As someone who has had her share of long-distance relationships, I often wonder what exactly defines something as a “date.” There is something that has become ubiquitous about dinner and a movie, but that isn't the only thing to do on a date. So, if it isn't the activities that make something a date, is it something about how those activities are done? Isn't a date at its core just two people spending time together in order to get to know each other better? It's an imperfect definition, but I think that's what it is.
A few months ago, I began texting with the Nigerian, who is actually the Anarchist's neighbor. We'd met in passing, and he asked the Anarchist for my phone number. The first day, we sent a couple hundred texts back and forth, spanning the period of the entire day. We talked about everything from our backgrounds to life goals to food likes and dislikes. Not only were all the basic topics from a first date covered, we delved deeper than one probably would. That's the benefit of having an 8 hour date instead of a 2 hour one. At the end of the day when I was going to bed, the Nigerian thanked me for a great “text date.”
Things with the Nigerian didn't work out, but that phrase has stuck with me.
Thursday night after getting home from the terrible date with Ill-Fitting Suit, I was lounging outside with my housemates when the Dreamer texted me asking if I wanted to go to Ikea with him. If you know me, you know that question might as well have been rhetorical. After a trip there and a short stopover at Home Depot to get him some stuff for work, we went back to my place and went to bed.
Around 2am, he woke me up. His toothache was killing him, he couldn't sleep, and he wanted to go home. He couldn't let himself out, though, so I had to get up with him to unlock the door and then lock it back. Right as I was about to climb back into bed, my phone rang- he'd forgotten his glasses. So I had to get back up, bring them down to him, and go back to bed for a second time.
This time, though, I couldn't fall back asleep. I got on Facebook to try and kill some time before trying again. I had a message waiting for me from the Blues Man.
The Blues Man is actually one of my colleagues at school. He's a leftist-leaning Jewish drummer, which seems like a strange combination, but he totally makes it work. I'd been eying him since the first class, but only recently worked up the nerve to ask him out. Over Facebook, of course. It's the new way to pass notes in class. We agreed to go out the following Saturday, but kept messaging back and forth anyway.
I responded to the Blues Man's message and went about doing other internet-type things, when another message from him popped up. After a few more messages and responses, he pointed out that we could move off the internet, and gave me his phone number. So we started texting.
That night, we texted from about 3am until 7am, constant banter back and forth. In the course of it, we talked about work, school, our families, our friends- no topic was off limits. It didn't help that it was the middle of the night, when I get a lot freer with my willingness to share. It was so much fun! Truly, I felt like I could talk to him about anything, and was so comfortable with him it was as though I'd known him for years.
Around 7am, I asked him if he wanted to meet for breakfast. It seemed only appropriate, since we'd spent the entire night building up a delicious romantic and sexual tension. He agreed, and we made plans to meet up a few hours later.
Was this a date? I think so. It was everything you'd hope for in a great first date- witty banter back and forth, opening up about your pasts, playful flirting. The only thing it lacked was a kiss at the end.
Thankfully, that came at breakfast.
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