Another edition of my dating saga usually (if I remember) featured in the Brunch Media Newsletter
In soccer (and many other sports), there is a common part of the match called momentum. When forwards sense it, they will push upwards towards the ’18 & press the defense until the gap is there. One defensive tackle leading to a winger on the counter-offensive and just like that, the momentum is gone.
When it comes to dating in our dangerously-plugged-in world, the same philosophy applies. Early on in the “seeing someone” stages, any subtle jab off of your game is a risk. Better yet, any Friday or Saturday night without this potential SO is a missed opportunity for the ages. Even worse than that, the risk of a week without seeing the other person must be mitigated with a rigorous Snapchat, texting, and Bitmoji sending protocol).
Last weekend, “she” spontaneously booked a flight to Miami crushed any hope I had for the Saturday sunset Park N’ Chillen affair (c’mon, we all plan the next date way too early in advance). I was able to get over it with the anticipation that we would have a two nights to canoodle before I took off for a respective trip of my own: to New York City.
In typical neurotic Millennial form, I confused the dates, incorrectly used my calendar and the two night interlude I thought we would have evaporated right before our sunglasses emoji eyes.
At light of this horrific news, I shot the text “Bad news, but we won’t be able to hang until Saturday.” Within five minutes of eternity, a surprisingly same-page response followed: “ugh, that is bad news” followed by SEVERAL melancholy emojis (you know which ones). The challenge was in: we were going to do our best to keep in touch over the next week.
Keep in touch we did and below are highlights (or average-lights) of how comms over the week apart. Given the already overcomplicated mess of texting someone during the early romantic stages, it was clear this would be a challenge unlike any other.
Read for yourself:
Tuesday: Snapchat from me— “mish you” (selfie picture by the kitchen counter, not sure what influenced this location tbh).
Wednesday: Text from her— “How’s NY?” (direct, informed — I approved)
Thursday: Snapchat from me: “How fresh is this rug?” (it’s a Turkish thing)
Friday: Text from me: “OMG, these bars are amazing.” (semi-tipsy, teeing off potential for raunchier drunk texts)
Saturday: Text from her: “How is the parents new house?” (again, there is a certain freshness in her approach — no “hey” barely a “yo” — straight to the Q of the hour).
Saturday: Text from her: “When is your birthday?” (it’s in December, so yes, this was a head scratcher admittedly leading to a 27 minute interlude in my response).
Those are some snippets. Right now, you must be thinking how ridiculously basic this “game” we played was, but nay, without an Instagram game (she avoids the IG life) you must conform to the Snap/Text combo.
At the end of the week-away, the numbers were in: 0 phone calls, 15–20 snaps, and an average of 5.6 texts exchanged per day — a solid rate considering neither of us (yes, I know) are mathemiticians (yes, I’ve toned this down). Rather than concern myself with the phone call / FaceTime metric, I concluded: the spark was still there and I couldn’t wait to see her again.
Within an hour of landing back in San Francisco, I shot the CTA:
“Whatchu doinnn!? Thoughts on vino and park?”
Well-timed, emoji-less, and surely leading to a hangout…on my terms. Turned out, her agenda overruled mine on this breezy weekend afternoon in the city I still love (and hate). In the most SF follow up text you could possibly receive, she invited me to Dolores Park. After a quick Biore cleanser rinse (#sponsored), a perfectly-timed Uber with my roommate, the rest of Saturday was history…
…by rest, I mean, meeting multiple friends of hers, hitting up a Tapas Happy Hour deal, watching “Me Earl & The Dying Girl” for the second time that day, slumbering of parties, morning farmer’s market frolicking, Alamo Square chilling, and transcendentally, an outdoor meditation with Calm (#sponsored). My kind of history…
(Oh right, yep, still funemployed — the neurotic Millennial card is a dope brand, but honestly, it is a brutally intoxicating, job-searching seemingly endless trial to get my shit together. Stay tuned.)