i met a guy in philly when i was recently on tour with a band. we made out, but nothing further. since i’ve returned home, we have had multiple multiple-hour conversations on the phone. i am usually drunk or on drugs, but he seems to find that charming. i was telling him about some of the dates i’ve been on in the past couple years—about how i get wildly drunk and obnoxious, and how the dudes are never prepared (despite me warning them ahead of time), and how there is usually no second date. 

“i think that sounds fantastic,” he said. “i want to go on a date with you—i want us to get dressed up to the nines and get so drunk that we get kicked out of every bar we go to.” i agreed that that sounded like an ideal date. 

he called me drunk the other night (at my request. he is always sober when i call him, and i needed a table-turning) and, on a whim, decided to make our fantasy date a reality. 

let me paint the picture for you, reader:

this man is driving 600 miles in a suit in a van that he also lives in (did i mention that he’s homeless? i find that wildly endearing) to take me on a date tonight. i am sitting here waiting for him in a strapless dress and high heels, my hair in finger waves, drinking malt liquor (it is 3 pm). 

i cannot remember the last time i was so excited to go on a date.