J: Ice cream, I scream

Context: After our first hiking date, this nice boy (‘Hiking’) asked me to come over several times to “cuddle by his fireplace and watch a movie.” As a part of my ongoing quest to Take Back the Second Date, I declined. We decided instead to meet up for gelato at Boccato on a Monday night.

Y’all, I have been a hot mess lately. It all started when I woke up in a stranger’s bed on Sunday morning. Why do I keep letting this happen?

I pulled on my dress and boots as I fumbled with my phone, anxious to summon someone to rescue me from this predicament.
Boy – What are you doing?
J – Bout to call my ass an Uber I got somewhere to be.
B – It’s like… 6:30 in the morning… come back to bed!
J – I don’t wanna hear about this ever again.
B – Are you just speaking in Drake lyrics?
J – Got a bigger pool than Ye.

According to my Jawbone, I got four hours of sleep. That’s sufficient, right?


And, according to my drunk texts (lol s/o to the ex who texted me “Yo.” More like “Yo…u need to move on, bro”), I had scheduled a gelato date with Hiking for Monday. Cool! I like gelato! I’m down!

…except, apparently I was more tired than I thought, because that night (Sunday) I found myself pulling on leggings and a cute top to head to my date. I was halfway there, thinking about my schedule of dates for the week, when I realized that the date was the next day. VERY GOOD WORK, J. I started hysterically laughing like the sleep deprived thot I was, ignored the stares of concerned passerby, contemplated still getting gelato, and then decided sleep was a very good idea. Or Fuller House. Yep, Fuller House.



Fast forward to Monday night. I hopped into the exact same outfit (absolutely no fucks given), reluctantly hit pause on the episode of ‘New Girl’ I was watching (life is obvi SUPER EXCITING rn), said a tearful goodbye to Jess and Nick, and headed out the door. I was on track to be five minutes late #wastehistime2016. Ideal.

I got to Boccato at 7:05, HYPE for gelato, and my date was nowhere to be found. I peeked inside and still couldn’t spot him, so I texted him that I was outside. Not even 30 seconds later, he calls me.
H – Hey, J! I’m SO SO SO SORRY but I put this in my calendar for 7:30! I’m going to sprint over and I’ll be there soon! Please forgive me! Have mercy!
J – Totally fine! No worries! See you soon!
*hangs up*

I already wasn’t really looking forward to this date (refresher from Date #1 – this guy is super attractive, but has an annoyingly high-pitched voice and is nice which I hate) and now I’m gonna be sitting here, scrolling through my Venmo feed* on my dying phone, for 30 minutes? Can I leave?

*Desperate times call for desperate measures. But now I know who’s paying the water bill this month!


I didn’t leave. He finally showed up at 7:30 when I was mid-Tinder swipe, and to his credit he was very out of breath and had obviously sprinted his kind little heart out. Wow, he is so attractive. Maybe I should give this a chance?

…oh, nope, there’s the high pitched voice again. Fuck it, I’m getting ice cream.

Once I had my cup of gratis Raspberry Cheesecake gelato in hand, we grabbed a seat and started talking… at which time I realized that he is THE MOST VANILLA PERSON ON THE PLANET. Conversation topics included (and were limited to):
– Congressional districts (why)
– Tax rates (why again)
– Pensions (omg help)
– Up-and-coming suburban neighborhoods (GET ME OUT)

I brought up a story about a boozy brunch I had recently attended with my work team (Sparknotes: 15 mimosas, afterparty with copious amounts of bourbon and fireball, blackout. Yes, I said work team. Don’t be too jelly) and noticed his eyes narrow as I went on.
H – Oh… I don’t really drink.


Everything was coming together now. Perfect teeth… family in Utah… hot chocolate instead of coffee on the first date… kept talking about church…
J – Wait, are you Mormon?
H – Yeah! Did I not mention that before?


shut it down

I don’t have anything against Mormons. I loved their musical! But I drink like a motherfucking fishmy blood type is French Roast, and I identify as a Buddhist (“but not in a weird way”). So, not long after this little factoid was divulged, I pulled out the ol’ “*yawn* OMG LOOK AT THE TIME I’M 75 AND MUST GO TO BED NOW” move, and we packed up our belongings.

This is when he asked me for a ride home. Just when I thought I was safe. I could hear the devil on my shoulder telling me to refuse, but I have not yet learned to say “no*”  so I obliged. We headed back to my apartment building and hopped in my car, where I received a fun lesson about the Mormon faith and beliefs. In response, I cranked my Ty Dolla $ign playlist up to full volume.

*Lessons begin next week.

I went 25 MPH over for the entire mile and a half drive to his house, and had barely let him finish shutting the car door when I gunned it out of there. In the distance, I could hear his faint “come use my fireplace sometime!” Hard pass.


I received a text when I got home, thanking me for the ride and asking when I was free for another date. I told him that I appreciated the offer, but was giving up men and dating for a life of horticulture. Then I returned to my true friends, Jess, Nick, and Winston. All is right with the world. Now, can somebody pass the Jose Cuervo?


1 Comment

  1. Ha! This was a great story! Deep voices are a sign of high testosterone which usually means an above average peen. High voices on men immediately make me thing of the opposite. You should consider doing the opposite of Shonda Rhimes and implementing a ‘Year of No’. Just turn down every damn request you are not enthusiastic about!

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