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I think it rained on my tinder.

Update: I told you about the tigers. I told you about these freaking tigers. I’d also like to point out that there is a TUMBLR dedicated to said tigers and tinder men. I’m not the only one who noticed the ridiculous amount of RAHR.

 

The strange part of this story is how this app came to be on my phone. My co-worker, MT, is happily married with a puppy. She screenshots snapchats that her husband sends her while he’s away and doesn’t get in trouble for it. All her selfies feature two people (and occasionally the puppy). Main point: she’s happy.

CW and I are slightly more disgruntled about life. Thus, why it was strange when MT spent the better part of the morning trying to convince CW and me to download tinder.

Eventually, we caved and both downloaded it on our phones. It was probably harmless, after all.

First person comes up. I look at CW’s phone. She looks at mine. It’s the same guy. No words as we both swipe left.

“It said we’re a match!” CW exclaims, terrified. “But I swiped left! I swiped left!”

The Thought Process of L.A. on Tinder

Tinder is stupid.

Swipe.

I can’t believe I’m helping someone make money off of this.

Swipe.

This person put up a group photo and I have no idea which one he is.

Tinder2

Swipe.

I mean, this is basically a dating app.

Swipe.

I don’t want to date a group of people.

Swipe.

I don’t want to date anyone.

Swipe.

I don’t know why I downloaded this app.

Swipe.

Stupid peer pressure.

Swipe.

I don’t want to date your abs.

Swipe.

Or your puppy.Tinder3

Swipe.

Or your dead animal that you killed.

Tinder1

Swipe.

Or this girl that is in this photo with you.

Tinder4

Swipe.

Or this tiger.

Swipe.

Why are there so many tigers on tinder?

Tinder5

Swipe.

THIS MAN IS HUGGING A BABY BEAR.

Swipe.

Fuck, I know this person in real life.

Swipe.

New text: Did I just see you on tinder? Fuck.

Swipe.

Holy crap, I had a crush on this person back in the day.

Pause.

Click.

I’m a much better personality now than I was then.

Click.

I wonder which way he swiped for me.

Swipe.

Untitled

Swipe.

I feel so pretty right now.

Swipe.

It’s almost as if I’m not sitting in  bed with a bag of Doritos, How I Met Your Mother, and Tinder at 3 in the morning.

Swipe.

Fuck, I spilled the Doritos.

Swipe.

My life is so sad.

Swipe.

This guy’s face is terrifying.

Swipe.

I did not swipe right!

Swipe.

The terrifying face just sent me a message!

Swipe.

He must be deranged, why the fuck is he up at 3 in the morning on Tinder?!

Swipe.

Pause.

Reevaluate life.

Next Morning.

Me: I didn’t sleep last night.

CW: Tinder?

Me: I deleted it.

CW: It’s for the best.

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Would you like me to take your gum?

I have been too sentimental my last few blog posts. Getting back to random and funny parts of life.

My dating life…

Serious relationships are not my style at the moment, but it doesn’t mean I stop myself from enjoying the company of the opposite sex. And dating always has funny moments.

Back story…

El and I met while I was on vacation in Grand Rapids earlier this summer. We met in one of my favorite bars, The Meanwhile. He was hard not to notice. Very tall and handsome with his dark hair and piercing brown eyes.  He kept smiling and winking at me. He did this combo one last time as I walked out of the bar. I was smitten. I got a block away from the bar, and realized I was going to be bold. I told my friend that we were going back. I was going to talk to Tall and Handsome . She rolled her eyes at my grand plan, but agreed he was too hot to ignore. Making my way back into the bar, I sprinted up to him with my hand out to shake his, introducing myself. We chatted for few minutes and exchanged numbers. Feeling accomplished, I left the bar for the second time.

how-awkward-im-when-dating-funny-dating-picture

Ladies, that’s how it is done. You want to know someone and you want their number. Just go for it. 

After flirty texting and two dates, we had realistic expectations about our courtship. I was going back to Detroit and he lived in Grand Rapids. But, it didn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy each other’s company when being in the same city. Physical attraction was too hard to ignore, too.

