In honor of Valentine’s Day, a little story about a guy I met the other night. We’ll call him Jacob, as I’m pretty sure that was his name.
Jacob and I exchanged glances up at the bar, but I was more focused on getting my Jameson and Ginger and he was offering to buy another girl’s drink. I assumed he was somehow affiliated with said girl.
My friends and I made our rounds, pausing to rest a while in a cozy corner area that made us feel like very important people. We had our eyes peeled for famous faces, as we were in an establishment known for sightings, but decided to make the most of our closing time beverages and sit for a chat.
Before long we were back in the area of the first bar and seated on couches when Jacob and his friend (whose name I don’t recall) sat down with us. They were both talking way more than we were, and it was this crazy web of conversation so I moved places to sit next to Jacob. He was tall, attractive, good smile, well-dressed, maybe a little goofy, but I took the bait.
So first he’s talking about how many d-bags there are in LA and how he’s better because he’s only lived here for a couple of years. There ARE a lot of d-bags in LA so I keep listening.
Then he starts talking about commodities. A lot. That’s what he does. He’s a self-made entrepreneur…which I appreciate. I politely said something about living in a completely different world and not having a clue about commodities. He brand-dropped. Viacom. Nike. Then he said something about eight figures and I was all, you’re barking up the wrong tree with this money talk. (paraphrase) Then he backtracked and told me how he always makes sure his employees get paid first, and he doesn’t take a commission, and I was drowning in a sea of a conversation about finances.
Then he mentioned having a daughter. Ok. Now here’s something I can work with. I asked how old she was. Four-and-a-half months. I was like, whoa. If I see a guy pushing a baby in a stroller or wearing a Baby Bjorn, I have an inner trigger that tells me to not make eye contact or give him a flirty smile because he’s totally married.
Jacob says they broke up last April. I do the kinda math I’m best at – the gestational kind – and figure out that he broke up with his pregnant girlfriend. I give him the benefit of the doubt: “Oh,” I say, “was she like a break-up baby?” Because break-up babies are WAY more acceptable than dumping your girlfriend in the second trimester. (See Bridget Moynahan.) “No,” he said. “We just couldn’t work it out.” They were together for four years. Got pregnant. And THEN they couldn’t work it out? Bummer.
PS He was telling me all this within the first ten minutes of meeting at a bar. Can you imagine a first date?!
To his credit, he does seem to see the baby a lot, considering…but still…
So his friend decides to leave, bringing my two friends into our conversation. I of course lead with the baby bit. Next thing I know we’re sitting in a bar watching a video of Baby M coo for the first time. In the bathtub and everything. Naturally it was cute. But I definitely wasn’t getting a “I want to see him again” vibe. I mean, he never even asked me a single thing about myself. The girls and I bid our adieus.
You do have to appreciate this guy’s honesty. And I know that sometimes things don’t work out despite everyone’s best efforts. But wow. For some reason I feel like it would be easier to go into a pregnancy knowing you were going to do it on your own, then find out midway through. Maybe that’s just me?