Online dating, at it’s finest:
I emailed a 29 year old guy last week on OKC who’s profile I clearly didn’t read all the way through the first time around, as I later realized that he had two young girls and an ex-wife. I didn’t respond when he emailed me back, but still received the following message yesterday morning:
This is Tim’s wife. He is not divorced. We were actually trying to work on things. I met him online and he left his exwife for me. We have two girls and now he’s trying to do the same thing to me. Trust me for your own good stay away.
In person dating, at it’s finest:
I attended a house party in Bloomingdale Saturday night with many many D.C. hipster kids. There was roughly 100 deviled eggs (I ate about half) and a three man band that included a drummer, guitarist and a dude with a banjo that only sometimes wore socks and shoes.
We sang and danced to a wide variety of cover songs– everything from “I’ve Got Friends in Low Places” to R.Kelly’s “Ignition (Remix)” and did a whole shit ton of foot stomping, because that is the preferred way to dance a couple cocktails in.
Once the band finished and the Pandora station turned up, the dancing continued. The banjo playing dude (with his shoes back on) started to dance himself over to me, and in what can only be described as a hipster mating dance, lassoed me to him with his blue flannel shirt. Essentially, the most hipster way to hit on someone. Ever.
Dating mixers, at it’s finest:
A bunch of the boys– frat boys and frat boy friends alike– have decided to attend the Living Social Cupid bar crawl this weekend and invited me along. As I’ve learned in the past, going out carousing with the boys is like an (pardon my language) automatic cockblock. No one wants to hit on the lady surrounded by many many dudes. I’ll stay home, thank you.