The Monotony of Twenty five.

This week’s Thirsty Thursday lands on my 25th birthday.
Said spoonful of Mac n’ Cheese.

Over a spoonful of Mac and cheese, my friend says: “So, your birthday is on Thursday. You gonna go on a date or…?”

I laugh. No way. I’m not that dedicated to the dick diaries. “No. I’ll probably go out for a few drinks with with gang.”

But, it’s 4:30pm on my birthday and nobody in my squad has even texted me well wishes.

I’m slightly miffed but mostly disappointed.

I’m rolling the possibilities of a sad solo night when JN text “What are you doing tonight?”

I’ve been talking to three guys I like this week. JN & I have plans for next week but he seems to be trying to sneak in a last minute date.

“TBH. It’s my birthday. I was hoping my squad would drag me out but it’s been busy all day.”

“Do you need to be dragged out?”

No. Of course I don’t. Why am I letting my friends get me down. And what else am I gonna do? Laundry?

We make plans to meet at Mr. Fong’s. A cool bar in Chinatown that gives me The Lover vibes.

I throw a pair of high waisted ripped jeans and my US Navy tee.
I contemplate checking out his profile and then remember my rule.

No profile checks before ANY dates.

Instead, I grab a gin lavender and try to guilt my friends into joining me later.

He sneaks in behind me ten minutes later.


He’s going in for a hug but I dead reject it.

“Hi. It’s to meet you. Here’s a menu.”

He’s cute…ish. He reminds me of someone I would have seriously gushed for in 7th grade. He has a good face but his hair is so circa Sk8er Boi .

Unlike my last date with D, I’ve brought my A-game. In fact, I’m pretty sure the date isn’t going that well. It feels like I’m too much of an extrovert for him. He seems nervous and a bit thrown back by my intensity.

When I try to slow down, the topics titter on things that probably read as red flags.

“How did your parents meet?”

He’s a saint and goes with it. His parents seem more interesting than him. But I’ve won him back despite not being that sure I even wanted it back.

I order a second a drink and he buys it for me. “Happy Birthday.”

It’s a sweet gesture. It’s a celery based vodka and tonic. Very interesting.

When I’m mid way through my drink, he clears his throat and says, “I should let you know. I’m not much of a drinker.”

Oh god. Not another one.

I respect the upfrontness. Especially, after last week’s ice cream debacle. But fuck. I really can’t date anyone who isn’t on the same alcohol tier as me.

“Uh. That’s okay. No problem. Why don’t I finish this and we can check out that subway stop?”

I reeled JN by a myriad of subway facts. In NYC, there’s a handful of stations that are incomplete or abandoned.

We walk over to the City Hall stop and I point out landmarks on the way. He’s only been in NYC for a month. Me on the other hand — it’s now officially 25 years.

A train comes a few minutes after we get to the platform. We hop on and switch to an empty car. I laugh at him when he says it’s the first time he’s switch cars on a moving train.

Once we enter the tunnel, I can tell he wants to kiss me. He’s awkward and failing at being smooth. I refuse to miss the station due to a kiss.

City hall is glamorous. It’s still in usage. Not as a stop but for walking tours. The station is lit up as we press our faces on the window.

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean that’s it. It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah. I was just expect-“

“Were you expecting an earth shattering experience? I’m sorry”

Ron Howard voice: She wasn’t.

He puts his arm around me and says, “I can make this an earth shattering experience.”

His eyes are closed as he leans in, which gives me time to roll my eyes.

The kiss is bad. It’s horrendous. It’s earth shatteringly bad. It’s as if he’s clenching his teeth and sneaking a whisper of tongue.

It goes on for way too long and by the end I’m pretending to be embarrassed so I don’t blurt out “Wow. That was terrible. What’s wrong with you.”

The idea of a secret subway kiss is appealing but I can’t help think about how he’s ruined that spot forever. Shameful.

When the train pulls up, he ask what I want to do next. I think he’s trying to fuck.

Birthday dick sounds great but not from him. I check my phone and notice my friends asking where I am.

“Yeah. I’m going to head uptown and catch a few birthday cocktails.”

He walks me to the A train and exchange a quick hug before my train arrives.

“Happy birthday!” He calls out as I hop onto the uptown C.

I don’t look back. The doors close and I let out a hefty sigh.

Yeah. Happy birthday to me.

Lessons learned: N/A

Rating: 4/10

App: Tinder

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