Context: I matched with ‘Beautiful Jack’ during a post-brunch bout of drunken swiping on a Sunday afternoon. He was, as you may have inferred, beautiful. We arranged to grab drinks the following night at Bar Pilar, partially because I had never been there, but mostly because my friend Mel would be having her date with ‘Geico’ there at the same time, and I live for making situations awkward.
Remember back in 1800 when I started this blog?
Well then, bitches, a) try to be a little bit more obsessed with me will ya? and b) that’s too bad, because man – what a time to be alive.
A time of innocence. Of living with my parents and going on dates in the ‘burbs of VA instead of the scary alleys of my beloved DC. Of not having been on dates with any gay guys… which I’m fairly certain happened again with Beautiful Jack.
WHY?! Why why whyyyyyyy??? Dear God, Dear Abby, Dear Prudence, Dear John – dear anyone!!! Can you please make the beautiful gay boys of Tinder stop getting my hopes up only to thrust them hurtfully to the ground in a poof of glitter?!?! I can’t take this anguish anymore!
…ugh. Let’s go back to the beginning, aka when I walked up to a gorgeous guy outside Bar Pilar and was like “yasssss I’m not being catfished booyahhhh” and then he opened his mouth and my Gaydar(TM) went off the fucking charts.
Internally, I wept.
Externally, I smiled, took a seat at the bar, and ordered a beer. And then we talked. And talked and talked for like 2.5 hours and it was so wonderful! And he paid for me! And he’s in law school! And his family is rich! I’m ready for marriage. If he’s into that.
Two beers later, our bartender was giving us the stank eye, so I excused myself to the bathroom while he paid the bill. The GENTLEMANLY THING TO DO, take notes my godawful date from Tuesday. Ugh.
Beautiful Jack asked me if I wanted to continue our date elsewhere, so I suggested we walk up the street to get gelato at Dolcezza. It was on this walk that I learned two things:
1) Beautiful Jack’s favorite flavor of ice cream is Rum Raisin, cementing him firmly in the 80+ age group, which may not fit super well with my ‘I GET HAMMERED EVERY NIGHT WOO’ lifestyle; and
2) Beautiful Jack is absolutely terrified of rats, and the decibel of his shriek rivals that of a troop of girl scouts on the first day of cookie season.
At 10:30 PM, we wrapped up our chit chat and I walked him to the Metro. We hugged, said goodnight, and… I never heard from him again. Like, it’s been almost a full week now. And, after consulting my ghosting guide, I have narrowed his disappearance down to the following three reasons:
1) He decided he was gay, and has decided to begin anew (which is stupid, BE MY FRIEND BEAUTIFUL JACK!!!)
2) I didn’t talk about my SAT score enough (a pratfall more common that you would expect)
3) He died.
Ugh. I really thought all I wanted in this life was health, happiness, and an Uber wait time always less than four minutes. I really did. But now, I’ve added an extra requirement – dates that are romantically attracted to women. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? RIGHT?!