Last weekend I was at lunch with B.N. and there was a cute guy who kept staring at me. I boldly gave him my phone number on my way out. Later that afternoon, he called. His name is N. (I assume he has a last name, but I don’t know it.)
So we went out last night to a bar called Pop Rocks (his (bad) idea). I’m not quite sure how we managed to get in, since they clearly had an age requirement of 12 and under, but there we were, shrieking in each others’ ears and looking ghastly under the unflattering neon lights. At one point I tried to get a little familiar and he said, “this isn’t a date—it’s an official hang”.
What did he think, I gave him my number because I wanted his thoughts on Frida Kahlo?
I asked him what it would take to turn this into a date, and he said, “I don’t date people this early—I don’t even know you yet.”
Then he exchanged phone numbers with two other guys in the bar.
Then he spent the entire cab ride home alternately feeling me up and tweaking my nipples.
Then he wouldn’t let me come up to his place because it was a mess.
Men baffle me utterly.
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