50 First Dates: VIIII
J-Date. Skinny Jeans. Entrepreneur.
Sunday night eating sardines or JG Melon no bun with my hands. Text alert - “if you’re still free for a drink tonight, lets do it.” non committal - fit me in, but i was bored. reply, “lets go. Dante on MacDougal. See you in 30.” Tall sexy dark features swoops in like a tsunami with fast moves + fast words. Over educated + Over committed. Rushed to meet on a random Sunday as i sipped my mezcal ever so slowly, and spoke even slower in hopes he might slow down. MIND BLOWN. I used to be him. Rushing to fit it all in. searching. Emotionally unavailable, unwilling to commit to love, yet completely over committed in life. Speeding thru autopilot to prove to myself i could do everything just enough, without digging deeper into anything at all. Because i wasn’t willing to dig into myself. It was phenomenal to see ME --- in real time. Deep conversation and a quick make out in front of mermaid inn, before he rushed off to Mission Chinese — Bold move considering Mermaid’s happy hour line floods to houston street. but there was chemistry, so i went with it. We had dinner once more at via carota. My choice. Branzino for two, verde salad, roast carrots. He anxiously watched his phone in anticipation of a deal closing. It did. We celebrated with another makeout in the park. But his aggressive hands around my neck felt too freaky too late on a tuesday. Dude, i don’t know how they do down under but choking is a lot to ask + your hyper hands can’t be trusted. Aussie, out.
I had this thing for hedgefund guys. It was the power, the money, and their complete utter lack of care for anything in life - besides themselves that drew me in. Sick, i know. but—i could change them, i could win them, i could help them invest in resturant side hustles, and show them how to open their hearts. Funny, right? I met hedgefund during a hurricane. A minor one, en route sunday eve. Random nolita brunch, overpriced avocado toast + cous cous towers with friends + some guy who knew numbers. Nothing epic, at all. I don’t actually think we spoke because he was busy talking shop - typical. Afterwards, we strolled thru soho as the city emptied to prepare for the storm. Silly me, i went along to hedgefund’s new apartment to put away his patio furniture. Light wind + rain trickled down as we hung out on the couch and talked about nutella. And then he came at me - aggressively assuming i was DTF - as if hurricanes grant that permission. I felt like a prisoner in his palatial pool furniture filled flat as the thunder got louder. So i left. I ran home - just about 7 blocks, in the hurricane. He thought i was kidding when i said i was leaving. I wasnt. If i couldnt save him, i could certainly save me. But really Olivia, what did you think was going to happen? No mistakes. Just lessons. More to come.