It was a freezing cold (and I mean so fucking cold my fingers felt like they were going to fall off) February morning. I walked into work and got myself settled into my morning routine. Coffee, news of the day, sneak a little facebook creeping in… and then I recieved the g-chat message from Kedz. She asked me to send her a photo of myself, I happily obliged and then wandered over to her desk to investigate. Rebecca (Kedzie’s client) had just finished a sales meeting with a young gentleman whom worked for one of New York’s top business news outlets. She was gushing about how charming, smart and handsome he was and insisted that she had to set him up with someone. Initially, she wanted to introduce Mr. NYC to Chelsea, my other colleague. Kedzie informed Becs that Chelsea was in a long-term relationship and wasn’t interested in meeting Mr. NYC… but they had this great new intern (me) who was single and ready to mingle.
I obviously thought it was hilarious and helped Kedzie creep through my Facebook to find the most flattering photos. We sent them off to Becs and within seconds a new email popped into my inbox.
To: Lyndsey & My. NYC
From: Rebecca J
Mr. NYC, Lyndsey – wanted to introduce you two. I know you’re both single and living in New York. I thought I’d make the introduction in case you want to meet up for a coffee.
Interesting. I obviously creeped him on all social media outlets – word to the wise, sign out of Linkedin before you creep people if you’re logged in it will notify them of your creepiness. He looked pretty cute, nothing spectacular to be honest, but it’s impossible to judge someone by their photos. I decided I would leave the email as it was and wait for him to make the first move.
Three days later I received an email from Mr. Nyc.
To: Lyndsey G
From: Mr. NYC
Would be great to meet up for a coffee sometime next week. Let me know what day works well for you.
– Mr. NYC
I responded, we chose a day and the rest is history.
Just kidding, the rest is the best part.
He texted me on the day of the planned date to choose a spot, after some back and forth we decided on Flaming Saddles. I was still relatively new to NYC and didn’t realize that this would very soon become my favorite bar. You need to go. It’s a gay bar (if you didn’t get the huge hint from the name) and to top it off, it’s a country bar. I mean, I love Country music but I also think it’s the best to dance to even if your not in love with it. The bartenders wear the tightest jeans imaginable and every couple of songs will hop up on the bar and shake their little gay booties. It’s extremely difficult not to, but there is a sign specifically saying “staight women: no woohooing” – so you have to keep your excitement in. Sorta.
Anyways, I got off work, smoked half a joint and opened a bottle of wine. I blasted the single ladies playlist (Beyonce, Riri, Selena, even some Bieber in there) and got ready. Getting ready is more than half to fun. I get a tad nervous before dates so this ritual helps me to get prepared. Flaming saddles was only a wee four blocks away from my apartment, so I decided I’d wait until he got there to leave my apartment.
Text from Mr. NYC:
“Hey! Just got here. I’m the only non-gay one. See you soon.”
Time to go! I put on one more coat of lip gloss and ran out the door. I was wearing a gorgeous long grey wool coat, tight black jeans and heeled booties.
When I walked in the door my eyes caught his immediately. He was standing by the bar and was so much better looking than his photos lead me to believe. This man was hot. I got the butterflies, hard, took a huge breath and walked straight to him. We had the awkward hand-shake hug thing. I went for a hug, he went to a handshake so we hugged with out hands clasped together kind of like how the rappers do it, y’know?
He asked what I’d like to drink – Kelsey once told me that a bad ass drink (and one that is sure to impress a guy) is an Old Fashioned.
Another word to the wise: Yes, this is a classy ass drink (and fucking phenomenal if you’re at a cocktail bar) but this is not a drink you get at a pub type bar. Stick to a beer, a cider or a whisky ginger.
So I ordered us two and it worked like a charm.
Three drinks later we both decided we were getting a tad hungry. I didn’t know this was a trick, but supposedly some men take women out for a drink as a preliminary date in case the date is a bore. That way, if it’s going really well he can suggest dinner afterwards. If it’s going terribly, all he has to do is make up some lame excuse (like he has to be up early in the morning for work, but this was great, let’s do it again sometime!).
I paid for the round of drinks when he went to the washroom – also a trick I learned from Nina. If you pay for something like a round of drinks, it shows that you a strong, independent woman who doesn’t expect everything to be paid for. And when the bill comes for dinner, it’s obviously his turn to pay (teehee). We strolled towards my apartment and came across little Mexican joint. We sat down, ordered a jug of sangria, because a glass wasn’t enough, and continued to chat.
Supposedly, the difference between Canadian girls and American girls (from new york city, at least) is that we Great North gals like to be outside. It has been programmed in our brains since a young age that outside is where life is best lived. I prefer camping over a hotel and hiking over a manicure. Yes, hotels are amazing don’t get me wrong. But you can’t roast marshmallows or sing campfire songs with a huge group of less than talented singers in a hotel. As I was explaining this to him, he was falling then and there – I could see it in his eyes and I can’t deny it, I was falling just as hard. His eyes were smiling he looked kind, sweet, honest.
He laughed, shook his head and asked me where the hell I came from.
He walked me home and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I was hooked.
Charmer. Well done Mr. NYC, first impressions are your thing.