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How I Made a Bad Date Into a Lesson In Intuition

One A-lannah Friday night, I ventured to Mixx. It’s a crowd that knows how to live without getting to banjee. It’s in the city enough to feel “city”, but far enough from certain areas to keep us off of @ATLScoop. I can live my life without concern about my well-being nor the well-being of my car windows.

A friend of mine was celebrating his birthday with a section. I, as I always do, got there early to enjoy the 2-for-1 drinks and house music. Then the birthday boy arrived. We exchanged our pleasantries, passed the hookah (with my own COVID-approved tip), then the friends of friends arrived.

My honest truth is that when I see a boy that I think is cute, I get that quick flutter of, “Is that him?” My eyes follow him to check if his shoes are appropriate and his teeth are where they’re supposed to be. Is he personable and cordial, or is he stuck up and standoffish? All these ideas swirl in my head until that moment when he gets to me, gives me the up and down, and the side hug.


Precisely that happened with this gent. Side hug was firm, like I’m being hugged by a man. His beard was full and his smile peaked through that deep Black hair. His shoes: appropriate. His demeanor: conversational. He was cute.

What happened next was a flurry of drinks, hookah hits, dances, and departures until I woke up the next day. As I usually do, I scrolled through my pictures to ensure I hadn’t lost all my shit and did something altogether inappropriate. No red flags, but a text message from a number I hadn’t saved was lingering unread at the top of the list. It was the guy.

We exchange pleasantries until we agreed to meet up that night for a date…my worst date in a long time. From the time I arrived, the evening was as if “IKYFL” had a weekend fling with “you’ve got to be kidding me”, and landed squarely on my calendar.

We arrive to dinner at a restaurant I’d never been to which excited me. But for him to live so close to our destination, somehow he was late. We sat, ordered, then I quickly realized his phone was the third party of our thrupple, and phone got the most facetime. I spent the next bit of the date staring at the top of his perfectly shaven head while he checked his work schedule, answered calls from God-knows-who, and circled back around to me when time allowed. The food was good.


He did pay for dinner which I appreciated, because, at best, we were going Dutch if I had anything to say about it. But after paying, I guess he used that as an in to ask me back to his house. Despite how head strong I am, and how blunt I can be, for some reason, I felt like I couldn’t say no. After all, he lived less than a block from the restaurant. I thought I’d go back, sit for a cool 15-minutes then be on my way.

We got back to his apartment and the phone took over once again. I think he thought the date was going well–I begged to differ. His sectional was inviting so I planted myself in the corner and took to my phone. He came, leaned on me in the most uncomfortable way possible and proceeded to FaceTime sooo many people. Some to show off the fact that he’d gotten me to his house, deepening my regret for coming. Others to make post date plans which became my cue to take my leave.

I got up, he kissed me to which I offered my cheek, and I exited.


I pride myself on giving good date. I come equipped with a couple good conversation starters and have finally learned to converse without interrogating. I try to be cute, personable, and chivalrous. But for all that to be sitting across from this man and him to ignore it so he could FaceTime, I was disappointed, to say the least. That whole flurry of anticipation, the feels that I had when I met this guy just the night before, were misplaced and overstated.

The weird part of all of this is how deeply my gut was speaking to me and how quickly I ignored it. My gut told me there’s a reason why his number had no name or dialogue. My gut told me there is a reason why, despite me sitting in front of him, he chooses to involve himself with his phone. And my gut told me, just as sure as Whoopi in Ghost, as soon as I walked through his door, “you in danger, gurl.”

Bad dates have always been telling for me. Someone who can’t engage in conversation on a first date, definitely can’t do so on a second. Someone more concerned with his phone now will be as much later. My gut, the intuition beneath my carnal desires, knows all this stuff. I guess I’m finally deciding to listen to him.

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Chronicling my journey out of...and hopefully back in to...love.

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