J: PDA is not OK

Context: My first Hinge date! I talked with ‘Ginger’ for a while on Hinge, and he liked that I was a consultant, because he had a problem to solve – he will never be a full ginger, because he doesn’t have freckles. We agreed to meet for drinks on Thursday to discuss a solution, but I felt sick, so we rescheduled for Saturday brunch at Circa.

First, I’ll address the PSL-before-Labor-Day in the room: yes, I have strayed from Tinder. My relationship is no longer monogamous. I won’t dive into a thorough analysis of the two, because I don’t think there’s any real difference i.e. both will find me guys to buy me things. The one upside to Hinge is that one of the fields is height which eliminates much heartache and awkward conversation.

Ginger lives in Columbia Heights, but I asserted dominance and decided that we would meet for brunch at Circa, which I can literally see from my apartment. Ideal. However, it is called ‘Circa’ because the area around it is a circle, which arguably was a poor choice on my end. He could be coming at me from any direction. I need to meet guys outside, though, to avoid that whole “Hi I’m here to meet a stranger like a high class hooker” hostess stand situation. I spun in circles like a lunatic until I caught sight of a tall redhead walking my way.

He didn’t go in for a hug which really threw me off. Tbh I couldn’t stop thinking about it the whole date. I don’t smell. I give great hugs! One time someone told me I should be a professional hugger.* What-ev-er, his loss.


The conversation was just kind of… awkward. First of all, I wanted a mimosa, but he “doesn’t like to drink” in the morning. I like to get shmammered in the morning, and I was eyeing the mimosa at the next table the entire time and making hand gestures under the table for them to bring it to me. They asked to be re-seated very quickly. Maybe I do smell?

The whole time I kept getting the impression that he wished he was somewhere else, and like OK, I didn’t really want to be there either, but at least try? I ask him about his travels, his work, his hopes and dreams – looking, nay, PLEADING, for one nugget of earnest interest. No luck.

He paid, and I was like WOOOHOOOO It had been literally 45 minutes, setting a record for my shortest date. He walked me back to my apartment, we hugged, and all of a sudden homeboy is like “Oh by the way, I think I know a solution to the freckle thing” and before I can feign interest DUDE IS MAKING OUT WITH ME. IN BROAD DAYLIGHT. RIGHT BY MY APARTMENT BUILDING. No no no no no this cannot be happening. What if my concierge sees? What if my favorite neighborhood dog sees? What if the man I always see in the hallways sees**?! Can someone please point me in the direction of my comfort zone?

**He has seen me in much, much worse states

He texted me afterwards but I am so far past the “Point of caring” and into the “Abyss of ignorance” that I did not, and will never, respond. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have a mimosa.


Posted in J

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