I dated my first crush, it didn't work out.
The red flags look a little beige when you used to pine over him in the cafeteria.
HI. If you’ve been wondering where the f*ck I’ve been—trust me, I’ve missed you too.
2BDs, the dating scene is so bleak right now that I’ve resorted to writing about my first crush. And here we are!
Between the blistering heat wave, starting a couple of new side hustles, and being perpetually disappointed by the new wave of men onHinge, I’ve been turning to our Instagram to drown my sorrows (make sure you're keeping up over there).
So here it is: a little flashback situationship from pre-HINGEstoric times, for your reading pleasure. This one was partly inspired by my dear friend visiting from Down Under. It was her first time in NYC, so naturally, the itinerary was packed—a Late Show taping, a Broadway show, a Yankees game—the whole lot.The baseball game brought up a question: Do Americans know about the AFL? AKA “Australian Rules Football” (here’s a link to explain, it’s kind of the coolest). At first, I said no, but all of a sudden it dawned on me. There was one man in NYC who I know plays for an amateur AFL league…
2BD, allow me to introduce you to KJ. Revealing this acronym would be compromising, but if you’ve seen Madagascar, it may ring a bell. Well, that could be compromising. Oops! Whatever.
KJ and I saw each other for about two months last year, and this is the story of our downfall. Or maybe this is my OnHINGED villain origin story. As usual, I’ll let you be the jury.
***Preface: This was during my baby2BD era, so please forgive my shortcomings. I got more caught up in the backstory of this short-lived romance than my actual liking of this guy.
We sit across from each other at the restaurant. I’ve arrived after sprinting from my apartment 10 minutes away with tissue paper still stuck to the cuts on my leg from a hasty last-minute shave. The sweat from the impromptu run was sitting comfortably in the strap of my bra, and I shift to relieve the discomfort.
He looks right at home in his chair, I had kept him waiting long enough to settle in. He had the kind of toned-dad-bod I liked, strong arms from years of hockey playing and long wisps of hair that escaped from under a baseball cap. He always spoke with an inflection in his voice that made a simple remark sound like a question, “…so I’m thinking of trying this chilled wine”, like he was trying to convince me. The left side of his mouth upturning like Flynn Rider’s smoulder in Tangled. Smug bastard, I used to love it.
He made an effort with his outfit for once; gone were the hours spent in the dive bar a couple of blocks down from our respective streets (yes, we coincidentally lived a block from one another). Three or four “dates” involved me showing up to the bar past 9 pm to meet him at the same two stools. Often, he’d wear a simple t-shirt, one time it was his METS jersey. The bar was a rapid decline from our first date at a trendy rooftop, where the two of us first reunited after sixteen years.
From then on, it was that same Irish pub, the same bartender “John”, and the same Guinness. Romantic, no. Convenient, yes. I suppose that was enough for me at the time- I was having fun. This was my first NYC fling, and it happened to be with the boy who was my first crush. We all remember our first crush.
Green eyes, golden hair, star of the playground, he was cuter when he was 8…
KJ and I met in elementary school. I had just started taking the big yellow school bus and could ace the spelling of “because” on any given day. KJ wasn’t actually in my class, but man, was he in my periphery. What can I say, I was a cheeky, crush-crazed 8-year-old. I only began to noticed KJ after this kid named Dom brought me into the coat closet, told me his dad was in jail and dared me to kiss him. Public school… Alas, KJ soon became the highlight of first grade, I’d race the other girls in the cafeteria to claim the seat closet to his. Funny huh, chasing him from the cafeteria seats to bar seats.
Naturally, all the girls also had fat crushes on him. Drooling over his cute little smile and poking fun at him for attention. I was no better although I don’t think he remembered me much. After all, I did wear striped bandanas and had 2 yellow front teeth, no you do not get to see an AI sketch of that. One of those girls, though happened to be my best friend, Gloria. Gloria was tall with jet black hair and a killer gaze. After I moved out of the city, we lost touch, but leave it to Instagram to reconnect us years later. I told her I was NYC-bound, and she asked me the million-dollar question: do you remember that guy from first grade, KJ? Um, yeah Gloria it rings a bell. Turns out Gloria had a reunion of her own (wink, wink) with KJ a year prior in the city before she met her long term boyfriend. With a cheeky grin, she said I should “look him up”.
So with nothing to lose, I did. I dm’d him. He responded and we met at that trendy rooftop. A few dive bar dates, an AFL Watch Party and a very last minute taco truck West Village stroll later I had to call him out for his inconsistency and poor planning.
Firstly, the incorrect spelling of “probably” was criminal, but the lip bite emoji has never failed me. He then asked when I was free and planned a real date accordingly.
Flash forward back to the restaurant and our chilled wines had arrived. We clinked glasses and brainstormed clever responses for his business school application. While I’d been on many a “date” with him, I still felt like I didn’t know him much at all. Looking back on the men that came after him, the pattern remains abundantly clear, working on it though! The banter is hardly ever as good in person as it is over text. PAUSE: that’s not entirely true; there was this one time—
Some random guy was talking our ear off at the pub so when he asked me my name, I point-blank lied and said it was Alexis. KJ didn’t miss a beat and said, “Yeah, this Alexis, but you should meet her friend 2BD, she’s super hot”. I melted a little.
