Clearly, I Didn't Think This Through : The Story of One Tall Girl's Impulsive, Ill-conceived, and Borderline Irresponsible Life Decisions (9781101612255)

by Goldfarb, Anna

  “You must be very hungry,” I said, with a tight smile.

  “Did I order too much? I wanted to try everything.” He looked panicked, like he’d guessed the wrong answer on Jeopardy!

  “No! It’s fine. This place is great. I’m sure it’ll be delicious.” Why did I even bring it up? I’m terrible at this!

  “So, we’re finally meeting! I can’t believe it.”

  “I know! Crazy, right? I can’t believe we’re in the same room,” I agreed.

  “There’s something I should let you know, Anna. I’m not ready for anything serious right now. Since I just got out of a serious relationship, I’ve just been trying to go on a lot of dates and meet a lot of people. It’s been going okay, but the more dates I go on, the more I realize that I need to just take things slow and really get to know the person before I jump into anything.”

  “Okay,” I said, slowly.

  “I wanted to put that out there before anything happens and this goes any further. You seem like a great girl, but I’m not ready to commit to anyone right now. I’m sure you understand.”

  I would rather listen to anything—an ambulance’s siren, a seal’s mating call, Fran Drescher’s laugh, literally anything—than listen to this guy prattle on about where his head is at in regard to our blossoming relationship. Do you know why? Because we’ve had only one date. And it’s gone on for only twenty minutes.

  We haven’t even received our food yet, much less entered into anything remotely resembling a relationship. Frankly, I resented the entire setup. I was a captive audience boxed into this restaurant booth. I had to make eye contact with him as he detailed every nuance about where/when/if/how he will be able to date me. Should I be taking notes? Will I be quizzed on any of this later? I felt like I was getting a book report on his emotions.

  I guess it was cool that he wanted to be up-front, but this little prepared speech that he gave me was an insanely huge turnoff. I didn’t appreciate his assuming that I wanted to be his girlfriend anyway. As Stephanie Tanner would say, “How rude!”

  Besides the chapped lips and the smelly car and the missing tooth and the pet turtle, I wouldn’t have wanted to date him anyway because he wasn’t funny. He cracked me up a mile a minute online, but in person he was about as funny as a parking ticket—that is, not at all. When we first started talking, he was like the Old Faithful of humor; every time his name would pop up on my phone, I knew I’d be in for a smile. But the farther he got from the phone, the less funny he became, and that’s the real tragedy here. (I also think that my local grocery store’s not stocking Pudding Pops is a tragedy, just to give you some insight into how I classify tragedies.) How could he do that? How could he crack me up with his texts but turn out to be such a dud in person? What false advertising! What a bait and switch!

  Between his unfunnyness, his extreme shortness, and his long-winded, unprompted relationship speech, I decided right then and there that he was off my buddy list.

  The food came, and there was a quick rearranging of plates to accommodate his feast. I nibbled on my toast as he shoveled a mountain of food into his mouth. We split the check, which was fine. I didn’t want to feel like I owed him anything.

  It was a quiet car ride back to my house, except for the GPS lady instructing us to keep going straight along Spring Garden Street. I let her direct him. In fact, I appreciated the break from the awkward silence. Plus, I was pretty sure that an old French fry on the floor of his car was now stuck under my boot, so I was focused on dislodging it without his noticing.

  We pulled up to my street, and I pointed to where I wanted him to pull over. “Yeah, right here would be great. Thanks for driving. And thanks for coming into the city. I know it’s a hassle for you.”

  “Oh, no hassle at all! In fact, it’s been my pleasure.” As he said the word pleasure, he leaned in and tried to kiss me. I say tried because his seat belt had other plans. Like a guardian angel made of woven fabric, it snapped him back to his seat with a thud. His seat belt was the hero of the date, like a bouncer who doesn’t let guys dressed in shorts and sandals into the club: “Sorry, son. I don’t see your name on the list. Now, get back in line!”

