Date Stories, J

J: What’s the worst thing that could Happ’n?

Context: ‘Zen’ started up a conversation with me on Happn by asking what I thought of Demetri Martin, which led us into a brief discussion of our favorite comedians before he asked me to discuss further over drinks at a speakeasy in DC. We decided to meet at 6:30 PM on a Tuesday at Harold Black in Eastern Market.

In case you’ve been living under a rock, or are just a normal person and not as weirdly infatuated with dating apps as I am, there’s a new app on the block!

Oh, 90s fashion…

I recently received a frantic text from my roommates about this app, which matches you with people you “cross paths” with who also have the app. “THIS IS IT!!!!” I exclaimed on a crowded (and confused) Metro car, “THIS IS HOW I WILL FIND GYM BAE!”

After a very serious discussion with a concerned older woman who still doesn’t understand what “bae” means, I exited the metro, skipped off to a wifi-equipped establishment (data is a precious resource, guys) and downloaded Happn. Even if I didn’t find gym bae, at least this would motivate me to get out and explore new places? I visualized locking eyes with a Chris Pratt look-a-like at Starbucks, winking at him as I slipped out of the store, and then opening the app to see his shining face staring back at me. Yep, this was it. This was how I would find true love.


REALITY: Gym bae doesn’t have happn. I still check every day in case he downloads it, but I’m starting to think that he’s married. Well, just because there’s a goalie, doesn’t mean you can’t score!

Also, I toooootally don’t need to leave my apartment for this shiz to work. I can just be laying upside down and halfway off my bed, feeling useless and asking deep personal questions to Siri, and any man who walks down my street will pop up in my swipe feed. EXCELLENT.

LESS EXCELLENT: I currently work on the same client as Mr. Chicago (wow, tbt) and he keeps popping up in my potential matches and I groan every time and my team now thinks I have Tourette’s. No worries guys, just a case of the fuckboys, nothing to see here!


Although I’ve had lots of conversations with my happn ‘crushes,’ Tuesday was my first actual date with one of them. The nice thing about working far-as-fuck-downtown is that after work I’m super accessible to most of the neighborhoods that I don’t usually venture to, so when Zen suggested a speakeasy in Eastern Market, I happily obliged!

…and then had a minor panic attack, because I remembered why speakeasies are illegal.speakeasy1

I have caring friends.

Well, ready or not, here I come! Haha, it’s like hide-and-seek, but more dangerous.

Post-work, I scurried out of the client site in order to avoid contact with any fuckboys, ducked into a Starbucks to touch up my hair and makeup, and hopped on the metro to Eastern Market. I knew from my Yelp stalking that this place was legit an unmarked door, so I found the most promising slab of wood the street had to offer and texted my date that I was 43% sure I was there.

Then I waited.

At 6:33, I looked over to my left and spotted a confused-looking guy about 100 feet away. Hey, I was a confused-looking girl! Maybe this was my date even though he didn’t look like the pictures at all!

J: inside voice “Zen?”
No response.
J: outside voice “Zeeeeen?”
J: Trying to echo across the Grand Canyon voice “ZEN?!?!?!”
STILL nothing. This is like the penis game, but without the penis.

loud noises

So I walked over to him, and noticed that the dude was standing with his wife and child. Probs not my date. I apologized profusely to him and his bewildered family, and sauntered back to my position by this random-ass door that probably wasn’t a speakeasy.

Exactly 38 seconds later, my date pulled up on his bike, and HELLO HOTTIE. I was like, “Hi! *awkward side hug as date attempts to lock his bike* Glad you’re here, I just walked up to some other guy because he looked like he didn’t know where he was either.”
Date: Did he look like me?
J: Not at all!
J: Let’s knock on this door!!!!!

We headed over to the door, all the while me blabbering on like “do we need a code? Are we gonna get murdered? Is there a secret knock and/or handshake? Should I have dressed up like a flapper? Do you need me? Do you think I’m pretty? Do I make you feel like cheating?”


My date knocked on the door, and nothing happened for a minute… until a man in a waiter uniform opened it and told us this was a restaurant’s service entrance, and that we were looking for the unmarked door about 10 feet away. OF COURSE! He walked us over, took us up the stairs, and did some secret voodoo knocking magic before a mysterious man opened what appeared to be a wall and asked if we had a reservation. Zen gave his name, and the mystery man vanished into thin air. 30 seconds later, he returned, and led us to our table.

Now, I must say that Harold Black is the PERFECT date spot. Romantically lit, soft music, not too many people – it was wonderful. I stared at the hunk seated across from me as we started talking, and I have to say that this is one of the best dates I’ve been on. I asked him what his job is, and he smirked and noted that it was a very ‘DC’ question to ask.
J: Fine, then, don’t answer it. What’s your spirit animal?

Mine. His is a kangaroo, in case you’re wondering.

The next three (3!!) hours morphed into the most wonderful, introspective conversations I’ve ever had. Zen is awesome. And so gorgeous. It was so easy, especially with the addition of the three STRONG cocktails he bought me (#MenAreWallets2016). At 9:30 I mentioned that I should be getting home, so we headed out. I stopped just outside the sketchy-ass wall-that-is-magically-a-door to snapchat it, and when I turned around he pulled me into a nice little make-out sesh. Now, making out in a bar/restaurant ranks high on my list of ‘sins thou shalt not commit in public,’ right next to couples who sit on the same side of the table, and wearing crocs. However, we were technically outside the bar (AND he looked like freaking TAYLOR LAUTNER) so I let it slide.

I’m like hey wassup helloooooo

He walked me to the metro, kissed me goodnight, and I floated down the escalator on a cloud of love… quickly to have that cloud burst when the sad, drunk patrons of the Caps game flooded the car. Mmmm, the smell of cheap beer.

He texted me the next day, saying “Hey! I had a really good time last night. It’s kind of weird and sudden, but sometimes… you just know.”

Which I immediately forwarded to all of my friends saying WHAT DOES THIS MEEEEEEAN?!

…the consensus is, look for my ‘Save the Date’ coming in the mail soon!




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