Blind date #1: Double-dipper.
And we’re off. Wednesday April 6th, 2011 was my first official blind date of the “process”, and in fact, ever.
It was set up by a friend of mine from work. A week prior to the date, at about 5 in the morning, I had just woken up for some reason, and I headed to the toilet, sat, and logged on to facebook. He IM’d me saying he had a date for me, and in my half sleep mental state I said: “yes! send him my way”. I went back to bed.
The next day I checked my inbox and I had a name and a number. That was basically all I knew about this guy, and all I would know until I met him. I replied asking what I was supposed to do, surely I wasn’t just going to text a complete stranger and say: “hey! you don’t know me, but wanna go on a blind date?” My friend then asked for my schedule and set the date up.
On that fateful Wednesday, I woke up, met a friend to get our nails done, walked around soho for a bit, and then headed to work. I was at the gallery obsessive-compulsively hanging some art work when I realized the time, I was running late! I rushed to the bathroom, changed into my carefully predetermined outfit (black pants, black Sperry’s, a black Neil Barrett sleeveless tee, and a grey Band of Outsiders blazer), downed a mini bottle of liquid balls (a.k.a. J & B) I had purchased earlier, opened my umbrella (to bring in the good luck), and with the blessing of my peers, headed out the door. Then I received a text from my date saying he was running a bit late. No biggie. I arrived at the spot we agreed on, a somewhat cute thai restaurant in soho with a witty name, and waited outside. Another text came. He was running even more late.
I went inside and sat at the bar. The bartender, a beautiful, model-esque (like most people who work at restaurants in trendy New York neighborhoods), black girl with a sultry accent, and an alluring personality, asked me what I wanted. I asked for her suggestion. I ended up with a tamarind martini. As I sipped on the deliciously tangy concoction, we made small talk. I was slightly nervous for my date to arrive and introduce himself in a cliche: “Hi are you my (insert my name here)?” manner. I didn’t want her to know I was on a blind date. Sure enough, he walked through the door and did as I had prophesied.
First impression: if there was a romantic comedy where two guys meet for a blind date, he would’ve been exactly what I’d expect to see in such film. A couple inches taller than me, blond hair, blue (maybe green) eyes, wearing brown shoes, dark jeans, a Ralph Lauren sweater over a polo shirt, and a puff jacket, all in “safe” colors (navy, green, brown). I’d say he was moderately handsome, yes.
I finished my delicious cocktail, and we asked for a table. He was quite talkative and nice, we broke the ice in no time, and proceeded to inspect the menu. I sort of let him take the lead, I wanted to see what his approach was. He suggested we share an appetizer (spring rolls) which I took as him feeling comfortable. I suggested we share a large beer and some sake because, again, life is more fun with a slight buzz. Per his advice, I ordered the pad thai. He ordered something with chicken (sorry, I’m forgetful).
We started chit chatting. I found out he had an office job, worked a lot, and basically had to squeeze in the date into his sched, he was from orange county, blah blah the basics… nothing too memorable. The spring rolls came, and again, I stood back and watched his approach. I dipped mine in the sweet and sour sauce and took a bite. He did the same. I lingered and carefully waited for his next move. To my utmost surprise, he double dipped. Now this might not seem like a big deal to some, but in America double dipping can be crucial. When in company of people you don’t really know, you don’t double dip unless you ask. He certainly didn’t seem like the kind of eclecticly forward guy who would do such things. Did I mind it? Of course not, but I took this as a pretty ballsy move, and I liked the guy a bit more.
I had a slight feeling double-dipper somewhat liked me. I am aware I tend to think everyone does, but he seemed very engaged in what I had to say. He asked me about my life prior to New York. I mentioned Mexico City, he said I don’t look/act mexican (whatever that means… but I agree). We talked about music, I pointed how Mexico’s more open to a lot more music from the rest of the world than the US and gave Kylie Minogue as an example, to which he replied: “so everyone knows about that kind of music in Mexico, even the short people?” I giggled.
We finished the food, passed on desert, and headed out. We walked about a block together, then he went home. No kiss. No hug. No drinks after. I strolled back to the gallery. I helped install more work, had some wine, got a text from him saying he had a good time, reply saying I did too, went to see a friend at a bar, and the rest is history. I woke up in my bed having absolutely no clue how I got home. I guess I had five drinks too many.
What do I think of the date? It was a nice start. It was very by the book, and if the highlight of the evening was the double dipping, I wouldn’t say it was the most exciting experience yet, but I kind of knew that the moment he walked through the door, and I remain hopeful for the ones to come. Would I see him again? Why not, he’s a nice guy. Do I like him? Not particularly, but he does love dogs and he does read… he’s won half the battle right there.