You know what sucks? Sleeping with someone on the first date because you’re hoping the dick will make up for their personality, and then you realize it’s worse. The worst part is when you hug goodbye, and they say “See you later!” Really?? I seriously hope not. I don’t want him to get Coronavirus and die or anything, but please don’t try to talk to me again. Thankfully, that hasn’t happened much, but it’s certainly occurred. However, I will tell you a story even worse than that.
I went on a date, and right off the bat, we were clearly not compatible. It was like a guy from Tiger King trying to hold a conversation with someone who has common sense. He wanted to turn almost everything into a debate, and he was kind of a dick. Turns out, I like dicks though. So, after a few hours and drinks, we go back to his place because he was a douchebag and I have daddy issues.
He invited me to spend the night, and said it was the first time he let a girl sleep over his place. I took it as a compliment, assuming he was a heterosexual male and wasn’t having guys over like a gay Hugh Hefner. The next morning, I hugged him goodbye and said, “See you later!” because the dick was indeed significantly better than his personality. I looked at his face and I was all too familiar with his expression. I knew what he was thinking…. Really?? I don’t want her to get coronavirus and die or anything, but … Needless to say, he pretty much ghosted me, and I was slightly salty about it.
I remember during my stumble of pride home, (I prefer to say that instead of walk of shame.) I thought about how awesome his apartment was. The view was beautiful, perfect location, and great interior. My internal dialogue went something like “Damn, I wish I lived there. Well, who knows, I’m sure there’s a place I can move into when my lease is up that I like just as much, and maybe cheaper.”
When time came for me to move, I posted on a Hanoi housing Facebook group, and instantly was contacted by a woman who I made plans to meet for a showing the following day. She gave me the directions and it seemed almost as familiar as that guys expression after I said “See you later!” I will call that guy Daddy Alex for anonymity which isn’t too far off from what his name is in my WhatsApp contact list.
You know what apartment I just moved into? You guessed it. Not only am I in the same building, but I’m in his old apartment. So, he may have seemed good for nothing, but at least he let me give my apartment a test ride. (PS I got a discounted rate due to the pandemic and the Jew in me is thrilled.)
Here’s the catch. Come to find out, he moved right next door so he could have an apartment with a porch. Daddy Alex went from ghosting me to haunting me. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me that he hasn’t tried to make a move. Especially considering he’s still single and has brought a girl back to his place before. Can’t really complain when I get more ass than him though. I could easily have been in his room tonight. It also bothers me to admit I’d give him a 5 star rating for his cuddling abilities alone. I would never tell him that because his ego seems bigger than the food baby I get after I go to a vegan buffet.
He’s initiated conversations a few times since I moved in a month ago. I dropped some subtle hints that I’m here for a good time, not a long time, but still nothing. I wish there was a way he could know that I’m not looking to go on long walks on the beach, just a night in his sheets… Or two or three.
As much as my ego and other parts of me want that, this very well could be for the best. Although you never know what could happen, I can see that scenario easily not ending well. If I can manifest that apartment for a better deal, I can find me a man that’s a better fit.
My bare toes grip the ledge of a rocky cliff, on the top of a precipice that goes beyond the clouds. I stare before me at what looks like death, but it’s where life really begins. The edge of comfort.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. I had been so occupied over the last few weeks, that I hadn’t thought to open a dating app. Fast forward two days into quarantine, and it didn’t take long for that to change. I was on the lookout for another decent human being to talk about this crazy thing called life, and possibly talk about it in person when this whole fiasco was over. 
I don’t experience much drama in my life. I find a lot of joy in taking the high road and avoiding it. Not in the “I’ve done too much spiritual healing to lower my vibration to that level of douchery.” Kind of way. Though that may be true. It’s more like I’m too old for this shit and I really don’t give enough fucks. However, someone gave me one too many lemons recently, and I felt inspired to make some super sour, tasty, lemonade. Is it bad that I don’t feel bad?
If you are an adult, please learn from my mistake. Never, under any circumstance, should you agree to live with a 20-year-old boy. Although I’m sure in his presence you will feel like a superior human being, it’s a pity to spend your time living with such an uninspiring energy vampire. On the exterior, he is an Asian Australian hipster. The interior is like a blonde bimbo, and that selfish, lazy ass cat, Garfield. Enough about that, let’s get into the story.
Okay, maybe heartbroken is a little extreme. I certainly wasn’t heartbroken on Valentine’s Day. However, that day my heart did plummet to the bottom of my stomach. So much so that when it dropped, it came with an explosion of suppressed wounds and triggers that I certainly wasn’t expecting. All of that took place the moment I heard the sound of my friend say several words.
(Update: I was ignorant at the time)
I’m going to be honest. I was that bitch that would say to myself “I’m an independent woman!” Yet, deep down, I was screaming “Somebody love me!” I bet I was oozing desperation without even realizing it. Probably like a hybrid of someone from Love Island and a chick from The Bachelor who’s biological clock was ticking. 
Every store in The Old Quarter is shut down. The usually chaotic and loud streets of Hanoi, are now filled with an eerie silence, with the occasional sounds of a puttering engine from a motorbike passing by. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think an apocalypse was about to take place.
I couldn’t even count the amount of times I’ve heard people talk shit about dating apps, or try to tell someone why they should meet people “organically” instead. I’m no saint, I’ve called Tinder trash multiple times. Still, I’d never tell someone not to take a chance and try it, nor should you.
Brooke Lyn Landon 