A friend of mine started a blog with the intention of chronicling 100 dates. Unfortunately for her readers and fortunately for her, she found a boyfriend along the way who didn’t want to be blogged about, so it’s on hiatus. Lucky for us, she’s agreed to let me share a couple of her entries because they’re hilarious. Here’s one such great date for this recently transplanted San Francisco attorney:
I met Will months ago at a party hosted by one of my father’s former colleagues. We sought each other out being the only two people in the room not part of the baby boom generation. Aesthetically, he was exactly what I went for in a guy: not too tall, sultry dark eyes and skinny to the point where you questioned whether or not he had an eating disorder or a cocaine habit. I’m not sure why I found sickly emo types so attractive, but skinny dudes need love too.
Will and I talked for a while, exchanged numbers and I told him I’d get in touch when I was back in the city. Straying from my usual habits of failing to follow through and non-responsiveness, I texted Will as soon as I was back in town. Unfortunately, our schedules couldn’t immediately accommodate one another, but we settled on outdoor day drinking in Sausalito the following Saturday.
Will picked the spot: a great bar nestled where the bay meets the Marin hills. As I dropped my keys to the valet, I saw Will sitting outside and threw him the dueces while giving him a head nod. “Wow, how hood of me.” I accidently said this aloud and immediately looked around attempting to determine witnesses to the schizophrenic episode.
The scene was rather romantic. And in order to get the best of the view, we ended up sitting on the same of the table. I wasn’t used to sitting so close to relative strangers and became unreasonably nervous. Please note, I have a sweating problem. Also, I may or may not have put on deodorant. The waiter then asked if we wanted a blanket, further increasing my anxiety. It wasn’t even that cold! Was I supposed to give him a handy under there? I felt my underarms moisten.
Once I got a drink, the conversation starting flowing and my nerves settled. At least until Will asked, “How do you feel about Jews?” I hesitated, “I’m not sure what you mean.” “Well, you have a lot of Jewish friends, so what do you think about them?” “Umm…I love my friends, but I don’t think of Jewish people as a harmonized collective. [blank stares are exchanged] Sorry, I’m not sure what you’re getting at here.” “Well, I’m Jewish so I obviously think they’re a good people.”
The whole exchange was awkward and I remain unsure of its purpose. I also judged him little for getting a margarita given all of the options on what I thought was a very smart cocktail menu. But that aside, things went well. We had some good sarcastic and mildly flirtatious back-and-forths. He was engaging, bright, not too agressive and generally, a pleasure to talk to. Although sparks were not wildly flying, it was fun and we decided to do it again.