I have a story to tell. Before I tell that story, I’d like to get something off my chest. I’ve been a “blogger” for one week, and man shit is STRESSFUL. First of all, I’m filled with regret for the stupid domain name I just paid $40 for. Why didn’t I give it more thought? Fox Muse? It sounds like a fucking animal-watching blog. Whatever. Impulsivity has always been my biggest downfall. Secondly, how do I get people to read this? I’m curating all this content, now what? I’m really awful at this marketing aspect. I’m not ready to tie this to my real identity, so social media marketing is off the table. Oh well. As I mentioned in my first post, I’m doing this for “me” (insert cliche tone here). Now, onto the story.
Last September, I found myself violently single. I need to clarify what that means. There’s a difference between single and “violently” single. I’ll name a few:
- Regular single girls have at least 1 guy that they text semi regularly. This doesn’t even need to be on the daily. I’m saying their screen lights up, and it’s a guy that makes them giddy. Meanwhile, violently single girls get giddy when they make extended eye contact with anyone with a penis.
- Regular single girls rally around this shit: “summer is the best time to be single”. Violently single girls have likely spent the last few summers single, and will be tempted to gut punch anyone who says this to them. Ironically, this phrase is most often said by your friends in a relationship, I swear its their damn “supportive friend” mantra.
- Regular single girls likely have an ex or old fling that they have the potential to rekindle things with. Violently single girls don’t remember what their ex/old fling even looks like.
- Regular single girls still get excited to go on dates from apps. They tell their friends about it, show them photos and maybe even save their contact info in their phone. Violently single girls tell none of their friends, take a shot of vodka in their kitchen before the date and drudge to what will likely be another disappointing 2 hours with a guy that DIDN’T SHOW his pre-mature balding in his profile picture.
Anyway, you get my point. In all those instances, I’m the latter.
Back to my story… the month is September. Summer is winding down, but we aren’t all quite ready to enter our Netflix-binging season. It’s that weird time of year when you’re kind of sick of being outside but also feel guilty about asking to sit inside versus the patio. Let’s be honest, we’re all sick of sweating our balls off and have completely given up on any chance of getting tan at this point. Anyway, in the midst of my single gal Indian Summer boredom, a guy I had met a few times through a co-worker slid into my Instagram DMs. (A true modern day fairy tail!) The next few weeks he replies back to stories I post, we shoot the shit about our favorite Drake songs, standard douchey DM talk. Ultimately, he asks for my number and this convo moves to texting. At this point in my dating life, I’ve hit a point where I am reconsidering EVERYTHING about my type. I’m into career driven Ivy Leaguers? Let’s go for someone who uses “u” in texts instead of “you”. I like all-American athletes with a bit of muscle? I now want chicken-legged guys who spend more time on their hair than me. Oh, and the cuffed pants. It was a real “exploratory phase”. So when this dude that looks like he just stumbled out of a Miami club asks me to join him for drinks at Soho House, I’m in. Worst case? I get to go to this ~elite~ spot and see what all the hype is about.
The date itself starts out fine. I met him under the impression it’d be the two of us (cuz like uhhh that’s what you expect in any date) and am surprised when we walk up to a pool table and there are few of his friends playing. Okay… maybe we’ll chill with them for a bit, he’ll show me the place, then we’ll move on to a second location, and have a few drinks. We start off the night standing off to the side of the pool table and talk. Nothing out of the ordinary. Homeboy isn’t necessarily a Ernest Hemingway with his words, but we have our career in common so we stick mostly to that topic. He checks his phone a few times which is my BIGGEST pet peeve. Not to mention, his background is something douchy like a Drake quote or something. But, I let it slide. Then we join in on the pool game. I try budding in and talking to his friends, but mostly they talk amongst themselves as I awkwardly play along. You know when you’re with a guy and his friends and you can TELL they just think you’re the bimbo hook up he just picked in his DMs? That was the vibe. But yeah, we played pool which is one of the most OVERRATED bar activities. I spent half my time twisting that little blue chalky thing on my stick as if that’ll aid my performance in any way. OH, FORGOT TO MENTION, before we approached his friends, we went to the bar and got a drink. As a member, it automatically goes to his tab. He tells me drinks are HALF OFF that night since there was a fire in the kitchen the other week that shut it down for a couple days. This is an important detail.
We take a break from the billiards to get some food. It’s a reasonably priced buffet *ALSO HALF OFF* but I initially decline since I ate before, but he insists. Ok. I won’t say NO to free shrimp. We eat, we get one more drink, we return to the billiards. At this point, I’m sober. I just had one vodka soda, a hefty portion of shrimp, then a second vodka soda, all in the time frame of an hour and a half. Now I’m no Lindsey Lohan, but 2 vodka sodas gets me nowhere. FINALLY I get my tour Soho House. The place is cool, I guess. People claim to see Chance the Rapper there sometimes. Honestly, it felt like more like a hotel lobby filled with attractive yuppies. I’m not even allowed to take any photos to brag on snapchat I’m there because of the dumb rules. Maybe no one even saw Chance! Where’s the proof?!
