Girl 0: Roll Call

It’s a lot.

Dating is–or rather can be–exhausting.

I guess part of what’s happening here is my approach. Because that’s just it… it’s just an approach. I am approaching these humans. Strangers. People approaching people. Sometimes poaching, sometimes encroaching, but mostly approaching.

I present the following statistics not to inflate or deflate my self-worth but simply because I find them interesting.

Big thing I’ve learned… Date 1 is pass/fail. Date 2 is graded.

Second dates are naturally less journalistic… the further you travel down the path from strange to significant, the less objective you become, so I want to acknowledge that. That’s why you haven’t seen me write up second dates… who knows though. That might change.

So.

12 boys. April 2019.

(Lest you don’t believe me, the first date with Boy 1 was April 6, and the last date of this sequence, a second date with Boy 10, was April 27th)

12/12 texted me after.

12/12 did not kiss me on the first date.

1/12 invited me to his place on the first date.

4/12 AM dates.

8/12 PM dates.

6/12 Second Dates (Boy 2, 4, 6, 7, 9, 10).

2/12 Second Dates where I knew I didn’t want a third.

1/12 Third Dates* (Boy 2).

*This is a complicated statistic because several of the third date options I would have pursued were subject to travel restrictions.

P.S. Just so you know, it’s not just boys. I’m also editing and visiting new cities and having Skype therapy and eating butter cake in St. Louis and buying cheap pants at midnight at Meijer in Indiana and loving Amy Winehouse’s cover of Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?

Girl 0: Payment Plans

So.

Let’s talk about who pays.

I have now been on 6 first dates and 1 second date with many more potential ones coming up.

Why does the guy pay?

Why.

WHY.

Will someone please explain this to me?

At first, I didn’t mind. I even somehow subconsciously expected it. Like, sure, yeah, this is a thing, the guy will offer. I always reach for my wallet; I always say I want to “contribute to the cause;” and then inevitably, I give in.

After these aforementioned 7 dates though, I’m starting to have a bit of a bitter financial aftertaste… so, like, if you text me, and I want to text you back. Awesome. Then next time, I’ll pay! But let’s say, I don’t like you. I sat through the date. But for some reason, you liked me… so then you text me. I’m not gonna lie. I’m suddenly in this slightly uncomfortable position because I feel conscious of the fact that you paid.

I think about it… if I had to pay for the date, I would… date less. I would resent people who didn’t text me back if I felt like there was chemistry. I would wonder why I was supposed to pay.

So why should dating be twice as expensive for men as for women? Yes, men are getting paid more (that joke has been made now on 2/7 dates), but this doesn’t feel like the way to get our money back as women? In fact, it feels like maybe it perpetuates a worldview in which men are, ahem, meant to financially provide for women who are meant to carry the men’s sperm to completion and wipe down counters? No?

So, here’s my proposal:

Date 1: We split. NO MATTER WHAT. The only reason we wouldn’t split is… nope. There’s no reason. WE SPLIT BECAUSE WE DO NOT KNOW YET IF WE LIKE EACH OTHER.

Date 2: You can offer to pay if you adore me.

Date 3+: Depends on 10,000 different things, but like… take turns, maybe? Unless you’re making a big gesture.

This is all I have to say on the matter, and for all dates moving forward, I will be insisting on splitting. Deal with it.

Boy 5: A Little Linguistics

Boy 5.

You’re clever.

You clicked on me, and your profile was funny but vague… so I asked if you were an artist right off the bat. I’ve heard that it’s easier to be a female artist than a male artist on these apps because women are seeking financially stability. This is nauseating. On so many levels. But, anyway, you answer right away that you’re not! You’re basically a corporate writer at this point.

We make jokes about Harry Potter which I feature briefly in my profile. I’m not obsessed with the books, but it’s an easy way to get nerd conversation going. You ask if I can do real magic (…you are not the first boy to ask me this), and I say yes. You call me a magician, and I say that’s not politically correct. I’m a wizard. Then we transition to X-rays because you feature one in your pictures, and I tell you about their use in one my plays. I drop my number–this was still early texting days.

You follow up immediately. We discuss neighborhoods–I’ve slowly been moving south, and you live in Brooklyn. All sorts of heading further and further down and around the world jokes ensue, culminating in my reaching escape velocity and being launched out of Earth’s orbit as a manic pixie space girl. We settle on drinks at an intermediate location in about a week or so.

Also, you like to use the blonde surfing boy emoji. I find this funny. You are neither blonde nor do I think you have ever surfed. You are a quirky, slightly corporate creature.

