I went on a brunch date this morning.

It was excruciating.

This guy did improv (red flag). People who do improv are always trying to make a scene and be the center of attention and prove how cool and funny they are, and I ain’t got no time for that. This wonderful improviser was no exception. He would not stop talking about his improv troupe, and his upcoming improv shows, and describing his sense of humor.

“I really like things that don’t fit in boxes,” he said.

He told me that he had gone to a party the night before in Williamsburg. We discussed how much we hated Williamsburg.

“I just wouldn’t have gone,” I said.

“Well, it was my friend’s party,” he said. “I mean, I have a lot of friends in the improv community – like, probably 300 friends. So there’s always a party to go to.”

Cool, bro. Sounds like your life is awesome.

Also, he was really, really unattractive. Sorry, that’s mean, but it wasn’t just that he couldn’t help it. He was a total mess. He was balding – which is cool, I don’t mind that. But the hair that wasn’t balding was long and curly. So, half of his head was bald (and covered in acne), and the other half had this gross long curly frizzy hair. For the record, if you’re balding, keep your hair short. PSA.

Dude was trying really, really hard. He told me I was beautiful twice. He complimented me on my dress. But I just couldn’t handle it. I barely slept last night, and then he was so unpleasant – I couldn’t even fake it. So we ate our brunch, I drank three mimosas, and then we parted ways, with an awkward hug.

I got home, googled the guy, and found his Twitter. This was the first tweet on his timeline, from right after we left each other’s company:

screen-shot-2016-09-11-at-1-36-49-pm

I favorited it, obviously.

Because – FUCK YEAH.

Hey, good for you, dude. At least you realized it was a bad date.

Also, props for not inviting me to your next improv show.

 

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