OnHINGEd: Entry 2, Date 2.

"Another birthday part to get to and a blast from the past"

Hi 2BD! Thank you so much for reading Entry 1, Date 1! I’m posting a little early today, because to be honest, I’m going on more dates than I am posting entries. But do not worry; I have two dates for you this week. So without further ado, let us get started.

I’ll admit that with my newfound confidence post-date with Mr. Marshamallow I was eager to bounce back and went out a mere two days later. What can I say, my 2Bs (mind if I call you that?) the training wheels are coming off, the floodgates have opened and I’m locked in.

I hope you know that I would have laughed in your face if you had told me two months ago that I’d now be writing a column on my dating life in NYC. Skeptic turned believer I suppose.

Code Name: Mr. Asperge - Age: 25 - Occupation: Infrastructure/ sustainability…I tried guys, it didn’t compute - Height listed on the app: 6’3” - **Height in reality: 6’3” He wasn’t lying!

**because height is always 2BD.

Asperge is French for asparagus, fitting because this man is not only French, but also has the height and slimness of an asparagus (bien fait Larry). His height was a major factor in what made me match with him, but he also had a relaxed vibe, and I liked that he seemed well-travelled, even including a video of him doing a backflip on the slopes of the Alps somewhere. But it wasn’t the travel flexes or tall demeanor that stood out the most; it was backgammon. One thing you should know about me is that I’m a freak about backgammon. From a young age I considered myself somewhat of a prodigy. Many argue it’s purely a game of luck, but I believe it is equally a game of wit and skill. A game of skill that I developed regularly from a table at my grandmother’s apartment in hopes of one day destroying any man who claims he can beat me.

Well, one of Mr. Asperge’s prompts read “I bet you can’t beat me at backgammon”. To which I instinctively responded— “I bet I can”. This triggered some quippy banter to which he took advantage and wrote, “I would hate for our first date to be me beating you at backgammon, let’s get a drink first”. Well played Mr. Asperge, well played.

It was a Sunday night, but Monday was a holiday, so I accepted his invitation and proposed time and place. Due to cold temperatures, I modified my usual date uniform from TTLS to an off-the-shoulder warm sweater. I kept my usual jeans and boots the same but last minute traded my leather jacket for a long trench (he’s European after all). Then there I was, five minutes late, standing outside of a cozy wine bar in the West Village, pushing open the door.

The bar was quiet and charming, a far cry from the hip cocktail bar two days prior. A few people were sitting at the bar and scattered at tables. Jazz music was playing and it smelled like cork. I looked to my left to see Asperge standing up from the booth. Whoa, okay, he is very tall, I thought, and suddenly wondered why his tight black t-shirt was almost as tight as his skinny jeans. Wasn’t there a scene in Legally Blonde where Elle had to beg the question, gay or European? I fear I was in that same position and I was banking on the latter. God, it’s been 10 seconds B. Chill. But again, the initial attraction wasn’t there, this was just fact. Not that an attraction couldn’t be sparked, but it immediately settled my nerves as I confidently walked towards the table. Points to him for asking to hang my trench, to which I responded “Yes please, it’s my Inspector Gadget coat”. He chuckled. Courtroom of the OnHINGEd was now in session.

Mr. Asperge.

We settled into our table and hit the ground running with the “so tell me about yourself” spiel. To be fair, it’s nice that I have a long-winded answer to this question to avoid any awkward silences at the beginning of a date. I think I need to start being more silent sometimes to see if these men can fill the void. Turns out, Asperge was just as well-traveled as his profile hinted at. We discussed our backgrounds for a while until it felt old and even I was struggling to think of what to say next. Even the backgammon talking point could only last so long. It was interesting that Asperge and Marshmallow both moved to NYC around the same time so I had a lot of recs to give.

Although, since Asperge was coming from a whole other continent, he was more like a kid in the candy store. Infatuated by the fast-paced lifestyle of the city, it was refreshing to meet someone so excited about it and reminded me how lucky I feel to live here. It also reminded me of another European guy (also a Frenchman) that I had a short-lived fling with back in college, he was obsessed with LA… wait. Wouldn’t that be funny if they knew each other. But they don’t. Do they? No cause that wouldn’t— wait? No. They couldn’t possibly. Oh no, my curiosity is about to get the best of me, I guess I’m gonna ask—

“Random question…” I squeak out between sips of my pinot, “…you wouldn’t happen to know X from back home?”I gulp.

