Context: I had been talking to ‘Basketball’ on Hinge for a few days, and he had an extra ticket to a Wizards game on a Wednesday night, so I took him up on his offer to go. I based this decision almost entirely on the fact that the wifi in my apartment is currently broken and I’m bored out of my mind. Also because he was bringing his three roommates, and at least one of them had to be my soulmate, right? That’s how numbers work.
Whenever I tell people about the blog, one of the first things they ask me is something along the lines of “isn’t Tinder just an app for horny people who want to hook up?”
Actually, this is more often phrased as “I can’t believe you’ve gotten, like, 50 different dudes to take you out and, like, pay for shit without putting out. What a bunch of suckers.”
My answer is sometimes. Yes, of course, there are guys out there who are only interested in a casual romp in the sack, but I’m high class, y’all. I need shit bought for me first.
…but, then again, I’ve never blacked out on a Tinder date before… until Wednesday. Let’s start from the beginning!
I was sitting in Peet’s coffee, working away like a good little consultant, when I got a text from ‘Basketball’ asking if I wanted to go to the game. It would be him, his 3 roommates, and one other girl, and that they would be pregaming heavily and sneaking in airplane bottles. Um, this is like my dream date, so I happily agreed! I wrapped up my work, headed home to get ready, reheated a leftover slice of pizza as “dinner,” chugged some wine, and made the half-mile walk to his house.
On the walk over, I made the super convenient discovery that none of the houses had numbers on them, so I just kinda chose a house that looked ‘four-boys-live-here’ dingy and knocked on the door. It was the wrong house. But a sweet old man WAS able to point me in the direction of the ‘hoodlums’ house,’ so I found it shortly thereafter! I knocked, and walked right into a beer pong game with Justin Bieber playing in the background. I located my date, hugged him, and eagerly replaced his roommate’s spot on the team. We lost twice in a row, which was a great bonding experience as we cried and chugged Bud Light together.
We called an Uber, and his roommates made “Wine-Bulls” (exactly what it sounds like) and asked me if I wanted one.
J: Does it taste good?
Roomie: Define ‘good.’
J: Yep, that’s the answer I was afraid of.
I stuck with a hefty cup of Franzia (I like to pretend I’m 19 on occasion) + a shot of Captain with my date (hey, never let a man take a shot alone!)
We all piled into the Uber and headed to the Verizon Center. Exciting events during the car ride include my date clutching onto the door handle for dear life (apparently he’s scared of cars, this is healthy) and the boys stuffing 12 airplane bottles (T.W.E.L.V.E.) into their socks so we could sneak them in.
The game was fairly uneventful, made more exciting by one of the roommates’ colorful commentary, another roommate drunk-eating THREE Chick-fil-a sandwiches, and me drinking two airplane bottles. I simply cannot resist the siren song of tequila, and my date got better looking with every sip. In retrospect, this was probably a bad sign.
Once the game ended, we all trekked to Hill Country for beers (we clearly needed more alcohol) and karaoke! A strange man tried to drag me onstage, but for the first time EVER I deemed myself “too drunk.” Is this… is this maturity?! I’m not ready for maturity. Hand me another Cuervo, por favor.
I woke up in a daze – definitely not wearing pants, definitely still wearing my shirt and sweater (?!), DEFINITELY still drunk. Awesome.
My date woke up when I started to get out of bed, and insisted we needed ‘more cuddle time.’ I insisted that I needed to get the hell outta dodge, re-pantsed myself, and stumbled out the door… right into three elementary-school-aged girls standing at the bus stop. They judged me. I can still feel their burning stares. I’m innocent, I swear!
I shot off the following text to several of my closest friends:
Passed out in my bed, got my shit together and dragged my ass to work, where I got this text from my date:
WELL, THAT’S GOOD.
I implore you all to never, ever, ever take any advice that I may share. You will be judged by elementary school children and throw up in your office bathroom. Don’t be like me.