Tag Archives: margarita

Your Father Isn’t…Tim

12 Jun

The first message I’ve received since returning to OkCupid that has less than five spelling errors, less than three cheap pick up lines and/or less than one proposal is from Tim. We’re a 99% match according to the magic algorithms of love and he’s wearing a tux in his profile picture that makes him look a little bit like James Bond.

I’m intrigued but skeptical, thanks to a year’s worth of bloggable dates and the fact that I’m fresh off the relationship boat. What are the odds of meeting “the one” (even saying that makes me cringe a little bit) on your first date back in the game? Hah! If only I was actually that reasonable, but in all honesty, I manage to convince myself this is a possibility.

We talk for a little bit online and he explains that he’ll be going out of town later this week, so would I be interested in getting together sooner rather than later? I hate dragging these things out virtually and I have plans with friends at 8pm on Monday (READ: escape plan. Not that I’ll need to. OkCupid says we’re perfect).

On Sunday, we set up the meeting for the next day via text, but he keeps trying to continue the conversation via text message. Now, I love texting as much as the next non-Justin-Beiber-fan, but trying to describe your ideal vacation in 160 characters or less doesn’t leave much space beyond “palm tree, beach, margarita.”  I subtly hint that conversing a la middle school isn’t the best way to reach me by just not answering.

Mid-morning on Monday I get a message via OkCupid:

“My phone is being weird, so I thought I’d try this. How’s your day going?”

Oh, that’s kind of sweet, I think. I also realize that he might have tried to text me or noticed that I stopped answering last night, so I check to see if he commented on my lack of responsiveness.

Lo and behold, his phone DOES seem to be working, but I think Siri might have gone on strike, like the commercial where the navigation system won’t let the guy be an idiot and forces him to a jewelry store. I think I received fewer texts on my birthday than I have from him, one after another, seemingly oblivious that they were just echoing off each other with no input from me. I would love to be flattered that he likes me so much, but even I can’t muster that strong of a delusion. He’s never even met me.

The time finally comes and I’m more emotional than I expected. Am I ready for this? Do I even remember how to do this? I remind myself of the 99% perfect Christian world-traveling James Bond that I’m meeting (he had mentioned he has a slight British accent from living in London for much of his childhood). Of course, I’m disappointed on all counts within a few minutes of meeting. In fact, I quickly realize, I’m on a date with DC.

Tim is the perfect summary of DC, from the power suit at happy hour to the twisting of a Texas-sized class ring while telling stories about “my time on the Hill.” He moved to DC to intern for his Congressman and now works in the broader realm of politics. He loves to tell me about his degree, his job, his clients, even his “good old days” in college. He recites his stories with a ‘top that’ attitude then sits uncomfortably when I do. He tells me how hard his day was because he only had one intern available, and explains that a “not for profit is a nonprofit.” I get silly from chugging my margarita, which he thinks is “adorable.”

Although I’ve worked hard to avoid all these traits during my time in this city, I can accept this as an inevitable risk of living here, the way you accept getting bitten by a lion if you live in the jungle. It’s bound to happen sooner or later. The DCishness was not the killer of the evening; it was something else I’ve seen plenty of times but never known a name for, so I just made one up.

neck muffin: 1. when a man wears a shirt with a neck that is much too tight for him and keeps it buttoned. 2. The muffin top as applied to the neck.

I leave the date by dodging a kiss and meet my friends to watch the Stanley Cup, where they promptly persuade me that ordering a round of shots is not the way to shake off the specter of this date. Smart ladies.

~~~

Kids, please promise me you will wear clothes that fit and I will promise you that your father isn’t Tim.

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