Here's What Happens When You Go On A First Date Unexpectedly High
“Flavor Blasted Goldfish,” I said to my JSwipe date, as if I was letting him in on a dirty secret.
“You gotta try them. They’re just like Goldfish, but with that same cheesy residue that's on White Cheddar Cheez-Its. Remember those?” I asked as I stabbed my tortilla chip into the avocado stack, sabotaging the perfect tower like I was sabotaging this otherwise-normal date.
I wouldn’t call it a “perfect” date, as we were at a place called Mixology at The Grove. If you’re unfamiliar, The Grove is a shopping center in West Hollywood where dreams go to die.
Oh, and I was high. Like really, really high. Before the date even happened.
This wasn’t on purpose, it was truly coincidental. JSwipe just happens to be my favorite dating app; I had this date scheduled before I learned I would be getting high for an episode of "The Elite Daily Show" on go90.
Before I go on to what happened on the worst date of my life (all my fault, the guy was very nice), I must tell you two things:
1) I am not Jewish, but beyond willing to convert. I’m Italian, and there is no Italian Swipe… yet.
2) I rarely smoke the marijuana (you can tell, as I am calling it “the marijuana”) and can count on one hand how many times I’ve gotten really high (four, including this night).
Here’s how being super high affected the date:
I thought I was going to be late but ended up getting there extra early. To kill time, I went into Banana Republic and almost bought an oversized pastel pink vest because the color really spoke to me at the time.
But, I couldn’t waste a second seeing if they had it in my size, as my anxiety hit me again, and I was paranoid I’d make my date wait.
During the date, I was stricken with waves of fear that my car -- parked in the CVS parking lot technically, but not obviously, illegally -- would get towed, as the five-floor maze of a parking structure seemed like too much to handle in my state. (In hindsight, I probably should’ve Ubered?)
I normally don’t eat on first dates. Not because girls shouldn’t eat in front of men, or any of that ancient chivalry bull, but because if the date isn’t going well, I can leave quicker if food isn’t involved.
Also, drinks could lead to dinner, but dinner can just leave you full, lethargic and possibly waiting three hours for a table.
But my J-Swipe date ordered both food and drinks when we sat down. And high Gabi was super excited; after all, I was high with an appetite as insatiable as my desire to talk about snack food.
Apparently, weed can also make you forget things, which may explain why my Yiddish was off. Again, not Jewish (yet), but I’ve been in "Fiddler on The Roof" twice and am typically the token Goy in most social situations.
Normally, I’m on fire on these dates. But good ole Mary Jane slowed down my wit. And I spent most of the date figuring out how to pronounce the word “shiksa” (a derogatory term for a non-Jewish woman).
Sh*t-ka? Sh*tska? Sh*tty-shi*ty-bang-bang-ka?
Bottomline: This was probably more offensive than adorable. And I could not swiftly leave after embarrassing myself because of the food factor.
Sense of Humor
I found my inability to pronounce “sh*tska” hilarious and spent what felt like an hour (probably a minute) laughing uncontrollably while he looked at his phone.
And then there was a part of the date where I felt myself melting into the leather seat. I was so relaxed, nothing sounded better than going to my possibly-towed car, driving home, watching Netflix and eating all the ice cream.
After the date, I was focused on going to the Barnes & Nobles next door and getting a book I’ve been meaning to read (Julie Klausner’s "I Don't Care About Your Band," which I now highly recommend).
While I was focused on my book hunt, my date was focused on getting me to come back to his apartment.
He invited himself to come with because he was meaning to get some more records for his record player, which I interpreted as, “Did I mention I have a record player? Yeah. I really like music; I’m sensitive, and my life is put together.”
Side Note: What is with all guys over 30 being obsessed with Drake and vinyl records? Like, we get it: You have feelings too.
After discovering the bookstore did not have the book I wanted but did have all of the vinyl, he asked me to help him pick out some records. I was so inspired by every album I saw and proceeded to go on these long, deep rants about every record I recognized.
Like why John Mayer’s Room for Squares is a masterpiece and how it speaks true to the quarter-life crisis I am currently undergoing. Also, what is time, really?
The poor guy bought all 10 records I analyzed for him. He then asked if I wanted to come back to his place to listen to them. I did not. I just wanted to eat Skinny Cow ice cream cones in the privacy of my own messy room. So, I politely declined.
He walked me back to my car, hugged me and said verbatim, “It was nice meeting you. Good luck with everything.”
In conclusion, I will be telling this story in D.A.R.E. classrooms for the next several months. Also, I’m still single.