Seriously, someone help me figure this out. Since I tend to have an aversion to dating, sometimes I can't even tell anymore. Here are the facts: dude and I met online and spent roughly two-three weeks playing email and phone tag until we finally settled on a date.
We met at a bar in the East Village. Since I got there a little late, he was already on his first drink, but soon enough I got my whiskey consumption started. We talked, we chatted, we compared notes about our unique childhoods. He confessed that he wasn't all that tech savvy (which is why I'm almost positive he isn't reading this right now). And we drank. A bunch. But while I stuck to my "healthy" drink of double shots of Jack Daniels with a club soda chaser, dude mixed vodka, bourbon and lord knows what else. Advantage: me.
After about four rounds of liquor, we decided to change locations to another bar—one that I am convinced must be a drug front because it was well situated, but hella empty for a Friday night. This time, instead of sitting on stools, we sat at a booth across from one another. More small talk ensued, and soon enough, he held both my hands while reaching in for the first kiss. Fuck it, I went for it and we made out. He wasn't a bad kisser, but he was definitely an OVER-kisser. What is over-kissing? Let's just say it's comparable to the kind of junior high basement party makeout session that left you with lockjaw.
How much of an over-kisser was this guy? After a while, he wasn't even sitting on his side of the booth. He was bold enough to squeeze in next to me at the table to continue the kiss fest. Now I'm all for a good makeout session, why else would I keep indulging him? But the bar was nearly empty, with only one other group sitting around. I was seriously ready for them to shout, "Get a Room!" at any moment and it made me a little self conscious.
After an hour or so (time, like our conversations that evening, remain a little blurry), he walked me towards home along First Avenue, but insisted on pushing me up against several buildings so we could kiss some more. Jeez, yo. I know I'm cute, but let a girl up for some air. At 14th Street, we parted. I can't remember the small talk we had, or if we agreed to see each other again. But I'm not exactly sitting by my phone waiting for a text message.
Still, one of the thoughts that haunted me all weekend: Was that a bad date? Was all that booze a Dating Don't? Since I can't tell, I want opinions. Just remember to keep it classy.