Dating is hard amiright? They tell me I’m right. But actually I don't really know because I am a) very picky and b) emotionally stunted. Let's split the difference and call me very stunted or emotionally picky (lol). One date is usually enough to have me telling people I just want to be friends, or even worse, ghosting their texts (eep, sorry guys). The beauty of this one date curse is that it means I have more time to date more people, thus collecting a smorgasbord of eclectic guys to go on dates with. Fun right?! Sometimes.

The jazz saxophonist, or the “classic date”

Just like the famous* quote “New York is the kind of city where you will meet someone who has met Beyonce and Jay Z”, so did my first New York dating experience go. The jazz saxophonist was just that, a jazz saxophonist who had played on two of Bey’s albums, followed by playing video games with old Z himself. (“So he claims! Where is the proof, I could tell you I played on Prince’s album and you’d have no proof!” Hannah’s friend, in what can be considered a powerful case tbh).

It was a classic date; drinks that turned into dinner that turned into more drinks at a jazz bar. He was classically dressed: a pale blue button down and jeans (this guy defo does not own a party shirt). He was classically looking; dark blonde hair, square jaw and blue eyes. He was classically behaved: didn’t want me to pay for anything but when I insisted, he also insisted on going to the bar with me so I didn’t have to stand alone (bless). He classically followed up; the next day, asking to see me again soon.  I did see him again, for sushi and drinks with a “date bail activity” booked for two point five hours later. Then told him I’d call him and never did. Because who wants classical?

*this is not a famous quote.

The communist

If you don’t want classical, maybe you want a communist! Friend of the environment, nature lover, wearer of the man bun, dive bar frequenter, and communist. The quintet of dating ticks. To be fair, being a communist ain’t bad, but when you add in a half hour conversation about how much he hates his job and the beginnings of a Panama Papers lecture on a first date, you too will be cutting the night short and already running down the subway stairs as you call “yeah great, I’ll speak to you soon!” with your back turned. Predictably for me I did not speak to him soon, and ignored his obligatory three-days-later follow up text.

The “getting back out there”

Sad and forlorn at the table, with only negative things to say about the world, Mr getting-back-out-there was a hard hour and a half of my life, I won’t lie.  He was negative about Obama (Hannah warning bells, Hannah warning bells, alert alert!), negative about the current state of music, negative about his career prospects, negative about how expensive the food was, you name it, he was negative. But it wasn’t until the end of date when we hugged goodbye and he said, “This was nice. You know, sometimes it can be hard to want to date again after you’ve been hurt, but you were fun to talk to, thanks” that I realised WHY he was so negative (and of course felt a little bad for the attitude I had begun to display in the face of this negativity). But needless to say, he never heard from me again, even after his politically savvy follow up text.

The make out in public

Let’s get this clear from the start for those who know my aversion for public affection. I was v drunk. Which is how I ended up publicly making out with someone in a bar full of (probably) much less drunk people than him and I.  And how we ended up having some very public sounding sex when we got home. Which is always fun when your landlord rents out the other room on Airbnb. I really do apologise to the poor mother daughter duo sharing the apartment that night.  Really, guys, sorry. Eeep!

The friend of a friend, AKA the Australian

Let’s just say that it was the first and last time I will ever take the subway home, hungover, in heels, at midday the next day. But thanks for all the free drinks MATE!

The record label owner (of course!)

It wouldn’t be a BK dating experience if I hadn’t got to date at least one person making music on a semi-profesh level. But, sigh, I felt no attraction. Look, if I am being honest, I think I mostly wanted this dude as a friend / great party connection. Which I eventually did tell him (well not the bit about him just being a party connection), to which he promptly told me he was hella busy but here’s the name of the great cheese and wine place I would of taken you if you weren’t such a FRIEND and actually wanted to date me, you girl jerk.  Which is why I prefer the ghosting method for the ones I don’t like.

There you go, three months of New York dating and mating wrapped up in under 1,000 words. Tidy huh? Don’t forget, YOU TOO can date people making music on a semi-profesh level you have no attraction to if you move to New York.