Date Stories, J

J: Gettin’ hippy with it

Context: I matched with Hippy on Hinge, intrigued by his fuckboy persona (picture with a dog, picture with mom and sister, heavily filtered solo shot, ‘I luv 2 travel’ pic, etc.) and the fact that he was 6’2. We arranged to meet at Rebellion on a Thursday evening.

It’s no secret that the guys I’m usually into are of the tall, lanky variety. If you were to line up the last 100 guys I’ve been out with, you would note (with the exception of my blind date and Beans) that they all look very much the same. However, this is not to say that I’m not open to other people – in fact, if a guy is a little overweight, that’s just less pressure on me to go to the gym every day and maybe not binge drink on a nightly basis! Plus, if there’s anything I’ve learned from avoiding human interaction by binge watching Netflix, it’s that sometimes the funny, chubby guys aka Seth Rogen make the best lovers.

I do not, however, want my lover to be voluptuous. And that’s just what I found on that fateful Thursday. But let’s rewind.

I know this may come as a shock, but sometimes I get tired gathering all personal enjoyment from ruining the lives of others and need some external comedic relief. Weird, right? So, when I found out Town Tavern was having a (free) stand-up comedy special on a Thursday night, I was game. I immediately messaged all of my Hinge matches to see who was available to join me so I could have all my drinks paid for pretend I have friends enjoy sharing laughs with a potential suitor.

Hippy was first to respond. Joy. I penciled him into my calendar, removed everyone who subsequently responded from my life, and shared my phone number with him to allow for easier contact day of. I would go to happy hour at Provision with my friends E and M at 5:30, then have time to leisurely stroll over to Town Tavern just in time for the show.

Hippy and I were not, it turns out, on the same page. Case in point: he wanted to grab drinks first to “get to know me.” UGH. Fine, I could leave happy hour 30 minutes early and grab a beer at Rebellion. Twist my arm. After a happy hour that included 2 bottles of wine split between the 3 of us and 2 rounds of tequila shots (a cry for help), I called an Uber to Rebellion and found myself in the car of a man with several dozen rosaries strewn about. A happy reminder of my Godlessness.

I showed up at the bar 15 minutes late and approached him at the bar. And noted first off that he was… curvy. Like, the man had CHILD-BEARING HIPS. Not ideal*. Like, although I would prefer to not carry my own child, I would not like my date to be my surrogate.

*Call me shallow all you want, but that’s because I am.

Secondly I noticed that he had a very effeminate voice and dainty mannerisms. I was instantly reminded of John Tucker Must Die, when the girls put John on estrogen pills. Was this man, too, in the middle of a love triangle ridden with infidelity? I could only imagine so.

Anyway, he bought me a beer, and we launched into conversation. I honestly don’t remember what we talked about because I was busy pondering how to best ruin his credit score. I do remember him talking about his work on the Hill, so there’s another state – Nevada – off the list. Once we finished our beers, we walked over to Town Tavern and he bought us beers while I found a spot by the stage. Everything was going fine until one of the comedians blew my cover.
Comedian – I mean, I don’t care if you hate my jokes. How much did you pay to be here anyway? Nothing. Y’all can leave.
Hippy – This is… this is a free show?
J – HAHAHA THESE JOKES ARE SO FUNNY AND UNREALISTIC LOL!

The comedian immediately became enemy #1. Watch out, sir, J is coming for you.

The show had not even ended and I knew I hated this man and his curvy hips. I had big plans to say my goodbyes, erase this night from my memory entirely, then go text my ex-boyfriend to ruin whatever potential happiness he might have at the moment.

Hippy ONCE AGAIN was completely oblivious to the psychopathic thoughts in my brain and kept fucking up my night.
H – Can you show me some of your favorite bars? I’m still new to the area and would love to see the places you like!
J – I WOULD RATHER PERISH IN BATTLE!

jk I said yes because I have NO self-respect or regard for Thursday night bedtimes. Plus I kinda wanted to go talk to hot guys at Front Page anyway and having a guaranteed sponsor for my first $2 Corona would make everything that much better. It’s the little things.

After a beer each at Front Page and me praying to every deity I could conjure that he would fall through a surprise trap door that I’m sure exists at such a reputable establishment, he offered to walk me home. How kind. We were headed back towards my place when he spotted Mission.
H – That place looks cool! Can we go?
J – I AM YOUR DATE NOT YOUR TOUR GUIDE OF DUPONT CIRCLE BARS!!!

jk AGAIN I said yes because my willpower is weak at the mention of margaritas. Once again, we each had one drink. At least I think so, because this is where the 2/3 bottle of wine, 2 tequila shots, 3 beers and 1 margarita* caught up with me and I blacked out. Happens.

*I hadn’t actually listed out everything I drank on this “date” before, but now that I have the hangover that bore down on me for the entirety of the next day makes much more sense.

I woke up the next morning HIGHLY CONFUSED at why Hippy was in my bed. Who let you in here, sir?! Was it my roommate? Was it my kindly hobo neighbor friend who gave me a vodka slushy once when I was locked out of my house? 

Was it… me?

Oh yes, friends. My blackout self had not only allowed this man to come into my house, but also to sleep in my bed. We did NOT hook up though, thank you Aunt Flo for coming to the rescue once again. He rolled over and tried to cuddle me.
H – Good morning, beautiful!

I responded by rolling in the opposite direction, off the bed.
H – Are you ok?
J – NO I NEED TO GO TO WORK* OMG
H – Awww, are you sure you need to go now?!
J – Do not doubt me.

*Had hundo p told him the night before that I work from home on Fridays. Fuck it.

I hurried him out of my house then puked, took five two advil, and rolled back into bed. “Goodbye, Hippy” I cackled to myself as I deleted his follow-up “I had a great time, let’s do this again soon!” text and buried my face under my pillows.

No more guided tours of Dupont Circle. They have randos on segways for that.

XOXO,
J

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