J: Please stop talking

Context: I had been talking to “Frat Star” for a millisecond on Hinge (I’m a convert) when we decided to get drinks at American Tap Room in Clarendon on a Saturday evening.

Hi friends!! I’m not dead!!! I know you missed me way too much, because you need updates on my shambly existence to make you feel better about yourself, but a combination of a work trip/actually going on GOOD dates (what?!) led to my brief hiatus. Not to worry, though, I haven’t ~found love~ (hahahahaha dying alone hahahaha), because let’s face it: my time consists entirely of trying to find balance between getting infinite free meals and seeking out the sexy hunk of man that I will watch Netflix with for the rest of my life (or like longer than a month). I want great (ok, decent) meals, stimulating conversations, a shoulder to nap on, and Calvin Klein model eye candy all at the same damn time. Is that too much to ask for?! I think not.

Also, I’m addicted to Hinge. It’s the height thing, and the quality of guys is much better, and Tinder just introduced this “super-like” feature where you can choose one person a day to be like OMG BAE I NEED YOU and the guys who super-like me always look like serial killers and I just needed to get out. So, Hinge! This is where I met “frat star” and we decided fairly quickly to get drinks once I was back from my business trip. He was 6’2, he looked like he would pay for me, I was sold.

He was also sold. On himself.

This man, in addition to looking like a fucking dad at age 23 (what will you look like at 30? 35?!), didn’t know how to SHUT UP.  Over a period of an hour, he learned 1) my roommates’ names. I, on the other hand, learned:

  1. His favorite recipe for Everclear punch (WOO WERE YOU IN A FRAT?!)
  2. The nicknames of all his fraternity brothers (no seriously, a frat? SO COOL!)
  3. The best theme parties his frat threw (the word fraternity has now lost all meaning)
  4. He really, really loves to smoke weed with his frat brothers (are the walls of our booth high enough that I can excuse myself to the bathroom and just leave without him noticing?)

Please don’t text me, sir. There probably won’t be a second date. And by probably, I mean definitely. But fret not, readers, there will definitely be more Hinge.


Posted in J

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