Context: I had been talking to ‘France’ for a bit on Tinder when he asked for my number so we could set up plans. We had plans for dinner on a Monday night… and I canceled (wasn’t feeling it). We rescheduled for dinner on Sunday… and I canceled again (because I’m a terrible person) (or I was 1.5 hours away with no sign of getting home anytime soon). I felt really bad at this point (I HAVE A CONSCIENCE?!), so I agreed to get a drink the next night at Mexicali Blues.
Every once in a while, I’ll be setting up plans with someone, and then look back at our conversation/his pictures and recoil in shock. “What on God’s green earth were you thinking, J? Why are you talking to this strange man?” This was one of those circumstances. In our Tinder conversation, a number of red flags had come up:
1. He HATES his job (consulting, the worst, right?! hehe) so he buys two lottery tickets every week* hoping he can quit
2. We were talking about yoga pants because why TF not and he said that he had a pathetic butt so he probably couldn’t pull them off. I need my Tinder men to have NICE butts, dammit!
3. He types out smiley faces with the nose and it really throws me off because last time I checked we had left the 1990s, at least I hope so because I haven’t updated my AIM buddy profile in for-ev-er**
*If you or a loved one does this, please call a toll free number that isn’t mine. I support you.
**Fun game! What was your first screen name? Mine was ‘DramaGirl54322,’ not even because 54321 was taken, but because I was hipster even at that tender, formative age.
Our date was on a Monday that I was working from home, and I was pretty pumped to leave the apartment, so at least he had that going for him. I had also never been to Mexicali Blues before, but I knew it was in Clarendon, so I grabbed an umbrella, took a long pull from a bottle of white wine, and headed out the door in that direction. I hadn’t had dinner, but it was a Mexican restaurant, so they HAD to have chips, right? Right?!?!
I knew that he would be coming from the direction of the metro, so when I saw a blonde guy walking from that way with a bouquet of flowers, I had my first EVER panic attack. Feel special, France! All for you! Flowers were too much. Flowers say *French accent* ‘ooh la la, romance, aw haw haw’ and my body was saying ‘wow that wine hit me a lot harder than expected.’ Then I realized I was on the wrong street, flowers guy was not looking for me, and my date was already inside the restaurant. So much for avoiding aforementioned hooker-hostess-stand situation.
First impression: very very cute. Like, SO much better looking than his pictures made him out to be. J is pleased. Second impression: why are there no chips?! I’ve already got a solid buzz going from this wine situation (holy hell, did I accidentally take a pull of absinthe or something?) and now the waitress is bringing me a (really shitty) margarita. Maybe if I get alcohol poisoning I’ll have an excuse to go home?
Ok, so at this point I’ve slept on it, and I’m still not sure how I feel about this Frenchy. We’ll start with the good so I can at least feel like a kind human before I tear him to shreds. Our conversation was really easy – not much small talk, I just felt super at ease. Maybe it was the Everclear fogging my brain (there’s no way wine got me to this state), or maybe just because I wasn’t super nervous/eager to impress him, but we were both VERY open – talking about family, relationships, embarrassing stories, so much more than I usually talk about on first dates. Also, I mentioned he was beautiful, right? And hilarious? And he seemed to be in the same life space I am, which is important – I’ve always gravitated towards slightly younger guys, but now ‘slightly younger’ means ‘in college’ and it was nice to really relate to someone’s current situation.
And, the bad… he was really kind of a Negative Nancy. In addition to hating his job, he also hates:
1) babies (WHO HATES BABIES?!)
2) his roommate (in his defense, she sounded like an a$$hole) (I put the dollar signs so my mom doesn’t think I’m cursing)
3) exercise (I’m a gym rat and anti-dad-bod so this was a biiiig ol’ red flag)
4) COFFEE (at this point I started crying for this poor, caffeine-deprived soul and ordered another shitty marg)
5) me? potentially? In that he threatened to kill me. In like, kind of a joking way? But it was still a threat against my life. Note to self: don’t let him walk me home.
Once he settled up the bill, and I was clutching my stomach in starvation/liver failure, we headed out. I walked him to the metro because I’m a really, really nice person and also because I DON’T want him to know where I live. We hugged and he said he had a great time… and I might have, too? Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go call that toll free hotline and try to get my $hit together (Hi Mom!!!).