From honeymoon to divorce in 2.5 days

Have you ever had a guy try to lock you down on the first date? As in making totally unreasonable and unnecessary promises? Weird isn’t it? I’d been in city for just over 24 hours, fresh meat right off the grill. It’s Saturday night and I’m with two of my favorite girls. By our calculation, it has the makings of a good night, so Are we sitting in our bed bug infested apartment pondering the meaning of life? (oh yeah, bed bugs, inside of a day, might be a record) We certainly are not. We are out celebrating together. It’s getting later on in the night and we are all happily tipsy and a guy starts chatting us up. All of us. The girls and I are having a great time, but the night is slowly winding down for us. We’re leaving and our new found friend leaves with us. Upon exiting “The black swan” bar, he suggests that we go out to breakfast. By this time it’s probably almost four in the morning and food sounds great, we’re all in.

Outside the bar, our suave new friend pulls out his keys and unlocks his Mercedes Benz SUV, which is so conveniently parked just in front of the bar. We all hop in, I’m in the front and my two girlfriends are in the back. He drives us to god knows where (it was my second day, I hadn’t a clue) and we all hop out at a 24-hour diner. Our impromptu Breakfast is fun, the usual shitty diner food, which seemed delicious at the time. Tocki treats everyone and afterwards we all climb back in the car and Tocki (his name is Tocki) drives us home. Not, of course, without stopping off at a scenic view of the city in the early morning hours. I’m thinking, well this move is going to work out just great. As we get to the apartment, my girlfriends get out and Tocki and I exchange numbers.

He’s in touch right away and I’m thinking, boys here are different, so attentive. Monday comes around and he invites me out to dinner, my first date in the big city and I’ve only been here 4 days. Not bad, I’m reflecting, mentally patting myself on the back. Dinner is delicious accompanied by a fantastic glass of wine. We’re bantering back and forth, the usual first date questions. Where are you from, what’s your life story and such bullshit. About halfway through dinner, he starts to talk about himself and boy am I in for a surprise.

Throughout the course of, maybe, half an hour I learn that the man I am currently having dinner with was 14 years older than me, divorced, had two daughters, started selling drugs when he was twelve, committed gunpoint car robberies in his teens, had been in jail for five years (not consecutively) and that all of his close friends and family were either in jail for life or dead. Here I am, sitting in a nice restaurant, trying to eat, listening to a story like this while all the time wondering if I should be panicking or not.

After he finishes his story he asked me if I’m scared at all. I decide that saying, “ yes I am extremely freaked out” doesn’t seem appropriate and instead reply with, “Of course not!”. I then decide to ask the obvious question, “So are you still doing stuff like that?” and he launches into a whole new spiel about how when he got out of jail the last time he still had enough money to get back into the drug business, but instead a friend had talked him into investing in real estate. He told me he was very respectable now, owned lots of buildings in the neighborhood and had also broken into the music industry and threw out some names. I certainly was not going to argue with any of this and we finished dinner (finally).

After dinner he walked me home, asking me what my favorite car was, and then promising to buy it for me, which I thought was a little fast, and pointing out buildings along the way that he owned, which I didn’t fully believe. Upon arriving at my apartment we said our goodbyes and I thanked him for a lovely dinner, trying to remain as calm as possible, because, to be honest, I was a little scared of being murdered. The moment I was inside and the door shut, I bolted up to my apartment (a fourth floor walk up, obviously).

You might be asking yourself, is she still seeing this amazing catch? The answer, surprisingly is no. I decided he wasn’t quite for me. Lesson learned, felons named Tocki in Bed Stuy might not be boyfriend material.


About 25shotsandcounting

My name is Sylvia. I’m a 22 year old girl living in NYC. For reasons I wish I knew, I get hit on a lot. I don’t think it’s because I’m particularly more attractive, funnier or even more intelligent than other girls. I’m convinced that it’s some kind of weird aura that only men can sense. An invisible sign that says, “Well hi there, I’m open for business.” Ironically, I’m usually not. The idea for this blog came about while I was dating a bartender in Williamsburg. I would go his bar and have several drinks by myself while waiting for him to get off work. Like clockwork, it was usually only a matter of time before I had a parade of guys come and talk to me. So much so that it became a running joke between my boyfriend at the time and all of his co-workers, just betting how long it would take before I had my next victim. Sometimes flattering, sometimes annoying, other times like some sort of scientific curiosity, the unelicited attention became enough of a pattern to notice and, free drinks aside, generally dread. I seem to be a magnet for awkward pick up attempts, which sometimes lead to misadventures of one kind or another. I know this is a common phenomenon for young women in NYC, but I figured, why not write about it.
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2 Responses to From honeymoon to divorce in 2.5 days

  1. Gina says:

    And then the next morning we drove Alex to work in your not-Mercedes and got super lost on the way home. So great.

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