This is a modern dating experiment. One girl. Five dating sites. Hundreds of chats. Thirty days. Thirty dates. Eighteen guys. (?) boyfriend. To start at the beginning, clickhere — or jump right in at date twenty-four below.
Date 24/30: Tinder Oliver*
TO: Party above Sunset Plaza on Thurs?
Sure! Why not. This will be date four with Tinder Oliver. Date one was an hours-long cocktail sesh at Chateau Marmont, date two an Arctic Monkeys concert at the Wiltern, and our third date consisted of dinner and a haunted house. Rollicking good times all around.
After receiving the above text, I go ahead and cancel Friday morning’s activities, just in case of a sleepover. Because I’m classy like that. (And a planner! But, like, you know, totally spontaneous, too.)
Thursday afternoon, I realize I’m a bit overdue for a visit to Anya, my favorite wax-wielding Russian. Half-a$$ed home sesh it is! Because the only thing better than paying someone else to strip each and every hair from your lady parts is conducting the massacre yourself. HOW DID THIS EVER BECOME A THING.
I thankfully survive the procedure/recover in time for TO to swoop me up at 9. The house the party is at is gorgeous and the people are friendly – we run into a couple of our mutual friends, which I find delightful/nerve-easing. I also find that I really enjoy being in this new, sort of burgeoning couple stage – I have never felt so adored. Except possibly at a gay circuit party, but that’s a whole ‘nother ballet.
When we’re chatting up the party’s host, he inquires about TO’s recent trip to Asia.
Host: After experiencing all that, are you content to settle back here in LA?
TO starts to say he has considered moving to Asia full-time, but backtracks, glancing sideways at me. Hey – you do you. It’s probably best not to start planning out our future life together at date four. But also…duly noted, sir. Duly noted.
We continue our meander through the festivities, chatting, checking out views etc before settling in with the crowd out on the patio.
Random Friend: So how long have you guys been together?
TO and I smile at each other, his hand on my waist.
TO: Uhhh four dates?
I nod, shyly, in confirmation.
RF: Oh wow – that’s it? It seems like you’ve been together for a while.
TO: They were really long dates.
Me: We logged a lot of hours.
We then proceed to elaborate on each individual date, at RF’s request.
RF: So whose turn is it to plan the next one?
Everyone looks at me, expectantly. I pretend to look over my shoulder, spinning (innocently) in a circle as if searching for someone on whom to pin this responsibility. Everyone laughs.
We are so annoying.
Around midnite, we’ve exhausted all hors d’oeuvres and my stomach is still grumbling. (If left to my own devices, I tend to forget things like dinner.) We cut out early and hustle over to Dan Tana’s for some late night carbo-loading. Once again, the conversation takes a turn for the deep ‘n’ personal. I can feel myself trusting TO more now, revealing snippets generally reserved for the nearest and dearest. How unnerving.
Post-dins, TO drives us back to my place, pulling over on the street as if to park. We start to make out in the car…as if teenagers. Do I ask him if he wants to come in? Do people actually say that? And if so, how exactly do they say that without sounding like they’re in a completely predictable rom-com? He starts to get a little handsy. Welp. Here goes nothing.
I pull back, looking up at him, channeling my best Julia Roberts. (I probably land more on…not Julia Roberts.)
Me: Dooo you want to come in?
I hold the coquettish thing for almost a third of a second before I start snickering in a decidedly un-provocative way. So the delivery could use a little work.
Turns out, he does want to come in. (Shocking, I know.) His first time in my apartment! So revealing. My space is pretty much a direct reflection of my gypsy soul, so I always feel a little exposed when newbies enter. He seems to appreciate every last detail, grazing his fingers over every last tchotchke.
TO: Ah, it’s all coming together now.
I shall choose to take that as a good thing.
I’m pretty sure it was.**
*Not his real name.
**Not like that, Mom, sheesh.
Source: Huffington Post Comedy