Context: “Skydiver” and I exchanged a few messages on Tinder, and he asked if I wanted to go swing dancing with him and some friends on Saturday. My heart said ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY but my head said “Woooah Nelly, you already made plans and you’re a beeotch if you break plans for a Tinder date.” So, we decided to meet at Whitlow’s on Sunday evening.

Communication is a skill that is V important, but often difficult. Take when Lawyer-man asked M out for drinks, and then ordered a soda because he doesn’t drink, for example. Well, actually, that may have been a trap (see: every joke about lawyers going to hell ever told by a D-list stand-up comic). But like, sometimes a guy asks you to go to a place that is both a bar and a restaurant, and you’re not sure whether to eat before, or starve yourself to look good in your bandage dress (hahaha never we luv food), or pregame (…this happens 9/10 times). Receiving free meals/dranks is hard, man. So, enough rambling, I swear this relates to my date.

communicate

Skydiver asked me to meet him at Whitlow’s at 6:30 PM on a Sunday. Sounds like prime dinner time, right? Wrong! Wrong?!

I was standing outside Whitlow’s, awkward and alone, doing my patented “look down at phone as if to check the time, but actually be comparing passerby with Tinder pictures, and OH MY GAWD LOOK AT THAT FLUFFY DOG” routine when I received a text.

S: Hey, I’m at the tiki bar!

Bar? Bar? Bar? Dude, I was hungry. And now he wants me to drink? I had spent the whole day watching various rom-coms on a guy friend’s Netflix account (to creatively alter his suggested movies) and NOT-eating so I would be hungry at dinner, so drinking now sounded like more of a recipe for disaster than sending a hipster to a Nickelback concert.

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Scowling (but like, a pretty scowl, in case he was looking), I walked upstairs and expected him to be standing, waiting for me to show up. Strike 2. He was sitting at the bar, talking to the bartender, so I called his name and waited for a head to turn. He was GORGEOUS. Beautiful eyes, eyelashes longer than mine (even in my favorite CoverGirl Lash eXtend mascara, PRAISE). The only thing, though, was that he was probably exactly my height. I’m 5’10, so he wasn’t short… he just wasn’t tall. Regardless, we both grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered drinks.

Skydiver is an AMAZING guy. We had a great conversation about trips we had been on, our jobs, our college experiences, and more. He mentioned that he used to love to mix slurpees with alcohol, and there happens to be a 7-11 nearby, so he closed out the tab and we headed over there to grab slurpees. From there, we headed back to my apartment and hung out with L. Before he left, we made plans to go out skydiving this coming weekend. At which time I will pass him over to M, so I can remain his friend and she can benefit from her shorter stature AND his beauty and glorious presence. *snaps for J*

This is a GREAT opportunity to present our new app idea, Tinder Up! Have you ever been swiping through Tinder and thought “Wow this guy sounds so wonderful but has the same name as my brother/despised ex-boyfriend/smelly elementary school gym teacher”? Or maybe, you come across a volleyball-playing hottie but the only kind of ‘bump’ you’ve ever done is the bump n’ grind? Instead of swiping left or right, you could swipe up to send the match to someone else. I know, I know, we’re geniuses. That’s why they pay us the big bucks. Well, not that big, so gentlemen please keep buying us things please and thank you!

i want more

XOXO,
J