And we’re kissing now. Okay. Guess he missed the point of my pointed awkward hug, huh? At least he’s not terri- that hand better not move any further. Smart boy. Oh aaand he’s pulling me closer. And there’s the tongue. We could not have read this night more differently.
“I’ll definitely be seeing you again,” he said.
OH WILL YOU NOW?
This was the guy who rode horses. The equestrian from Pasadena. Taking a page from Rory Gilmore’s book, I created a mental pro/con list. I had a good enough time. I didn’t go in expecting much. He made several stupid/douchey comments throughout our conversation which I overlooked in favor of not killing myself, but when we parted ways I began to notice just how much of a jackass he really was.
Oh, your parents are both from Missouri, which means you’re not the stereotypical L.A. douche?
Yeah, it turned out to really just be a con list.
I went out with a guy who grew up in Portland. Maine. Oh, he also grew up in fucking France I guess. When did we go out? Wednesday I think? What’s today? Saturday. God this is exhausting.
Yeah, turns out that agreeing to go out with someone just because they’re from Maine is not a good idea. I mean I was also impressed that he was finishing writing a book and had just graduated from Cambridge. I was like ooh, he’s fancy and smart and TALL.
Despite not actually being British, he represented the stuffy stereotype like he was getting paid for it. I think that part of the problem was that he was old. 30 I think. Which isn’t even old unless you’re a pseudo-Brit.
Apparently I’m mature for my age, at least in some regard. Like, middle-aged Uber drivers are my favorite because we have the best conversations about life. One guy even gave me his card to keep in touch. He was partly impressed by me because I was so coherent for being so drunk.
A true sign of intelligence.
All of the friends that I’ve made since college have been older than me, at least by a year, but most of them by several. I tried dating a guy who was younger than me once and it was terrible. Boys tend to mature more slowly than girls, so even a guy who’s mature for his young age is still behind me.
I’m so not interested in waiting around for anyone to catch up.
You’d think that an old, basically British guy would be a good fit, right? Or something like that I guess. But no, of course not. Because it turns out a 30 year old British dude is the equivalent of a normal 60 year old man.
Poor Kate Middleton.
He didn’t really want to tell me about Medieval History, the subject he likes enough to write a fucking book about, and I was over here like if someone can make me interested in Quantum fucking Physics, you can make me interested in this. And then he was scared to give me his opinion on how Gilmore Girls is misogynistic.
I can’t date a stuffy old man who isn’t proud of what he does and doesn’t stand up for his opinions. The end.
Ah, and then there was last night’s guy. I don’t even know what to call him because there’s nothing significant about him, except that I liked him. It was the most generic date ever, which actually worked quite well. I guess certain dates become go-tos for a reason. A movie followed by drinks? Bingo.
We went to see the newest Hunger Games movie and it was good, but not gonna lie, I spent the entire movie thinking about the dog I played with beforehand.
That dog. The Turner and Hooch dog. I love dogs. A lot. Especially mastiffs. Especially Dogues de Bordeaux.
Is that where the s goes? Is it Dogue de Bordeauxes? I’m pretty sure it’s the same rule that applies to passers-by but who am I to say?
These are the important questions.
So, um, yeah. My obsession with that dog didn’t scare him away, so that scored him like a million points. Umm what else is there to say? Good dates are particularly uninteresting. Oh, but I do have a word problem for you guys.
Zoe and Brian go out on a date. If Brian had two beers, Zoe had one, and they both had a good time, how awkward will their first kiss be?
No actually it was adorable aw yay.