Right, left. Right, left.
Five years is a long time. But I suppose that depends on your perspective. Five years of your life when you’re ninety-five? That’s nothin’. Five years of your life when you’re twenty-seven? That’s like a lifetime.
This lifetime that I lived was a five-year on and off relationship, with the past two years being completely on.
So much has changed in the past five years! The classic television show Gossip Girl was still on the air. I was living in a town with a population of only 100,000. I had just recently moved back into my parents house to get on my feet again. I hadn’t discovered the healing power of going to the gym. My biggest worry was a $40.00 cellphone bill.
As I look back on five years ago, I realize that there’s one thing that hasn’t changed — I still don’t know how to date.
I’m still kind of unsure if I’ve ever been on more than one date in my entire life, despite having several relationships. I’ve just always kind of ended up with a friend of a friend. I’ve never met someone with the intention of dating them. That’s not to say I haven’t pursued anyone, I pursued my last boyfriend relentlessly. Poor guy. I just mean that I’ve never met a stranger and then gone into a forced one-on-one social situation with them (AKA a date) right off the bat.
As a serial monogamist, the thought of being single is really foreign to me. I’ve never not rebounded right away. I have a better rebound record than… shit. Rebounds are basketball right? I don’t know, I only barely understand baseball. Point being, I’m not used to not being involved with someone, even if it isn’t anything serious.
In an effort to try to learn how to date before I’m seventy and full of dusty ol’ eggs (now I feel sick), I’ve decided to try to date “around.” I don’t want to do my usual and get into a relationship right away, I want to see whats out there! I want to be courted! I want to talk about myself endlessly! I want free dinners! I want to seem progressive and buy men drinks! One problem — how do I do that?
Simple answer: it’s 2014. I accomplish my goals through apps! I understood Tinder well enough thanks to endless references to it in pop-culture and decided to start there. Then, a twenty-two year old friend informed me that Tinder is so over and that Hinge is the way to go. Okay, kids these days, I’ll give it a try.
Making snap judgments based on appearance and limited information should be easy enough — us humans do it all day every day! Don’t lie to me or yourself about that. I went into this whole online/app based dating game confident. I stepped up to the plate with a swagger in my step… Okay, I’ll stop with the sports references.
Despite my initial confidence, because I understand technology and honestly I think I’m more attractive at twenty-seven, and definitely way cooler, I can’t stop freaking out. What started as fun: a swipe here, a swipe there… ended up with me in a panic. Like a lot of things in my life. Cute, right? I should definitely add that to my Tinder profile.
In an attempt to stop freaking the fuck out and just be cool about meeting strangers from the internet I decided to just write out all of my panicky, over-analytical thoughts I’ve experienced while using Tinder/Hinge.
I hope my matches never find this.
My Top 6 Thoughts When Using Tinder
1. Does this picture really look like me? Like, its flattering, isn’t filtered — but does it really look like me? Do I look more or less like a bridge troll in real life? Does this smirk say “date rape me?” or “mysterious girl?” I should definitely include a full body photo so he doesn’t think I’m a secret internet fatty. What if this photo makes me look taller than I am and he’s not into spinners and is totally repulsed by my tiny hands when we meet? Who am I kidding — who wouldn’t be into a spinner?
2. Am I racist for only swiping right on white guys? I mean, none of them are WASP-y. The more possibly Jewish the better. Or Italian, Hispanic, Armenian… Okay, any one that can grow a dark beard and isn’t a blonde or a ginger. But I have met a few attractive ginger dudes. Then again, my biological father was a ginger and I don’t know if I want to give birth to gingers. Especially if we’re going to raise them Jewish, what if they didn’t fit in?
3. Stop with the tank-top photos. You’re delusional dude. It’s the Bay Area — it is never fucking warm enough for a tank top. Oh a shirtless photo? Uh, definite no. I might’ve let the tank-top photo pass if you were somewhere tropical, but shirtless = immediate swipe to the left. No offense dude, you look like you have a lot going for you. You work at Twitter. But I just can’t deal with abs. No, not because I think you’re a crossfit-loving, Paleo asshole, but because I’m a total pervert. Now that I know what you look like under that flannel I won’t be able to look you in the eye with the respect you deserve. Hell, I just found out one of my male friends is in great shape and I haven’t made eye-contact with him since! I wouldn’t even know what to talk to you about anyway. How do you sext someone that’s super into fitness? “Let’s take pre-workout and do burpees ‘til we puke!” — is that sexy? No, no probably not. We’d never work, my simultaneous commitment to both the gym and carbs would surely disturb you.
4. Wow. You’re really, really attractive. No mention of an ivy-league in the bio, you like IPAs, and you hate the Giants. Are you my soulma- oh fuck. You have a kid. Or at least a photo with a kid. Regardless, I don’t like sticky things. I don’t care if that thing is your nephew, it’s not happening. Kids have no filters. One time a fourth-grader told me I had a really big zit and I almost curled up into the fetal position. What do you even talk to kids about? “Uh, how about that Frozen? Yeah, Elsa and whatsherfuck… nah, I’m good on the snowman building.”
5. Oh hey flannel and glasses! I’m glad I swiped right on you. You seem normal. You’re making conversation easy — what a relief. I’m so taking a screenshot of your profile photo and sending it to my female friends. Apparently they think you bear a more-than-passing resemblance to someone I was once involved with. After thinking about it, I totally agree. You two could pass for brothers. No wonder I was attracted to you. But man, was he a slimy piece of garbage or what? A real slimy piece of garbage. Hmm, I guess that’s kind of my type. Now that I think about it, “slimy piece of garbage” kinda sounds like a harsh way to refer to cold pizza leftovers. I can always fuck with cold pizza.
6. You’re cracking jokes, you seem confident. I’m gonna get drunk with my friends and make the move to texting with you. You want to make plans next week? Sounds great. Shit, it’s the next day. I’m hung over. I don’t have anyone around to help me figure out what clever things I should text you. Should I cancel our tentative plans by telling you the truth — that I’m just not ready for this? No, no. I think I’ll just stop responding and never delete your number “Brian Tinder.” Oh, B. Tinder, what could have been!
After reading back what I just wrote I actually feel worse about online dating. Screw it — I’m throwing my phone in the bay.
Just kidding, I’m still convinced I’ll find the love of my life through Instagram. #selfiesunday
