WHO: A medium-height guy with arms, legs, and a full head of hair. That’s all I rememeber. Probably cute? Doesn’t matter at this point.
WHAT: OkCupid
WHEN: A few years ago..it’s hazy.
WHERE: Madrone! Amazing spot in the Nopa/Lower Haight ‘hood. They’ve got a deer head on the wall with shotguns instead of antlers. My kind of spot. Also, they have a cucumber cocktail that is one of my favorite things to drink ever. The end.
WHY: The defining factor of this gentleman was the fact that he liked to dance. He mentioned Motown Monday in our emails and said he thought we should grab a drink and get our dance on. It has been near impossible for me to date a guy that likes to dance, so I said yes REAL quick.
THE DATE
At the time, I lived about a 5 min walk from Madrone. We decided to meet in front and as I crossed the street, a normal-looking dude wearing a giant puffy jacket smiled at me.
Jacket: “Tara?”
Me: “Hiya!” (Hug) “Shall we go grab a drink?”
Jacket: “Yeah! This place makes a great Vodka on the rocks.”
Me: “Huh, okay?”
We sit at the bar and I take off my coat, order the amazing cucumber drink rather than a vodka, and start the interview…I mean date. He’s from So Cal. He’s got a family. He has a job. Blah blah blah. I realize that I’m a little bored and that he hasn’t taken off his jacket. It’s warm inside, and the DJ just starts throwing down some jamz. It’s getting harder to hear my date and I really can’t figure out why he is still wearing a down jacket.
Me: “Wanna put your coat with mine?”
Him: “What? You wanna glass of wine?”
Me: “No, DO YOU WANT TO PUT YOUR COAT WITH MINE?”
Him: “Nah, I’m okay. Let’s dance.”
He grabs my hand and we head out onto the dance floor. It’s packed and after a few songs I’m sweaty and I can only imagine he should be too. He’s still wearing that giant jacket.
“OH THIS IS MY JAM!” he yells when some oldies song comes on. He unzips his jacket and does a slide step away from me. He reaches behind him and looks like he’s trying to tuck in his shirt. He pulls out TWO PRINGLES CANS. AND HE STARTS SHAKING THEM.
“EXTREME BBQ PRINGLES! EXTREME!” He starts shaking them in front of me like maracas, pops them open and starts eating them, handing them out to strangers on the dance floor. I eat a few and they are, in fact, EXTREME. But I can’t get over where he had them hiding. I cozy up to him wondering weirdly if there were more. AND THERE WERE. HE HAD ANOTHER CAN TUCKED INTO HIS BELT.
At least this date fed me.
Never Compromise on Tallness or Baby Hands 