Two months, and countless text messages later…

El texted me to say he was coming to the D for the night. He and his buddy wanted to hit the casinos and wanted me to join. I was elated… a date with no expectations for a relationship. My style of a prince charming!

We had dinner and hit the casino. It started to get late, but El’s buddy didn’t want to leave the poker tables. So El and I left him behind and headed to hotel. Clearly, we wanted one on one time too.

Driving back to hotel, I pulled out gum. (You want fresh breath if you’re going to kiss your hot, out of town fling.)

Being polite I offered him gum too.  Not really thinking, I just handed him my pack of Trident White Duel Pack. I expected he would just take a piece and hand it back to me.

NOPE! This did not happen.

Instead, he took a piece of gum for his mouth, and then ripped the dual pack apart. He handed me half and placed the other half in the middle cubby of his Audi.

I was dumb founded. Mouth opened, I looked down at my pitiful half pack of gum and then at the other half siting in the middle cubby. El stole my tartar fighting gum. I didn’t know what to say…

33% more for you to share or steal...

33% more for you to share or steal…

We made our way back to his hotel. I didn’t want to ruin the awesome evening by pointing out that he had stole my gum so I brushed it off. We finished out our evening.

The next morning, we said our see-you-soons and he drove back to Grand Rapids.

I can’t shake the thought that El is a gum snatcher. Like at least, he could’ve asked or offered to get me a pack gum when he saw me next. Any type of gesture would have been polite.

Ladies, beware you never know where a gum snatcher could be lurking. Keep your purses closed and keep an emergency gum pack for safe keeping.

Keep it secret, keep it safe.

No Scrubbing for Me

It is a surreal feeling to know that my mother at my age was already married, had her first child, and owned a home.

…I’m lucky if I make breakfast for myself in the morning.

Times have definitely changed, and people at my age are all over the place when it comes to the stages of their lives.

Fortunately, I can say that I’m not doing too badly for myself at 25. I love my career. I pay my own bills. And I don’t live with my parents.

I’m not as successful as I want to be, but I believe I’m on the right path to kicking life in the butt.

Our world is ever changing so it isn’t easy to start a life and find stability.

This fact has made dating a disaster for me.

I can best describe my dating life with songs from Destiny Child and TLC .

Since people at my age are over the place… compatibility is so hard to find.

Relationships can get stale when the couple isn’t at the same place in life.

I’m not trying to bash anyone, but it’s a stressful thought. I just want to date someone who I don’t have drive around because they don’t have a car. Or I don’t want to date someone who hasn’t finished college because they can’t figure out their degree.

To prove my headache… I recently had a no scrub moment in a bar.

A nice looking male kept smiling at me at the bar. He approached me to have a conversation. Everything was going smoothly until I asked him what he did for a living. He said he had lost his job and wasn’t sure what he wanted to do next.

REALLY?!?!?!?!?!

Like yes, we all fall on hard times and we can’t always control situations that happen to us. I shouldn’t judge, but what am I suppose to do with that?

Was he trying to play the guilt card into my heart?

Was he trying to be honest? Yes, someone shouldn’t be penalized for honesty.

But the entire factor just made everything all more difficult.

The situation wouldn’t have been so discouraging if he would have said,

“Yeah, I lost my job today, but I’m planning to go back to get my Master’s.” OR “I’m planning to open my own business. I would love to share with you my business proposal sometime.”

We might not have it all figured out like our parents did at our age, but we definitely can have a plan.

I’m not just talking goals/dreams in life. I’m talking about having plans to reach those achievements.

Good things don’t come without hard work.

I guess I will be planning out how to make my dating life better and more fulfilling .

anigif_enhanced-buzz-1798-1362439031-8_preview

Times, they are a-changing.

I remember being in 8th grade, and talking with my best friend about boys. She was dating this guy Jeremy, and they had been together for so long (like months) that I was so sure they were going to get married. I hadn’t dated anyone since my relationship with Nate, this guy from a rival Catholic grade school, and my best friend was telling me it was time to get back into the game.

So I sent Nick a Valentine day gram, telling him that I liked him. Because you were supposed to like someone. It was like, unspoken rules. And that was  basically my perception of how grade school romance looked.

