Shiver me, Tinder!

In a brief lapse of judgment, I downloaded Tinder because it included two very important factors: It was free and it contained people I hadn’t yet met.

I spent the first three days mostly swiping left and communicating with people who were like:

Tinderer: I’m in town for the weekend. Wanna have some fun?
Me: Nope.

After a few days of this I developed a slight appreciation/hate relationship with Tinder and I tried to delete the app. However, having recently switched from an iPhone to an Android I discovered that dragging the icon to the trash can was not sufficient to delete the app and that I must uninstall it. This is where I lost motivation and gave in to more time with Tinder.

Lucky for my dear readers this means that I have been on some lame first and one lame second date as well as the first stranger danger dating in a very long while.

Tinder Match #1:
Canceled with the I’m-not-feeling-very-good card.

Tinder Match #2:
Wanted to meet for a walk around the lake. Showed up in basketball shorts and a t-shirt. Got called into work. We made plans to meet for brunch.

Although we had a time and place, he seemed to think that since I didn’t immediately respond to his “good morning” text that we may not be on for sure so he proceeded to drink some ridiculous protein shake. He showed up 30 minutes late in (possibly the same) basketball shorts and a very wrinkled t-shirt. He choked down part of a fruit plate while I ate steak and eggs. He then rushed out at the end because he had to go to work.

Not only am I unsure that he ever laughs or chills the fuck out, he clearly had a very close relationship with his parents that included him living with them for many of his adult years – by choice. He really wants kids because he thinks he has things to impart and because he has thoroughly read and copied a Psychology textbook.

Apparently, we were basically soulmates.

James Tinder #1

Tinder Match #3:
A little to Mystery Method-y for my taste but still interesting enough to be in the running.

Tinder Match #4:
With this one, I’m just gonna roll with bullet points of things that went wrong:

  • I dropped all the f-bombs.
  • He was a teacher who was afraid of bad (see code word “behavioral”) kids.
  • He was skeptical, at best, of my neighborhood and may have inadvertently talked some shit about it.
  • He stopped drinking beer and started drinking water.
  • He did not say a single remotely funny thing.
  • He invited me to sit on his apartment balcony within an hour and a half of meeting.
  • I declined and invited him to a street festival that involved music.
  • He danced. (I conducted a 30 minute long search trying to find a video or gif that demonstrated this dance, but I was unsuccessful.) It was an unfortunate combination of pursed lips, finger guns, semi-flailing flat hands, and an ass that got way too close to my body.

And THAT is when I knew it was truly over. Most uncomfortable 30 minutes of my life…

I’m utterly divided whether to keep up Tinder for the blogging fodder or whether to scrap it and return to plan A which was live my life and let fate do or do not do its thing the old-fashioned way.

Inadvertently Single on the Northside

Both the details of being single and living on the Northside are kind of irrelevant to these stories. I just wanted to use that title.
No one has actually inquired if I’m single. In fact, one special gent insisted that I was not single, no matter how vehemently I (or anyone else) denied it, but we’ll get to that later. The fact that it occurs on the northside is also pretty irrelevant, as there tend to be drunk fools almost anywhere.

The only way the title is actually relevant is that all of the words contained within it are factually accurate. I was inadvertently single. I was on the northside.

Drunk fools #1 and #2:
One recent night, two drunk men approached my roommate and me. After some very drunk chatting, the chatter-upper of my roommate reaches across her to grab my left arm upon which I have a tattoo of the moon blowing stars around my arm. He looks at my tattoo, then at me and asks very seriously, “Are you a Vice Lord?”
To which I chuckled, “Do I look like I’m a Vice Lord?”

At this point, I turned to his friend, my chatter-upper, and ask, “Is that a line?…. Is that a good line?”
He just shook his head with that kind of slow-motion headshake that one reserves for the very saddest of sad things.