On the day of the date, you text to confirm. We make many ghosting and disguise “I’ll be the one in the trenchcoat” jokes. You ask me to bring a costume because I’m “in the theatre.” I respond that obviously what it means to be in the theatre is to have a trunk of random costumes and funny hats. Do you happen to need a rubber chicken? You respond about my spelling of the word “theater,” and explain that I’m in “theatre” and not “theater.” I am excited to have this conversation face to face.

We meet.

Boy 5, you kind of look like your photo. B+.

But you are an immediately present and talented conversationalist. You insist on paying for my drink. I explain you do not need to. It turns out you chose a wine bar because I said I drink wine. Neither of us really drink wine, but I like this spot. It is not too loud or crowded.

We talk about your brother who has always been sort of a loser and now works for Google animating their doodle. So, basically, now he’s the cool one forever. We talk about your job and the kind of writing you love. We talk about my job and the kind of writing I love.

Ah, yes, we meant to return to this, and we do: I demand your explanation. You claim that “theatre” refers to the art of and locations in which live theater whereas “theater” refers to a place where non-live art, aka movies, etc., is screened. I find this a fascinating distinction. The one I hear within my community is that “theater” refers to a geographical location whereas “theatre” refers to the concept. I personally think this is all nonsense because “theatre” is simply the British spelling and “theater” is the American spelling, and there are no rules anywhere actually about it, so anyone who says “theatre” is an anglophilic emperor with no clothes on. You argue that language is constantly involving… do I say cuticle or cuticle? GIF or GIF? Language is constantly evolving. I concede.

You tell me a story about how someone at work described a client as “reasonably positive” and then described you as “unreasonably positive” and you agreed with that assessment. I tell my funny story about Boy 1. Then we’re on the topic of people who text funny but don’t manifest funny… suddenly we’re on what is objectively funny and what isn’t? You think things can be objectively funny. I disagree. Nothing is objectively funny except for the consonant “k.” A “bucket” is infinitely funnier than a “pail.” You make a linguistic argument (I am dazzled, not gonna lie) in which you say that “bucket” is also funny though because of the abruptness of the word and its Scandinavian roots. You explain that English has Scandinavian threads that are perceived vulgar (“fuck” and “cunt”) and French threads that are perceived as high end (“fornicate” and “vagina”). I am impressed. I counter that linguistics are all well and good but totally dependent on your native language, aren’t they? My immigrant parents don’t care about the Scandinavian roots. I propose the following…

There are funny things. What makes things funny is that they are at once surprising and familiar. The comedian surprises you with something you always knew.
And there are funny people. We genetically find some things funny. I illustrate this. Sometimes when I deliver a line, I look down and then up and widen my eyes, and people laugh. I do not know why, I explain. I think it’s ’cause we biologically think big eyes are funny. I display my big eyes trick, and you are genuinely upset that it makes you laugh even though you knew it was coming.

I am a slow drinker. You get a second drink. We seem to be closing down the bar. We are back to meta-dating, and I’m discussing my internet presence after you tell me about your first and last experience on stage as an audience member that was called up. We head out. Awkward end of first date hug.

Boy 5, you are cool. You are smart. I do actually think you should write that film that your brother wants to animate. I want to see it. I want to thank you.

You don’t text too much.
You bought the drink without being a dick.
You met me late to accommodate my schedule.
You’re objectively intelligent.

That being said… this was an interesting case of sparky intellectual chemistry and very little physical chemistry? I’m not sure. I was genuinely dazzled by some of your conversational points, but I didn’t want to bite your lip at the same time.

Boy 5, I think I want to be friends with you?

UPDATE: You texted me the next morning asking me where you should commence googling me. I obviously suggested the horror flick in which I play a hipster date from hell.

Boy 2: The Sweet Walker

Boy 2, I almost didn’t meet you because I was reeling from the aggressively mediocre disappointment of Boy 1. I’m glad I met you though, Boy 2. You’re a really sweet guy.

I actually hearted a picture of you running, so you’re one of the few boys in this machine that I reached out to first in my big initial heart/x-escapade. We proceeded to sort of message on the app about running… half marathons, marathons, training etc. And then about what we both do. And then I dropped my number in. I just send the following message: “btw ########## if that’s easier”

Apparently, I have now learned. This is a thing. If we manage to have a semi-normal conversation in our initial interaction, I’ve just been dropping my number ’cause I don’t want to hang around on this buggy Hinge app forever. Turns out there is a moment when the guy can ask for the girl’s number? Which begs the question that I asked in my Boy 1 post… how much digital-before-human interaction is there? Why are we prolonging the amount of time on Hinge? And then we have to deal with texting? Or is all the texting happening on Hinge and then once the number drops you move straight to arranging the date?

