Second date with Tinder James*! Notchy notch notch. Er - notchy notch. It took a lot of effort to get here.
Our first date occurred on a Friday night. We texted all weekend and made theoretical plans to hang out again the following week.
TJ: If you're not to (sic) busy this week would you want to get together again?
Me: Yeah, that would be fun ☺
I don't hear from him again for another week.
TJ: Hey, sorry I had a crazy week and yesterday I had a housewarming party. How are you?
Thanks for all that extra information?
Me: No worries! I'm good - just heading back from the fair ☺
TJ: Cool. What do you have going on tonight?
Me: I'm actually heading to a concert in a bit. What about you?
TJ: Cool. I'm grilling at a friend's. Was going to see if you wanted to join. What's the rest of your week looking like?
Ah, now the over-explanations make sense. Nothing like a last minute cuddle request.
Me: Beginning of the week's a bit of a disaster, but it clears up around Thursday.
TJ: Sounds good.
Sounds good? What does that even mean.
I don't hear from TJ again until Wednesday night, at which point we solidify plans for Thursday night. Another round of cocktails, this time at Blind Barber. TJ's lack of effort is really entertaining. And by entertaining, I mean I would have disappeared about seven text messages ago if it weren't for this experiment.
Night of, I'm running about nine minutes behind, and he's already calling to find out where I am. I thought under-ten was still in the safe zone? He's standing outside the bar waiting for me when I arrive. We grab a table inside, and appraise our surroundings. Meh. Ho-kay, conversation it is. The conversation proves to be equally meh - TJ still speaks at a shockingly quiet decibel and hears nothing. Just as I'm about to give up on the whole thing, he dishes out a nugget of sarcasm/personality. This guy's definitely more of a closer than an opening act. And close he does.
One second we're walking me to my car and the next we're making out on the street. The kid's good. He then grabs my hand and walks me toward...his car? What are we going to do - go to his place? Make out in the car again? His tiny BMW convertible hardly seems conducive to that sort of activity. Instead of actually using my words, I just trail along complacently, keeping my anxious thoughts to myself.
Perched on the edge of the passenger's seat, sans seatbelt, I'm clearly waiting for quiet little mystery man to reveal our plan. Don't worry, I'm just a mere follower on this road to paradise?
TJ: Are you coming to my place with me?
Sardonic discomfort plasters itself all over my face.
Me: Uhhm. Maybe? I uh - um, I need to read the street sign.
RKL@SJX$FKD. Can someone please point me in the way of my comfort zone?
He drives us over to where my car is parked to check the rules and regulations. No parking between 4a and 7a. There is an actual, outward sigh of relief from my side of the vehicle. It's so nice when the city of LA takes the lead on your life decisions.
Me: (halfheartedly) Damn Los Angeles.
TJ: I can drive you back before 4.
It's currently 1am. Yeah, I'm just gonna go ahead and say no to the whole South Bay quickie on a Thursday night situation. But thank you so much for your kindness and generosity.
Fast-forward twenty minutes, and I'm exiting the miniature vehicle with mussed-up buttons and a slow-forming knee bruise. Really should have gotten this kind of thing out of my system in high school, when I was at least half an inch shorter and guys were driving, like, their parents' minivans and stuff.
*not his real name