And 3 Makes Tension

This is the first time that I am putting this story into writing, and it freaks me out a little bit. The person, my co-star, if you will, will never read it, and even if he does, he can’t get ahold of me to yell about it. The reason for that is a different topic than this one; this is about the worst date that I have ever been on. Sadly, this story is 100% true. However, I have changed names to protect the not so innocent; I choose to put my life out there for consumption, they do not. Are you intrigued yet? I hope so because we are about to begin.

Iggy (not the nickname I usually have for him) and I had been dating for a few weeks. We liked each other, or more accurately we adored one another. That’s what we said to each other since it wasn’t love, yet. It was the weekend after Thanksgiving, Iggy had gone home to see his family for the holiday, and I had worked. My family is in Michigan, and I now live in New York City. He had made mention that he was worried about me being alone for the holiday, but I assured him that I would be fine, plus it wasn’t like he was leaving the state, he was just going to a part of the city that is further up. The plan was for him to come back Friday night and work on Saturday. We made decided to see each other after he got off work. Yes, this is a day-long lousy date, so brace yourselves.

Things got off to a rocky start. Iggy worked in Brooklyn, and I am a Manhattanite. Meaning I only go to places in Manhattan because I get lost going in a straight line. He told me that he was going to leave work and meet me at the train at 12:30 PM. That gave me plenty of time to sleep in, shower, and then get on the subway and head out to him. Me being me, I was worried about showing up late. Just as I was about to text him that I was heading to the subway, he messaged me that he had to work until 1 PM. Not a big deal. It gives me more time to make sure that I am on time. Tardiness is one of the biggest pet peeves I have. Since NYC subways are notorious for being delayed and running odd schedules on the weekend, I decided to just head to the station anyways.

As it happened, the train was only slightly delayed once at Times Square. As one might have guessed, when you’re underground cell reception is spotty at best. A cell company could make bank if they found a way to let everyone have service while in the subways. As the train approached Brooklyn, he asked where I was, so I let him know. It was only 12:15 PM, so I figured he was just worried about me occupying myself until he finished work. I was the only boy growing up in a house full of females; I’m used to finding things to do by myself. Some more enjoyable than others. Anywho, it turned out that he was leaving a few minutes before 1 PM because he had gone in a little early, and only had to finish up some paperwork. He said he was still meeting me at the station, so after I got off of the subway at the stop and went to the street level.

After waiting for about five minutes, I text him asking what was going on. He had changed his mind and wanted me to meet him in front of the building where he worked. One of my biggest faults is that I am not very tolerant of change, especially when it comes so close to when we had already agreed to meet. The fact that he had neglected to tell me about the change of plans made matters much worse. Pushing that down though, I got directions to the place on my phone. It wasn’t very far from where I was, but the annoyance level was high. I sent a text to my bestie and vented. He told me to get over myself and have fun Christmas shopping with my boyfriend. I hate when he is more level-headed than me, but I heeded his advice because well, he’s always more level-headed than I am.

We met in front of his building. He gave me a great big hug and kiss, and told me how much he missed me. My heart glowed happily. Not literally because you know, I’d be dead, but I was delighted. We went and got lunch at a Mexican place he knew; I’m not a fan, but who doesn’t love tacos. The food was excellent, and the conversation flowed naturally. After we left, we went to a nearby mall and started looking around. The bitterness from the train had disappeared along with the hunger pangs I had been feeling. Maybe what I had been feeling was hanger (hunger and angry, for those that don't know) and not some deep-seeded issue. It wasn’t long until that thought was evicted from my head, and there wasn’t even a 7-day notice to quit either.

There was a movie theatre at the top level, so we went to see what was playing. We weren't interested in seeing any of the movies, so we started to head back towards the shops. Iggy checked his phone, and I did the same. His eyes suddenly narrowed, and I couldn’t tell what was going on. Maybe it had something to do with work, maybe his ex had sent him an email asking him to get back together. I had no idea. After sending a quick text to my bestie, I looked up at him expectantly. “There’s a cruise happening in March, and I want to go.”

Those are words that should have brought joy to my ears. After all, who doesn’t love an enjoyable vacation, and if you’re going with someone special that's even better. But I am not most people, and those words filled me with dread. We’d only been dating for three weeks, and it was much too soon for us to be going on a cruise or any kind vacation together. To be fair to Iggy, the cruise was not until March, but still.

He called the organizer and was setting up details. My heart was pounding; maybe he wanted to go by himself. I wasn’t a fan of that idea, but it would be better than both of us going. Then he asked me the question I dreaded, “What’s your email?” Now I don’t dread that question because it’s private or anything, I dread it because I have almost 50,000 unopened emails. Mostly spam, but I didn't want to add to that total. Still, I gave it to him as well as my real date of birth. Since I always joke about my age, he got a lot of satisfaction out of that. Inside my head was exploding, and I needed to talk to somebody, but I didn’t want to text the bestie and be like “guess what this dude just did.” That kind of news needs to be shared over the phone or face to face.