  As he fiddled with his seat belt, I reached for the door handle, but I couldn’t find it. My hand frantically searched the door for what seemed like an eternity until, at last, I found the latch.

  “Okayhaveagooddaybye!” I tumbled out of his car, nearly slipping on that goddamn French fry. Once I was inside my house, I marched over to my computer. Lucy’s maple syrup theory was bullshit. The only thing sweet about the day was deleting my stupid profile when I got home.

  I haven’t tried online dating since. Maybe I’m just better at dating in person. Or maybe I’m just terrible at accepting minor flaws in others. Or maybe I’m just terrible at dating in all formats, both digital and otherwise. That’s probably the most likely scenario.

  CHAPTER 13

  Blizztarded

  The news was calling the impending weather emergency a “Snowpocalypse,” which sounded like the title of a Judas Priest album that I wasn’t going to buy. The entire Northeast was about to be blanketed with a shit-ton of snow (roughly), and everyone seemed to be losing their minds. Weathermen were freaking out, calling it the “storm of the century.” Supermarkets were hemorrhaging milk, eggs, and bread like the human race was about to become extinct and everyone somehow needed to make French toast to save their lives. Kids all across Philly were praying for a snow day, and it looked like they were going to get their wish. Every channel had panicky flashing graphics splashed across the television screen, like we all had front-row seats to The Day After Tomorrow, Live!

  How was I going to cope with Snowpocalypse? Well, I planned to flop around my parents’ house in sweatpants and a hoodie, drinking several toasty mugs of hot cocoa. That was my emergency plan. The goal was to hunker down and avoid everyone and everything for the next few days as the snow did its thing. To be honest, I was looking forward to dropping out. I had several bags of marshmallows stored in the cupboard, so I was set on my end. Bring it on, Mother Nature. Hit me with your best shot.

  The first few snowflakes had just started to fall when I received an instant message from Jack, a tall jock I’d gone out with a few times last fall. At 6′5″, he was easily the tallest guy I’d ever gone out with, which made him an outlier, a fluke, an experiment gone awry. In an effort to broaden my horizons, I thought I’d give Jack a chance. Maybe I could overlook his long limbs and find love. Besides, I found his candor oddly charming. He was one of those guys who lays everything on the table, who says exactly what he’s thinking when he thinks it. There was no filter with Jack. While at first that quality seemed refreshing, it became grating pretty quickly when he’d say blunt, strange, hurtful things. He had no tact, which was the reason he entertained me yet simultaneously repulsed me.

  The fact that we even hooked up still boggled my mind. I mean, how could I take a guy like him seriously? He had a Sublime poster in his room under a black light that he’d installed himself. He owned several Hacky Sacks. Any of those things on their own should’ve sent me running. And they did. Until he’d pop up again like a persistent weed. Just from knowing him a year, I can say with confidence that he does a million terrible things all the time. He’d flake out on our plans at the last minute. He’d be a cheapskate. He’d argue about which movie we should watch. He’d invite his friends to come out with us even though I was looking to score some alone time with him. He’d agree to go to only two dive bars in the entire city, so every time we went out, we’d end up at one of those shitholes. Honestly, he was the worst. A total nightmare.

  Consequently, I’d written him off more times than I could count. I deleted him from my Facebook friend list and I deleted his number from my phone (twice!). However, I’ve come to terms with the fact that it is impossible to hold a grudge against him. He’s too wacky! And his tiny brain had a nasty habit of calculating the exact minute I would be vulnerable to his charms.
Maybe I was getting over someone else, maybe I was just sitting around my room bored; whatever it was, he had an unbelievable talent for pouncing on me when I was most susceptible.

  I hadn’t talked to him in a few months, so I was surprised yet tickled to see his name blinking on my computer screen.

  Jack: Yo. What are you doing for the snowstorm?

  Anna: Hey, Jack. Uh, nothing. Why?

  Jack: Come over.

  Was this guy serious? We hadn’t spoken in months and now he was demanding I leave my comfy couch to go see his tall, wacky ass?

  Anna: Why? What’s going on?

