Context: I matched with Stretch on Hinge, where I was attracted to his blue eyes, height (6’4, oh baby) and the answers to his questions that made him seem like a fun person. Yay! We arranged to have a first date at Mission on a Wednesday night.
Friends! By this point in our journey together (2.5 years, my longest relationship ever!), you have probably realized that drinking plays a pretty big role in my life. Between happy hours with friends, dates, hosting bar trivia and guzzling an absurd amount of wine while I write my Bachelor reviews, it is fairly impossible to imagine me dating (or even being good friends with) someone who doesn’t drink. However, this date tested what would happen when my date skewed to the opposite end of that spectrum.
But, let’s set the stage. I had chatted with Stretch briefly on Hinge about our travels, and on Tuesday he asked if I wanted to grab drinks on Wednesday. I had a work happy hour, but I said I could meet up after, and we arranged to meet at Mission at 8.
Well, Wednesday came and by the end of the work day, I was beat. I was tired, felt vaguely sick, and all I wanted to do was eat some ice cream, put on Netflix and curl up in bed. I called an audible on the work happy hour and metro’ed home, popping by McDonalds on the way to grab an M&M mcflurry. Things were looking up!
Stretch texted me to confirm, and I was torn. To go, or not to go? That was the question. Since I am wholly unable to make decisions myself, I did what Shakespeare himself would have done – posted a poll to my Instagram story. 73% of respondents said I should go, so I took a deep breath, poured a glass of wine, showered and made my way over to Mission.
Stretch was sitting at the (very crowded) bar when I got there, Blue Moon in hand. Since the bar was packed, he suggested we grab a table, and here is where I unwittingly made my fatal mistake.
J – Well if you sit at a table you have to order food, and I’ve already eaten*, so how about we just go somewhere else?
S – Sounds good!
He handed me his beer to help him finish while he closed out. He was super cute, and definitely not lying about being 6’4. PRAISE THE DAMN LORD.
*ICE CREAM IS NOT DINNER, J. NOT. REAL. FOOD.
I suggested we go to Circa, but when we walked over, it was closed and had its windows papered over. Wtf, Circa?! I thought we were friends! Why you gotta do me like this?? From there we meandered to Pizzeria Paradiso (also slammed) and then our final destination – Lauriol Plaza. I hope he knows how special it was for me to bring him to a place so near and dear to my heart.
We settled into the bar, and Stretch asked me what was good there. I responded with a scoff that was
definitely probably not warranted given that he’s relatively new to the area and had never been to Plaza before.
J – Um, I only ever get Sangrita Swirl, it is literally my life and love and the fuel that courses constantly through my veins.
S – Should we get a pitcher?
I stared deep into Stretch’s soul, trying to see if he knew what he was about to get himself into. Splitting a pitcher is settling in for the long haul. Sure, we had already confirmed that we had chemistry on our earlier walking tour of Dupont, but would we keep it up after 1/2 a pitcher each of tequila and sugar? Cautiously, I agreed, and we ordered one from the bartender. It was game on.
He’s super into film, so we started talking about our favorite movies.
S – Yeah, my favorite films are *boujee movie 1*, *boujee movie 2*, and Apocalypse Now.
J – Oh, the only one I’ve seen is Apocalypse Now! And, I… uh…
*Remembers that my ex and I put this movie on to “watch” the first time we hooked up*
J – I fell asleep, like, 10 minutes in.
Smooth, J. Smooth.
As the sangrita kept flowing, so did the conversation. I asked him if a turtle without a shell is naked or homeless (naked), we talked about the screenplay he had written (apparently the topic is off limits until date 3) and what we’re looking for in a relationship (WOAH WTF DEEP). I then asked him about the “2 truths and a lie” listed on his Hinge profile.
1. Played basketball with Steph Curry – True, basketball camp before he went pro.
2. Got drinks with George W. Bush – False, but has gotten drinks with Jeb.
3. Once woke up in a foreign country without his passport – True. This is where things got weird.
S – I studied abroad in Denmark, and I was at a club one night. I must have caught the attention of this girl there, because long story short I end up waking up in her apartment. Extremely hungover, I open my Uber app and try to figure out where I am, not recognizing any of the surrounding areas. I roll over and shake her awake.
S – Hey, where are we?
Girl – Stockholm.
S – How did we get here?!
Girl – We took the train. You asked me to go back to your place and I said “no, I want to go back to mine” and you said “Ok!”
S – Shit.
As it turns out, it is legal to travel from Denmark to Sweden without your passport… but the reverse is not legal. So, Stretch kept drinking, hopped back on the train, sweating bullets, and somehow made it back to his place successfully.
This was definitely an entertaining story, but like… since when are we talking about our hookups on the first date? And then came his next question.
S – So, now that I’ve told my crazy story, it’s your turn!
I was so unprepared for this request that I probably sat and sputtered “um… well…” for a good 3 minutes before responding (with the story of my first Tinder Social experience, a day that will go down in history or just on this blog. RIP Tinder Social). Once I wrapped up, he was quick to launch into his next story.
