Context: I matched with ‘Bait’ right before Christmas, on a Tequila Tuesday when I may or may not have also drunkenly joined Christian Mingle. It’s what Jesus wanted. We talked for a while and were trying to set something up for ETERNITY but he sucks at planning so it was about 3 weeks before we met on a Saturday at Rocklands.
I want to introduce you to the best song you’ll ever hear.
“I ain’t got no type.” Wow, never have falser words been spoken, and to so catchy a beat. Ask ANYONE who has met me, and they will be like “Hahaha, J’s type? Tall, fuckboy-looking, works at <COMPANY>, asshole-y.”
I’m not proud.
One cold December night I was perched in standard swiping position (yoga pants, curled up on the couch watching ‘Don’t Trust the B— in Apt 23,’ guzzling wine like a Real Housewife at breakfast) and came across a tall, blond, fuckboy-looking thing who works at said <COMPANY>. HELLO. I screenshotted his profile and sent it immediately to my friend A, who deemed him “J bait” and implored me to swipe right.
MATCH! Perfect. Step 1 of my plan was complete.
He asked for my phone number within a matter of hours, completing Step 2. Now on to Step 3 – the first date.
…except, it was Christmas and he was away… and then we had busy weekends… and then he got busy with work… so our ‘relationship’ ended up looking a lot like this for three weeks:
And a LOT like this:
We FINALLY found time to meet on a Saturday evening, and I agreed to meet him at 6:45 at Rocklands. I got home from the gym, and my guy friends invited my roommates and I over to “watch football.”
But J, why is watch football in quotes? Was that some sort of euphemism?
Ummmmm yeah. There was no football. There were also no snacks, much to my dismay (remember – I had just gotten back from the gym, and hadn’t eaten since breakfast. HEALTHY!). There WAS beer, beer pong, beer-io Kart racing, slap cup, flip cup, NEED I GO ON?! Someone who isn’t me might have been able to restrain themselves, but I turn into a frat bro in the presence of Bud Light, so I decided to play my FAVORITE drinking game: self-sabotage. I also made the mistake of telling this room full of boys that I was about to go on a Tinder date, and had no fewer than three shots of tequila fed to me as a result. GOOD DECISIONS, J!
I made the walk to Rocklands (which my beer pong friends had assured me was “kind of a shithole” and “definitely not a first date place”) and he met me outside. I think we hugged but I’m not sure because I was three sheets to the wind. I know that he was cute and had no detectable speech impediments! We were off to a good start.
Our conversation flowed really well because my guard was WAY down, and he was drinking bourbon (to “try to catch up” bless his non-judgmental heart) while I housed two Blue Moons. He asked me if I wanted food and I said NO because I’m a crazy person with a death wish. He insisted that I should eat (this is what I need in a husband) so I agreed to share an order of mozzarella sticks.
At one point his roommate walked in (he seemed surprised but it could have been a plant, I may never know) and came over to talk to us. I was absolutely certain it was a test so I tried to be the best version of my drunk self. I broke out my best stories, every joke I’ve ever read in a Chelsea Handler book, and did an authentic Irish jig. I think he liked me!
My date paid the bill, and we walked back to his house, a few yards away. He pointed out the life-size cutout of Will Ferrell in ‘Elf’ that sits in their window year-round, and I fell even more in love. We were hanging out in his living room when I got the following text from L, who had gone with the frat brigade to a birthday party:
L – I’M THE ONLY GIRL HERE HELP ME PLEASE
Uhhhh, lots of boys and no competition? Count. Me. In. I called an Uber, hugged my date goodbye, and tried not to wipe out as my drunk ass stumbled to the car. I of course told this entire story to my Uber driver because he didn’t speak English so I was pretty sure he couldn’t judge me.