Date Stories, J

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?


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