#NoSecondDate

I met Stacey at a conference for the industry we are both gainfully employed in.

Manning the booth for my tech start up I saw Stacey coming from across the room with with a magenta pencil skirt, three-quarter length blazer and some black pumps that were clearly doing her already lengthy, toned legs some serious favors.

Her blonde hair was in loose waves falling just passed her shoulders she extended a hand to meet mine. With her big white smile on display she dauntlessly introduced herself.

Slightly enamored by the attractive specimen that stood before me I can’t quite recall what Stacey had to say about the the services her company provided, but it did turn out that we coincidentally reside in the Bushwick area of Brooklyn.

We exchanged business cards, and shortly after I asked if she would be interested in joining me for a non-work related dinner…A date.

To my relief, she was game.

I made reservations at a posh Asian-fusion restaurant in Manhattan that has never failed to impress.

Stacey showed up and was looking quite ravishing in her crop top and high-waisted skinny jeans.

I pulled out her chair and we both began studying the menu.

“Is there anything you don’t like to eat sushi wise?” I asked.

I looked up to await her response to find her pouty lips pressed together, her head tilted back with her arm extended, cell phone in hand.

She was taking a duck face selfie.

Stacey spent the next 45 seconds snapping pictures of herself at different angles, carefully analyzing them, then repeating the process.

When she finally had mastered the perfect selfie, she set her phone aside to discuss what we would be dining on.

During our discussion about the menu she repetitively glanced at her cell phone placed on the table in close proximity to her right hand.

The first round of small plates came, and right as my chopsticks were about to grab a piece of rock shrimp tempura Stacey ordered me to a halt.

“I need to take a picture first! It all just looks so pretty!”

After snapping five or six pictures I figured it was safe to enjoy my meal.

“Wait! Now I need to make a snap for SnapChat!”

Again, after a minute or two I was finally permitted to eat.

We ordered a few martinis from the specialty cocktail list and of course, Stacey had to capture a selfie, complete with her frosty pink glassware daintily garnished with a slice of watermelon and basil. She then selected her filter and hashtag of choice so it was finally ready to be posted on her beloved Instagram page.

After checking her phone for the tenth time to obsess over the number of likes received, I was struggling to bite my tongue.

“So, do you have to check your Instagram every minute or are you waiting for an important call? I am just noticing that you keep looking at your phone so I didn’t know if you had somewhere else to be,” I said.

“Sorry, I just love Insta! I will try to ignore it until we are done with dinner.”

“Is it really that hard? Why don’t you just take it off the table and put it in your purse? That would probably be less tempting,” I suggested.

“Ahh I just like it right here. I don’t like to be too far from my phone because then I just feel so disconnected. Also, it’s not like I am just obsessed with Instagram, it’s more about building a brand and getting a following.”

“What brand is that? Are you starting a company?” I inquired.

“No it’s just about personal brand. Everyone should just think of themselves as a brand and I feel like social media is the way to get yourself out there.”

Without consulting Stacey I told the waiter we would skip dessert. I paid the check and cut my losses.

contact@thesinglesociety.com

 

 

A Serious ASS-umption

Ethan and I met through a mutual friend we both went to college with.  I was privy to the idea of meeting someone the good old fashioned was as opposed to the plethora of dating applications I had been miserably failing at, so when he invited me for drinks I delightfully accepted.

After some scheduling mishaps, Ethan texted me and suggested we grab some refreshments at a rooftop hotel bar on a warm summer night.

A fabulous idea, indeed!

Being that it had finally hit the 80 degree mark in New York City I selected my girliest flouncy sun dress with a pair of statement earrings and some strappy nude heels. The wardrobe and I were both ready for summer to be in full swing.

My first thoughts after seeing Ethan in person was that he looked just as adorably handsome as he did in his Instagram photos.

Ethan was a tall and lean California boy with a slightly tattered head of hair and just the right amount of 5 o’clock shadow skimming across his perfectly structured jawline.

I hoped very much that he would find me equally as attractive.

We took a seat in the back corner of the rooftop and patiently awaited a server to take our drink order.

We made a few comments about how glad we were to finally see the sun subsequent to a notably frigid spring, then got to talking about the basics of where we were from, and what we do to support ourselves in the monetary vacuum that is New York.

The server brought over our requested Montauk Summer Ales and as he gingerly poured it into his frosted pint glass decided to give me a little heads up about something on his mind.

“So just letting you know, I want to be friends first. I am not going to jump into sleeping with you right away or anything serious. Wanted to put it out there before we go any further. That cool with you?” He asked.

“What would make you assume I would want to sleep with you or be anything more than friends ever? I just met you five minutes ago. You really shouldn’t flatter yourself so much,” I clapped back cheekily.

“I don’t know, you are all dressed for a date. Some people want to jump straight into something whether it be sexually or a relationship and I am just saying I require us to be friends first.”

“I like this dress, so I wore it. I would have worn the same thing if I came out with my girlfriends tonight. But anyways, you to not have to worry about me wanting to be anything more, I can assure you of that,” I graciously informed him.

I finished the remnants of my beer and pulled a Hamilton out of my clutch to cover my share of the drinks.

“Oh no, I got this,” he offered.

“Thanks, but apparently this wasn’t a date.”

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The Blunder From Down Under

Neil and I connected on Match.com. After reading 300 or so agonizing messages I received while away on vacation his was the only one somewhat worthy of a response.

Neil was fresh off the boat from Australia and touched down in the big city to head up the investor services branch of the Australian bank of which he was employed.

He suggested we meet at a trendy spot that recently opened in the West Village to check out the craft cocktails and farm-to-table bar bites while getting to know each other away from the computer screen.

Our meeting time was for 8 o’clock, and as I was rendering the doorman my identification at precisely 8:02, I received a a text from Neil informing me that he got caught up on a phone call at work and would be yet another 15 minutes.

Slightly perturbed with the timing of his message as I myself had rushed from the office to ensure my punctuality, I shook it off and took a seat at the bar to await his arrival.

Neil graced me with his presence 20 minutes after our agreed meeting time and offered up a half-assed apology for his tardiness.

Perhaps I would have been more miffed at the inconvenience but his Aussie accent was simply too charming to remain in such an aggravated state.

That paired with his precisely pressed Brooks Brothers suit and flawless complexion, I was desperately hoping this blunder wasn’t an ominous warning as to how the remainder of the evening would play out.

We ordered a couple of whiskey cocktails, some lamb sliders, a chickpea salad and some fried goat cheese.

Neil was halfway through the story about what prompted his decision to move across planet Earth when he glanced at his phone to check the time.

“Oh! I forgot to mention, I have to join in on a conference call at 9. It shouldn’t take too long though,” he assured.

“No problem,” I said, confused as to why he would plan a date on a night when he had business to conduct.

He excused himself to take the call leaving me in solitary with my whiskey sour.

Five minutes went by.

Then fifteen.

I would have left had it not been for my insatiable appetite and the thought of the sumptuous lamb sliders that were sure to arrive any minute.

The food finally arrived and I stared at it longingly while anxiously anticipating Neil’s return.

After another five minutes had passed I decided I had waited long enough. It was time to indulge.

Approximately 35 minutes later Neil reappeared and aloofly offered his condolences.

I had eaten all but one lamb slider, and wished him well.

contact@thesinglesociety.com