Sizzl – Survived by Tara

WHO: Mike

WHAT: Sizzl. Yes, you read that right, Sizzl. The Oscar Mayer Bacon dating app.

WHEN: Last Friday night. AKA my first step back into dating in my new city.

WHERE: A little coffee place in downtown Seattle. AKA close to work and the bus in case I needed to make a quick getaway..

WHY: Sizzl. Duh. You all know I love bacon. I’ve got a bacon tattoo, people give me cray awesome bacon swag for holidays and birthdays, I candy bacon, I eat an entire package of bacon in 2 days. I love it. Like seriously.

THE DATE
So I downloaded the app as a joke. (From Sarah: She totally didn’t. She was legitimately really excited…until she saw who was on it.) It’s like Tinder. Swipe left to say no, OR you can like someone and the whole screen lights up, sizzles, and says you’ve got a hot crispy match.
I’m writing this on the bus, cause that’s a thing I do now, bus. And I’m like starving for bacon. See? Just saying it makes me want it. I am so weird. Also, that may be why I’m single.

Okay so anyway. You only get three pieces of information about the person:

1. What kind of bacon do they prefer, turkey or pork? First of all, fuck everyone who likes turkey bacon. Except my best friend Kelly’s husband. He gets an out. But everyone else? Poop.

2. How do they like their bacon? They’d better answer crispy. None of this wobbly shit.

3. One piece of bacon left on the plate: Are they a bacon sharer or taker? Take damnit! I’m one selfish bacon eater. I will only share if I’ve already eaten 12 slices and I’m a little full, or if It’s my mom or dad asking for the slice. Cause ya know, it’s your parents. They like birthed me. They totally deserve a piece of bacon.

And that’s it. One or two pictures max and those three questions are all you have to go on.

So I sizzl and eventually match with this guy Mike.

He messages me and says this: “What do you get when you wrap a dinosaur in bacon?”
Me: “I dunno, what?”
Him: “I’ll tell you if you go on a date with me.”
Me: “Umm okay. How about tomorrow? I work downtown and we can get a drink.”
Him: “Okay. Till tomorrow my bacon lady….”

I rolled my eyes. This wasn’t a good sign.

I roll into the bar after work and order a glass of wine. He’s already 15 minutes late. I’m exhausted from work and have little tolerance for lateness.

It’s now 30 min past the meet time and I’m pissed. No phone call or text and I just want to know the punch line to the goddamn joke! Gah!!!!

I’m about to leave when I see him. He’s shorter than I thought, no real shocker. He sits down and I instantly loathe him.

Me: “Mike?”
Him: “Yeah, I was trying to be fashionably late.”
Me: “Well you are 35 minutes late.”
Him: “Oh. Sorry. You should have left. Who stays around waiting? Kinda sad, don’t you think?”
Me: “Well I’m leaving. Tell me the rest of the joke.”
Him: “Only if you go on another date with me. You know, you’re much prettier in person. You should think about changing your pictures.”
Me: “We haven’t even been on a first date. There will be no second.”
Him: “Your loss. And I’m not telling you the punch line. Bye bye.”

He waves at me.

I fume.

Me: “Well, if maybe you shaved your face, put a shirt on that wasn’t stained, and showered this would have gone better. Grow up.”

I go up to bar and tell the bartender to put my drink on Mike’s tab. What a douche.

Jurassic Pork. That was the fucking punchline. AKA not worth it. AKA FIZZL.