Ugh. I have that dreaded pit in my stomach, churning and gnawing away like there's no tomorrow. It's been there ever since I decided to download Bumble, the dating app that promises to put the power in the woman's hand since she has to be the one to initiate the conversation first with her matches. I actually heard about the app last summer while on a quasi-date with a potential suitor. We never even made it to first base but we've become pretty good friends since then.
Since I'm officially back on the market and it's time to “put myself out there” here goes nothing as I watch the little grey ball turn while the yellow-colored app finishes downloading. Sigh, the dating games we play in 2016.
So I'm on my couch in my pajamas, all curled up with some red berry tea and I start swiping. Honestly, it's mostly to the left, past the guy in a group shot (because his friends are always hotter than him), the shirtless guy (because he's trying way too hard), the guy holding a baby (even though he makes it point to let us it's his niece and not his baby in his bio), the goofy guy, the selfie guy, and the list goes on...
After a few swipe rights and matches, I start up a convo with Bryan*, a tall fellow, 32, works in online sports marketing, has one brother, loves the outdoors, and has two arms full of tattoos. I'm not really into tattoos, but hey, it's time to “date outside the box.” After exchanging a few texts in the app, since I usually come across as pretty bitchy because I hate small talk and I rarely laugh at the cheesy “break the ice” jokes, we decide to meet for a drink the following weekend.
And now the warning signs ensue...
Warning sign #1: He texted me straight-away after getting my number, which normally would have been fine, but he followed it up a bee emoji. As in, a bee for Bumble, and then proceeded to press me about what I was doing that day and if he “had to wait” to see me until next week. My response? Yes, he did, and to have a great weekend and we'd talk next week.
Warning sign #2: He texted me the very next day, “How's your weekend going?” It was going great, so I was too busy to text him back. Plus, it was pretty clear we were hanging out the following weekend.
Warning sign #3: Two days later he texted, “Ok then.” Which was a pretty aggressive text being that we had never actually met and we made plans for the following week.
Warning sign #4: Everyone told me not to go.
Needless to say, I didn't respond to that “ok then” text and we didn't go for drinks that upcoming Friday. The next day I'm at my friend Caroline's BBQ and he texts me if I'm up for grabbing a drink that night. Of course I tell everyone at the BBQ about him and his weird behavior and we pass around his photo on my phone for everyone's opinion. The group made an unanimous decision that I should not go to drinks with this kid, but I hadn't been on a date in awhile and I wanted to make the effort to be more proactive, plus, we were getting drinks in my 'hood, so worse case scenario, I grab a cocktail, call it a night, and scoot my little butt home.
But since the group was now invested in the story and honestly, was a bit concerned about my well-being since Bryan was already a stage 5 clinger, I promised to live-tweet my date with the group using #okthen, so we could all follow along during the insanity that would ensue.
Bryan and I started the night out at one of my usual West Hollywood haunts. So far, so good. I tweeted that he was 2 minutes late, which is a major pet peeve of mine. I got a hard cider and he got an old-fashioned, he then proceeded to grill me about why we didn't get drinks the other night and that he felt “blown off” which led to these tweets:
Bryan then proceeded to pressure me to drink more, since by this time he had somehow managed to simultaneously talk the whole time about his mom, his brother, his job, injuring his arm, injuring his rib, how he got his tattoos, how his mother got a tattoo, and in his words, “very close to her vagina,” how he's happy that I actually look like my photos, and so on, while downing two more drinks before I was halfway done with my hard cider, which led to these tweets:
I never finished my hard cider since Bryan was determined for me to try their old-fashioned. So here I was, slowly sipping on my too strong old-fashioned and dancing in my seat to the early 90s hip-hop and pop music, while Bryan continued to talk, mostly to his self, about any and every thing. He then started to complain about the music, which I felt was the highlight of the evening, and that he was craving steak and wanted to go out for a steak and “feed me.” I nodded awkwardly, sort side-to-side, not really a yes or a no, which led to these tweets:
At this point, I quickly assessed that I was all out of frozen pizza at home, so steak actually sounded nice but Bryan was slurring at this point and getting a little too touchy feely, but alas, I found myself in the back of an Uber and on my way to Dan Tana's for steak, spaghetti bolognese, and a glass of cabernet. While at the dinner table, Bryan is now full on talking in baby talk, falling asleep, trying to kiss me while I literally have chunks of steak in my mouth, and keeps repeating, “Fine, blow me off, you used to be nice to me.” Check, please.
True to form, Bryan was slurring and being just as creepy in the Uber home. I made sure that my place was the first stop so I could get out there as soon as possible and he was so wasted I doubt he remembers where I got dropped off at. He then proceeded to send me incoherent texts all night that I just had to take screen-grabs of them and share with the group via a private group text so we could all weigh-in on the bizarreness that was Bumble Bryan, which led to these tweets:
Moral of the story? Trust your gut, and your friends, and if something or someone doesn't feel right, then don't do it and don't meet them. And don't forget to live-tweet so your friends can track you in case anything sketchy goes down.
Sigh, I've since deleted Bumble, so back to the dating drawing board the old-fashioned way, but it did make for a great and very comical story.
*Name has been changed to protect the crazy.