The Stage 5 Nosedive

I hustled off the subway on a rainy night into  a saloon in New York City to meet Mike, a fair-haired and collegiately-dressed construction attorney I had met on Bumble.

Mike and I quickly bonded on our first date considering we were both in agreement that the undoubtedly most wonderful time of the year was finally upon us:

Playoff hockey season.

With Mike being a diehard Washington Capitals fan and me with a staunch allegiance to the Pittsburgh Penguins, we found ourselves immersed in witty banter while sipping on some champagne cocktails.

Then the date took an unexpected nosedive.

“So have you ever been in love to the point you were going to marry someone?” He asked.

Despite the fact I am firm believer that one’s past should stay in the past particularly on a first date, I decided to humor him with a generic yet honest response.

“No, I cannot say I have. I’m in no rush though,” attempting to keep things on the lighter side.

“It’s funny how attraction can be. I just broke up with my girlfriend of four years and I was never in love with her, but this one girl I dated in law school a few years ago I was obsessed with. You’ve never been obsessed with someone?”

“…’Obsessed’ is kind of an aggressive word. I have liked people a lot, but I definitely wouldn’t say that I was ever obsessed.”

“Oh I was definitely obsessed. I couldn’t get enough of this girl. It was like all I wanted to do was be around her, call her. And it was just crazy that I only knew her for a short time,” he revealed, creepily.

At this point in time I decided that though we got off to a positive start, there was not going to be seeing Mike in the future for fear of his possible obsession.

After rejecting several of his attempts for a second date, Mike sought an answer as to why he was being dismissed considering the lovely time we spent together on our initial meeting.

I tried to give him an honest answer so that he could avoid making the same mistake in the future, but as they say, no good deed goes unpunished…

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Happy Hour Golden Shower

Nate was an oddly-styled yet culturally-enlightened marketing professional that I had connected with on Coffee Meets Bagel one afternoon while waiting for the subway to arrive. Coincidently both of our plans for the evening had recently been canceled so we agreed to meet for a beverage shortly after.

I was the first to arrive at the craft brewery on the Upper West Side, and after waiting for 10 minutes, Nate appeared and apologized for the delay on behalf of a stalled B train. He took a seat at the high top table I was occupying directly adjacent to the bar.

Attempting to exercise my feminine energy, I waited for him to mention the possibility of actually purchasing a refreshment from the bartender seeing that there was no table service.

After a slightly awkward 15 minutes of conversing at the table with nothing to consume our awkward silence with, I gave in and said I was going to order myself a drink.

“Oh cool! Why don’t you grab this round and I will grab the next? ” He suggested. “I will do an Johnnie Walker Old Fashioned with a cherry.”

Astonished at his blatant lack of chivalry on our first (and probably last) date, I approached the bar to retrieve my much needed concoction of social lubrication in the form of a St. Feuillien Blonde ale accompanied by Nate’s $18.75 Old Fashioned.

After finishing off the first round of drinks I excused myself to the bathroom. To my dismay, Nate put me on the spot and inquired as to whether or not I was up for round two.

“Sure,” I said….for some reason.

As I returned from the facilities I had every intention of drinking my second beer even more expeditiously than the first and hightailing it back to my apartment to watch Netflix by my lonesome.

Nate returned to the table, and to my disgust, placed a frosted silver bottle in front of me that read the words ‘Coors Light.’

Being the beer snob that I am, this is an absolute revolting abomination to the delicacy that I refer to as beer.

“What is this? I actually don’t drink Coors Light. I find it nauseating,” I said.

“I noticed they had it on the happy hour special so I figured I would take advantage and order us a couple of those! Why not take advantage of a good bargain?” He said boastfully.

Confused as to whether or not I was more repulsed by the thought of drinking rancid piss water Coors Light or Nate’s shamelessly idiotic  behavior I decided I would rather take a silver bullet to the head than withstand either for another minute.

I excused myself to close my tab…

…but not before telling the bartender to put the excessively pricey Old Fashioned on Nate’s bill.

Clearly, the Rockies were the only thing he was tapping that night.

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F*ck Buddy Fool

I became acquainted with Myles on Hinge, the highly acclaimed ‘relationship’ app. Myles was a raven-haired, physically fit project manager for Google with an implicit affinity for adventure much like myself.

After comparing notes about the last places we had been sky- and/or scuba-diving we decided to meet for some alcoholic refreshments at a pub in close proximity to my apartment.

We took our seats in the bustling happy hour spot in the East Village and quickly bonded over the fact that our drink of choice was coincidentally Johnny Walker Black on the rocks.

Despite me finding him even more attractive in person and having our favorite beverage common, the date went south before it even began.

“So, full disclosure. I just got out of a serious relationship, and I am really just looking to mess around and have some fun. More than just a one night stand, but someone I have have a good time with, have sex on the regular but not necessarily a relationship. Would that kind of thing work for you? I am just trying to be honest,” he said.

“If I remember correctly, the app we met on is called ‘Hinge-The Relationship App.’ If you are just looking for someone to fuck then why the hell did you waste my time? Go get a hooker.”

I billed him for my time in the form of ordering a glass of the most expensive whiskey on the rocks before he closed out his tab.

Not sure if Myles ever found the Tinderella he has been searching for, but it was certainly not me.

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