Context: I matched with ‘Player’ on Bumble, and we talked briefly before scheduling a date for a Wednesday night. We met at Bonfire at 6:15, and I had to be at Buffalo Billiards to host trivia at 7, so I wasn’t expecting much out to come from my 45 minute date. Boy, was I wrong.
For most of my dating life, I’ve been drawn to guys who are close to my own age. Partially out of convenience – why would I strike out on a search for grad school men when some dude my own age was sitting next to me in accounting class??? – but also for the sake of being on the same timeline as someone. Because, let’s be real, guys – older men want to settle down. They want to start a family. They’re looking for LOVE.
Quite frankly, to anyone who starts talking about things like ‘commitment’ and ‘marriage,’ I say: That’s a very stupid subject. I’d rather discuss my big toe or your early-onset arthritis. Then I glare, hiss, and run – not walk – away from the person who has tried to suck me into such negativity. Denial is key.
Then, I went on 70-some first dates with 23ish-year-old idiots over the course of a year, and realized that the maturity gap between males and females is real. And this means a lot coming from a girl who had the following conversation at baggage claim last month:
J – But why would they call it a baggage carousel if they don’t want you to ride it?!
TSA Official – Ma’am, please collect your belongings and exit the premises.
I’m a catch, I’m telling you.
Plus, there’s a little thing called a ‘salary’ that dictates how much shit a dude is going to buy me. If he’s older, he’s less likely to be a #4 Broke Grad Student and actually pay for my meals and belongings and such for an extended period of time, which is really all I’ve ever wanted. So, when I came across Player on Bumble – a 28-year-old, successful lawyer with two impressive alma maters – I swiped right immediately. Sign me UP!
We chatted briefly, and set up a date for that Wednesday night. However, him being the very important lawyer that he is (swoon), he had a meeting run late. I, being the busy-bee that I am, had to go host trivia. 45-minute date? Why not?
And really, it went well! Conversation was easy, he bought me a beer and himself a pink beverage called a ‘Snow Bunny,’ (which I ridiculed him endlessly for), he walked me to trivia (DID NOT STALK ME INSIDE) and we closed things out with a nice hug (NOT A HANDSHAKE). Great times.
Fast forward to the next day. I’m sitting at work, crushed with the weight of my workload but still unwilling to do anything on my to do list, when a brilliant thought crosses my mind. Why don’t I LinkedIn stalk the lawyer to find out what he’s all about?
Genius, I tell you.
With a quick Google search of his name, employer, and school (all info gleaned from his Bumble profile, FYI), I stumbled upon my handsome date. And his last name. Which sounds strangely familiar…
…maybe I had met him at a work thing…?
…maybe we knew each other in a past life…?
…OR MAYBE IT’S THAT ASSHOLE THAT FAST FADED MY FRIEND MC?!
Ohh yes. See, a few short months ago, MC had gone on several dates with this very same gentleman, who had evidently just gotten out of a three year relationship and was back on the market. One Friday night, she texted him, as was customary.
MC – Hey! What are you up to tonight?
P – Oh, just an Arlington night with the boys! How about you?
MC – Out on 14th & U! If you end up in the area, let me know.
P – Will do!
Several hours later, MC is drunk and happy as a clam outside Lost Society, when WHO SHOULD SHE SEE but Player and his friends walking into the 14th & U McDonalds.
Okaaaaaaaay. Whatever, maybe their plans had changed. Regardless, this could wait until the next day. MC shot Player a text that afternoon:
MC – How was your night?
P – Good, just played some beer pong in Arlington with my buddies, then called it an early night! How about you?
Okay, idiot fuckboy. MC is way better than that, and should not put up with any of your shit. And neither. Should. I. Operation: Ruin Player was go.
Fast forward to my Halloween party on Friday night. I pulled me and MC’s friend Lo aside and filled her in on what was going down, as well as my elaborate scheme to ruin Player.
J – So essentially, my plan is to make him love me and then RUIN HIS LIFE
Lo – YASSSSS BITCH YASSSSSS
Several hours later, I found myself at Provision, three vodka sodas in front of me and a booty call from Player on my phone.
P – Hey come to this postgame it’s super fun!!
P – We’re playing beer pong and eating pizza!
J – Idk, there’s crazy surge pricing and the Uber to Arlington is super expensive…
P – I’ll buy it! Where are you?
I hopped in the Uber, made the long-ass trek across the bridge to Virginia (ew), and found myself standing outside, in the cold, not entirely sure where the house I was going to was. Panicking, I dove into a stairwell that I most definitely should not have been in. I texted Player, and we began a glorified game of Marco Polo as I chattered his name through my teeth while trying unsuccessfully to cover the 75% of my body that was exposed. It was a very fun time in my life.
He eventually found me and we began our walk to the house, taking frequent ‘rest’ breaks to make out a little (both as part of my plot to make him love me, and because I was hammered). We joined up with the postgame, and as we were getting beers from the fridge I asked him if he knew BP, since they had both graduated from the same college around the same time.
P – Yeah, I know that dude! We had a bunch of classes together. I wonder what other mutual friends we have?
Before I could say anything, Player has pulled me up on Facebook. His demeanor faltered slightly as he gazed down at our one mutual friend.
P – …How do you know MC? Are you friends from college? Maybe you’ve drifted apart? Haven’t talked to her in a while?! Ha ha hahaha ha??
J – …..I know who you are.*
P – Oh, fuck.
J – MC and I are very close. We tell each other everything.
P – So, you probably hate me…?
J – No, I won’t let your past cloud my judgment. Just know that I’m aware of what your game is, and if you try to pull that shit with me, I’ll call you the fuck out.
Then, we made out and danced in the kitchen, played no beer pong, ate no pizza, smoked some weed, and passed out fully clothed on a very small couch. COMFY.
*Never have I ever said I wasn’t super creepy, and drunk me has little to no filter.
I woke up the next morning extremely confused. Why were we on a couch? Why were we on the small couch and not the large couch next to it? Why did we not have a blanket when I was fucking FREEZING? Why were there so many paper towels on the floor?* Where even was I?!
*Player’s friend had decided to wrap Player in paper towels so that he would look like a mummy. GOOD.
Player, likely sensing my panic and confusion, woke up shortly thereafter and answered my questions. We were on a couch because this wasn’t his house (???). We were on the short couch because he’s stupid. We didn’t have a blanket because, once again, he’s stupid. But, he was willing to drive me home – so he wasn’t that stupid, I guess. And he seemed to be falling for my game, so I was pretty happy with the way things were going.
Until he ghosted.
Yep, friends, Player dropped me off at my house, and I never heard from him again. Even when I fuckboy texted him “Hawthorne” (his favorite bar) the next Friday at 1 AM. Apparently you can’t change the Player, after all.
When things like this happen, I need to remember that it doesn’t mean anything. Nothing means anything. I think I just became a nihilist with terrible grammar.
So yeah, this sucked. But I find solace that there will come a day when karma will rear its ugly head on Player and finally exact the revenge that MC deserves. And let me tell you, any man who drinks a pink beverage called a Snow Bunny on a first date and then thinks he can ghost on you has a lot of bad juju coming his way.