Tinder

Although I don't particularly care to delve into my personal comings and goings-on, I decided that this was much too entertaining not to write about.

After being shit canned by someone I spent years loving and trying to build a relationship with, I decided to try to step back into the world of dating.  As it turns out, I've been way out of the scene for longer than I thought.  Let's put it this way, I am socially awkward, and finding a mate is not high on my priority list.  Call me a bitch if you will.  Guys are dumb.  And my friends are awesome.  I have them, what more could I possibly want?  After my recent experiences, I've decided I was right.  Even the friend who suggested Tinder.  I still love her.  Bitch.

Let me explain what Tinder is and how it works.  Tinder is an app that uses a series of carefully hand- selected- by- you photos.  One is set as your profile picture, much like Facebook.  Using the wonders of modern technology, you can then set your "standards" by age and distance from your current location.  Once that is established, VOILA! Idiots magically appear like unicorns.  You can scroll through the profile photos, swiping the photos left if you're not interested, and right if they are a potential piece of meat.  If someone right-swipes your photo, and you right-swipe theirs, BOOM!!  You have a match and the fireworks go off and confetti falls from the sky as Celine Dion plays softly in the background.  Okay, that doesn't happen.  What does happen, however, is a drastic instantaneous depletion of your self esteem and faith in humanity.

I am typically in bed by 9:30-10:00.  Even on weekends.  It appears as though Tinder has operating hours that only make the app run between the hours of 12:00AM to 4:00AM.  Or at least that's how it appears when I wake up at 5:30AM with ten new messages from 3:10AM asking what I'm doing.  I'm sleeping, DUH.  Because it's 3:10AM.  What I do find entertaining, is that Tinder appears to be the Wal-Mart of the dating world.  Allow me to elaborate.

There are the guys whose profile photos are selfies (a word I hate) taken in the gym mirror.  Good for you, Mr. Universe.  You went to the gym once.  Probably long enough to strategically place artificial sweat lines on your obligatory sleeveless tattooed arms, and snap a photo.  And while on this subject...Nobody cares that you are lifting a 900lb barbell.  Oh, you do Cross-fit?  You're my perfect match!  I can't wait to push you around in the wheelchair you're most likely going to end up sporting following your spine-crushing snatch.  Let's grab a coffee.

There's Mr. Every Photo I Take Shows Me Partying.  Always has a drink in hand, usually his mouth agape from most likely yelling, "WOOOO!"  Party on, man.  Party on.

There's Mr. I Have Tribal Tattoos on My Bicep.  No explanation needed.  NEXT!

There's Mr. Fisherman.  We live in Florida.  We are surrounded by water.  Who hasn't fished here?

There's Mr. Pilot.  Apparently, they allow anyone to fly planes.  Or at least wear headsets and sit in the cockpit...which is even more terrifying.

There's Mr. I Love My Dog.  Well played, Mr.  Well played.  But you're still not getting in my pants.

There's Mr. World Traveler.  AKA Mr. I Photoshopped Myself So I Look Like I'm Riding A Rhinoceros in Africa.

There's Mr. Adventure.  I don't ride roller coasters.  I also don't base jump.  I'm not impressed that you do.  NEXT.

There's Mr. I Drive a Fancy Car And I'm Going to Take My Photo With It.  I hope your prostitute fits nicely in that tiny passenger seat, because that's all the companionship you're going to find.

Lastly, Mr. Can I Have Your Number?  My response (true story): No, but here is the number for Papa John's.  Because who doesn't love pizza?

I'm sure I missed a few.  I jumped ship.  Turns out, I'm not cut out for the dating scene.  I'm okay with that.