Second Round: Parlor Games

Three separate people had recommended The Parlor, and, as they were Syracuse, Maryland, and Kansas alumni, I took them seriously. Even better: today’s hot date was Austin, an Indiana alum, who requests the cheapest beer, and is actually down for anything. Whether he can wing, however, was still a mystery. We were set to meet at 2:15 – just in time for Florida vs. Michigan.

I got there first, and, my God, this place was no joke. I was in a sea of blue and yellow. Finally! A bar with a team! And so. Many. Dudes. 

But Friday’s great hair day was replaced by a weird, flat frizz.  Worse, for some reason, I thought that Portland Chic was going to do it today.  Based on the women who had that perfect blonde tussle that comes with the right balance of curling iron and hair product, my full look was not going to fly here. Was I getting sweaty? Cool! 

I generally had positive associations with Michigan. My cousin went there, and when I first moved to New York, I used to go out with him and his friends a lot. One of my best friends went there, as did half of my Birthright group, and some of my favorite actors from my scene study in New York. Basically what I’m saying is I’d generally swipe right on Michigan. 

What I’m not saying is I’m an east coast Jew in LA. My version of Michigan alumni is guys who are either from the Midwest (the nice ones), or the east coast (the finance ones), and would make your mom happy. Speaking of which: I automatically started to scan for Jews, and wasn’t seeing many. I was, however, seeing a lot of guys who looked like they had real jobs (if they weren’t already agents or producers, give it six months), and definitely dressed and groomed in the kind of too put-together way where you’d match and then never actually message each other. 

Of course, all I could think about was how gross I felt from yesterday’s nachos (spoiler: I did not work out) and how sweaty and frizzy I was and how asexual I seemed in my weirdly high-necked tank top which was hidden under an oversized button down (Carlin, what the actual fuck?!), at which point, Austin arrived. In an Indiana shirt. So we definitely fit in here.

He wanted his picture to be of him chugging…except it was already done.

 As Austin got a beer (yes, a cheap one), I felt like I needed to flex a little bit so I maneuvered myself closer to a group of four guys who were refilling their beers…they were pretty boisterous. Before I could order anything, one thing was immediately clear: they kind of fully sucked.  And then three Michigan clad mid-twenty-somethings who definitely got dressed for the ‘gram got right in there, bee-lined for these two hot guys who looked extremely unfriendly and hadn’t taken their eyes off of the TV at the other end of the bar, ordered champagne (you can do that?!) so I made a lame joke to the guy in yellow with sunglasses on the back of his head to not put anything on my tab and moonwalked back to my friend.

We cased the joint.  What a bizarre facility: Parlor has a huge outdoor space with large picnic tables, all of which were marked as reserved for later games. This area was mostly occupied by Michigan people, with the exception of some Kentucky fans who were wrapping up their brunches. There are two separate bars in two separate buildings on either side of this outdoor space.

One was reserved specifically for Kentucky…

but once we got inside, it was only more Michigan fans.

The other building was the Mother Ship. We’re talking a big bar, tons of tables, booths, high tops, an active restaurant, a private room, and, for good measure: two roped off areas that gave off “bottle service at a night club” energy, but it was broad day light.

There were two very distinct groups in this lounge area: one could only be described as a group of Los Angeles Persian Jews (found ’em!), and the other, a bunch of guys, presumably in their late 20’s, who were all in the same fraternity, with their baes, and very fucked up.

It was clear by how loud everyone was whenever Michigan did, literally, anything, that this was not going to be a game where I could talk to fans: I was now Jane Goodall, and Austin was Austin.

Austin graciously noticed that there was an open high top directly above this lounge area. The sign on the table said it was reserved for Jordan [last name redacted] at 6:30, so we parked our asses down to stalk people and had the following conversation.

Carlin: What guy would possibly reserve a two-top at a sports bar?
Austin: I don’t know.
Carlin: I bet Jordan is a girl and just really on her shit.
Austin: Maybe.
Carlin: Well if it’s for 6:30, Jordan, who is a woman, definitely went to Kansas.
Austin: I guess.

I then Googled the shit out of Jordan [last name redacted], and fuck yes: Jordan was an organized woman who went to Kansas. Good job, Jordan!

 I’m going to skip over so many observations, like, (1) the fact that those insta basics ended up talking to those four annoying dudes, and it was so clear, even from across the room, that the guys were just really talking at them in an onslaught of inside bro-jokes, or (2) there were two nice, totally harmless looking guys who were devout Michigan fans but still seemed out of place, so I obviously am a monster and didn’t bother to talk to them, or (3) I was very tipsy or (4) I was 100% wearing the same Rag and Bone jeans as one of the Persian guys in the lounge area in front of me. I am skipping all of this so I can get to what can only be the single greatest thing I could have possibly witnessed on the Sabbath.

A young man, whose back of the head revealed that weird Adam Levine/Macklemore/Roger Klotz/Nazi haircut that #fuckboys love to have, looked around at his crew – one was desperately trying to make a toast, and no one would have it, I might add – and decided it was the perfect moment to take out his phone. He hovered on Raya, went into Hinge and it took too long to load, so he opened Bumble, and went through a girl’s pictures and full bio, made no decision about her, and then opened up his messages to TEXT A GIRL HE HAD CLEARLY BEEN IGNORING!!!

It was incredible.

It’s like I was deep in Kenya and I’d spotted my first monkey.

After the Michigan game ended, Austin and I did another lap to see if there was anyone worth talking to. I did a little bit of chatting up people in the bar formerly known as Kentucky, and met some Minnesota fans, and a guy who just wanted to watch the star of Murray State. I also chatted up a guy in full Kansas gear…so full that he even had a jersey in his pocket for his girlfriend for when she got there. Then Austin and I rode off into the sunset together (and by that I mean we both went home, separately, exhausted).

Lessons from the day: go to DryBar, bitch. You’ll feel better. Jonathan from Queer Eye would agree. Also, don’t eat nachos. You’re lactose intolerant.

And would I still swipe right on a Michigan guy? Seasonally.  But I will definitely be swiping left on any and all bad haircuts because I SEE YOU!!!