Nichol. I met him online. (I’m not going to keep my online dating preference a secret: it’s all about OKCupid. It’s never steered me wrong. But probably because I am insane and/or residing in its most popular city.) He found me, whereas every one else I’ve met on from that site I found them and made first contact. But he made first contact. I thought maybe that was worth analyzing for a minute but it’s not. I usually dislike not meeting in person ASAP because otherwise there is a chance of the person becoming something they are not and epic failure could result from the actual real life meeting. But because of schedules and laziness, Nichol and I didn’t meet for a week and spent that time texting. I turned him down to come to his apartment to watch a movie at 11pm because I just know myself too well (sex). Plus the whole stranger from the strange internet thing… I have to remind myself I’m not invincible.
Typical first date scenario. I start out hating him and he has to work his way up. I hated him before we met, for two reasons: 1) I was hanging out with Unnamed before our date so I came straight from being with the man I love to meeting a complete stranger who is supposed to take his place. 2) he suggested we meet in the most common/central place in the city and get sushi. Major negative points for lack of creativity. This girl right here is one of those “let’s go swan dive into the river and swim to the island that no water taxi goes to” kinda first date girls.
I come out of the subway and immediately can’t find him because there are so many people in this central meeting place. I call him and realize I haven’t even heard his voice. How is this man supposed to beat the Unnamed when I haven’t even heard his voice? He doesn’t answer. I wonder around the square trying to look for his hair, which is big, fluffy, curly dreads. Fail at finding his hair. Call again. Nothing. He calls back and says “WHERE ARE YOU?” His voice I do not like. Don’t judge by voice Mila, I tell myself. Suddenly I see his hair in the center of a group of people. (No matter how long I live in this city, I will always be shy and reserved, and slightly scared of talking to a group of strangers. It seems that so many of my dates are social butterflies while I am a dead leaf.) Nichols breaks away from the group. He comes to my side, I look at him and the wind blows my hair out of my face. It was a movie moment. He immediately and GENUINELY says “Wow you really do have captivating eyes.” The compliment makes up for all points lost before.
Fast forward. He gets us lost finding the sushi place, which I wouldn’t have minded if he hadn’t been telling me about the last girl he dated for a week stalked him hardcore (as in moving to his neighborhood, getting his legal files to find out information about him, etc etc.) Why would I want to hear this? Was it a warning? Then a random girl roughly 55 times hotter than me on the street beside us chimed into our conversation with “STAGE 10 CLINGER? Oh it’s bad honey, I know, I once had this guy….” and they proceed to have a lil convo of their own until Nichol apologizes to me and gets us back on our way. During sushi he talks about how much money he makes and how many ballin’ clothes he’s bought before ultimately deciding not to be materialistic. For good measure he throws in family drama stories. Like anyone really enjoys hearing about any of those topics on a first date. I’m trying to make it interesting, but Nichol is failing at working his way back up from the Mila-hate-basement.
Meanwhile he is being extremely personable to the staff, and they are all tripping over themselves to help us. Did I mention Nichol is a male model as well as a professional athlete for a sport that is notorious for giving men an extremely sexy body? Halfway through our sushi platter I try to figure a way out of this date early. I don’t care if he is hotter than a wet American summer. I miss Unnamed. I belong with Unnamed. Nichol is not Unnamed and I have to go. Nichol is also the first date I was on in about 4 months, so there was some serious homesickness involved. I hate feeling like a stranger in my own reality. And that was happening too quickly. Sushi ends and I steer us toward us public transportation.
Nichol redeems himself by getting us some Mr. Softee ice cream cones upon my request. He immediately begins ranting about how it is the most disgusting ice cream he has ever eaten. How it is something that his dog would eat. I get fed up with his ranting and yell at him “then throw it out!” He yells back “I don’t want to waste it!” I yell at him “Then give it to someone on the street!” And what does he do? Offers it to passersby. And what do I do? Laugh. Uncontrollably. Not because he is doing the outrageous thing I had suggested, but he is doing it so confidently and sincerely. And the people passing by are really responding. I am almost in tears when suddenly he runs up and comes within millimeters of smashing the ice cream into my face. I scream and he seamlessly turns around and offers it to a man walking past who says “no way, but I really thought you were going to shove that in her face!” Nichol turns back to me and shoves it in his OWN face. I pull out my camera and take pictures, laughing, as he smears is all over his mouth and cheeks, licking, and laughing at himself. People stop to watch. Then he says, “will you kiss me?” And since I am Mila, I do. Which he did NOT expect. People applaud and walk away. “This is our first date folks!” He yells.
We spend the next two hours not 50 feet away from the subway entrance I was going to use to get away from him, making out. He cleaned off the ice cream first, of course. I could have cared less about Unnamed for those two glorious hours. Until, as usual, I got home.
I told Nichol I ended up liking him because of the way he made me laugh. In my head I made a note that a guy hadn’t made me laugh like that since Sebastian. Later.
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