First Impressions & a Hop, Skip, and Go Naked - Date #1

Since Pat didn’t have a vehicle, he instructed me to pick him up at the Naval Amphibious Base Coronado. When I arrived, he was already waiting outside the gate in a red jacket, the December evening cool.

Rolling down my window, I couldn’t resist. With a grin, I called out, "Hey, Sailor! Need a ride?"

He laughed, jumped in, and just like that, our first date officially began.

As we drove, he asked me to pick the restaurant. That’s when my brain went into absolute overdrive.

I wasn’t a fancy person, and I definitely didn’t want to spend all of his money—especially if it might put him in an awkward spot. But at the same time, I didn’t want to default to fast food either.

And so began the great restaurant dilemma.

I overthought everything. Should I pick something casual? Would a sit-down place be too much? How do I balance making it feel like an actual date without making it too formal? Am I the only person who spirals into these tiny decisions before a date? Geez.

Hours ticked by as we drove through San Diego, deep in conversation, and yet—I still hadn’t made up my mind.

Finally, I pulled into Denny’s. Simple, easy, no pressure. A place where the focus could stay on us, rather than the menu.

Honestly?

If a guy can’t handle a $12.48 Denny’s tab, I might need to reconsider my options.

With dinner wrapped up and no financial crisis in sight, it was time to figure out our next move and where the night took a turn. 

We headed to Wrangler’s Roost, referred to simply as "the Roost", a country-western bar where you could always find a live band, friendly people and a dance floor that took you outside through one door and back in through another.

And Pat? Pat wasn’t just ordering drinks—he was orchestrating them.

A former bartender, he leaned confidently against the bar, rattling off drink names like a seasoned pro, instructing the bartender step by step on how to mix each one.

"You ever made this one before?" he’d ask with a smirk.

What started as a simple round quickly spiraled into something resembling a bartender’s boot camp, with Pat leading the charge. The bartender was loving every second of it—grinning as he took on the challenge, following Pat’s instructions, and occasionally chiming in with his own suggestions.

Then came the drink names.

At first, it was innocent enough—classic cocktails, standard mixes.

And then? Hop, Skip, and Go Naked.

One glass, two straws.

Try keeping a straight face while staring at someone you barely know over a drink with that name. Ha!

We both tried—tried so hard—to be normal, to sip casually, to make it feel like just any other drink.

But the longer we held eye contact, the harder it became.

A slow smirk. A twitch at the corner of my mouth. Then his.

And that was it—we lost it, laughing into our straws, the bartender shaking his head with amusement.

Next up? Sex on the Beach.

Cue even louder laughter, the bartender chuckling, and me wondering exactly what I had signed up for.  By now we had a crowd.

But the real kicker?

"Let’s do an Orgasm!" Pat announced.

That did it. I nearly fell off my barstool.

The bartender was chuckling now, Pat was unfazed, and I was trying very hard not to burst into full-on hysterics.

By the end of the night, we’d spent $80.00 on drinks, though at that point, it felt less like a tab and more like a record-breaking mixology experiment with a side of comedy.

It was the kind of night that was impossible to plan, yet unfolded perfectly.

And, one that led to one last date before we headed out in very different directions.  

Stay tuned for date number 2!