After quite the hiatus, we’re back with another go.

Dating has been sporadic, yet eventful–Especially during COVID.

There was the guy with great chemistry, but horrible B.O…

The one who was consistent and witty, but always had an elaborate story or excuse. He was the Boy Who Cried Wolf that grew into a man with great abs and a personality disorder.

Then there was the one I dated for five months at the start of lockdown. He was a good ol’ homegrown boy from the Midwest.

I asked him about liking to surf as an opener since he featured the emoji on his profile, and he told me he had never done it before…

Our first date was on a ferris wheel in Golden Gate Park, where they had a professional photographer snap a photo of you like they do at theme parks. We took an awkward couple pic that was available for purchase later in the giftshop.

He accidentally left his phone in the car, and asked me to take a picture of the ferris wheel and send it to him so he could send it to his mom.

On our second date, he picked me up in a tricked-out bright yellow BMW coupe. I asked if it was his dad’s car. Okay, Bumblebee.

I’m still not entirely sure if he was bald or not. Every one of his pictures featured a backwards hat. And in 5 months of dating, I never saw him without a hat. That also means that in five months of dating and calling each other baby, we were never intimate beyond some very uncoordinated, sloppy-in-a-bad-way kissing.

Ultimately, that one ended because he still lived in his grandmother’s house along with his mom, dad, sister and brother-in-law, and he was “sneaking out” to see me against their wishes during quarantine. He would also set an alarm on his Apple watch for the time he needed to leave to go home every single time we hung out, so there’s that…

After him was the bootleg version of John Mulaney. No complaints with this one other than possibly having a slight lisp. But, he ghosted me after I went to Mexico for two weeks. Oh well.

After rescheduling with a guy twice, I felt obligated to go on a date despite every inch of me not wanting to. I have an innate fear of letting people down–It’s a complex, we’re working on it.

He was a clean-cut Australian tech bro who listed his height at 5’9″, which we all know means he was 5’7″ on a good day.

We started off strong when I got the following text, which I screenshotted and sent to my roommate expressing my concern that my date’s feet were dangling off the barstool and he may need a booster seat.

We did the typical first-meeting awkward hug where I towered over him in my heels, and I suppressed my initial surprise of his hair being entirely grey, contrary to every one of his dating profile pics.

My eye was profusely watering, so I explained that my contacts were bothering me, to which he said he got contacts so that he could “post up with a book at Wildseed and see all the hot girls better.”

I recall him saying “You’re one of those loud girls,” and then making a comparison of me to Charlie Sheen. Something that had to do with how quickly I drank my espresso martini. Throughout the rest of the night he continued quoting Charlie Sheen–I heard “Winning” far too many times.

I complimented him on his veneers, and he went on to tell me that he’s aging way better than his friends in Australia. Mostly because of the thin ozone layer that causes so much skin cancer, also because they have kids, and lastly because he had “a shit ton of Botox.” Which he did–He had that singular bulging vein on his forehead that typically protrudes when people get too much Botox. May or may not be speaking from experience…

When the waitress came around for our second round, he suggested we each order the other’s drink for them, given we knew little to nothing about each other.

I was game.

I chose a cocktail for him that had Aperol in it after noticing the first drink he ordered had Aperol as well.

He looked at me, looked me up and down, and said “Hmmm, ripped jeans…I know what to get you.”

Then he ordered me a juniper gin cocktail–The perfect accompaniment to my vodka espresso martini…

I made a sarcastic remark about my ripped jeans and not dressing to his liking, but I should have known given he said he wanted someone who liked “dressing up to go out.”

Sorry bro, my version of dressing up in San Francisco consists of various iterations of jeans, a bodysuit, and heeled booties in a rotation. It was also a Wednesday at Balboa Cafe–I guess I forgot to wear my finest pearls and ladies’ pantsuit.

Then he said “I’m going to the bathroom but also never coming back.” To which I laughed, but also thought it was a 50/50 shot that he wasn’t joking.

After two more rounds of that god-awful gin drink, the rest of the night is a bit spotty.

He told me that he loves walking around his apartment naked all the time and that his neighbor can definitely see him, but that it’s unfortunate because she’s not attractive. I called him a voyeur and he said he would live in a nude colony if everyone was good-looking.

Siri is his enemy, because one time he was cycling and accidentally called a girl who he only went on one date with and had a panicked conversation because he had so many Emily’s in his phone that he didn’t know which one it was.

He shared that he’s spent thousands of dollars on Japanese lamps, a self-proclaimed “Japanese lamp collector.” His latest was his $3k bedside lamp that he liked because “tripods are phallic.” I told him it looked like an Ikea lamp.

The night finally came to an end, and I played the usual *offering-but-not-really-offering* card to split the bill–Only this guy actually took me up on it. Very odd considering I wasn’t even choosing my own drinks and he had been ordering them for me.

He made a fleeting remark about being already drunk before I showed up, and when I got my receipt back for $86 that was made apparent.

I immediately realized that I had just paid for half of whatever drinks he had during happy hour before our date in addition to my four cocktails.

Had I known that I’d be paying not only for myself but also his pregame, I would have just stuck with my espresso martini.