Vendettas

L and I have just returned from an all-around disappointing double date with a pair of soccer bros we met Tuesday at a pizza parlor. There's no clear explanation as to why we agreed to this--the confidence with which they rolled slowly up by where we were enjoying our dinner and asked for our numbers through the open car window certainly caught me off guard and the fact that this happened less than two minutes after L was complaining about how hard it is to find a good summer fling in Portland made us wonder how this could not be meant to be. A text conversation followed and Bro 1's "not real" vernacular (to quote T) combined with his atrocious spelling made it obvious that he probably struggled to remember his own name. In any case, people with such little intelligence can be very entertaining if you're in the right mood and his Jersey Shore-esque physique made him an attractive summer fling candidate.

The first date was decent. We met at a Starbucks to make sure they weren't sketchy and migrated to their house for a showing of What Happens in Vegas. They were hotter than we remembered and at least more interesting than the texts had let on (later, L will post excerpts of that conversation that are quite hilarious). So we were excited today when we made plans to go hot tubbing (or hot tubing as Bro 1 likes to spell it) and fully launch operation Summer Fling.

How does this post relate to vendetas? It does, I promise, but I have suddenly gotten extremely tired. So stay tuned and I'll update tomorrow. Peace, love and V.