  Anna: Did you just get dumped or something?

  I didn’t have to be Colonel Mustard from Clue to figure out this mystery; clearly Jack assumed that I was his backup. I’d have bet he thought I was just hanging out in his back pocket waiting to be called to service, like a reserve Marine or a gift card to California Pizza Kitchen. I guess I was flattered that he’d keep me in his Rolodex/black book/spank bank/rub club, but I had no idea why he’d keep me there. The few times we went out, his behavior was erratic and immature. For a split second I thought that maybe he’d grown up in the few months we’d spent apart, but those hopes were quickly dashed the more he typed away.

  Jack: lol. You’d think that, right? ’Cause we haven’t spoken in a while and I’m suddenly talking to you out of the blue.

  Anna: Pretty much.

  Jack: Come over.

  Jack: We just got a wet bar at my house. It’s fully stocked with whiskey, vodka, rum, gin—you name it. I’ll hook you up!

  Jack: Hello? Are you still there?

  Jack: I don’t even care. I’m just going to keep bothering you until you say yes.

  Jack: Come over.

  Anna: Really? You know if I come over to your place, you’re gonna be stuck with me for, like, at least two days. The news is saying that it’s going to be the storm of the century.

  Jack: I know. Why do you think that I’m inviting you? I WANT YOU HERE.

  Jack: You’re totally considering it right now, aren’t you?

  Jack: COME OVER!

  Jack: You can hang out with Suzy during the day while I get some work done from home. It’ll be fun. COME OVER.

  Jack: Two words: snowball fight.

  Jack: Two more words: pillow fight.

  I will say that the idea of hanging out with Suzy was a selling point. She’s a good friend of mine and I hadn’t seen her in a while. In fact, she was the one who introduced me to Jack during a block party last summer, as they were neighbors. He lived right across the street from her. At first I thought that she was dating him, because he came up to her and loudly smacked her ass while we were talking.

  “Ow! Jack, knock it off,” she scolded, while rubbing her backside. “Anna, this is Jack.” He didn’t even shake my hand, just nodded in my direction.

  “What up, ladies? Fancy seeing you here.”

  “We live across the street from one another. Why wouldn’t I see you here?”

  After he left, I asked Suzy what his deal was.

  “He’s like my kid brother or something. He’s annoying, he’s crass, and he’s loud. I have no idea how he gets so many girls. I will say this, though: He’s got a good heart. Like, if anyone were to mess with me, Jack would be the first one out there cracking skulls. Besides that, he’s harmless. Actually, he’s a pretty funny guy once you get to know him.” She shrugged.

  Right off the bat, I thought Jack was a goofball so I didn’t take him seriously. I couldn’t take him seriously if I wanted to. Wearing ratty gym shorts, a Grateful Dead shirt, and a red bandanna tied around his head, he looked like a bum, like he would ask me if I had an extra quarter to buy a cheap beer down at the liquor store. There was nothing polished about him. It was clear by the way he sat on his stoop drinking a forty and chain-smoking that he did not give a fuck about anything. His hair was too shaggy, his attitude too lax. His shirt had a hole in the armpit and he had three tattoos that were Philadelphia sports team logos.

  Like I said, he was also very tall. I don’t notice tall guys generally, but apparently, I’d caught his eye. When he asked for my phone number at the end of the night, I thought he was kidding. I gave it to him anyway because I’m terrible at giving fake numbers. As the digits left my lips, the right ones kept coming out. When he repeated my number back to me to make sure it was correct, I reluctantly said yes.

  “Here, I’m calling you right now so you’ll have mine. When you save my name in your phone, save it as Jackass.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause it’s funny! That’s what everyone calls me.”

  “People call you Jackass on purpose?”

  “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

  I figured I’d probably never hear from him again. So when he texted me a few hours later saying that he liked my bewbs and he wanted to take me out, I thought he was kidding as well. His jackassery was practically performance art, like Philly’s own version of Borat. He was so uncouth, so unconcerned with saying and doing the right thing, it made me do a double take. Say what you will about his manners, but at the end of the day, he entertained me, which is what made me give him more attention than he deserved.

