Caitlin. Or, the one who got away. I seriously think things could’ve worked out between me and Caitlin. She is a lotta fun, smart and super cute.
But there’s something below the surface that I can’t quite touch. Maybe she is one of those lizard people that eat white mice. Maybe she’s a sleeper agent. Maybe she’s a Mariah Carey’s fan in the closet. Maybe, if I give her food after midnight she’ll become a gremlin. Maybe.
Caitlin hates hipsters, which is fine, self-loathing is a huge turn on, isn’t it? She is from St. Louis, but she likes to make people think that she’s in fact a Queens native, which, again, it’s fine.
Self-loathing is a huge turn on.
Most of our conversations made no sense. She is one of the mad ones. I think she did spend sometime in the madhouse, but I’m not going there. We hung out for a while, had a lotta fun, but then, things got weird. I’m gonna Jeremy Piven this one and blame it on the fish. Nay, mercury poisoning.
Still, Caitlin made me feel like there is a chance of me finding the hipster one and close this blog under 50 dates. And now you know.
Relationships: Single, on rebound
From: St. Louis
Body type: In shape
Drink: Yes, no light beer, please.
Make Out Skills: Sloppy
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