Life in Ink and Footsteps

The summer was wild. The number of dates I went on exceeded anything I’d experienced before—and since. I’m not even sure how that happened. Did I somehow send out a desperate signal to the universe of single men about my upcoming departure, drawing them in like a magnet? Or was it just random? Because, except for one, I met all of them in person, not on an app. It feels almost unreal now, considering it’s been years since I last met a potential love interest in real life. Has the dating scene really shifted that much in the last eight years? Or was it some glitch in the universe? I guess that’s one mystery that won’t be solved today. Not that it matters, but it’s fun to think about. Some of these dates stand out more than others, so let’s dive into it, shall we?

Do you remember the handsome black man from the beach story? We kept in touch and went on two dates. I had butterflies just thinking about him. Our first date was at a bar in Brooklyn. He was running late but kept me posted the whole time while stuck in Jersey traffic, which impressed me. When he finally arrived, he was funny, attentive, and so interesting to talk to. We laughed the night away, and let me tell you, he was an amazing kisser. I was convinced I wanted to see where this could go. But on our second date, I changed my mind. We had a great time again, lots of laughs, and maybe a little handsy fun—which led to me discovering a very, very big surprise. And by that, I mean something extremely… well, adult film material. It freaked me out, and I backed off. To his credit, he was a gentleman and didn’t pressure me at all—sadly, that’s rare. We ended the night on a happy note, but I knew this wasn’t going anywhere. In hindsight, part of me wishes I’d given it a shot; maybe it would have been… interesting? But I still remember my horror and shock. How did he walk around with that? It was unreal.

Another man I went on two dates with? I met him while Nordic Beauty and her gorgeous boyfriend were walking me to Penn Station after my birthday night in the city. He was a friend of my bestie’s boyfriend, and they introduced us briefly. I was tired, a little hungover, and didn’t give it much thought, but he later asked for my number. We met again in Brooklyn, on a rooftop bar right by the Brooklyn Bridge. The place was magical—my favorite part of the city, especially at night, with the breeze and the lights of Lower Manhattan. He chose well. But he seemed a little… snobby. He worked as a wine director for a high-end restaurant and definitely let me know. Beneath the high-class airs, he was funny and good company. Unfortunately, he was also a terrible kisser, but I decided to go out with him again. Maybe he was insecure and trying too hard. Our second date was wine tasting out in Riverhead, Long Island. Since he didn’t have a car, I drove. He bought us breakfast, and we headed off. I was a bit skeptical about spending two hours in a car with him, but he surprised me—still a bit snobby, but charming and respectful. The tasting was fun, we snacked on antipasto, and wandered around the vineyards. There wasn’t a spark, but it was a cool idea for a date. I’d love to go wine tasting again, just without the driving.

After my experience with a deeply religious Muslim man, I was hesitant to accept a date with a young Turkish guy who worked at my local gas station. He was always funny and charming whenever I saw him there. For months, I politely turned him down, but over the summer, I thought, “Why not?” and agreed to meet as friends. He respected that boundary, though he always hinted that the next time should be a “real date.” We hung out at the beach and laughed a lot. He even introduced me to a fantastic Turkish breakfast at his favorite spot in—where else—Brooklyn. Honestly, most of the cool places I visited that year were there. He was like a little ray of sunshine: always cheerful and never pushy. We stayed in touch, and he’s now happily married, which makes me smile—I hope he’s doing well.

He wasn’t the only one I kept in touch with. Besides him and Mr. FoodAdventure, there was another guy who stuck around over the years. He worked part-time at our favorite brunch spot, Witches Brew, where my friends and I would go on weekends. He was a bit older than us, artsy, and hilarious. Our flirty banter was the best part of brunches there—well, that and the sweet potato fries. He made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the room, but not in a sweet or cheesy way. More like a strong, confident goddess. We only managed one actual date outside the restaurant, but I still think of it fondly. He showed me his art, and we talked about life and love—and maybe, theoretically, had some weed. When I left the country, he gave me a beautiful painting that I still keep in this diary. Some people really do leave a lasting impression.

Shoutout to a few more I remember. Like the guy who buzzed me for weeks wanting to meet up. When we finally had dinner, I got maybe five sentences in the whole night. He talked nonstop about himself, without a single question for me. Who even does that? The only upside of the night was that he let me drive his BMW M5, which was sleek and fast and definitely pretty, but not enough to make up for the dullest dinner ever. We didn’t meet again.

Or the guy from Rockville Centre, when Nordic Beauty and I went dancing one summer evening. She met a Portuguese guy, and we ended up spending the night with him and his friend, who were both amazing dancers. At some point, we got the bright idea to go skinny-dipping at Long Beach around 3 a.m. All was fun until we spotted cops patrolling nearby and made a quick getaway. By the way, anyone who says beach intimacy is fun is lying—it’s just uncomfortable.

As you can see, I kept myself busy that summer, enjoying the freedom before returning to my “real” life in the Czech Republic. Family, friends, and a community with expectations I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet. So, I embraced the life I had, moment by moment.

What better fits todays post?
Lady Gaga – Bad Romance