My Name is Claudia

Date Night: Caffeine and Alcohol

[NOT SO] BREAKING NEWS: I went on a date about a week and a half ago. The fact that I’m just getting to writing about it now should be some sort of indicator about how I thought it went.

About the dude: 36. Grad student. Tall. Dark hair. Boyishly cute. 

You’d think that would be a recipe to keep me intrigued, but no. He doesn’t really drink, so we met up at a Starbucks (I know, I know—tried local coffee place but it was closed) for a coffee. He was a little late (totally fine with me, I like to get there first). In his defense he offered to pick me up, but I told him it’d be better if we met somewhere halfway (that way I could make my escape if need be). 

Once he got there, we made small talk. But after a while, I felt like I was the one driving the conversation. But, I kept an open mind. So much that when he suggested we walk across the parking lot (like 30 yards) for a bite to eat, I obliged. At this point it was rather late, so I didn’t eat, but instead opted for a beer (it was a sports bar, after all). So he drank his diet coke and offered me some of his chicken wings. After 2 hours or so of being out, we seemed to run out of conversation, and I told him I had to be up early the next day (true story), so we hugged and parted ways. 

The fact that neither of us has contacted each other since is further proof that we are both completely nice people that do not see this going anywhere (sorry, Mom). My first date in seven months and it was a BUST. Onto the next (whenever that is)…