Olivia is a 26-year-old urban planner and student who lives in Bloordale Village. She describes herself as a “classic Taurus: confident, driven, and loyal.” She enjoys hosting potluck dinners that turn into pre-drink dance parties and running through ravines with the same songs on repeat. She hopes Toronto’s obsession with tacos never ends. She met Dustin on OkCupid.
Dustin claimed to be over six feet tall, which was good because I only date guys who are taller than me. He was also employed, if half-heartedly. He seemed handsome without any obvious grooming efforts or time spent at the gym. I’m looking for someone who doesn’t take himself too seriously, wants to make some bad decisions, and is able to hang out at weird hours. I’m busy.
We decided to meet for a beer after my last class. I walked over at 9 p.m., and when I got there, Dustin was nursing a beer in a booth. I was bummed! He looked like a hot mess, and I thought I might have to make a hasty exit.
Dustin was better looking up-close, with green eyes and slicked back, long-ish hair, but he was clearly wasted and very nervous. He introduced himself by giving me a bear hug (with the table between us), then apologized for being drunk, explaining that he’d been to a work party earlier that night. I liked his honesty; the fact that he acknowledged his shitty date behaviour rather than denying it was a turn-on. It also changed the vibe from awkward to more relaxed, because I didn’t feel any pressure to impress him. I said, “I wish I was drunk, too,” then told him about my long day of work and school. From there, the conversation flowed as freely as the beer did.
Dustin ordered us a pitcher, which turned into several pitchers, a bar-snacks food fight, and something resembling tag, but with makeouts. I felt like the chorus of Katy Perry’s song, “Teenage Dream”—silly, uninhibited, and totally in-the-moment. The other people in the bar seemed to be cheering us on.
When the place closed, Dustin and I staggered out the door, and somehow managed to figure out that we lived a street away from each other. “I’ll… double…you home,” he slurred, tripping over the curb. I replied with something unintelligible about my personal safety and the TTC. We unlocked his bike—a joint effort—and kissed goodnight until the streetcar arrived. I thought about going home with him, but real-world constraints, like work the next day, infringed on the uncomplicated satisfaction of the date.
Dustin watched as I found a seat and waved sheepishly at me. Adorable. He then biked alongside the streetcar for a while before racing off. Laughing, I slouched against the window, contentedly looking forward to my bed, when I got a text from him. “This is the first time I’ve ever vomited while cycling,” he wrote. “That’s so sexy,” I joked. We dated for the next few months.
Olivia rates her date (out of 10): 9
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