Asperge is trying to read my expression for a hint of a history, and I know my answer before he even lifts an eyebrow in amusement, which by the way, does not wrinkle one inch of his forehead and I’m forced to question if he has had any work done.

“Actually yes, I went on a school trip with him in high school” he responds.

Whooop there it is.

I force a smile, “small world!”.

The problem with bringing up mutuals in real life on a date is that someone inevitably is gonna pull up Instagram, and want to check the mutuals on there. Asperge did just that and there was X as a mutual. Go figure. I didn’t mention the nature of my relationship with X but it was an unspoken acknowledgment. It didn’t make it awkward, it unfortunately just put Asperge on a comparison scale with X, and truth be told I am substantially more attracted to X. I probably always will be.

CONFESSION TIME:

Okay, maybe I haven’t been entirely upfront about my past on Hinge. My failed situationship with X (aka Mr. Presumptuous) was my first stint. And, as fate would have it, Asperge knows him. I did tell you all that these were my first experiences in NYC, but technically, there was this little LA prelude. Now that I got that off my chest, 2BD, meet Mr. Presumptuous. He was genuinely the first and only guy I matched with on Hinge in LA, and he wasn’t even a stranger, we have several mutuals and I manifested meeting him after seeing him at a party. Hinge just set up our meeting instead of an in-person exchange.

I feel like we’ve all met our own “Mr. Presumptuous”— the guy who gets scared away after the first sign of things “moving too fast”. Regardless, I do not wish ill upon him and do believe we enjoyed each other’s company and went on lovely dates. Abruptly, it was him who suddenly wanted to DTR, pulling the I think you “deserve more” card and “I have a lot on my plate”… blahblahblah. Presumptuous that he thought he knew what I deserved after 4 dates, King. Anyway, six months later, he was responding to my story as I vacationed in the South of France, so do with that what you will. Now, instead of going through even more of a long-winded explanation of our rise and fall, I’ve decided to include an excerpt of a writing piece I submitted in college a couple of months after we stopped seeing each other. Let’s cue this little flashback vignette, shall we?

The Frenchman who can’t believe he lives in LA now

Not much to say about him, he was more enamored by the 405 than driving next to you on it.

He wasn't very good at tennis, but it satisfied you to beat him at it on your first date. Things fell apart just as quickly as they came together.
Now you wish you hadn’t taken him to your favorite restaurant.

You say he was being presumptuous about what he thought you wanted. Apparently, that word wasn’t in his vocabulary.
You say for a communications major “You sure as hell suck at it” (buddy).
He says “Maybe you should fucking try it”(copine).

You say you “just might”.

Playful arguments end with him grabbing your face and muttering in your ear the kind of French words they don’t teach you in middle school. You make a mental note to ask your Belgian roommate to translate what he’s saying.

(filthy)

So he doesn’t know how to communicate but he knows how to–

(it was never going to last)

In a moment of weakness (pre-emotional unavailability), Mr. Presumptuous was DB for 2BD and ripped a piece off his placemat at said “favorite restaurant” to write me this note en français.

To finish this entry circling back to Mr. Asperge— yes, he was very polite, curious, and nice, but similar to Marshmallow, the connection just wasn’t there. And by no fault of his own, his connection to Mr. Presumptuous whom we now know I was dreadfully attracted to was unfortunately damning. So, while he kindly paid for our glasses (it was also rather short date by 2BD standards- 1.5hrs), I bid him goodnight to go to another “birthday party”. He texted me later saying he had a great time and hoped the birthday went well. I thought it best to give that message a big old heart react and leave it at that. Our conversation didn’t even get to my mandatory couch commercial question and that says a lot in itself. But hey, at least he knew what letterboxd was!

We’ll talk soon, DATE 3 entry is in progress.

The next date? That’s 2B Determined.

:)