Cash Me Out, Hide

I met Simon at a conference in the tech startup industry. Simon exuded a distinguished air of confidence in his fitted jeans and crisp collared button up that was pressed to perfection.  I was instantly attracted to him.

After exchanging business cards and a few emails he invited me out for dinner and drinks one evening in the East Village.

Since the tapas bar he selected for dinner did not take reservations and had a wait of 1 hour and 15 minutes, we decided to start the night off with a few cocktails at a watering hole across the street.

When we received a text that our table was ready Simon attempted to settle up the tab with his Visa card.

“Cash only,” the bartender exclaimed while pointing to the inconspicuously displayed sign on the wall stating said payment policy.

“Oh shoot, I will have to run to an ATM then, I only have a five on me,” Simon said.

“No worries, I have some money.”

I happily relinquished my $65 plus tip to pay the tab and we were on our way to indulge ourselves in some authentic Spanish cuisine.

After enjoying two hours worth of croquetas, Rioja and delightful conversation, it was time to bring the evening to a close.

The waitress dropped the $85 check at our table and and Simon reached for it immediately.

“How about we split this?” He suggested.

Dumbfounded, I agreed and handed over my plastic to pay for the majority of a date that Simon had invited me on.

Obviously, any further texts from Simon went ignored.

Weeks later I ran into him him at an industry happy hour and spent most of the evening hiding from him.



Implant Imbecile

I met Paul at an obscure speakeasy on the Lower East Side of Manhattan a few days after conversing on Bumble.

Paul was a very tall yet slightly rotund financial analyst who also hailed from my home state of Oklahoma, so it was quite easy to find some immediate common ground.

We sipped on our prohibition-era cocktails on a tufted plush velvet sofa while discussing how our lives from country bumpkins to New York City dwellers came to be.

Paul then complimented me on my slender yet lean physique. Being a gymnast since grade school has blessed me with superlatively toned arms that always garner compliments from men and women alike when donning a sleeveless frock such as the one I was wearing on this evening in particular.

Admittedly gymnastics left me with the chest of a prepubescent girl, but certainly compensated for it on my backside if I do say so myself.

“Thank you. I was a gymnast from a young age,” I said.

“Oh yeah, some of my friends back home were gymnasts and they all seem to stay in good shape. Only downside is they are completely flat chested.”

Stunned by the words that were coming out of a man raised in a place such as Oklahoma I said, “Yeah, same goes for all of us,” glancing down at my subtle bosom.

“Would you ever consider getting something done about it?” He asked preposterously.

“No. No I wouldn’t. I think I have a lovely body the way it is and I wouldn’t shell out ten grand to mess with what I already have when there is no need.”

“I would definitely pay to get them done if I were together with someone long-term. I guess they would be more for me than for her anyway!”

“Well, clearly we won’t be dating long-term after a conversation like this.”

I hastily polished off the remnants of my Gin Rickey and sat in mostly awkward silence waiting for the tab while making arbitrary comments about the weather.

Clearly this Oklahoma boy has much to learn…

Gold Digger Trigger

I met Kasey on Tinder (against my better judgment). Kasey was a stately looking pharmacist (like myself) from northern Alabama with a lingering southern twang and a slightly outdated ‘frat boy flop’ hair style. Nonetheless, he was easy on the eyes, so I accepted his invitation to meet for some wine and cheese on a Tuesday evening.

Kasey was every bit delightfully attractive as I had pictured he would be in person, and as he pulled out my chair to seat me it was very obvious he was also a complete gentleman. So far so good.

Kasey and I decided to enjoy a plate of Manchego and smoked gouda  with pickled radish and a side of spicy chorizo accompanied by a full-bodied California Pinot Noir. We spent the first part of the date ‘talking shop,’ being that we both work in pharmaceuticals.

After a serious discussion about whether Breaking Bad or Band of Brother’s is the best TV in existence, we decided to shift the conversation to what we were looking for in a partner and in our lives being that we both recently celebrated our 34th birthday.

He shared his somewhat generic qualities that he was searching in a potential mate and I responded with mine.

“I am looking for someone who is family oriented, loves to travel, has a good career, and just a good sense of humor about life,” I said.

“Out of curiosity, why must one have a good career? Are you looking for someone who makes a lot of money?” He inquired suspiciously.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with money. I want a good stable career for myself as well. You just meet a lot of people in this city who are actors, or want to be writers and just bouncing around from job to job and I just want someone who is at a stable point in their life as I am in mine.”

“Listen, if you are just trying to find a meal ticket then you have the wrong guy. I have had my fair share of gold diggers, so just want to put that out there.”

“We are both pharmacists and the same age remember? We probably make the same amount of money. If I was really looking for a rich guy, it is not hard to find one in this city. I would have had one.” I said.

“I seriously doubt you make nearly as much money as I do, but if you are just looking for a guy with a good job we can end this now. That is seriously one of my triggers.”

“Yeah it kind of pulls a trigger for me when someone basically tells me I am a gold digger despite the fact that we do the exact same thing. And since you make so much more money than I do, you can go ahead and pick up the tab.”

I watched as Kasey reluctantly paid the tab while simultaneously devouring his words.

After a quick and awkward hug farewell I was completely fine with never hearing from Kasey again.


Meathead Mishap

I met Brett, a  particularly chiseled personal trainer/fitness entrepreneur, on Bumble. Though I am one to typically avoid the gym selfie-taking meat heads that are ever so prevalent in the online dating scene, he was clearly well educated and quite charming, so I figured I would give him the benefit of the doubt.

For our date we settled into a few corner bar stools at an intimate pub on the Upper East Side to get better acquainted.

When Brett stood up to greet me I noticed that he was clearly as muscular (if not more) than his photos, but stood around 5’4, which is a far cry from the 5’7 that was advertised in his profile,

We summoned the bartender and I ordered my usual bourbon and ginger while Brett opted for…water.

Now I do not judge anyone who decides against the consumption of alcoholic beverages, but I also detest drinking alone.

“Just going to stick to water today. I try to only drink one night a week. Alcohol is where the calories will get you!” He said.

“Well, you work out every day, right? That should cancel out any drinking I would think. I definitely drink more than once a week, but I still try to get on the treadmill everyday for at least 30 mins so the liquor doesn’t catch up to me too much.”

“I don’t get that. Working out just makes me feel good and alcohol makes me feel like shit. Plus, you may be ‘canceling out calories,’ but are you really making any improvements on your body?” he asked, obviously perplexed by my lifestyle choices.

“As long as I am in good shape and I look and feel good in a bikini I am alright. I live alone in New York City and love to be social. That just happens to be what my friends do…we drink. I am also running around the city all day for my job so that certainly keeps me active and in shape.”

“You do have a nice body, which I can tell, but if you just traded 3 days of drinking for 3 days of actual hard work you would be really hot.”

Immediately after the words left his mouth he knew that his bad case of word vomit was going to have some serious repercussions.

“That is probably the most idiotic thing anyone has ever said to me on a date. I may be trying to workout to compensate my social drinking habits but at least I am not trying to overcompensate for how short I am.  I will let you grab these drinks. Have a great night.”

With that I grabbed my handbag, and hightailed it out for the quintessential backup plan one usually has when a date goes south…such as this one.