Okay, blogfam, I have to be entirely honest right now, I
have been holding out on you. I know, I
know, as a writer, I know every aspect of my life is fair game and story
material, but this one needed some time to pass before it could be published.
However, that being said, I promise you it is well worth the wait! What is this illusively amazing story I’ve
been keeping from you, you ask? Well, it
is only the BEST horrible dating story ever!!!
This is absolutely my ‘ace in the hole’ go-to story that I
give when I tell people “yes, I am single.
Yes, dating in 2016 is scary.
Yes, I put myself out there. Yes, I go on horrible dates, I write a
horrible dating blog. Yes, I can top
your bad date story. “ So, with all of that prologue, let’s get into it.
An undisclosed amount of time ago I met someone through a
work function, and without knowing much about them, other than they were nice
and seemingly efficient in a work environment, decided to give them a chance
and go on a date.
First, a few
disclaimers:
1)
this man had zero social media footprint (which,
let’s face it, in this day and age is a con. You are probably a serial
killer. Even my mom has a social media
footprint!)
2)
I have way
too big of a social media footprint. I
have since worked on decreasing it (successfully), but at the time it was a bit
large, and I accept my responsibility in the events that unfolded.
2a) Social media really shouldn’t be taken
seriously. It is not real life.
3)
It has been a very long time since I was
nervous/excited/anything more than apathetic for a date.
With that being put on the table, onwards I will go. This date was made randomly a week in
advanced and when the time came to it, I destroyed my entire closet looking for
an outfit to wear. Of course, after
several hours and almost being late, my trusty group chat of girlfriends and I
landed on a cute, weather appropriate outfit.
My friends took it as a good sign that I was unhappy with all of my
outfit choices, because apparently that’s what girls who look forward to their dates
go through; [I wouldn’t know.] The first
date consisted of dinner, drinks, and a lot of conversation. I wasn’t entirely sold, but I wasn’t running
for the hills either, so we all[1]
thought this was hopeful and a good thing. After my date I decided to go to my local watering
hole, where my friends work, to discuss the events, giggle giddily and revel in
the fact that I had already secured a second date for the following weekend.
While I was at the bar talking to one of my friends some
toolbox was harassing us and wouldn’t leave us alone. So, in true Gabrielle fashion, I gave him my
brother’s number and sent him on my way.
(Sorry, but isn’t that what having a brother is for? J) My main mistake here
was that I put something on a social media outlet about having an interesting
weekend of dates and giving someone a random number. This was the kiss of death. While I accept responsibility for being
childish and posting that, who really takes social media seriously? Certainly
any post on an obscure outlet in the wee hours of the night.
That being said, obviously “the dater” (don’t worry, he will
get a better nickname later on) stumbled across this social media post,
unbeknownst to me (not many of my real friends even knew about that account,
which has since been deleted) and decided to ‘jokingly’ bring it up. Granted, once we discussed it and explained
that it was entirely a joke, I thought the issue was dead . . . boy, was I
wrong. The night before our date he
called me up in a foul mood itching for a fight, then proceeded to send erratic
text messages about how he was “hurt” and “faithful to our date” and “crying”
because of this situation. Now, I surely
thought the latter bit must be an exaggeration, because there was certainly
nothing to cry about, but I continued to entertain the berating until I
didn’t. At which point I politely
explained that the conversation should be tabled before I said something to end
the argument.
For the sake of saving time, I will skip to the day of the
date where I didn’t want to go but I was basically guilted into going (see
previous blog where healthy relationships don’t make you feel guilty.) Against my better judgement, I went on the
date. I cared less about my outfit, but
still made the effort, and of course all of my girlfriends were aware of the
situation and ready to swoop in if I needed an escape route. I got to the date
10 minutes early, and he was already there on drink number 3…not a good
sign. It was so uncomfortable that,
while we were waiting for our table, even the bartender made a comment about
the awkward tension. He also went on to
describe his family member in a lewd way that made me extremely
uncomfortable. To add insult to injury,
they sit us at this table that was smushed up against a window and another
couple, and had to be pulled out for me to get in. Talk about claustrophobic issues, that
completely put a monkey wrench in any escape route plan. Nothing about this date was going right.
The menu look-over was filled with awkward, forced
conversation and we decided to forgo appetizers and just go straight to the
meal. Everything seemed to be going fine enough (considering) although I was
certain I did not want to pursue anything further post this meal. When, out of
nowhere, he starts crying. CRYING. He was bawling; head down, tears on the
table. I didn’t know what to do. I
stopped. Mortified, everyone staring at
me, I asked him what was wrong. At this
point, his head was in his hands, still facing the table, crying, and he said
“I don’t know. I’m upset. Something you said in the past 5 minutes hurt
my feelings.” I was apologizing profusely, although I had no idea what I said
that was so awful, so I asked, to more genuinely apologize. His response was “I don’t remember what you
said. I just.. I just really feel like
you don’t like me.” Now the whole
restaurant is staring at me and I am just sitting there trying to a) plot my
escape and b) reevaluate my life to figure out how I got to such a point. But, after some reassurance, he immediately
stopped crying and started grinning saying everything was “fine.”
That was the end of the crazy rollercoaster, I thought. But alas, it was not. After everything seemed fine, and we received
the check, I hailed a cab, as the night was over. Apparently that was the incorrect thing to
do. The Crier (obviously, the only acceptable
nickname for the rest of his life) decided to start yelling at me for wanting
to go home. I don’t know who decided
dates need to be a five-hour ordeal, but I think a dinner commitment is enough
to end the night, even on a good date. Getting
into the cab ride was like the Valkyries coming to take me to Valhalla, I don’t
ever think I have been so happy to get into a car in my life. Yet, even after all of this awkwardness and
general viciousness, the Crier still called me the next day to apologize
and make another date.
Ladies and Gents, we all make mistakes here and there, but
if you make such a disaster
of a date/event/circumstance that you spend an entire weekend apologizing, just
cut your losses. You obviously burned
that bridge, intentional or not.
Everyone is entitled to a mistake and forgiveness, but when you
viciously attack someone, verbally or otherwise, relentlessly, do not expect a call back. And that, my dear bloggers, is my
ace-in-the-whole, a-team horribly dating story I have been keeping from
you. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I
am hysterical laughing and crying simultaneously at the ridiculousness which is
my dating life. Ha! Hope you have better
luck out there, daters.
Xoxo
[1] We
all, because everyone knows girls do not do anything without consulting their
best friends. So pretty much if you’re dating me, know that all of your
confusing texts are screenshotted and sent to 4 of my closest girl tribe.