Remember, this is what you would have been dating if you dated 8th grade me. LOLZ, 8th grade boyfriend. LOLZ.

Remember, this is what you would have been dating if you dated 8th grade me. LOLZ, 8th grade boyfriend. LOLZ.

Fast Forward a few years to my high school years. I was in the musical my junior year, and started hanging out with Ex. He and I flirted all the time. I like, sat on his lap and stuff.. I tied bow ties on him.  We shared sodas. We hung out in the same group of friends.

One day, we were walking down the stairs together at school, with our khakis pants and our collared shirts and our backpacks, and we held hands. Bam, we were together. And that was how my high school view of romance worked.

Nothing says love like some good ol' fashioned Prom Pictures.

Nothing says love like some good ol’ fashioned Prom Pictures.

In college, I met BabyDaddy at a musical audition. I remember he winked at me in the dorm hallway. There was flirting and kissing and other things. We were “together” but not “together,” for reasons I won’t bore you with,  mostly because they were my fault.. But after about a year and a half of this in between thing we were where I was crazy overly dramatic and young, we had a moment.

“Okay,” BabyDaddy gives me a kiss as he packs up his truck to head to Chicago for the weekend. “I’m really leaving.”

I’m pouting. “I’m going to miss you.” I tell him.

He sighs. He goes over to his computer and clicks a bunch of things. “There. Now you can’t complain that I’m going.”

I’m curious. I look at the computer. It’s the facebook login screen. I log into my account, and there it is.

BabyDaddy has said he is in a relationship with you. Do you want to accept?

And that was when we “officially” became a couple. Thus, my college life perception of romance.

I had a goth phase. MORE LOLZ.

I had a goth phase. MORE LOLZ.

So, now I’m all grown up because I’m 26.

(Pause for minor freakout over being 26)

And you’d think that by now, I’d have somewhat of a grasp on how romance and things get put together. After all, Bobo and Cosi are now happily married, and my parents are a shining example of how love works, and Poof and her family are so color coordinated that if you didn’t know them, you’d probably puke from the cuteness. I don’t puke because I know them.

But I don’t. You know what I do have?

Random Man at Arnie’s (sits down next to me while I wait for my Scandinavian Shuffle): How’s it going?

Me (glances sideways. Totally distracted because I’m playing Candy Crush on my phone): Good, thanks.

I’m pretty sure I smiled. Cue silence.

Random Man: Hey, I’m sorry, but I just noticed your left hand.

Me (startled): What, am I bleeding?

Random Man (laughs at me): Hi, my name is Dave.

I’m still checking for blood.

Random Man: What’s yours?

Me: Oh. I’m L.A.

Silence.

Random Man Dave: …So, no ring?

Me: Oh. OH. Oh, no.

This is the portion where things dawn on me.

There is more silence. To make things even better, I lose at Candy Crush.

 

Is this how things are supposed to work? How do you start things nowadays? Because I swear, I’m bringing back the Do you like me Check Yes or No things. Oh, also, give me some good pick up lines. Because I’ve definitely done this:

Him: Do you know how much a polar bear weighs?

Me: I think that’s the biggest of the bears actually. Or it might be brown bear. One or the other. DID YOU SEE THE TWEET ABOUT THE LEAST THREATENING BEARS? It was hilarious because the Chicago Bears are less threatening than care bears. I think I favorited it on twitter. Hold on.

Him: I’m so glad we’re friends.

 

Relationopoly

Today is my parents’ anniversary. The real one, since they have two, but only one of those dates makes them married for another year. It amazes me sometimes, to think of this.

A few years ago, my father and I were driving to choir, and had the following conversation, which is documented for posterity in my memoir completely fictional book.

“Hey Dad.” I slid into the car, relishing the warmth of the car.

“That wasn’t Ryan.” He replied as a greeting.

“Nope, that was Jack.” He had met Jack a few weeks ago when Jack and I had hid out at my house.

“Are you with Jack now?”

“No, Ryan and I are still dating.”

“Are you and Jack dating?” He asked.

