Name: Jack
Programmed in phone as: Jack Stamford (for double the pleasure, double the fun I was in a text exchange with this dude & Go 10 simultaneously. We are talking serious concentration whilst drunk texting).
Age: 33
Height: 6′6. Note: this has been my favorite height since my experience with a 6′6 guy. Also noteworthy, for all of that stature Jack Stamford has wimpy calves. I judge any man I effortlessly out-calf.
Locale: Stamford, CT. I agreed to subject myself to the ‘burbs if I could be guaranteed a day of non-traditional awesomeness (re: I am a touch bored of getting sloshed on these bar dates. A nice, new location is always a great alternative place to get sloshed).
A note on (my blatant lack of) precautionary measures: Burbs picked me up at the station. When I didn’t immediately appear at the passenger pick-up he called, to which I had to explain the urgency of running to the br & remedying a situation procured from having chug-a-lugged 5 huge cups of coffee (it was 11 AM on a Sunday. If not mimosas, surely I was meant to be chug-a-lugging something). I got into the car with my 6′6 stranger and his golden retriever, at which point he took me to an isolated, wooded area to go hiking. This made sense. Why stop after the entire getting in a car with a stranger scenario? Go big or go home!
A note on food: After our hike (or rather, after we heard a noise similar to chainsaws) it looked like rain. Burbs was like “Well, I don’t know if it would be awkward to suggest we go back to my cottage on the beach for lunch.” I was all, “I’ve already gotten in the car with you and experienced chainsaws in a dark, wooded, isolated area,” - of course that makes sense. Hence stopping into the store for sandwiches. What’s key about Burbs is that he too is overwhelmed by a plethora of delicious looking sandwiches. Therefore we got multiples to split, for three different deli meat sensations.
Digs: Burbs’ place is pretty minimalist. He probs would have cried if he had experienced my apartment (clothing eliminates a clear walking path, I define organization as combining piles of randomness, etc.)
A note on baggage: Burbs is the aforementioned divorcee w/ child. This unfortunately involved two framed photos of said child (defunct minimalist, that burbs). I could have probs overlooked the photos, and I definitely voided out the car seat in the convertible, but it’s essentially impossible to repress the presence of a “Bathroom Behavior Chart” - complete with a star system. I will spare the weak-stomached a more elaborate description of what the different color stars connote.
Alcohol units consumed: As Burbs put it, “I’m not much of a drinker these days.” One - see note on the success rate of non-drinkers. Two - if my life involved charting shitting patterns, I would not only be a drinker, I would teeter into the blackout drunk classification of drinker. With pride. Nonetheless, two units of wine were consumed on the beachfront with said sandwiches of deliciousness.
Time expended: 8 hours.
An awkward adieu: I think the date lasted as long as it did, as it’s pretty difficult to bail when you need to coordinate train times & such. When Burbs did drop me off at the station, I wanted to end it as quickly as possible and was all, “Ok! I better run, there are lots of cars behind you.” [quick look back, revealing absolutely no cars behind him]. “Oh, or rather, there will be.” To which Burbs was like, “Right, right, it is a busy station.” A-w-k-w-a-r-d. At least I got delicious sandwiches out of the crossing state borders deal. Plus I didn’t get raped and/or killed. Score!