Context: In my continuing effort to attend as many holiday parties as possible, I jumped at the chance when a Tinder gentleman invited me to attend his Congresswoman’s holiday soiree at Sette Osteria on a Thursday night. I agreed to head over to his house* in NoMa prior to the party so that we could get our story straight.
*This, children, is a great way to get murdered.
I’ve been on like, 10 dates in 2 weeks.
It’s really thrilling – but really, really exhausting. Does that mean I’m going to slow down? Absolutely not. In fact, I’ve been trying to speed things up – with the aid of my Tinder bio.
OHHHHH, YES. And boy has it garnered some interest, typically in the form of one of the following responses:
– “Which package includes sex?” (none of them, I am not an escort)
– “What if we just drink the bottle of tequila at my place and skip the party?” (well, sir, that would be a) too cheap a date, b) the source of a very nasty hangover, and c) counter to the ENTIRE point of this bio, which is that I love events and don’t have nearly enough of them in my life)
– “My holiday party already happened, how about we grab a drink instead?” (not ideal, but sure)
However, despite all the interest expressed, I’ve only ended up going to one holiday party with a Tinder match – and that is the tale I will share with you today. Gather round, little ones.
I took an Uber to Congress’ house in NoMa, and when he answered the door I was… underwhelmed. He wasn’t bad looking, per se, but certainly more unkempt than his pictures, and a bit crazed. I guess it’s the whole over-worked-under-paid staff assistant thing? No wonder they have so many open bar events.
He invited me to take a seat on the couch, where he had a bottle of Cab Sauv waiting. He went to open the bottle, and I realized he was incredibly nervous (or on crack) because his hands were shaking like crazy, and he had forgotten every step of corkscrew use. I volunteered to take over (aka wrenched the corkscrew from his hands because I NEEDED WINE STAT) and, once the wine was open, we launched into developing our back story.
Congress – Well, I definitely don’t want to say we met on Tinder…
J – Why not?! ARE YOU ASHAMED
C – I used to take this filmmaking class in Clarendon, we can say we met there?
J – Sounds good.
C – What was the movie we made about?
J – Dogs.
C – …ok! Dogs! Great. So…
J – And you had a crush on me from the moment you met me, but I had a boyfriend then.
C – Oka-
J – And the second you saw my ‘Thot back on the market’ snapchat, you slid into my DMs.
C – ….sure! By the way, what is a D.M.?
Boys these days, not appreciating Yo Gotti’s artistry. smh.
We chatted a bit more, then took an Uber over to Sette Osteria. As soon as I walked in, Congress abandoned me to go talk to his coworkers. No matter! I grabbed a glass of wine (the first of MANY) and began chatting with whoever I could find. This ended up being a circle of pretty awesome girls as well as the Congresswoman herself. Everything was going great, until one of them dropped this bomb on me.
Sara – So, how did you and Congress meet? He’s been telling us how excited he is for us to meet his girlfriend!
J – Hahahaha ha wait his what???
S – His girlfriend! How long have you all been dating? Where did you meet?
Ohhh no he did not. I placed an order for two more glasses of wine with the nearest waiter, and decided that all bets were off. ‘Buttoned-up Event J’ was out, and ‘Fuck it all J’ was back.
Things continued going well, including a White Elephant exchange to which I brought a cat cross stitch kit* and received one of those wine glasses that holds a full bottle of wine, napkins that say ‘Democratic Party Cocktail Party,’ and a pad of sticky notes that say ‘It has been my pleasure to ignore you.’** #winning
*My grandmother’s birthday present to me. I hate both cats and crafts. Thanks Nana.
**The Congresswoman herself brought this one. I felt pretty special.
It was getting late, and the waiters at Sette Osteria began trying to physically remove us from the restaurant, so we headed next door to Sotto. By this point I was fairly hammered because I had eaten exactly nothing and drank just about everything. My date bought me a margarita and began to lean in close, so I ran away to find his coworkers and avoid his very dry-looking lips. Dude, it’s called Chapstick.
I continued to engage in conversation with Congress’ coworkers while he tried to hunt me down.* At this point, I remembered why I should never be let out in public.
Sara – Hey, where did Congress go?
J – Who? *chugs marg*
S – …your boyfriend?
J – Oh, him! Right hahaha. He’s not actually my boyfriend. I write a Tinder blog, I met him on Tinder, this is my first time meeting him.
S – Wait, what?
J – LOOK AT THE TIME I MUST BE GOING.
*I really should add ‘Certified Ghost’ to my resumé
I needed to get my drunk ass out of there and into bed, mostly because I had a work meeting early the next morning, but also because if I kept drinking I was liable to make poor choices (read: go home with this dude and subsequently regret everything). I made a beeline for the door, stopping only to give my date a sloppy goodbye kiss, then sprinted into my Uber and immediately fell asleep. I woke up the next morning to 3 texts from Congress.
C – Hey, why did you run away so fast?
C – I really wanted you to come home with me 🙁
C – I had a really incredible time tonight and I think my coworkers all like you too. What are you doing this weekend? I’d love to spend Saturday with you.
In response, I did what I do best – deleted his number and his texts, and added a notch to my date count. Thanks for the drinks, Congress! Thanks for the giant wine glass, Congresswoman!