New favorite “dive” bar: Ivy and Coney

Here’s some advice for myself: Do not allow an attractive, fit male ask me to do anything because apparently I do not have the ability to say no when staring into his ripped arms (eyes, I mean his eyes). The cute personal trainer at the gym asked me if I wanted to take a yoga class with him on Sunday morning, and I, like the uncoordinated, inflexible idiot that I am, I said “SURE OF COURSE!”. I immediately regretted this because who wants to do their first yoga class next to yogi Adonis. Unfortunately, he left the gym right after confirming the 10:45am class, and I found myself sprawled out on a yoga mat trying to calm my panicked nerves the next morning. Over the next hour, I forced my trembling muscles to contort into various unnatural positions that left me dripping with sweat. Sure, I can run 10 miles with no issue but I had a seriously difficult time balancing on one foot for over fifteen seconds, and it took every ounce of concentration to not topple over. After an additional 30 minutes on the elliptical after the class, my limbs felt like bricks. The things women do to fit into a New Year’s Eve romper….

Anyway, as I made my way slowly (very slowly) home I got a message from a Tinder guy I have messaging with for the past week and a half. He suggested going to the Botanical Gardens to start our date, and mentioned that he would be driving since he is coming from Georgetown, so would I like a ride. As I tried to motivate my heavy legs to move down 14th street, the idea of walking down to the Botanical Gardens did not seem appealing to me in any way. So I messaged him back to tell him my address, and my phone number. After I put my phone away, I started really thinking about this. Did I just do something stupid or was I being paranoid? Now I know if I asked that question to my (occasionally overbearing, worried) parents, my mother would immediately have flipped out and painted a vivid picture for me of my gruesome murder by a stranger in his car. But I figure, okay he knows my building but he does not know know my exact apartment number so I am still safe…. right? Besides, I get into strangers’ cars all the time with uber so this is kind of the same thing…… right? Besides, if he tried to do something to me at the Botanical Gardens, it is not like my legs were going to be able to carry me anywhere quickly. I did tell my roommate that I would be going on Tinder date so if I was not home in the evening he should contact the authorities. When I mentioned we would be going to the Botanical Gardens, my roommate commented, “Hmm that would probably be a great place to bury a body.” Ah, my little bundle of comfort.

Luckily, my body is still in tact today. The Tinder man texted me to say he was outside with his blinkers on, and when I approached, he ran out to open my door (points). He then handed me a hot cup of coffee (more points!) and I asked him to please not harm me. He laughed and our date was off to a good start. We did a quick loop around the gardens before he suggested hitting up the all day Sunday happy hour at Blackjack. I appreciated his beer knowledge, since all I really know is that I like “beers that don’t taste like beer,” and he was able to make some good suggestions. After two light beers, I switched to diet coke since I have the tolerance of an 85lb 13 year old girl and felt myself getting relatively tipsy. At this point, we had been sitting at the bar for three hours and I was becoming slightly hungry. He suggested hitting up Ivy & Coney for hot dogs, a fantastic suggestion in my eyes. Ivy and Coney is the new(ish) bar in Shaw from the owners of Kangaroo Boxing Club. I still had yet to hit up this unpretentious dive bar even though it is only located about half a mile from my apartment, and he loved that he finally named a place I had not been to yet. We walked from Blackjack over, and as soon as I walked in, I was in love. It’s a small, dingy cash-only bar with a juke box and a tiny beer list. I ordered a Chicago style dog while he ordered a Detroit dog. I cannot speak to the authenticity of the hot dogs, but I thoroughly enjoyed mine, which came with onions, sweet pickle relish, tomato, sport peppers; and celery salt. I managed to spray pepper juice all over the high top and my jeans but the Tinder man just laughed so there were some points for not being horrified/grossed out. We left after I finished my beer but I definitely will be returning to Ivy and Coney. I loved the low key vibe, the location, and the people there. The service was friendly; the bartender jokingly yelled at us for leaving too early and told us to come back after we finished making sweet, sweet love.

My mother was slightly horrified when I mentioned to her that I went on a fun date with a guy and that he took me to get hot dogs for dinner. But I’m just relieved I got into a car with some random stranger and I manage to survive to tell the tale.

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