Welcome to my strange little corner of the universe, where I’ll be telling stories and talking about all things dating. I grew up frustrated that there wasn’t enough in popular media or literature that talked about the queer dating experience, so I decided to change that by telling my own stories. In the coming weeks and months, maybe years, I hope to show you a reflection of myself, and share that mirror with you along the way.
Oh, and get ready for lots of Taylor Swift references.
It’s June 2020. I’m bored at home during the pandemic. I’m still hunting for jobs, but I’d finished my time in college in Austin by that point. I wasn’t very busy, ever.
One evening, Brett messages me on Grindr, a man I had spoken to nearly nine months before on Bumble, a completely different dating app. I’m instantly intrigued because 1) Does he remember me? 2) If he does, why is he messaging me? 3) I simply must invite this man over for drinks on my porch (trying to be COVID-safe) to see what happens.
He comes over. It’s his first time at my apartment, considering that we never made it that far on our first two dates. We talk about how we’ve each handled COVID as I sit there waiting patiently for when to pull the ripcord on what I know.
Finally I say, “You do remember that we’ve met before, right?”
Brett, looking nervous, “Yeah, of course, why?”
“Wanna talk about why the last time we saw each other you left our date after 17 whole entire minutes? Wanna explain?”
If there’s any date that lives rent free in my mind, it’s this one. We met at Lick ice cream in Austin on a Sunday night in September. I was a little early. He was a little late. It was 8:57 p.m. when Brett finally arrived. We got in line for line ice cream.
We chatted about what we had been up to that weekend. I had gone to a University of Texas football game and watched the team do poorly. Brett had spent most of the weekend meeting his new classmates from his doctoral program.
We sit down with our frozen treats. At this point, it’s probably 9:09 p.m. We eat our ice cream, and as soon as we both finish, he looks at me and says, “Ok! Well, this was fun. I have to go home and get ready for class tomorrow, but we should hang out again.”
Brett then proceeds to pull out his Google Calendar, scrolls through the many, many things on his to-do list, and says he is available to hang out with me the following Sunday. I nod and politely say, “Sure!” all the while knowing I’m probably never going to see this man again.
I didn’t, not for nearly a year.
I share the most awkward hug possible with him as I try to figure out what the fuck just happened, and then he bolts at 9:14 p.m.
The date felt like the IRL version of Taylor Swift’s song “Last Kiss” where she has a 27-second intro to mirror Joe Jonas’ 27-second breakup phone call.
Driving back home, I prepared to give my roommate my monologue about the shortest date of my life, a title that this man, two years later, still holds. He’ll probably hold it forever.
I walk into her room when I get back, and she pulls her headphones off as I try to pull words together.
“You good? You got back pretty fast.” Alex said.
“Well, um, I went there, we ate ice cream and then he left, saying he ‘had to get ready for classes tomorrow,’” I replied.
I don’t know about you, but once it’s past about 8 p.m. on a Sunday, I typically didn’t have much to get “ready for” when it came to my Monday classes, especially during the third week of the semester.
I did see this man again, though.
Back to June, when he’d messaged me on Grindr. He never texted me about what would have been our third date. (Our first one was also abruptly cut short, but it at least lasted a whole 45 minutes. Nevertheless, I probably should’ve seen the signs.)
As I reminded him of our first date at that ice cream shop, a horrified look crossed his face, and he proceeded to inform me that he is lactose intolerant.
Before we go any further, I would like to remind the room that Austin is one of the most vegan-friendly places on the planet and Lick has dairy-free and vegan ice cream flavors!!!
I think you can figure out the rest, but for anyone who is confused, he had to run home to spend the next hour in the bathroom as a result of his … disastrous dessert decision.
This date is like gum in my mind because it was both insane in the moment and astonishing in the way that it reminded me that there are always details you are missing in every situation. I figured this guy thought I was annoying and had decided to run away and ghost me. (I’m not one to judge. I’ve run away from my share of dates.)
Nevertheless, it didn’t change the fact that he could’ve texted me. I will explain my thoughts further on this in future columns, but I am not of the opinion that every single date deserves a deep explanation of why you don’t want to see them anymore. However, don’t say that you want to see them again if you have no plans to (unless doing so is a necessary step of getting rid of someone and getting yourself out of a bad situation).
The experience of the date was also so comical that I couldn’t even spend one minute feeling bad about it. It was simply too ridiculous to be upset about.
Editorial help for this column came from Cal Lundmark.
Note: Names of the men in my columns have been changed to respect their privacy — and to allow me to spill a bunch of tea on all these people without remorse.