Now this is where it gets interesting. Clearly we’re both bored. His billiard (I’ve taken quite the liking to this word) friends are hammered. Guess they were taking more advantage of half-off drinks than us. At this point, he has spent more than half the night either on his phone or taking to his friends. He mentions he has a few bottles of wine back at his place and asks if I want to come back and drink on his rooftop. Now I won’t say I’m the type of girl that WOULDN’T go back to a guys place for a night cap, but that would require a fantastic date. I’m talking engaging conversation, a hefty buzz, and bathroom breaks to text my friends “HE MIGHT BE THE ONE!”. This was far from fantastic. I’m ending the night sober, bored, and neglected. I kindly decline, and we split a Lyft. I offer to split the fare given he bought the drinks. Only fair.
I get home, flop on my bed, thinking what a WEIRD date. Then I get a text about how much fun he had. He asks to do it again. I’m perplexed. Were we on the same date??! I craft up some vague response being the wordsmith I am. Then. Comes this astonishing message:
“Do you mind if I Venmo you $20 for the drinks? It’s ok if not”
I instantly send screen shots to ALL my friends. HE’S GONNA VENMO ME $20 FOR THE HALF-OFF DRINKS? WHAT’S THE MOST THEY COULD BE, $5? Plus, he practically FORCE FED me the shrimp. The NERVE.
This is where I make my biggest mistake: I agree to pay. BEFORE YOU GET ALL JUDGY, I had my reasoning. Which I’ll outline below:
- I am an independent woman. I have the FUNDS to pay for my OWN drinks. I’m OFFENDED at the thought that any guy would asssuuuume I’m using him for free drinks.
- I can get into Soho on my OWN accord, buddy. I don’t need to use you for your eLiTe~ membership
- And lastly, I’m a coward.
Best part: he accidentally SENDS me $20 first, then has to request $40. All a private Venmo request, of course. At this point I have decided I am D-O-N-E with this guy. If I had gone back to his place to drink wine and hook up with him, you KNOW my ass wouldn’t have gotten a Venmo. After our exchange, he has the audacity to ask what I’m doing the next day. And FOLLOW UP the next day trying to meet up. To which, I ghost. Sorry buddy, you couldn’t ~pay~ me to go out with you again.
Now unfortunately this wasn’t a rando I met on Tinder, he’s in my social circle. Word gets back to him I’ve been telling everybody what happened. I end up seeing him around a few times, we exchange polite hellos, and ignore each others existence. AKA how I act around EVERY man I’ve gone on a date with. Or drunkenly made out with. Or hell, even dated for two years. It becomes a fun story that I tell when “bad dates” comes up. All good fun. Lots of laughs!
Fast forward last Monday, July 16th. The real plot twist: his first day at my job. I decide to really nip the awkwardness at the bud (I feel like I’m using that phrase wrong, but pretty sure no one will ever read this blog so no one to correct me!). I approach: “hey! heard you got a job here, congrats!” followed by some small talk about the cool new soda machine. Then we return to our habit of ignoring each other’s existence. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, a breeze!
Today, however, the plot thickened. An IM pops up on my work computer from him: “how’s it going”………………. Why are we straying from the plan, buddy? I thought we both agreed to pretend this never happen and we don’t know each other? This isn’t a drunken confrontation at a bar where we can hash this out and laugh about it, this is our workplace. I leave him on read for my lunch hour then begrudgingly engage in small talk (did I mention, I’m a coward? Of course I was nice.) He incessantly asks questions about my weekend, recent move (must have seen that on my Insta story. Creeper.), and my clients. Just when I think our brief convo has fizzled, I get this:
“I wanted to apologize for the last time we hung out. I was a jerk.”
Fearful that HR might be reading these, I hold in my TRUE thoughts and play the politically correct coworker card. I end up accepting his apology. Water under the bridge. THEN the real kicker.
“I felt bad. I owe you some drinks sometime if you’re up for it.”
At this point, I’m dumbfounded. The pit in my stomach is massive. It’s 3PM on a Friday and all I’m thinking is GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE. Not to mention, our entire awkward IM conversation, I have to keep walking by him to get water then subsequently go pee. I’m biiig on the hydration game. What do I do now? I can’t be an asshole. I work 10 yards from this guy and WILL be at work events with him in the future and potentially *gasp* work on the same account at some point. So I casually change the narrative, suggesting drinks are on him next work happy hour. Deflect the fact he has the audacity to ask me out on a SECOND DATE. Then in standard fashion, I flee. When faced with “fight or flight”, flight, ALWAYS. I’m home save now, don’t worry guys.
So, what is the morale of the story? I’m not entirely sure yet, but I have a feeling this narrative isn’t over yet. Miami dude isn’t going anywhere yet and unfortunately given the fact I need to put food on the table, neither am I. If anything, lessons can be learned here:
- The sincerest apologies come when there is nothing to be gained by person apologizing. Something tells me he didn’t apologize because he truly regretted his actions and their potential affect on me. If that was the case, it would have come months earlier. He apologized because it benefit himself and his career to mend bridges with me.
- The male ego is often unchecked. I wish I hadn’t accepted the Venmo request. I wish I had called him out at the time. Circling back, I’m a COWARD. Don’t get me wrong, if he wasn’t a coworker, I’d call his ass out. (What I did do is tell our entire team the story 🙂
- Respect yourself. Cuz like, the cookie is worth WAY more than $2o and a few shrimp.