So far, it’s just been me dropping my number casually after a day or two. And if the initial conversation is riveting, I’ll drop it at the end of that convo. The only exception is one guy who actually pulled a me and did what I did. He just dropped his number to me casually at the end of a great first interaction on Hinge. He and I haven’t met yet. I’ll let you know how that goes, too.

So, Boy 2, you were traveling for work ’cause you’re basically in management, and I had bronchitis, so scheduling was all kinds of weird, but you were very good at sort of checking in without excessive texting banter. This week, I’m actually performing a show I wrote that is largely autobiographical. And graphic. Sort of Jenny Slate in Obvious Child and/or Mike Birbiglia style. So I mentioned offhand that I could invite you to that if that wasn’t weird, and you said you didn’t think that was weird. Also, after the (wildly inefficient) week and a half of overly involved texting from (the very misleading) Boy 1 pre-actual-meeting, I was eager to clap eyes ASAP and nip things in the bud if needed.

You came to my graphic autobiographical show.

You said hi to me before, and you were cute. You actually looked like your picture. Thank you.

You waited afterwards while I dealt with my people. You were super gracious about the whole thing, and you loved it, you said. I believed you.

And then we started walking uptown. And you said something very charming. You said, “Well, we’re like on the fifth date now that I’ve seen your show. And by the way, you can ask me anything!”

You carried one of my bags, and we walked all the way from the village up to upper Manhattan. It was pretty wonderful. We stopped for a pee break at one point, and then when we got uptown, we walked into an Eastern European bakery and bought rugelach. So Jew-y. I know. I know. I pulled out my wallet, and you said this was on you though I offered again to “contribute to the cause.” That’s always my line 🙂

You seem pretty date/Hinge savvy. So you were also a fun person to have some meta-Hinge conversations with. I mentioned that I wish there were a button you could push when you first see a person that says either “Yes, pheromones are present” or “Nope, sorry, you’re beautiful, but not for me.” I happen to think that if we’re working with this kind of algorithmic digital stuff, we should get as practical as possible, and chemistry is instant. You countered that there should also be a feedback button about whether or not the profile actually reflects what the person looks like. That would be brilliant. You get to click a button saying: “Yes, s/he looks like this!” or “Nope, not even remotely close!” You commiserated with me about Boy 1 and the awkwardness of inviting someone over to watch something without a specific viewing suggestion… you told me about a date who chose to watch Dallas Buyer’s Club.

But enough meta-Hinging. You also told me about the first time you had sex and the bits you love about your job and your two brothers and a small funny genetic defect you have. Good stuff, Boy 2, good stuff. You mentioned that you’re not a fan of Harry Potter and was that a dealbreaker for me? I was like, nope. Apparently I had sent a text asking if you were on a “muggle schedule” and that made you wonder. I don’t know… I think it’s a funny line? Calling a 9-5 a muggle schedule? It isn’t meant to belie a deep dealbreaking obsession with Harry Potter. ‘Cause I’m not… like I really genuinely wish I could just date people in the AM hours. It would make my life so much easier. And you did give me a little shit about my educational background… and then I said, oh, do you not like intelligent women? So, you know… I guess two can play that game?

We finished our rugelach on a bench, and you asked me about my dietary restrictions… are you thinking of asking me to dinner? And we were near where I lived by then, so you walked me home. You mentioned you’d like to see me again. I also wore the same outfit for the show as I did for our walk, and you asked me what was I going to wear for my next performance. And I said, oh, yes, this is my… and you finished the sentence… “date outfit?” And I said, yep, my director liked it so much I didn’t change for the performance. That made you smile.

Boy 2, I want to thank you.

You texted me every 24 hours or so, but it was basic and simple so we hadn’t built a strange digital relationship before meeting.
You met me on my turf, graciously and kindly. You waited for me to deal with my audience, and then you literally walked almost the entire length of Manhattan with me. I mean… way to just play by ear.
You can hold a conversation. We talked the entire time. At one point when we were debating the do-we-sit-down-at-a-bar question, you said, “Well, what I don’t want to do is sit across from each other and hold an interview.” I salute you, Boy 2.
You’re deeply sweet and cool. I feel like you are an expert at Dates 1-8. I am curious about how you are beyond that? And I wonder if you’re just a very sweet dater? Like I’m not sure you’ll contact me? But I’ve learned now that I’m bad at predicting this (see: UPDATE on Boy 1).
You paid for my rugelach. You didn’t have to. I appreciated it though. It felt like a sweet gesture. And you didn’t make a physical move either which felt respectful.

Boy 2, I would go on another date with you.

UPDATE: You have texted me. You want to see me before you leave for the weekend. Date 2 has been arranged.