It's Saturday night. I'm working at my restaurant job, but should be off around 11 p.m. That still gives me three hours of legal drinking and a chance to squish in a Tinder date. (Don't worry, even when time is precious, I still do a thorough job on my side duties.) My first choice of Tinder for tonight is unavailable, so I move on, searching for a last minute date. One of my matches sends me this charming message:
I wanna get shitfaced tonight.
He'll do. He's originally from Scarborough, but now lives on King West*. He suggests meeting at the Done Right Inn, a charming, perchance dive bar, on Queen West. It's a cash only bar, but they do accept Canadian Tire money. I wonder if that's how he plans on paying...
I'm wearing the worst jeans. I get SEVERE butt crack in them. I'm wearing a belt, but no belt is powerful enough to cover up my booty cleavage. I swear my ass is higher up on my body than other peoples'.
I take a cab to the Done Right. When you only have three hours until last call, you can't mess around with the TTC. He messages me that he's on the back patio, next to the giant tree. He also warns me there are tonnes of obnoxious TFC fans. It does seem as though TFC fans are the drunkest of all Torontonians. I grab a Jack and Diet Coke on the way to the patio. (No table service, obvi.)
I see him sitting at one of the patio's picnic tables. For a second, I forget what his name is. Is this the guy who's playing guitar on a haystack in his profile pic? Or is this the guy on water skis? Fack! It's hard to keep all these guys straight... (#EPICsinglegirlproblems). He introduces himself. Oh yeah! He has the same name as date #6. I'm already repeating names! Did the Fonz ever do that? All of a sudden, I have a flashback to that character on Newhart, who had two brothers named Darryl.
He's got a narrow face, very defined cheekbones, and big eyes. I think he has a buzz cut. I'm not gonna lie. I'm not good at describing a man's haircut. (Unless it's a bowl cut. I know that one.) He seems a little edgy off the top. He makes evil eyes at the guy next to me.
"Hey buddy! Can you move over?! Give her some room!"
Yikes. I think I found the Pitbull of Tinder. Not the pop singer with the Horatio sunglasses -- I'm talking Pitbull, like the guard dog that barks at everyone and used to scare me when I was 10 years old and had a paper route.
"I'm fine. I have lots of room. Don't worry," I say to both guys. (I deleted the word "gentlemen" here, in my editing process.)
My date polishes off his beer STAT.
"You need another drink? I need another drink. Shot? You wanna shot?"
"No, I'm OK... ah, fack it. I'll have a shot." (I cave so fast, eh?) He's back within minutes, with more beers and shots. He talks about how this is his local watering hole. I tell him I like it, and wish I got down to this place more often.
"Ya, it's pretty deec,"he says.
"Deec?" I guess that's short for "decent." Maybe "deec" is the new "obvi." See what I learn when I go west of Bathurst?
We start talking about Tinder. At first he claims I'm his first Tinder date. Then minutes later, he talks about his Tinder dates in San Francisco.
"I thought I was your first Tinder date?"
I say, with laughter. I honestly don't give a shit. I tell him I've been on a bunch of Tinder dates. (No exact number, obvi. "Bunch" means more than "a few," but less than "tonnes.") I tell him my biggest let down dates were the guys into drugs. He makes a weird face, and goes back to the bar for more beers and shots. A girl with the TFC fans, finally leans over to me.
"You need to be saved from this date, don't you?"
"Ummm.... I'm OK. It's a Tinder date. Do you know what Tinder is?"
She doesn't, so I show her the app. As I show her, my date returns with our next round (including shots again. We've barely been here for a half hour.) I'm really bummed he's back so fast, because I'm forced to hit the X button on a super cute dude.
"Do you know her?"
Pitbull asks, nodding at my new friend.
"I just met her. I was showing her Tinder."
Pitbull barks at her, and she turns back to her friends. Yikes. So... what were we talking about again? Oh ya. How I don't like my dates being into drugs...
"So, what kind of music do you like? I'm not gonna lie. I like Taylor Swift, Maroon 5... that sort of stuff. Just the smash hits for me."
