I don't mean to brag but my borough of Brooklyn is better than the others. Sure, sometimes life here has an uncanny resemblance to the hilarious sketch show Portlandia with hipsters riding skateboards and fixies to organic vegan cafes to sip overpriced fair trade coffee or to go stuff their canvas tote bags (purchased from Etsy) with produce (kale and beets) from the local farmers market.
But hey guess what? I like those things - biking, being outside, eating fresh local food, and ever since I worked at a coffee shop in high school where I learned the difference between light and dark roasts ("the darker the bean the less caffeine" - mind blowing) I've been a huge coffee snob. So there. I heart Brooklyn!
Sometimes I date people who don't live in Brooklyn. If they live in Queens they are excited to come Brooklyn. If they live in Manhattan they are not, and when I say which train to take to my place they say, "Come on! The G train is not real." Then they suggest we meet somewhere in Manhattan.
After reading this article from The L Magazine about 18 Brooklyn Dates, I'm even more fired up to get my dates to my borough. There are some great activities, bars and restaurants on this list for every type of date. So come to Brooklyn, get drunk, and make out.
I particularly loved the "Is this a date?" date and the "Perfunctory Let’s-Just-Go-Have-Sex Date", however my favorite was the last one pasted below. Kinda how I picture my wedding proposal scenario...
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The Cyclones don’t start up again until summer, and the Nets don’t move here until next season, so unfortunately there are no Jumbotrons at your disposal.
6:30pm:
If you’re going to drop a knee, quite honestly, you should do it somewhere with personal significance to you and your beloved. Why would you take proposal advice from a free magazine? This blurb is probably being written by an intern whose most successful relationship lasted for seven glorious minutes in the bathroom at Sophie’s. But ok.
The River Café
(1 Water Street), in the armpit of the Brooklyn Bridge, with its dazzling Manhattan view, is maybe our borough’s schmanciest restaurant. Here’s what you do: make a reservation for two. Stand your date up. Call, say, sorry I’m running late. “Are you near music?” Say, “What do you mean?” Her: “It’s just that I thought I heard—no, I do hear Peter Gabriel’s ‘In Your Eyes.’ It’s getting closer!” Say, “Oh, that. Well, look outside.” She goes to the window. Boombox. Arms. Bam. Grandkids.