Oh yeah baby you read that right. Muddy waters. Let’s go.
I’m writing this from Dallas Love-field airport bar enjoying some tequila sunrises before my flight at 9am. A perfect time to talk about my dating life.
As the title of the link you clicked on to get here indicates… you can probably fill in the gaps to this story pretty quick.
I matched with my apartment leasing agent on Hinge. According to her profile description, she is a Dallas nightclub promoter and does modeling for lingerie and makeup artists when she isn’t slinging apartment contracts.
Her Hinge photos were like a sexy visual resumé that would make any grown man’s knees quiver. For my southern friends, she’s what we call a “fair woman.” For my New England people— “a heat-seeking missile”
The first time I met her in person I was with my mother who was helping me during move-in. She was cracking jokes and handing questions with business professionalism. I just nodded along and was concerned about the drool forming at the corner of my mouth.
I was bewildered why God would introduce the woman of my dreams with my own Mother merely inches away asking about security fences and plumbing.
I nearly succumbed to a panic attack fumbling to get the key into my new apartment door while the conversation between her my mom re-routed to wall colors and appliance finishes over my shoulder.
“Wow, she’s a cutie Jay Jay” my Mom said (almost) out of earshot as I fanned my shirt out in hopes of avoiding sweat stains and looking exhausted carrying boxes of 8-year old boxers that I can’t seem to throw away.
As if moving wasn’t stressful enough, I had my mom hosting the “not-so-silent” matchmaker gameshow knowing damn well the baby photos she had on iPhone camera roll were ready to launch like nuclear launch codes.
That move-in day was like Cold War and Guantanamo Bay combined while Giselle watched. I feel like I deserve a medal.
Now that you know my first experience with this Texan Minx, you can imagine my disbelief when we matched on Hinge about a week ago.
I sat on the shocking news for about 12 hours. Obviously it was some sort of mistake, but here I was with this chance to shine. The Bruins had just won another playoff game and the liquor and testosterone was flowing.
“RUDY RUDY RUDY” the whiskey cheered in my head… so I shot her a Hinge message—
“Hey, so I guess we can skip the part where I give you the key to my place.” Fucking nailed it.
She never responded.
Sobered up and sitting at my desk at work the next day, I was consumed with so much shame. Thinking that would be an okay thing to say to someone a stratosphere out of my league and pay more than half my paycheck to a month is psychotic.
So I immediately dialed up my online credit card auto-pay to avoid ever showing my face in that leasing office ever again.
At least my mom still calls me handsome.
Online dating sucks. One of my favorite go-to questions to ask matches is highlighted in purple in the screenshot below. This is a conversation from earlier this week—
It’s baffling that females even turn on their phones anymore with some of the stories they tell me.
Suicide? So unfunny that I won’t won’t even try. However…. Taking a first date to a rainforest cafe? Hysterical. This woman is battle-hardened.
I joke about trivial shit, but what the hell are we doing online these days? Dating sucks and people online are even worse— myself included.
I miss keg parties and themed sorority parties when a cute girl in a sundress bullied me into drinking boxed wine and flirting with co-workers at my part-time summer job.