“Ryan and I are boyfriend-kind of dating, Dad.”

He laughed. “Whichever way that is. I think you should ditch them both and date the cute tenor.”

Dating?

Not dating?

Relationship dating?

Dating dating?

And then you look at my parents. Marriage. 29 years of marriage, and counting. If you happen to read my good friend Nathan Triple Name over at the Frogly Prince, you’ll notice that we worked together to compare Clue to…sexcapades. We had branched out in our original comment-versation to include other various board games.

Wanna play?

Wanna play?

So, exactly how does this marriage thing link in to Monopoly?

Once, when I was about 9, my sister, my father, and I decided to play a friendly game of Monopoly. It began after dinner, and somewhere around it’s midnight and past your bedtime, we put the game away. However, before doing so, we wrote down exactly what everyone had: properties, houses, money, even what piece they were ( I was the dog). No one actually won. We never actually finished the game.

And that is kind of like relationships nowadays.

20130405-120638.jpg

Thus, Nathan Triple Name and I present you: Relationopoly.

The Cheap Streets: 

L.A.: One night stands. Booty calls. Friends with benefits. Rebounds. Those people that come into your life your bed and head out the door. Possibly saved in your phone as “So and so from the bar.” Possibly not saved in your phone at all.

Nathan Triple Name: Good for some cheap thrills but no one in their right mind should be drooling over Baltic. Even if the  upkeep is cheap, hotel optional.

Spending Time Together Avenues: 

L.A.: You’ve gone on a date or two. To a movie. Grabbed dinner together. Happy hours. He’s met some of your friends, you’ve met some of his. You’re affectionately “just hanging out,” as you tell your friends.

Nathan Triple Name: Not your ideal situation, but at least you are on the board. Tempting to buy that house you always wanted.

L.A.: This is where that forlorned look comes into play. You’re staring around the corner wondering what would happen if the two of you headed there. Of course, there is always the option of getting to Free Parking. Where some relationships go to stay.

Commitment Blvd: 

L.A.: You call him your boyfriend. You’ve had serious conversations, both about life and about “your life. Together.” Oh, and most importantly, you changed your Facebook status.

Nathan Triple Name: Sometimes comes with it’s share of water works and B.O. , but you have to take the bad with the good sometimes to keep moving forward. 

And last but not least…

“Go to Jail” 

L.A.: Of course, this rests between these streets. Somewhere between “hanging out” and commitment, is the great question of what, if anything, comes next.

Nathan Triple Name: Where only guys are sticking around trying to roll doubles. “Twins, Basil. Twins.”

The long and winding road home: You’ve moved in together. You’ve caught him looking at engagement rings. You’ve looked at rings together. He’s met your family. He’s proposed. You bought a dog. You had a kid.

Somewhere between my father and mother pen-palling it up and getting married, love and relationships got blurry. Are you dating? Are you together? Are you in limbo? Are you in a relationship? Go directly to jail. Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200.

If Boardwalk and Park Place are love and marriage, what happens if you keep going around the board?

Maybe the whole issue is that damn bloggers like Nathan Triple Name and I are comparing life to board games.

In the meantime, my parents have been married for 29 years now. Did they learn to play the game correctly? Or maybe

they decided to put away the board game, because let’s face it…they won.

I dedicate this post, and all future games of Monopoly, to my parents. Congratulations of 29 years of love and stuff.

Dear Parentals, Love you.

Dear Parentals, Love you.

Also, a big thank to you to Nate for adding some man talk to my blog this week. Two thumbs up to him — go check out his blog at http://thefroglyprince.wordpress.com.

Hey! It’s Septober! Also! We’re old!

The following conversation happened last weekend:

GoldDust: We still need to learn to golf.

L.A.: We live in Michigan. Our chances are over. We have officially entered the “snow and complain about life” portion of the year.

GoldDust: We can go to indoor places.

L.A.: THEY HAVE THOSE? Indoor sand traps? Can we wear bikinis and pretend it’s the beach?!

GoldDust: It’s actually just like the range. We can just hit golf balls.

L.A.: I’m less thrilled.

GoldDust: But then next summer, we can go out and be pros.

