Confessions of an online serial dater: The Babyhand
Dating via the web is probably one of the shallowest forms of “human interaction” we can partake in. There is really no way of truly knowing what we are getting ourselves into which is high-key extremely terrifying and nerve-racking. But we always take that chance because we act as if we are so effing desperate thinking “Well, what do we really have to lose?” But in reality if the date goes totally south, those are HOURS of our precious time that we threw away. Hours that *cough* we could’ve been spending with our friends in the Mission, drinking wine and watching Sex and the City or (God forbid) studying. I think you know where I’m going with this…
I literally had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into on this date. I don’t even know what prompted me to say yes to a drink…besides the thought of a free drink (or free anything, for that matter). There were so many adverse signs to this meet-up: shitty pictures, an empty profile, and lack of conversation in our exchange of messages. Apparently my mind was a little clouded and quite frankly, I was a bit bored so I agreed to bless this guy with my presence for a couple of hours.
We decided to meet up in the Financial District at Rickhouse. It’s a really cool bar, actually, and all of you should check it out. They serve really yummy cocktails and have a pretty good beer selection. A little on the pricey side for an average college student, but like I always say, there’s no better time to treat yo’self than always. Err…unless you have like 57 cents in your checking account after rent because been there. I searched the bar far and wide and could not find him so I was getting worried. One of my biggest fears of online dating is getting stood up. Meep. So I gave him a call and he was right in front of me. The fact that I couldn’t even recognize him from the very beginning…oy vey.
He leads me to the bar and suggests I get a drink. I order some $11 complicated citrus-y vodka somethin’ somethin’. I turn around and he’s gone. He left me to pay for my own drink. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am completely capable of paying for my own stuff, but if someone is going to make the effort to take me out on a date, I absolutely expect the offer to buy me at least one drink. If you’re trying to get a second date or trying to get laid, you might want to consider buying your date a drink. Maybe
We got to talking and I tried really hard to take him seriously but he was such a noodle head. He was an architect who graduated from Carnegie Mellon, so I was hoping for intellectual conversation but it never happened. *sob* He constantly repeated things I would say and would giggle for 30 minutes afterwards. Like, huh? He didn’t even have drunkenness to blame. He was two beers deep. How is anyone supposed to converse with so much stupid giggling between sentences?
Stuck in this date, we headed to Zeitgeist afterwards, when I just wanted to leave. Too deep to make my escape, I was forced to stay. The highlight of this night was sitting at a bench with some Italians who were visiting San Francisco. It was comparable to relief from a pinched nerve. And then they left me alone to continue my suffering.
But this is when the worst part of the night came along. Thumb wrestling. A guy can’t get any more romantic than asking a girl to THUMB WRESTLE HIM. I was a little confused by this move, but I went along with it. Disgusted by this whole entire lameass date, I grab his hand and was mortified. It was small. And extremely clammy. I was thumb wrestling a babyhand. You know what they say about small hands… *sigh* No wonder I won.
To end this date, he didn’t walk me to the M line, but that gave me the freedom that I needed. The best part was the next morning when I received a text saying, “Last night was so much fun, let’s hang out again soon!” LOL.