Context: I matched with Wannabe on Coffee Meets Bagel, which is literally the worst dating app ever and tbh I have no idea why it’s still taking up precious memory on my phone but whatever. We attempted to set up a date for the following Thursday evening.
I don’t know what it is about guys self-declaring as fuckboys these days but it has become almost as bad as the fuckboy epidemic itself. For example, when Fish Lips said he loved Brixton and I said ew no it’s a fuckboy paradise and he moved his hands demostratively up and down his torso and said “well have you seen me?!” and then I wept.
Or, when Jack #3 and I were having beers at Rebellion* and I asked him what his hobbies were.
J3: I mean, I like watching sports and just chilling on my couch with my buddies, I guess kind of being a fuckboy.
*I’m currently in the middle of a post about Jack #3, which should be done tomorrow, depending on which hour of the day I begin drinking.
…As if on cue, I just spilled rosé on my keyboard. Caught in the act.
The sad part of all of this is that I can totally see where they’re coming from. Fuckboys are, unfortunately, desirable. They are the guys who will lure you in and then ruin your life and then, because ladies are sick and twisted masochists as a rule, keep you coming back for more. Pardon me while I go question all of my life choices.
Side note: if you haven’t yet read this Betches article about fuckboy Ken dolls I highly recommend. V entertaining and also mildly upsetting because it’s too real.
ANYWAY. Back to Wannabe. So homeboy doesn’t look that cute but his CMB profile said he was 6’4 so I was like ok you can buy me two drinks, and we tried to set something up for a Thursday afternoon. I was at happy hour at Perry’s with my friend R the evening before when he started suggesting places.
Ugh. Don Tito’s. The perfect reminder of why I don’t date guys who live in Arlington. Regardless, there were free drinks at stake, so I chose the lesser of the evils.
Also, I would like to note that this is the first use of “your” in a place where “you’re” is grammatically correct. Rest assured, we will revisit this topic later in the story.
NOPE. Shut it down, boys, shut it down.
I wanted to reach through my phone and strangle him with the belt I had cinched around my swing dress, but I can’t do that without going to jail for homicide, so I did the next best thing – reduce response length and then attempt to ghost him entirely. He texted me several times asking how my happy hours were going (they’re happy hours, they were grand, why won’t you stop talking to me) while I didn’t respond. Finally the texts ceased and I thought he had gotten the point.
THINK AGAIN, J! NO FUCKBOY LETS YOU GET AWAY THAT EASILY!
I’m happily working away the next day, relishing in the newest Ke$ha jam, when my phone vibrates. The wannabe fuckboy hath return-ed.
Thinking I have evaded this conversation through my sharp tongue and visible emotional walls, I heaved a sigh of relief and peacefully returned to my work. But, OH CONTRAIRE, MES AMIS, Wannabe was NOT giving up without a fight. Or a novel. Mostly the latter. See below:
Luckily, Savage is my middle name, even though I don’t include that in my monogram.
EVEN AFTER I SENT HIM A SCREENSHOT OF THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN YOUR AND YOU’RE HE STILL DID NOT GO AWAY. You can’t make this shit up, guys. He came back with the following:
W – Haha, grammar isn’t my strong suit, but I make up for it by making beautiful PowerPoint slides!
No shit, Sherlock, you’re a management consultant. Literally 90% of what you do is build slide decks. Ya ain’t special. So, I never responded, went to an outdoor concert with my friend C instead, and thought I had heard the last of Wannabe.
…that is until I was attending a happy hour a few weeks later. I checked the list of attendees to see if the guy I had met once but was like super in love with would be there (no dice; it’s fine, I’ll wait for you, babe) and one of the names seemed familiar. TOO familiar.
J – SAY IT AIN’T SO, MAMA, SAY IT AIN’T SO.
Mama – It is so.
It was him. There were 20 attendees. It was speed networking.
I was fucked.
Luckily, networking is the name of my game, and I knew that with the right tactics I would be able to avoid Wannabe throughout the duration of the event. Aka if we got even remotely close to each other I would just order another drink and double fist my way into the bathroom where I would hide until my drinks were empty. Rinse and repeat.
Miraculously, this technique worked! He definitely knew who I was, but we managed to avoid contact for the entire evening. I then sprinted away to the metro to go brag about my accomplishments to my friends at trivia. #HUMBLE – Kendrick Lamar – J.
I should really stop going on dates with people in my field.
But where would the excitement be in that?