Nice Dud

For confidentiality purposes, I will now provide the rest of my dates with aliases.  Nice Dud (or ND) was date number two I had lined up after my wild night of dishing out my digits.  Unfortunately this post (as seen by the alias of my date) may be a little boring or dudly.  ND and I met for brunch a couple blocks away from where I lived.  Again I figured brunch would be an easy escape route because brunch could be as long or as short as I wanted it to be.  ND turned out to be a real nice guy, but also a bore.  I would throw out joke after joke, but not one of them struck him as funny; which is weird because I’m hoot (as demonstrated by my blog thus far). 

At some point I told him about a time I fell flat on my face in the middle of the street.  It’s one of my favorite stories to tell.  I’ve even mastered my storytelling style for it because I’ve told it to so many people.  Virtually every time I tell this story I get laughs, encores, a couple roses because of the way I’ve narrated the event.  ND’s response, “oh, everyone falls sometimes.”  Oh I wish you all could have seen the way I reacted to this, it was as though someone told me that I didn’t look awesome in my converse or that they did not like my signature hat (heartbreaking, really).  Given the ND was dud, I decided not to see him again.

HOWEVER, somehow, my idiot friends asked his friend and him to come out with us about a week later.  When we were at the bar, I was trying to be nice, but also distant to ND to make sure he didn’t get the wrong idea (I have a tendency to make boys fall in love with me left and right, so I have to be seriously careful about these things).  ND started dancing and made his way a little closer to me.  I am not comfortable with people entering my personal space.  As he got closer to me, I felt a combination fear, shame, and horror.  Uncomfortable, I looked around the bar for friends or an excuse that could help me out of the situation.  I saw no easy way to end this situation.  My solution?  Leave the bar immediately.  That was my last meeting with Nice Dud.

Khan

So my first date EVER was set for a Friday evening with Khan.  I wanted to make sure I would have an easy escape route, so I decided to make the date at Sundaes and Cones, a nice little ice cream spot near Union Square.  This way, if the date was a bust I could eat up my ice cream in four seconds, take off, and never see him again.  I met him inside the ice cream shop, and even in the light (as opposed to the dark bar we met in), he looked just as cute as I remembered him.  We greeted each other with a pretty regular hug; so far so good.  The only issue was that his Indian accent seemed considerably thicker than I remembered it being at the bar.  I told myself that I could overlook this, if he had a winning personality.  He paid for my ice cream (I’ve never had any guy pay for my food except for my dad and brother, so it was a pretty big moment in my life).  We sat down and began to converse, and that’s when the date went down hill.  I asked him what he does for fun; (please note the thick thick thick Indian accent), “I just cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelll.”  I quickly realized that hobbies and interests would be a fruitless conversation.  I vaguely remembered that one of his friends at the bar went to the same university as me.  I figured maybe we could play the typical Indian name game of mutual friends (basically a way to show people how popular you are, and believe you me, I AM POPULAR, I have like 733 and counting friends on facebook).  I asked him if his friend was in the undergrad or grad program at my school.  He said he didn’t know, because “we just cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeell yaar, we don’t talk about these things.”  I guess people don’t talk about academics and majors when they “cheeeeeeel” 

I then asked Khan how I could friend him on facebook.  I believe facebook is the best way to determine if someone is cool or a creepo.  Plus, my friends and I have mastered facebook stalking to another degree, so I am confident in our ability to judge and understand people through facebook profiles.  Khan replied saying that he does not have a facebook account because it makes his ex-girlfriend jealous to see other girls writing on his wall.  Talk about appropriate first date conversation.  After this comment, I decided that this relationship would put my life in danger.  What if his jealous ex flew over from India to hurt me?  I am a tiny girl, with very little pain tolerance, no strength, and no stamina; thus I would neither be able to fight with nor run away from his envious monstrous ex.  I quickly ate up my ice cream in hopes of wrapping up the date. 

Turns out that Khan still wanted to hang out, and since I was new at this dating thing, I was not equipped with the skills to quickly and painlessly end dates.  We decided to take a walk around Union Square.  We somehow ended up at BestBuy, which would have been cool if we were there to just play around with random gadgets, but apparently Khan needed to purchase a TV.  Somehow my date had turned into running errands with Khan.  I helped him weigh out pros and cons of buying certain TVs (basically becoming his BestBuy personal sales person).  Immediately after assisting Khan buy his TV, I decided to leave before he could make me go grocery shopping with him or help him pick out tiles for his new apartment..  How the hell did my evening go from being an ice cream date to shopping for a TV?  I hate shopping; I barely shop for myself, let alone shop for Mr. Khan.

My image of dates was formed through watching lots of chickflicks and on occasion, stories from my friends.  Thus I expected my date to be full of lovely conversations, flirtation (I actually don't know how to flirt, but maybe he would), and me getting free food.  Needless to say this was nothing of the sort; however, I still had another date lined up in a couple days with Boy #2 from the bar.  I was hopeful that this date would go better.

As I sat in my room describing to my friend a series of unfortunate dates I had been on, she laughed and told me I should start a blog about them, or at least write about them.  Given that I lack any sort of writing skills, I simply chose not to listen to her.  But as I was getting ready this morning, I realized I don’t have to be a good writer, because these stories basically tell themselves (I know, how cliché, but for realzz).

Just some back history on me.  I am now 23 years old, and have never had a serious relationship.  No only that, I went on my first date EVER about a year ago.  Since then, I have been on more first dates than all my friends combined (also keep in mind that all my friends are Indian, so we don’t really go on dates as often as other people do).  Anyway, in the 2^nd semester of senior year, I decided that one thing I wanted to do before graduating was to go on a real date. 

Around March of 2011, one of my friends persuaded me to put on make-up before we went out to a bar (two things I almost never do).  My friend basically turned me into a canvas and put a lot of goop (make-up) on my face.  I was told by my friends that I looked hot, which is something they should tell me everyday, sheeesh.  We headed to PS 450 (a bar, not a public school). 

As I entered the bar, everything was normal.  I was ready to watch my friends get tipsy and call it a night by 12am.  In the first five minutes of being there, a random guy started talking to me.  This almost never happens to me; hence, I freaked out and ran away to the other side of the bar.  Later that night I realized that it was okay to talk to boys at bars.

Boy #1:  One of my friends, who was tipsy at this point, started talking to a group of guys, one of which I found to be attractive.  I began a conversation with him (that’s right, I basically hit on him) and we talked for 20 or so min. about random useless things, that would not prepare me for the ridiculously lame date I went on with him the next week. Towards the end of our conversation he asked me for my number, and apparently because it was normal to do so, I gave it to him.  I asked him his name again; he said “Khan.”  I asked him if that was it, if there was no first name to go with it.  He said his first name was too complicated and that I could just call him Khan.  Khan was also the name of our extremely creepy doorman at the time, so that should have tipped me off as to how this was going to pan out.  Oh, just so you know, Khan is a FOB (both doorman Khan and barguy Khan).

As the night went on—

Boy #2: Another guy came up to me and started talking to me.  I think I may have been on some adrenalin high because I started talking to this guy as well.  Not only that, I proceeded to give him my number. 

I KNOW!  I’ve never been on a date, but one night I go out and I give my number to two different guys, I’m basically a slut.