L.A.: …can we still dress up?

Priorities, people.

It was on my list of things “to do” this summer, completely separate from my life goal list, to learn to golf. We talked about it, and talked about it, and talked about it*. And then we never did it. Apparently, the point of this blog is that what comes with my quarter life crisis is the year flying by.

It’s Septem October, kids. It’s time to think about Halloween and pumpkins and wearing leggings under my scrubs.

But all this golf talk reminded me of the following event from last summer:

Golfing: an excuse to get close on a first date (photo credit to fotalia.com)

I had a date today.

Don’t get too excited. Actually, scroll up to the top of the page and get excited over the new header. That’s about as gleeful as I’m letting you get.

Let me repeat myself: I had a date today.

I’m not talking like I had a date earlier and now it’s over and I’m blogging about it. It’s 9:58 am. When would this date have happened? 7 am breakfast? 5 am booty call? No.

I had a date. It just didn’t happen.

Let’s call this boy D. We don’t know, after all, if he’ll be sticking around. It was a blind date, so not meeting him makes it harder for him to get a blog name. I’m sure he’ll be disappointed.

We made plans last Sunday to hang out today. He is supposed to teach me how to golf. I’m not sure why I want to learn to golf, but it seems like one of those things that gets a conversation going. Do you golf? Oh yes, I play at random golf course. Oh, I’ve played out there, it’s a beautiful course.

On second thought, I just fell asleep thinking about that conversation. I just want to learn to say that I did. And buy cute plaid shorts. And a matching polo.

Well. Here we are. Last night I was thinking to myself…how the hell did we decide on golfing? And I was debating if I was going to pull a typical L.A. move and bail before he got the chance to not be what I was looking for, or to bail on me, etc.

THEN.

It rained.

Did you know you can’t play golf in the rain?

So, let me repeat myself: I had a date today.

I’m going to have to write this boy a sternly worded letter informing him of these indoor golf places.

How about you, readers? Did you realize that it’s October?!

*By “talked about it,” I definitely mean “discussed knee socks.”

Bob/Weave/Fail

Once upon a time, I was in 8th grade. I was 13, young, innocent, and dating a boy that lived a block away from me. We were hanging out in his parents basement with a bunch of our friends, watching a movie, declaring our couplehood to each other, and occasionally kissing. Because that’s what all 8th graders in relationships should do.

At one point, my boyfriend leaned in to me and told me that he didn’t just like me — he really really liked me. I, being the sophisticated teen that I was, swooned and decided that I had the best boyfriend ever.

And when I turned my head to tell him this, he leaned his to kiss me. That’s when it happened. I felt his tongue crash into my mouth and hit my teeth in that awkward young version of kissing where nobody knows what the fuck is going on.

So, this is french kissing…I think to myself…I wonder if I’m supposed to do anything.

He all of a sudden leans back and jumps up from the couch, holding his hand over his mouth.

“I cut myself!” He yells, his hand still over his mouth. “I cut my fucking tongue!”

Did I mention I had braces?

Oh, the humanity.

Have you ever seen the movie John Tucker Must Die?

There’s a part of the movie, where the guy is about to kiss the girl and he bobs and she weaves and it’s basically really…really…awkward.

Heads butt, boobs are awkwardly brushed and then you don’t know if you should apologize or yell at the person for not matching your hugging technique.

So, rewind to last year sometime. I’ve been talking to this guy. Good guy, good friend, and the way we’ve been talking, it could potentially turn into something more.

The downside of the situation is that he’s living a couple states away, and the most personal we’ve gotten with each other is by text message and one very drunk phone call.

How the hell do you act in person then?

Time passes and the guy ends up moving back to Michigan. We make plans. I’m excited to see him, but am so nervous. It’s like I don’t know how to deal with real life contact after all this time apart.

But he comes over, and real contact is made.   

He leans in to hug me. I lean to hug him. And all of a sudden…

He went one way and I went the other way and it ended with this awkward sort of bumping, bumbling hug that you give a relative or someone you don’t really care for. Where do you go from there? 