I don’t know if the headshake was because I’m so not a gangster or if the headshake was because chatter-upper/drunk fool #2  was in the middle of passionately telling me about how a visit to Augie’s ‘would change my life.’
Frankly, I’m more sold by Augie’s  attempts to secure a reality show than drunk fool #2’s pitch.

Drunk fool #3 and his unfortunate big brother:
The bar was pretty empty, so I suspect that drunk fool #3 approached us primarily out of lack of options.

I was able to convince drunk fool #3 to abandon his shitty beer for something slightly more beer-like. Grain Belt, I think. He claimed it tasted like earwax.

I never got a satisfactory answer about why he was so familiar with taste of earwax.

Eventually, my roommate and I got suckered into playing pool. Drunk fool #3 was my partner, and though I had warned him that I suck at pool, we played.

Sure enough, I sucked. But drunk fool #3’s positivity couldn’t be stifled. Every shitty shot earned a high-five and praise.

I give him an “A” for positive bullshit. If we could have won based on that alone, we certainly would have. His big brother and my roommate kicked our asses pretty thoroughly with actual pool talent.

Drunk fool #4:
Ballsy but misguided, drunk fool #4 sat down at the booth with a friend and I, whilst my roomie ran off to sing “Baby Got Back.” Regardless the intensity of denial, he proceeded to insist that my roommate and I were a couple. That was all very entertaining until he looked at the both of us and decided that “she’s the man.”

I’m like, “So let me get this straight: In this hypothetical relationship you’ve concocted for us, you’ve looked at the both of us and decided she’s the butch one?”
To which he replied, “Yes.”

The sad part is that I was genuinely offended by this.
As I stood up to walk away, he says, “I lust you.”

“Huh?” I responded, because not only did he not know how to use the word properly, it’s just how roughly 75% of the conversation had gone.
Then he said louder, “I lust you. Lust. You know this word?”
“Yeah,” I said, “I’m an English teacher. I know words sometimes.”

Anticlimactic end: Then I walked away and went to smoke with my “lesbian lover.”

Hot Mess: Volume 11

In general, I have pretty high self-esteem, some might even call it “cockiness.”
Semantics.

I know I’m not all that painful on the eyes. I’m pretty witty, laidback, self-sufficient, and low-maintenance. Also, I could probably kick your ass. This is, perhaps, why I’m perpetually the best friend with whom people really SHOULD be in love, but… There’s always a big “but”…

I’m also aware that many women do not carry themselves with or feel the same sense of confidence that I do. Which is why this is such a terrible first message.

It’s a fucking virtual head pat.

This message says:

  • You seem nice. Too bad your life blows.
  • I’m not quite sure why no-one wants you, but there must be a reason.
  • You seem hot, so you must be crazy.
  • I don’t understand why cupid keeps making you gargle his sweaty balls. You seem cool enough to me.

To add to the low blow, one knows it’s from someone who’s in exactly the same position, someone who thinks he’s a pretty good catch, despite the fact that he’s fictionally 92 years old and who has many interests not limited to, but including, women between the ages of 18 and 45.

Nothing says, “I’m just looking for a someone with (semi)functioning female parts” like a thirty year age range.
Don’t give me any of that, “Age is just a number” bullshit. No one says that or believes it except teenage girls who think they’re in love with guys old enough to buy them liquor, child molesters, old rich guys with trophy wives, and the gold-diggers waiting for them to die.

This message is only a confirmation for my “fuck it” inclination. Until my membership runs out, Match’s sole purpose is for providing me with entertainment while I get matched with myself and heal from their previous “matches”.

Hot Mess: Volume 10

In, perhaps, an it-seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time moment, I reactivated my account with Match. After a few messages began to pile up in the inbox I had not paid to see, I gave the site some money.
At least 75% of my justification to myself was that I would, at least, have some new blogging material.

Message #1 was from a woman who wanted to hear about my Match experience but was “Don’t worry. Not a lesbo.”  I suspect that it was some sort of scam.