  We made a few aborted attempts at dating, but it didn’t go anywhere. We didn’t work as a couple for a number of reasons: For one thing, he was six years younger than me, which got on my nerves. I know there’s a cougar trend going on in society, but I have no idea why. Younger guys are the worst. He had no clue how the dating world worked. While he gave the appearance of wanting to do the standard dinner-and-drinks thing, as we came closer to our date, he did a total one-eighty, backtracking on the plans we’d made. Ultimately he rejected the idea of going out like well-adjusted adults. While initially he proposed grabbing dinner at a nice restaurant downtown, after a few scattered texts back and forth, he said that he wanted to hang out, watch a Phillies game, and grab Taco Bell for our first date. I’m serious! He was a classic date downgrader.

  Don’t get me wrong: I’m thrilled when any guy wants to hang out with me in public. I’m even more thrilled when he agrees to classify it as a date. I’m downright ecstatic when he makes a point of saying how he’s going to take me to a great restaurant and then for fancy cocktails.

  However, I am not thrilled when he downgrades our date in record time. What initially started as a firm offer to grab dinner and drinks tumbled into some loosey-goosey grab at makeshift plans. What happened? It was like watching the evolutionary chart in rewind; our date transformed at breakneck speed from a civilized, modern-day human to a slimy, prehistoric amoeba.

  I told him I wasn’t interested in grabbing Taco Bell for our first date, and he seemed surprised. The next week, he texted me that he had a better idea for our first date: He asked me to go with him to a Foo Fighters concert at the Waterfront in Camden. Apparently, he’d snapped up backstage passes through his friend and wanted to take me. I didn’t care for the band, but the idea of grabbing free beers in a backstage environment sounded like a good time. The novelty of the experience won me over. I agreed to go with him. About an hour before we were supposed to meet, he texted me saying that he was unable to secure a plus-one after all, so would I “be cool” with picking him up after the concert and driving him back to the city where we could grab a drink together?

  To reiterate, what started as an offer to buy me dinner and drinks had deteriorated into a request for me to drive by myself to Camden, New Jersey, and pick him up from a goddamn Foo Fighters concert. What, am I a taxi service now? Am I his mom in a minivan? Why on earth would I agree to do this as our first date? What the hell?

  This type of date downgrade typically happens to me about once a year. It’s like a teeth cleaning but even more unpleasant. So, when Jack pulled a date downgrade on me twice, I had no choice but to blow him off. He didn’t take it well and hounded me for another chance. And, in a moment of weakness since I didn’t have any other viable date prospects, I agreed to give h
im one more shot. He swore that he’d take me on a proper date this time. So we went out for a nice dinner, then to his favorite bar. It was pleasant. He combed his hair and shaved for our date. He said that he was so nervous to see me that he puked before I came over. I thought that was cute.

  We were having a great time when, out of nowhere, he said, “You know, Anna, I think you should know that I’m a wild stallion. I can’t be tied down right now.”

  What do you even say to that? “A stallion? Really?”

  “I’m just saying that I’m not looking for a relationship anytime soon.”

  “Got it.”

  “I’m sowing some oats, living the life.”

  “Okay. I’m picking up what you’re putting down, Jack.”

  “I just wanted to throw that out there, so we’re on the same page and all. I don’t want you thinking that this is more than just two people, going out, having a good time together, because I’m all about having a good time right now. “

  “Message received, buddy. You’re a wild stallion who needs his oats. Gotcha.”

  After that conversation, how could I possibly take him seriously? He likened himself to a wild horse. But here’s the thing: It cracked me up that he would say that.

  I thought he was out in the field getting his stallion thing on, so that was why I was surprised to hear him ask me to stay over, during a blizzard no less.

  Jack: Three words: a romantic pillow fight.

  Anna: That’s four words.

  Jack: Here’s four words: Ana, come over already.

  Anna: You spelled my name wrong. It’s like, right there on your computer screen. And you got it wrong.