Anyways, he had his moments, but they were always offset by far worse moments like this one—
Another round of wine at the restaurant and the conversation turns to his AFL schedule. Eventually, he tells me that he got pretty badly injured in his last game.
“Oh no,” I say “where’d you get hit?”
He grabs his right shoulder, “right here” he says.
“Ah, I’m sorry” I say, “well, you don’t need it much anyway,” trying to keep it light.
Unfortunately, he didn’t miss a beat in this response either, “I mean yeah, but it does make it kind of hard to j*rk off”.
Silence. Okay, so did he get hit in the head or the shoulder? What the actual fu—
I was too stunned to speak. Gagged if you will.
He tries to backtrack, “I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”
Uh, no. Personally, I would’ve refrained from a masturbation joke at the dinner table, KJ, but thank you so much for sharing.
I’m going to choke on my pride and cut to the chase with how the night ended. Yes, he did come back to mine. No, he did not rock my world by any means, in fact, he was painfully quiet for a guy who had a LOT to say at dinner. Whatever. Once again I was blinded by the first grade crush illusion, okay! It was good until it wasn’t. Tragically, it does get worse. He stayed over and went to work the next day, texting me around 11 am with—
Yeah, if I were sitting next to you reading this, I’d pass over the paper barf bag. This text has since been analyzed by many a friend, and no one understands nor cares to at this point in time. No further questions your honor. At the end of the day it was a fun story and at least he was my task rabbit who hauled the bench into my room and set up our projector.
How did it end, you may ask? Well, I disregarded the above text, just shhh I KNOW, and I gave him one more chance at redemption.
Where did he take me? Oh you know, just where all love stories go to die- Westville.
If you are unfamiliar with Westville just picture Chipotle’s entitled, healthier cousin. It’s where you go when work gives you a $15 stipend for a salad.
I only had an hour window, thank god. Remember a while back I said make men do you favors, I made him print a script for me that I absolutely did not need. The waitress recognized me from happy hour the week before and we were chatting when he showed up script in hand. Her face fell as soon as she laid eyes on his khaki shorts and college polo. I disappointed her. She was polite to us nonetheless, for now.
I order the seasonal salad and she says it’s a great choice since it goes off the menu on the last day of the month (it’s November 1st btw).
KJ smirks and goes “well shouldn’t it have gone off the menu yesterday then?” Oh she did not like that one, let me tell you.
She calmly turns towards him and without hesitation goes,
“Oh! Would you like to go in the kitchen and tell the chef that then?” Silence.
She turns back to me.
“You can come in the kitchen anytime though I like you”. Silence.
Without another word she picks up our menus and leaves. You guessed it, silence!
Safe to say the date was a shit show after that. He dryly revealed that he’d been admitted into business school—using my idea for one of the essay questions, might I add—which I initially thought was a good thing. But no. He decided to take the pessimist’s approach and spent the next fifteen minutes bitching and moaning about how his social life was going to disappear and how all the money he’d saved by living at home would now go down the drain.
Oh how I yearned for noise-canceling headphones and a cocktail.
Ten more minutes of that, and our food finally came. I figured it was best to take it to go. I stood up, went to find our baddie waitress, and asked for a box. If I’m not mistaken, I think I saw a glimmer of joy in her eyes, maybe even a little pride in my desperation to get out of there.
Not before KJ could crack a smug joke about Venmo requesting me. Hilarious. He didn’t, thank God. And that was the last time I ever saw him—until about two weeks ago.
The universe has a funny way of bringing people back when you’re ready.
Even though KJ and I had lived just a block away from each other, I hadn’t seen him once. Not in eight whole months. But there I stood, laundry bag slung over my shoulder, watching from a distance as KJ and his mom slowly walked his dog down the street.
And I felt… nothing.
No attraction. No bad blood. No lingering resentment. Just pure neutrality.
If anything, I felt a little sorry for the guy, like maybe he was still kind of lost and unsure of where life was taking him. I never found out if he ended up going to business school, but honestly? I didn’t care.
I didn’t say hello. I just kept moving. Because the 2BD that dated that guy last year is not the same 2BD who would ever accept that kind of treatment or pessimism from a man today.
And that’s the KJ chapter for you.
Your first crush is like a Bon Jovi lyric—a shot through the heart—and then you grow up, date them, and really come to understand the meaning of the song.
My next date? I’m trying 2BDs, but there are few things more unHINGEd than the NYC summer dating pool, so that part remains very 2B Determined.
Stay bold :)
xx 2BD
P.S. A parting thought: please don’t tolerate texts from men that you wouldn’t be comfortable sharing with your parents. If I had shown my dad the way this guy was texting me, I couldn’t have looked him in the eye. And honestly? That’s a great test.
Good riddance KJ