Context: I actually matched with ‘Doc’ way back in November, but he was going into an exam cycle (med school, YAY FUTURE RICHES) and then home for the holidays, so we didn’t end up meeting until January. We met at Guarapo Lounge on a Wednesday night.
So, you’ve met your potential soulmate on Tinder/Hinge/Farmers Only, and you cannot WAIT to meet them. You’ve been scouring your closet (and the closets of your roommates – M and L, be very glad that my height makes your clothing almost impossible to steal) for the PERFECT outfit, practicing your girlish giggle, and strategizing on how to ensure you’re in the bathroom when the check arrives. Great! You’re almost there! All that’s left is to choose… the date location.
*Cue ominous music / thunder claps / evil laughter*
*No, you birdbrain, that’s the Harry Potter soundtrack. What are you, 11? Try again.*
The great thing about living in DC, other than our close proximity to The Prez and history and all that jazz, is the sizable amount of bars and restaurants all within easy access of public transportation. So, unlike my future, there are endless possibilities!
…which doesn’t stop me at all from suggesting La Tasca for every date. However, Doc lives in Georgetown and didn’t want to hike all the way up to Clarendon (rude) (not really though) so he suggested we meet at Ri Ra on M Street. I’m a little bitch and didn’t want to hike all the way out to Georgetown (sensing a theme here) so I suggested that we meet somewhere in between the two. Mind you, this was mere HOURS before we were supposed to meet. I was starting to stress out, and when I get stressed I hyperventilate like a 13-year-old at a One Direction concert.
He said “Yeah, we’ll make it work.”
Excuse ME, sir, but I’m pretty sure that’s a direct quote from the dickwad who decided not to put a sufficient stock of lifeboats on the Titanic. You know what happens when you ‘make it work?’ You get hypothermia, lose all sense of spatial recognition, and LET GO fifteen seconds after you promise you never will. NOPE. I was choosing a damn restaurant and we were GOING on this date.
So, I opened Google Maps, zoomed into Rosslyn, closed my eyes, spun around 4 times, and pointed at a restaurant at random. Guarapo it was! We agreed to meet at 7:30, which was perfect because it gave me just enough time to watch two hours of America’s Funniest Home Videos with M.
I started my walk to Guarapo in the polar vortex that is January in Arlington (30 degrees) and I was halfway there when he texted me ‘I’m running late.’ Effffffff I was cold. To distract myself, I called my friend A and talked about our hot mess lives for the next 30 minutes (!!) until my date showed up, 15 minutes late. I was pissed. But he was beautiful and buying me alcohol so I quickly became less pissed.
The issue with choosing a restaurant at random is sometimes it’s actually a hookah bar and you can’t breathe without coughing and feeling the lung cancer building inside you. Doc was especially a fan of this, as he could experience what he’s learned in med school firsthand! But, the lighting inside the restaurant was dim and romantic, which was perfect because I spilled wine on myself nine seconds after my glass was set down. Hand-eye coordination is hard.
Once the waiter replaced my wine glass with a sippy cup and handed me a bib, the date went swimmingly! We exchanged ratchet college stories and ratchet non-college stories for 3 hours before we realized it was 11 PM and WAY past my bedtime. I walked him to the Courthouse metro and we hugged, awkwardly stood there while trying to figure out whether this was a kissing situation or not, and then I stammered “LET’S DO THIS AGAIN SOMETIME HAHA” and ran away. But he texted me to make sure I got home ok and we’re still texting so I’m pretty sure I didn’t kill the mood TOO much.
Next time I’ll just stop being a little bitch and go to Georgetown.
I’m going to go practice holding a wine glass now.