Kate’s Dates: An Open Letter To The Booze Bag I Abandoned On The Lower East Side


By Kate Richlin-Zack

Nine dirty martinis in 3.5 hours. That’s quite an average there, boozer.

I could say that’s impressive but it’s probably a better indication of your raging alcohol dependency. Let me “break it down” for you this time, since this seems to be your catch phrase along with the sporadic, inappropriately timed bird calls of which you were ever so fond: drinking that much on a first date is a very bad idea. In fact, drinking that much at all is a very BAD idea.

Why? Because apparently, despite your claims that you are a “fun drunk,” you’re actually a gaping a-hole, drunk or sober. Assuming you’re ever sober.

I’m not quite sure at what point things started deteriorating. The initial meeting was great. Immediate attraction. Great rapport. We obviously appreciated each other’s sarcastic, ball-busting sense of humor. Perhaps things started devolving when you finished your second dirty martini while I was still working on my first drink. Granted, I’m just assuming it was only your second since by this point, I’d only witnessed you consume two alcoholic beverages. Most likely, considering your well established connection with the bartender:

1) you likely had at least one, if not two, drinks before I even arrived and

2) our charming bartender Keith made them extra strong for you, his most loyal customer.

But I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and start the martini count at the moment I arrived.

Drinks: 2
Elapsed time: 30 minutes

I didn’t mind that you walked over to the nice lady at the end of the bar and asked her if she’d like to join us at the strip club later. I thought it was somewhat comical. I can only assume you were trying to impress me with your outgoing, friendly, quite-the-character personality.

I didn’t mind that you struck up a conversation with the couple next to us, again inviting them to join us at Flash Dancers or should I say “FD’s” (since that seems to be your lingo, always reducing things to initials) for a little T & A on the company dime — I didn’t realize that entertaining your date at a nudie bar was considered a business expense. Perhaps I’m in the wrong line of work… or perhaps you are?… Either way, I’m still finding this whole situation somewhat amusing. It’s like you’re putting on a performance and what girl doesn’t love to be entertained?

Then you grabbed a handful of napkins, threw them up in the air and emitted the first of your signature bird calls. I don’t embarrass easily. In fact, you cawing like a haggered, garbage-scavenging crow only reflects badly on you. In retrospect, I probably should have walked out at this point, since your need for attention clearly outweighs the need for adult social interaction, but again, you were very entertaining… And we were just about to sit down for dinner … And I was hungry.

Dinner was nice. While munching on steak nachos and chicken fajitas, I admit I lost track of your drinking. I know that when we first sat down at the table, your beverage count was at a solid 4 with 1 in process. And I know that by the end of dinner you’d finished your drink and you insisted we order more martinis. Who needs dessert when you can finish off a tasty Mexican dinner with more Kettle One and olive juice?

Drinks: 6
Bird calls: 4
Elapsed time: 2 hours

Since the date was going so well — though now that I think about it, after 6 martinis, everything in your world must have seemed peachy keen with a big ol’ cherry on top — we went to another location. On the walk from the Mexican restaurant to rooftop bar with views of the city, you insisted on hi-fiving every third person that we encountered. I’m beginning to think you were seriously neglected as a child or maybe this big personality of yours is compensating for some more serious deficiency I have yet to uncover, although at this rate I’m pretty sure I’ll find out before the night is over.

When we finally got to the rooftop bar, you introduced me to the owner. Apparently he is a good friend of yours and he’s hospitable enough to buy us drinks. Because clearly you needed more. When the rain started about ten minutes later, I put my gin and tonic down on the nearest flat surface before ducking for cover. You chug the remainder of dirty martini # 7 as the rain begins pelting you on your drunken fool head.

Drinks: 7
Bird calls: 8
Hi-fives: 11
Elapsed time: 2.5 hours

Since the rain doesn’t seem to be letting up, we head to the bar down stairs. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom because by this point I’ve consumed a margarita, two dirty martinis, and three glasses of water and I wasn’t blessed with a hollow leg and priority on the liver transplant list. When I return, you’re half way through dirty martini #8 but you were nice enough to order one for me too… which you were also nice enough to finish for me.

Drinks: 9
Bird calls: 9
Hi-fives 13
Elapsed time 3 hours

When I said “no thank you” to your beverage offerings and insist on ordering a diet soda (for the caffeine) and a water (to rehydrate), you get pissy.

“I never drink by myself,” you say as I chug my water. “Don’t you want a glass of wine or a beer or something and we can hang out for another half an hour?”

Another half hour? I’ve had enough. You’ve definitely had enough. It’s getting late, it’s raining, and I have at least a 30 minute drive back home and a 30 minute review/interrogation session with my parents upon my arrival so I try to wrap things up on a positive note. I mention something about a second date or going out again. You, on the other hand, are not quite finished. You want to go to another bar that’s closer to your place. How convenient for you! And why shouldn’t I feel comfortable enough to let loose, throw back a few more drinks, and sleep in your bed while you sleep on your couch. Hmm… thanks but no thanks. I’ve known you for less than four hours. I’m not about to go to your place and sleep in your bed because truthfully, I’d like to see the light of day again.

You scoff at my distrust for you. “It’s comical that you think I’m some kind of scumbag. I have a little sister. I would never be disrespectful to any woman… I just can’t do it!”

Oh, really? So I guess saying “you’ve got a great rack” about 17 times tonight is your idea of “respectful”? Or leaning in for a kiss and shoving your pointy lizard tongue in my mouth is also your idea of “respectful.” Ok, got it. No I’m not staying at your place… ever.

In spite of my growing disgust for you, I try to remain calm and say, “I’ve had a nice time with you but I’m getting really tired. I should head home.”

“See now you’re just playing games,” you muttered, shaking your head, clearly disappointed that I’m not the type of girl who will stay out on a Tuesday night pounding back drinks after midnight. I’m not your type of girl — the type of girl who should be in rehab.

But now I’m mad. “Ok wait, what?!” I asked. I’m confused. I’m not quite sure how I’m playing games by telling you exactly what I’m thinking and exactly what I want to do. I don’t want to drink any more. I want to go home.

You stood up as you spat, “Have it your way, youngin’. Let’s go pay and get out of here then.”

Fine. You go pay. I’m getting out of here.

And with that, I left.

I’ve NEVER walked out on a date before. EVER. And I’ve been on a lot of dates but by this point (in the date and in my life) I’ve had enough. I may be “so young… and understand so little,” as you were kind enough to inform me, oh Wise One, but I know my limits. I have a low tolerance for alcohol and an even lower tolerance for BS and, by that point, I had my fill of both.

As I drove away, you couldn’t leave well enough alone and sent a semi-coherent text message, complete with drunken misspelling, claiming you couldn’t understand why I was so pissed?

Well genius, could it be your bad attitude?
Could it be your childish behavior?
Could it be your DRINKING PROBLEM?
The answer is (D) all of the above.

I do appreciate the half assed intended apology via text message first thing the following morning though, “too many dirty martinis… it was fun last night.”

It was something, that’s for sure.

Kate’s Dates runs every other Wednesday on Kate-book.com. It is written by the lovely Kate Richlin-Zack, who fully admits to majoring in engineering to meet guys. Her articles have been featured YourTango on Romance Never Dies. Follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

One thought on “Kate’s Dates: An Open Letter To The Booze Bag I Abandoned On The Lower East Side

  1. Jennifer says:

    This has me absolutely roaring with laughter. The sad part about this is I married this exact loser! Oh, if I’d only realized then what I know now…

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