do and b) if I have ever killed someone. Uh, idk, and, uh, no?. I’m fit as hell and can kick your club soda ass though, Mr. Law School.
Finally, I managed to suck down the last of the most horrible whiskey sour I’ve ever had (disgustingly cheap whiskey mixed with overly syrupy sour mix – even trying to escape this date couldn’t help me chug). I hustled across the street to tell my roommates that: yes, he looked exactly like Mexican Zac Efron, and that no, there would not be a second date.
On second thought, those OTHER girls can keep their fantasies about doctors and lawyers. I’m going to stick to my college forte: Finance majors and computer engineers.