IZZY

The Boy: John

Izzy is slowly working her way up, what I call, the “Online Dating Seriousness Hierarchy”

ONLINE DATING SERIOUSNESS HIERARCHY

Grouper → Tinder → OK Cupid → Hinge → Corny shit like “Coffee Meets Bagel” and “How About We” → Match.com → Niche dating sites (i.e. JDate.com, VeganDating.org)

GROUPER

Izzy has been on a Grouper date before, which I was actually went on with her. None of us girls were interested in any of the boys on the Grouper date, but the night wasn’t a total waste. We were treated (aggressively suggested ordering and didn’t offer to pay) to a shark bowl (“LOL. Drinking with all these straws in my mouth reminds me a penis! TAKE A PIC!” ) and 2 orders of French fries, which we didn’t finish while at the bar. However, not ones to let perfectly decent fried food go to waste, my 2 female accomplices helped me sneak the 2^nd quarter-full basket of French fries under my puffy coat when leaving the bar. Looking back (sober), I realize that one does need to smuggle food that has already been paid for and there are “to-go containers.” At the time, however, I:

1. Thought I was super badass (not-actually-stealing 14 french fries, WOO!)
2. Didn’t give a shit if these boys thought I was a lady (…I’m not)
3. And my drunk subconscious probably wanted the smell of fried potato to stay with me, and on me, all night. (and throughout the night because I forgot to brush my teeth)

Also, is there nothing better than reaching into your pocket for change the next day and finding a soggy, yet still edible French fry? The hangover dream. Left overs are always better the next day, right? Before you judge me, let’s be real here. What are puffy coats good for if not hiding things and wearing pajamas underneath when running quick errands in the winter? Otherwise, you would buy a pea coat.

Important side note: This was a North Face puffy coat, not a Moncler. If I smuggled french fires wearing a Moncler, it would be the shoe-lace kind with truffle oil. Anyways, back to Izzy…

TINDER

Izzy then Tinder’ed for a while. Talked to a few decent dudes who she met through that, but most of them ended up sending her unsolicited dick pics, which are great for a few ‘giggs with your girlies’ but not ideal when looking for a potential mate.

OK CUPID

So, now Izzy is trying the next step up in the ‘Online Dating Seriousness Hierarchy’ – OK Cupid. This is the story of the first date she went on with someone she met on OK Cupid.

Izzy lives at home in a suburb outside of NYC, studying for an exam to go back to school, so she is matched with guys that live in other suburbs, sometimes a considerable distance away. Izzy agrees to meet a match, John, halfway between their houses at a restaurant- about a 25-minute drive away.

Izzy and John sit at the bar and things are going fine. Conversation isn’t great and John speaks without making eye contact. Whenever that happens to me, I just try and put my face in front of wherever that person’s eye line is being directed, even if that means a lot of jerky, neck-movement. Izzy isn’t as aggressive as I am, though, so John continues to address his few-word responses to the Goose Island tap handle slightly to his right.

About 15 minutes into the ‘date,’ John initiates conversation for the first time by asking Izzy if she wants to drive 25 minutes to his apartment, in separate cars, to ‘crack open a bottle of bourbon.” That sounds truly terrible, but nowhere near as terrible as what he actually meant by the invitation back to his apartment, so Izzy politely declines.

A few more minutes go by and John excuses himself to go to the bathroom. When he doesn’t come back 30 minutes later, Izzy texts him asking where he is he is

• Izzy: “Where are you?”
• John: “O my bad. Something came up.”
• Izzy: “Oh sorry you got your period. I could’ve given you a tampon. I have one in my bag.
  • Good effort, Izz. But the guy insulted the girl. Don’t insult the girl more by associating him with female genitalia because in this situation, and most, having the vagina means you are a better person with better morals. Next time, consult me and we’ll think of a great penis analogy.
• John: “Oh I should have been more specific. I was bored so I left.”
  • What a dick. (See!?)

I like to believe that people are good, and douchebags like John don’t actually exist. So I am going to go ahead and believe the following really happened:

John ate a too-old and thus, inedible soggy French fry from his puffy-coat pocket on the way to the restaurant and was fighting the urge to poop his pants during the entire short-lived conversation with Izzy. He was looking at the Goose Island mascot instead of Izzy so as not to reveal the dread of pooping his pants so apparent in his dead, stupid eyes. He asked Izzy to come back to his apartment so he can take an Imodium from his medicine cabinet. He really did get up to use the bathroom when he said he was going to but on the way, he shat himself. Shat himself bad. Too embarrassed to come back to Izzy with soiled undies, he faked disinterest, waited for Izzy to leave the bar, and then waddled back to his car and drove home in a terrifically gooey puddle o’ poo.