(That's me talking, obvi.)
"I like techno," says Pitbull. "I like to go harder and harder as the night goes on."
Is he still talking about music? Possibly partying? He might be referencing his ding dong too, but I doubt it cuz I just mentioned Maroon 5.
"I'll be back. I'm going to the bathroom," says Pitbull. Yikes. This guy's the real creepy. Not just the creepy I throw around in daily conversation. (i.e., "Pass me those creepy little candies.")
The girl from the table next to us comes back over to me.
"Ok, you NEED to be saved. We're going to the Piston to dance. You're coming with us."
"Ya, maybe, but I feel bad just running out on a date."
"Don't! That guy's a creep! You're in good hands with me."
She's slightly flirty, but the thought of her flirting with me feels WAY safer than my creepy date flirting with me. Speaking of creepy, he's returning to the table. He looks pissed off again.
"Are you flirting with my date?" He says. I can feel my eyes growing wide with fear. They're probably almost full Brandy size. He looks at her.
"Are you bi?"
Then he looks at me.
"Are you bi?"
Yikes. Nothing worse than a creepy guy thinking he's been blessed with a bisexual girl within the first hour of a Tinder date. I wait for her to respond first. She's not responding. I finally say,
I should be busting out some of my famous "Turn a guy off" moves, not vice versa. Maybe I should tell him my other terms for diarrhea: caramel popcorn, shepherd's volcano, or my personal favourite, "buttasstrophe" -- that's like a catastrophe, only out of the butt. I wish I had to fart. Why are they never here for me, when I need them the most? As I space out, Pitbull and the girl are busy insulting one another. Finally, my date busts out his phone, and pulls something up on his browser to show us.
"You don't believe I'm a nice guy? Here. Look at this."
And that's the moment I knew...
I have to get the FACK out of here! He's showing us pictures of him getting beat up by the cops! I don't know why he would show us these to prove how "nice" he is. Flashing a blood donor card would have been a better move. All of a sudden his phone rings. He looks at his phone.
"Shit. It's my brother. I gotta take this."
He runs away from the table.
"OK, you're definitely coming with us!"
She grabs my hand, and I follow her and her fellow TFC fans towards the door. (I think they might be techies. They look like they know about computers. Is there such thing as "career profiling?" Like guessing what people do for a living by what kind of jeans they wear? If so, I'm guilty of it.) We're almost free, on the sidewalk of Queen West, when Pitbull spots us. Eeeeeeeeek! He's frantic.
"I gotta go. It's my brother. He's in trouble."
Phew! I mean, not "Phew" to his brother being in trouble. But "Phew" I'm not totally busted trying to run out on this date.
"No problem! I'm going to the Piston with these guys."
He grabs me and gives me a fast hug. He tries to kiss me, but I swing back my head so all I get is some slobber on my dangly earring.
Yay! Date aborted! In the cab on the way to the Piston, I open up Tinder. Pitbull has just sent a message apologizing for bolting. I quickly hit BLOCK. I should have held out for the guy playing guitar on a haystack.
The Piston is amazing. My new friends are a delight. I have a whole new respect for TFC fans. We dance while a chick named Maiko Watson sings, and she's FACKING amazing. You should Google her. She's so talented, she makes me feel like my Comedy Now might be worthy of a fire pit. I buy my new girlfriend a beer. I owe her.
She finally makes her move.
"I would take you home, slam you up against the wall and do you so hard."
Kinky. I'm not sure how a girl does that to another girl, but I'm totally flattered. When you add up all the years women have been catty to you, the idea of a woman hitting on you is pleasantly mind blowing. Don't get too excited. I didn't take her up on her offer. But I did tell her to follow me on Twitter.
The worst part? The creepy guy was my Astrological best match:(
Keep Calm -- well, don't keep calm. Be slightly paranoid, and Tinder on.
*That's the THIRD King West guy who's ended up being shady. Sorry King West. Three strikes and you're out.