Dating a DJ

I met this guy online. Lame, I know, but somehow we started messaging each other on Instagram. 

He seemed interesting and didn’t show any outward signs of being a massive serial killer so I thought, “yolo.”

He messaged me to meet at his house so we could walk to dinner. I stupidly obliged.

Okay, so I get there. We speak two words. Here’s the exact dialog:

He said, “interesting pants.”

I said, “uhh thanks.”

Then, it started.

He turned on his massive stereo system and started DJ-ing a live show for me. He was dancing and jumping around and we literally had hardly spoke at this time so I was still standing clenching my purse and looking for the nearest exits while hoping my ears weren’t visibly bleeding.

He must’ve thought this was a good call because the solo concert lasted a solid ten minutes.

I was shaking in my boots. Partly because the ground was shaking due to the bass of his EDM remix and also because I was so uncomfortable.

He finally stopped his concert set and we walked to dinner.

On the walk to the restaurant, he made me download all of his horrible EDM remixes on iTunes and watch his music videos filled with girls butts and twerking.

I could not.

I can not.

I will never go on a date with a DJ again.



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