We kind of awkwardly smile at each other and attempt to ignore the fact that we probably both would give better hugs to my Aunt Lenore, and I don’t even have an Aunt Lenore. At that moment, I find myself thinking back to that 8th grade boyfriend and my awkward first french kiss…

This guy and I still hang out that day, though we never really make any contact with each other besides eye contact. And that’s a stretch. When he leaves, we try the hug again. Only this time we switch directions and it’s still a fail. He finally just wraps his arms around me, and I kind of just chill out. I’m still thinking of that 8th grade awkward moment…

…in case you couldn’t guess, the 8th grade boyfriend and I broke up two weeks after the braces incident. Another month later, I woke up and found my house TP’d.

Awkward kissing encounter with the neighborhood boy turned into full fledged battle of the sexes neighborhood war.

 

17 days to figure out how not to be alone.

Well, the month is winding down, kids. It’s been exciting. You’ve been reading [and not commenting a lot, but I won’t judge] and I love you all for that. Has 2k12 been good to you so far? Yes? Well, get ready to get bumblefucked if it has.

In seventeen days, the hallmark gods take over. They send flowers that I’m possibly allergic to, and chocolate that I’ll probably get zits from, and cards that will give me papercuts.

Yes, kids. It’s time for Valentine’s Day.

My goal for the holiday? Survive. Actually, my goal is this:

Yes, I would like to go a hockey game with my BFF and a bunch of men.

NeighborGirl and I entered the contest with a great speech about how the only red we want to see is blood on the ice. It’s touching how much I love hockey.

Now, in case this epic matching making game of hockey proportions doesn’t work out, and I end up spending Valentine’s day with a bottle of chocolate w[h]ine, or if YOU end up spending Valentine’s day with said bottle of chocolate wine, I have a cure.

Dating Woes of the VS.

Who loves my sister? Besides me, of course. Well, you will, after this.

Date 1

“This man,” VS tells me. “He was just so depressing. He was full of sadness. I don’t want to date him anymore because he just makes you feel terrible. He radiates sadness.”

“That’s so sad,” I say. “Why did you date him in the first place?”

“His online profile didn’t seem so sad.” She shrugs. “In fact, nowhere in his profile did it say that he was Droopy.”

Radiating Sadness

Date 2

“I hate those guys. You know, the ones that just have to control everything?”

“Alpha males?” I guess.

“Exactly. He ordered my food for me. As if I wasn’t capable of doing so.” She’s scoffing at the memory.

“Did he know what you wanted?” I ask. “Oh, no, did he order you meat?” *VS is a vegetarian.

“No, but that’s not the point. I can order for myself. I know how to order food.”

She does, in fact, know how to order food.

“Later, he kissed me, and he grabbed the back of my neck.” VS sounds horrified at the memory. “It was like he was saying he was going to kiss me now and I didn’t have a choice.”

The Ultimate Alpha Male

Date 3

“I didn’t think he was so old.” VS ponders over her initial reaction to the man. “He didn’t act old at all. He’s at the same place in life that I am.”

“How old did you think he was?” I ask.

“Maybe his early 30s?” VS guesses. She’s 26, by the way.

“How old is he really?”

“Well, you know how there are like stages of life that you go through? I feel like at my age, this is what you should be doing. Grad school, good job, something like that. So I just figured that’s where he was at.”

“He’s your age?” I’m confused now.

“…He’s 39.”

“But you said he was at your stage of life.”

She sighs. “It’s like he just took some time off, then came back to life, and got back to it.”

Silence.

“He’s like Rip Van Winkle.”

“I hope you know,” I tell her. “That I will be blogging this. And after the part about Rip Van Winkle, there will be a picture of Wishbone as Rip Van Winkle.”

What's the story, Wishbone?

17 days, kids. As Queen puts it, “Can anybody find me somebody to love?”

Oh, and just in case you don’t find somebody:

“I’m going out with some girls for Valentine’s Day.” VS tells me.

“That’s always so depressing,” I lament.

“No, it’s empowering,” VS argues.

“Oh yes,” I say. “A toast to our empty vaginas!”

VS shrugs this off. “We’ll put chocolate in them.”

Happy Hunting, Valentines.