S – *Rolls up left sleeve* You see this scar here?
J – Yes?
S – I got it from a girl who was into knife play.
Y’ALL. WHAT. IN. THE. WORLD. I sat in stunned silence, unsure what to say, as he rolled up his right sleeve and revealed two more scars.
S – Yeah, I probably wouldn’t do it again, but it was a fun experience.
J – If… if you don’t mind me asking, how long ago was this?
S – Oh, about 3 months ago. That’s what the screenplay I’ve written is about.
I just didn’t know what to say, other than “I don’t do that.” Good in social situations, I am. He laughed and asked me to tell him my next story (ARE WE ON A DATE OR PERFORMING STAND UP COMEDY?!). Since apparently no topics were off limits, I told him about taking a guy’s virginity in Nashville, because fuck it. Once I finished, he graced me with this gem:
S – Want to take tequila shots?
Never one to turn down a tequila shot I agreed, only to have him surprise me once more.
S – Let’s each take 2 shots.
J – …ok??
With that, he asked our bartender for 4 tequila shots. The bartender looked puzzled, as if to ask “really?!”, and then said he could only serve us one each at a time.
S – Ok, we’ll take them in rounds.
We took the shots, me unflinching, him less so, then he ordered us each a beer. WHAT WAS HAPPENING. A woman seated next to us was served a dish of fajitas and quesadillas, and Stretch leaned in close.
S – Wow, that’s a lot of food.
J – Haha, yeah! Homegirl must be hungry!
S – *Leaning in closer* I’m going to let my ugly side out for a second – I hate fat people.
J – Um, ok? Haha?
S – I just don’t understand how they let themselves get like that, eat all that food.
J – *Well MAYBE it’s because not EVERYONE has the metabolism of a 6’4 24-year-old*
J – Haha!
We finished our beers and Stretch closed out, then we popped outside for a cigarette and a little make out sesh (cheered on by patrons leaving the restaurant, just grand) before heading over to Rebellion for another beer. SOS.
Now, this is where things get veryyyy blurry. I don’t really remember what we talked about at Rebellion, just that we ended up deciding to go back to my house and watch an episode of “It’s Always Sunny.” I wasn’t going to sleep with him (a statement I repeated many, many times), but there’s nothing wrong with some cuddling, right?!
I was fading in and out of a blackout as we got to my house and into my room and, one thing leading to another, I end up giving him a sort of weird handjob, at which point I realize that he is less than well-equipped. I fucking hate DC. Get me some German men STAT.
I tried to get him to leave my house because I clearly needed to sleep, and he starts rummaging around looking for a coat (that he is wearing). He’s getting louder and louder, looking through my closet, in the kitchen, living room, and bathroom, opening the hall utility closet, and at one point even kicking on my sleeping roommate’s door to try to open it. All the while, I’m growing more and more distressed and upset, laying in bed and repeating “You’re WEARING it” while he mutters shit under his breath, like “I need this coat, it belonged to my dead grandfather,” etc.
Now the dick size thing is not a dealbreaker by any means, but being an actual real crazy person and causing me to cry on a first date? Yeah. That is.
He finally left and I cried myself to sleep, still fully clothed, teeth unbrushed, face unwashed, like the garbage human I am. And I wonder why my ass is single.
The next morning, I was so hungover I could barely breathe, unable to hold any liquids down. I got a text from Stretch and audibly groaned.
*Oh, right – I had asked him when he wanted to hang out next and he said “What are you doing tomorrow?” When I told him I host trivia, he said he would come… by himself… like a psychopath. HELP.
I don’t think he understood that my comment was 100% serious and in no way a joke, because he pressed on, first sending me a Youtube video (1 second of every “It’s Always Sunny” episode) and then asking if it was okay for him not to come to trivia (YES, YES, A MILLION TIMES YES!). I hosted trivia, met a bunch of cute guys, took advantage of my newfound ability to keep down liquids to chug water, and headed to sleep.
That Saturday night I was at my friend’s birthday party when he texted me again.
The Instagram post, if you were wondering, was the following:
And he just kept goinggggg…
OKAY. I have several issues here. IT IS SATURDAY NIGHT. Like, past midnight for part of this. You’re obviously Googling me and getting worked up about what you find. GO OUT OR GO TO BED OR SOMETHING. You’re putting a damper on my very close friend’s birthday party. Bye. Also, I DON’T WANT TO GO ON A SECOND DATE WITH YOU. Not sure what part of this isn’t clear.
I responded in the only way I could: with a Trump tweet.
To which he responded…
You’re correct. I am.
Guys, I used to be kind of upset that the guys I dated tended towards whiskey and dark liquor, but now I couldn’t be more thankful. I can’t date a tequila guy. I can’t spend every day on my death bed. And I ABSOLUTELY cannot date a guy who does… well, whatever this is.
Stretch, if you’re reading this (and I’m certain you are), it’s not just about your dick. It’s about me crying myself to sleep, about you telling me you hate all fat people, about talking about your hookups 30 minutes into a first date. I hope you understand. Best of luck!