Message #2 was as follows:

While I suspected that Lex may be a bit crazy, I couldn’t resist the urge to reply.

Of course, it’s a bad idea to encourage the crazy. He replied twice within the same hour…

While I do find myself inexplicably attracted to Lex’s 2D pastel blue silhouette, I’m not sure I’m ready to admit that I’d like to tie up that pastel blue silhouette and do “kinky things” to it. I think the paper cuts would get to me before long.

If I had not already been put off by his discussion of gang banging, I would have certainly thrown off by his transition from kinky sex to “actually, I was thinking about angels.” It’s a rough transition from inappropriate early messaging etiquette to a philosophical justification of his apparent Schizophrenia and his intimate “I’m sure you understand” statements.

Sorry, Lex, my fairly open mind is a little too small for the crazed yammerings of those that hear Djinn.

While this reopening saga does not bode well for my dating, it does bode well for you, dear readers. Some fish are still in the sea because they’ve been thrown back.
Get ready. It looks like we’ll be laughing a lot together.

Hot Mess: Volume 8

What scares me most about Hot Mess #8 is that he may be responsible for healing and/or keeping people safe.
Oh, also the chest shots. Nothing says, “I think I’m hot” like obvious self-portraits that involve your chest. That goes for the ladies too.

Keep your Myspace pics on Myspace, kids.

Tested Theory: Guys who can’t walk by the mirror without checking themselves out or primping are overrated and, possibly, gay (at least in my study).

Let’s play “Guess My IQ

  • “People look at me and seem to wonder what i’m thinking about, most of the time i’m not exactly sure, but whatever it is probably has to do with how great you are.” I’m gonna have to call “bullshit” on this statement except for his reported confusion and lack of conscious thought. However, if this is true, I guess he’s probably NOT lying when he later says, “There is one thing I haven’t had that much experience in, and that is ‘dating’. Or, at least, these thoughts about how “great you are” are not often mutual.
  • “I have fairly decent values, I know whats ‘good’ vs. whats ‘bad’. I fit into the good category”. Congratulations, you have reached Kohlberg’s first stage of moral development – Pre-conventional Morality. It must be exceedingly convenient to organize your world in neat little dualities and even more convenient, that you fit into the socially acceptable side of these dualities. Your mother must be proud.
  • “I’m also the most mature person there is.” Skeptical. See above. And below.
  • “I feel like going out and doing something; I could go out and take pictures with my cell phone while climbing mountains and riding a bicycle.” Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. Recommendation: If you really don’t have anything going on in your head, don’t attempt a stream-of-consciousness writing style.
  • My religion: “that’s kind of a yes or no question” That’s not even a question, except possibly in Pre-conventional Morality. If it is a question, I think his answer may mean, “Yes, I’ll take it – the good one.”
  • Favorite Things: “Any category of music, as long as it’s good music.” Obviously. Should have seen that one coming.

If you guessed that Hot Mess #8’s IQ is 68, you are correct. Just short of both amusing and average.

Hot Mess: Volume 7

First Impression: Owenjwag is like a bargain, extra douche-y Robert Pattinson circa first Twilight movie.
This successfully combines three things I hate:

  • Robert Pattinson
  • Twilight
  • Douchebags

Communication Attempt:


Not helping, Owen. Douche factors are only steadily increasing. E.g:

  • I live in Minnetonka.
  • mba – the douchiest of all majors
  • looking for a ltr, or a great friend.
  • Subject line: “hi”

Meeting cool friends is a nice bi-product of a dating website, but it’s sure as hell not the product I paid for. I’m not THAT lonely, kids.


Devil’s Advocate:

Maybe he’s just not all that good at initiating the first message. Let’s check out his profile.


