The Popcorn Theft or Why Ghosts Are The Worst
Hyello my friends. Itâs me. S. Back at it again with the late posts.
I teased you all quite tantalizing-ly with a morsel of a story as to some douchey schnoz-bucket who tried to thieve my heart and my popcorn maker. Suffice it to say that he was successful with neither of those endeavours, one of which was for lack of trying, and one of which was because I got in touch with my crazy side. I shall describe both of these over the course of this post.
Let us begin by taking you back to the beginning, Vizzini. (sidenote: if you donât get my Princess Bride reference, Iâm ashamed of you). It all started with the completion of my nursing school prison release and with our favourite hookup app (that I mistakenly think is a dating app all the time and it gets me in trouble equally as often) Tinder. Why do I keep using Tinder when itâs basically an app that allows you to feel superior and inferior all at the same time? Because itâs easy, thatâs why.Â
Me (with too much power) : I judge thee unworthy!! Left swipe!!
I judge thee acceptable! Right swipe!
I judge thee unworthy!! Accidental right swipe!! Shit shit shit shit shit!!!! REGRETS!!!
 I judge thee fucking insanely good looking and am intimidated by you, therefore left swipe!
You know how it goes. I also use it because I get bored very easily and now I live alone, so itâs kind of a perfect storm of bad decisions and regret. However, at time of this story C and I were still living together, but she was happily dating a guy and wasnât around as much to police my impending bad decisions to go on a date with a guy that I wouldnât normally have gone on a date with. Now here is where I admit to you all something I do not voice out loud except to close friends who love me and donât think Iâm a shallow jackass. This is an official disclaimer that when I tell you the reasons why I went on a date with this guy, you will think Iâm a shallow jackass. Iâve made peace with this, and so should you because you love me and Iâm adorable and Iâve made you laugh over the course of this blog and Iâm betting at one point in your life you also made a similar decision with a similar mindset, so.. whatever. I went on a date with this particular guy because in my estimation he was below my league. I had gained a bit of weight in nursing school, I was still a little bit mentally destroyed from the whole thing, and I needed a win. I needed a big olâ ego boost from a chubby guy who looked like heâd be funny and also grateful that a pretty girl like me (yes I said it) would right swipe and let him be witness to the glory that is S.
So I right swiped. And he right swiped! And we matched by the powers of the Tinder gods of love.Â
Or something.
Anyway, we matched, we talked, I made him laugh, we talked about onesies. He took me to a football game (and took it way too seriously), held my hand when the fireworks went off, and magic was made. The following three dates were even more magical with magic increasing exponentially on all of the dates ever in the world, and surprise surprise, we ended up happily ever after and weâre now married, yay congrats!!!!
Just kidding.
No.
The real story is that while I was looking for someone to love and cherish and hold dear (read: boost my ego for a bit), this man was looking to fulfill what I can only believe to be a lifelong dream to become the spooky ethereal creature of legend: the ghost. After our fourth date, his dream began to take shape in the form of holding my popcorn maker hostage (which I accidentally left at his place after a movie night) while he slowly disappeared from this world. We had made plans to go to dinner on a Friday evening after work. I didnât hear from the guy, despite very cute texts from me. I showered, I put on makeup, and goddamit I shaved my legs hoping that the date was still a go, but still, no peeps from this goober. Perhaps too late, I realized I was being stood up. First I felt silly, and then hungry, and then hangry, then doubtful (maybe he didnât have his phone? maybe I got the day wrong? maybe he had to work late?), then silly again for believing that any of that shit would matter if you actually wanted to get in touch with someone, which then channeled itself into its final form of an overwhelming anger at the fact that I might never see my popcorn maker again. Clearly I went a little nuts. I wonât go into too much detail, but I did get my popcorn maker back by not letting up and essentially not giving him an option, and frankly thatâs all that matters. He doesnât matter. Heâs not... matter. Â
Because heâs a ghost. Get it? Not matter?Â
Never mind.
To summarize: Popcorn is everything. Ghosts are nothing. IF you have the opportunity to be either, choose popcorn every time, Colonel Kernel.
Ok I love you byeeeeee
<3
-S
**I should probably state that I actually did find a guy on Tinder who isn't even a little bit of a sleaze ball and heâs great and Iâm totally smitten. So... not single anymore, but I can still share single horror stories with you because IâVE GOT SO MANY.








