Dating disaster stories
• The seemingly bohemian alt industrial-music dj was still enough of a “nice jewish girl” that she insisted our first meeting be a dinner with her mother at an Italian chain restaurant in the Valley.
By the end of dinner it looked like he’d spit out more than he’d ate. • Nowhere on her profile did it say anything about her being an acid casualty and ketamine dealer. The first is when I waited an hour outside at Harvard Square in late January because my date was in the North End buying pot (not for me.) The second was with a grad student in English who dismissed my skepticism towards Freudianism with, “I guess I’m just not as much of social determinist as you are.” The moral of these stories: don’t date Harvard men.I don’t really drink much, and I don’t really have a problem with it, and I didn’t really know the girl very well, and I didn’t want to be there.While I am sure it was great for her, it was just not where I expected to be on a first date.Our server brought us a bread basket that my date grabbed three of four rolls from and then started playing weird games with.Like, she would scoop dough out of a roll, pound it into a little ball, and then put it back in the basket! Did you ever see that movie ‘Conspirators of Pleasure,’ with the woman who fetishizes bread and snorts dough balls?