Uuuuuhhh… No dice. It’s all, “Hey look at me, I’m so moody and emo. Life in Minnetonka is hard. Don’t make me cry. It will totally mess up my eye-liner and right before my mba classes. Waaaahhh”

Gems:

  • “I think it is important to have common interests and what not to build on.”
  • “I’m a very open minded person, like to have fun, be funny, try new things.”
  • “I think honesty, trust, and loyalty are very important.”
  • “Anyway, it’s really hard to meet people.”

Dear O,

It’s really hard to meet people because you clearly have the personality of a saltine. Possibly less.
Your interests match nearly 100% of the population, maybe fewer a smattering of sociopaths, mostly because your “interests” aren’t necessarily interests. They’re more traits of most human beings. Liking to have fun is not open-minded nor is being funny.

Grow a personality. It’ll make this whole process easier.
Also, stay away from the eyeliner.

Sincerely,

Hannah

Hot Mess: Volume 6

I’m going to start with a grand ol’ “What the fuck?” on this here beauty, starting with this dapper fellow’s facial hair stylings.

I’m pretty sure that this is the portion of my profile to which this  fine gentleman is responding. You see, I have a strong aversion to the utterly pointless and creepy cyber winking that Match advertises as flirty and as “communication”.

I’m not exactly sure what he’s implying by, “if that’s the kind of students you have, you prolly met someone like me b4.” Kids whose “hienies” get molested by old ladies with lots of rings? Students who are old ladies? I’m at a loss.

“Rick T. THE GREAT. est technician that ever lived. lol.” is “too smart for anyone to figure out.”
Go figure. He got me figured out right quick. I’m oil. I am also a woman, so it’s best to find out what’s for dinner.

I’d also be willing to wager that the cigarettes in his pocket are Winners…that or Marlboro lights. Ick to the tenth power.

Consolation prize: I have “nice grammar”.

Hot Mess: Volume 2

 

One of the things that frustrates me most about online dating is that so many of the profiles I encounter (as is true for Hot Mess #2)  could be summarized in the following manner.

I like going out and staying in. I’m hard working, but also laid back. I like my family and friends. I also like stuff and things.

Where to start with Hot Mess #2?
Eh, let’s go with the beginning.

  • “Daylites burning!” Daylite: Is that some sort of shitty cousin to Partylite?
  • “Im a very nice person that is looking for a person that also is nice and considerate.”
    Funny. I never see the profile that says, “I’m kind of a dick. So I’m looking for someone who will tolerate me.” Errr, sorry…I mean, “Im kind of a dick that is looking for someone that is willing to tolerate me.”
  • “I’m quite confident you won’t be disapointed.” They say confidence is sexy, but it kind of loses its touch when it follows the sentence, “Anyway, I can tell you more if you are interested, just please let me know if I seem to spark your interest!”
    ! = universal sign for “I’m begging you. Fucking. Please!”
  • “Im a hard working, kinda old fashioned guy that is looking for someone to share my life and the things I have with, and experience the things she has as part of her life.”
    I’m not even going to take the time to go all English teacher on that sentence. But “share my life and the things I have with”? What are we talking about? Herpes? His nail clipping collection? It’s kind of like the opposite of a Valtrex commercial. But come on, what could possibly be more intimate than sharing herpes?
  • A PSA: Guys, you never-fucking-ever put in your profile that you play video games even IF you qualify it with “sometimes” or a “few.”  You automatically conjure up the gamer stereotype – greasy, hasn’t showered in a week, and very, very white.

This eligible bachelor was among one of the first people on Match to make me talk to my computer (who was unwittingly standing in for Hot Mess #2).
The conversation went something like this:

Me: What the fuck is wrong with you? Did you even read my profile?
Computer/Hot Mess #2: (Silence)
Me: CAN you read my profile?
Computer/Hot Mess #2: (Silence)
Me: What the fuck is wrong with people?
Computer/Hot Mess #2: (Silence)

Some fist shaking may or may not have occurred at this point. But a girl’s gotta have some secrets…