My stomach was on the ground, and those delicious tacos threatened to spew out of me like a volcano. And the worst part was I had no one to talk me down; I had to do it myself. So I did what any self-respecting writer would do, I told Iggy that we needed to find a Starbucks. A few sips of an Iced White Chocolate Mocha would make me feel better. Spoiler Alert: it did.

We talked a lot about the cruise, which did not help my anxiety and then we headed back to his place. We were going to dinner and then to see my favorite drag queen perform. Thoughts of watching Gucci (not her real name but is so close that she may get mad if she reads this) perform made me happy, plus we were getting some delicious barbecue food. Maybe I was exaggerating everything in my head because of some stupid timeline that I made up. If that were where this story ended, I would be happy, but no this date goes from sorta OK to the worst date ever starting now.

After we got back to his place, he laid down for a little bit, and I talked to the bestie. With a new mindset, I was determined to make the most of the night. Everything else would be forgotten in a day or so and as my bestie assured me, six months is a good amount of time to be together before the first vacation. He woke up about an hour later, smiling from ear to ear. Dinner was coming up soon. So, I went to shower. After I finished, I sat on the couch next to him. We never hid our phones from one another, and I saw he had been texting his friend Frank (not his real name). He asked me to get him some iced tea, so I got up and got both of us a glass. When I set his down, I noticed that he had invited Frank to the bar with us. My blood pressure rose faster than I knock back drinks. He got up to shower before I could say anything. I stood with my hand on my hip, eyes glowing red, face contorted into this mask of fury. Someone needed to be angry with me, so I text the bestie. He was level-headed (again, what is with him being so even-keeled?) and said that if I was upset, I should constructively approach this. I didn’t want to approach it constructively, I wanted to YELL. But I didn’t. He made a fair point, we were only going to the bar, and it’s not like there was anything romantic between Iggy and Frank.

Dinner was great, we took a picture and posted it on Facebook. We walked to the bar hand in hand. Our I.D.’s were checked at the door. Once inside, Iggy went to the bar to get us drinks, while I got us a table for three. Maybe I had been too quick to be angry. His ex never wanted to do anything with other people, and this was a way to show that I was flexible, even if being flexible would make me sick. A better person, but positively ill too. The mental gymnastics that went into trying to save this date amazes me.

The first sip of a Sprite and vodka is always the best. It’s the taste of what the night has ahead for you. It was startlingly flat. That should have been a sign that something was going to go wrong, but I didn’t care to see it. I never do when a red flag is waving right in front of my face. With anyone else, I would have sent that drink back and complained about it. Something about Iggy kept me from complaining too much, which is ironic since that’s all he ever did.

Just before Gucci took to the stage, Frank showed up drunker than a skunk and smelled worse than one. Yet we still took pictures together, laughed, and got another drink. This one was more Tito's than Sprite, the first sip took me by surprise. Personally I don’t like to be around drunk people, they are obnoxious, and usually, I am forced to be the responsible one. Nobody wants that I assure you. After some more sips of my drink and stilted conversation with Iggy and Frank, the DJ announced that it was showtime.

As she always does, Gucci took the stage in a tornado of high kicks, splits, and a ton of energy. All three of us seemed to be transfixed by the force of nature on the stage. She did number after number with few breaks in between. During one of her breaks, I turned to ask Iggy to get me another drink, and I saw Frank trying to touch my boyfriend's penis. Only I had the right to grab him there. Have you ever experienced a moment where everything just literally stops? That was what happened to me. The urge to flip the table over and scream “prostitution whore” Teresa Guidice style was strong. Iggy had been pushing him away, but the damage was done; I was furious.

After Gucci’s show ended, we finished our drinks, and Iggy went to the restroom. Frank tried to apologize, but I stopped him cold, told him to save it for someone else. Gucci came up to me and gave me a great big hug; I don’t know why. Maybe she saw what happened. Or perhaps she just recognized me from the other shows that I had been to. In any case, Iggy found me, and we put Frank in a car to make sure he got home safely. After he was gone, he tried to talk me out of being angry.

“He was drunk and didn’t know what he was doing,” Iggy started, testing my attitude. Gone was the sweet guy he had known thus far. He was about to learn that I could be the diva from Hell, who could exasperate someone with just a look.

“Bull—he was too comfortable doing that in front of me. I want to know why?”

Iggy sighed and finally confessed, that he had lied to me about his romantic history with Frank. They had dated for about a month. He reasoned that it had happened long before we met and that it shouldn’t matter. But the damage was done. After calling him out on lying to me, I let him know that I was not happy. Why do men lie? The situation could have played out differently had he been truthful up front. Don’t get me wrong I would have still been mad, but at least I could’ve prepared. I needed time alone to process this.

We went back to our separate homes that night. Iggy kept texting pleading to talk with me, to let him explain. I couldn’t deal with it that night. I wasn't in the right headspace to listen to him again. Once home and with my meditation music on, I let my mind drift away. I kept seeing a red flag and couldn’t figure out what it meant. Now I know though. That red flag was letting me know that the days of the relationship I had with Iggy were numbered. All it took was this one anxiety-ridden day date. Not even a white chocolate mocha could save it.