Adventures in Tindering

I need to get something off my chest, you guys. It's been bothering me for a few days, and since my mindgrapes are no longer preoccupied with the minutia of school, this shit is taking up residence.

Ok. So, I get a lot of matches on Tinder. I like to think it's a result of this shot taken on a backpacking trip in the Sawtooths last summer:

Goofy, silly, candid, and wholly unpretentious -- me in a nutshell, amiright?! I think my sparkling personality just shines right on through.

But in my heart of hearts, I'm quite sure dudes swipe to the right because of this pic:

"I Heart Cock." Just speakin' the truth on this one, friends. Apparently it's an open invitation to douchebags, though, and that's the part that's got my panties all in a bunch.

First it was the charming married man looking for a side piece, or as he put it, an "FWB." 

After a week of chatting, flirting, and generally getting to know one another, we decided to meet for coffee. Then shit got weird. He made mention of looking for a "very specific kind of girl." First, I'm not a girl, I'm a fucking grown ass adult WOMAN. Second, I'm also not a naive asshole. My internal alarm sounded, but I decided to give him an out, hence the "date for your sister's wedding?" line.

NOPE. This dude was looking for a side piece with whom he could, and I quote, "laugh, share a good meal, pleasant conversation, and safe, sane fun in the bedroom." UH. DIDN'T YOU MARRY THAT PERSON?! His hard sell continued when he assured me it was an excellent deal for me, as I would get to "maintain [my] autonomy." MOTHERFUCKER. In what year do you live?? What makes you think I'd give up my autonomy for anyone, let alone a middle-aged piece of ass?

Bye Felicia.

Between Side Piece and the myriad dudes chatting me up for a "sexy good time" (no screen shot for that one, but I promise that's what he said!), I decided to take a Tinderbreak. Plus, I went back to work and school got crazeballs. No time like the present for some forced celibacy.

Anyhow, the school year wrapped up last week, so I decided it was time for some more adventures in Tindering. I guess I was just #askingforit.

Last Friday morning homeboy hit me up with some witty, flirty banter. I was at work, but I'm also a sucker for a beard and a sense of humor, so I was in. A few casual questions about traveling, school, and jobs, and he asked me if I had plans for the night. "Plans for the night" is deliciously ambiguous non-commitment fratboy speak. The cynic in me knew he was looking for a hookup, but the optimist in me (however shriveled-up and crusty she may be), thought he might just be looking for a beer and some conversation. So I invited him along.

We kept up a sporadic convo throughout the day, before he finally said work was keeping him late and he wouldn't be able to join me. No worries, I told him, I might have some free time on Sunday afternoon if he'd like to grab a beer.


And then my fucking Sunday morning was very fucking rudely interrupted by this:

Do I want to come to your hotel for a casual hookup at 10:35 on a Sunday morning?! What am I, Julia Fucking Roberts?!

Honestly, I was really caught off-guard here, hence the very polite response. But as the day wore on and I thought about it more and more, I became incensed. What the fuck was this guy thinking? Sure, I'd love to shower, shave, moisturize, brush my teeth, put on make-up, dig out my sex panties, wriggle into some clean/sexy/presentable clothing that was most definitely *not* laying on the floor, drive in my car through Meridian Mormon Sunday traffic, all to show up at your hotel for some potentially mediocre sex that will most assuredly end in anti-climactic disappointment for me (at best), or sexual assault (at worst)??

Hey Homeboy, what if I hit you up for a really expensive meal at a restaurant of my choosing on a Friday night? Sure, you have to shower, shave, brush your teeth, wriggle into some clean/presentable/ IRONED clothing that was most definitely *not* laying on the floor, drive in your car through Friday night traffic, wait an hour to be seated, engage in thoughtful conversation, AND pay for the meal, but hey, you get to eat, too! Sound familiar?

Since you're all "trying something new" why don't you try not to think about your dick for twenty minutes and engage in some interesting/meaningful/witty fucking conversation? We all want to get laid, it's not a goddamn secret. In times like these I like to remember this sage advice I received from the very KING of hookups, Jamie Kembrey: If you're not interested in having breakfast with someone, then why would you hookup with them? Apparently this fine young Tinderoni had confused the term "hookup" with "hooker," as I was not even worthy of a meal and conversation.

Ugh. Not interested. So very, very not interested.

But here's the thing. Well, three things, actually. First, I have no problem with a casual hookup. Find a guy in a bar, flirt like hell for a few hours, have a few drinks and a make-out sesh in the bathroom, and BAM! sexy time. Second, I hate that shit like this makes me feel absolutely hopeless about the opposite sex and my prospects for long-term committed relationship. Third, and most importantly I think, is that men don't seem to understand how easy it is for women to get laid. In my experience, if you are reasonably funny, soft, and good-smelling, some guy will definitely want to have sex with you. It's just not that hard. That being said, I don't really need an app to get laid, ya know? So when you ask me why I'm on Tinder and my response is: "Just looking for someone to go to shows with, maybe some hiking, patio drinking, maybe more, but still undecided on that." TAKE THAT SHIT SERIOUSLY.

**I'd also like to issue a formal apology to my FWB, as he was the unlucky recipient of my misdirected ragefest. Sorry, M. :(