The day: Tuesday
The place: I haven’t gone out with Paul yet. I’ll be meeting him for dinner soon. But we’ve been chatting and I’ve learned many interesting things about him already.

1. He has never been on the smash hit TV show “To Catch a Predator”
2. He is not an internationally-known rapist. He’s not even a locally-known rapist. He’s not even a rapist
3. He still has both feet due to no diabetes
4. He is not married

With qualities like that, I actually do wonder why he’s on an app like this. Dating goldmine, ladies.



The day: Saturday
The place: Fairmount Wine & Martini Bar

Chris is in town visiting his mother, though he currently lives in Brisbane, Australia. He will be returning there next week. I’m looking forward to it. My father is Australian, like Chris’s daddy-o, which led into him saying “That’s the Australian in you talking,” every time I said something that was, apparently, Australian-sounding; like “I have tattoos,” or “I’ll take a vodka soda.”

1. He told me to wear something tight.
2. He’ll walk 3 miles each way for 3 beers and 1 shot, he said.
3. Drank 4 white wines to my 2 small vodka drinks.
4. Said he’d never taken a selfie before. Took a selfie on the date.
5. Said he could beat me in Jeopardy, followed by insisting I Google some Jeopardy questions for him to answer.
6. C: “I’m going to kiss you” *leans in*
Me: “Omigod no stop” *hastily covers mouth with hand*
C: “Why not? You’re chewing gum. That’s getting ready for a kiss”
Me: *hastily spits gum onto patio floor*

The day: Tuesday
The place: Panini’s on Coventry

Because I am a glutton for punishment, or some sort of weird social masochist, I agreed to meet Chris for the second half of the Tim Howard vs BEL World Cup game. I arrived and he was drunk, smoking like a chimney, sweating like a whore in church. It was otherwise fine until …

Chris said that soccer and football were very similar because they both have “plays.” Plays that often consist of team members looking for a hole to score through.

Yep. So pretty much every organized team sport on the planet is just like football. #shitammericanssay

Stop it, Chris.



The day: Sunday

The date: La Cave du Vin. It’s literally in the basement of a much cooler bar. A hipster with a handlebar mustache appeared over my shoulder and recommended me a beer I didn’t like.

1. His name is actually Toby.

2. “I went to a little school in New York. Columbia. Ever heard of it?”

3. Went on Tinder during the date.

4. Said the word “gains” in reference to working out (so, gainz) more than one handful of times in the hour and a half we spent together.

5. Showed me his gym membership keytag. But what he was really showing me was the clunky car key attached to the keytag. So now I know he drives an Audi.

6. Made sure I saw how much the bill was. Made sure I did not see how much he tipped.

7. I didn’t like my first beer — a strawberry cider — so ever the gentleman, he chugged it for me.

8. Made more than one handful of jokes about fat girls. Which was funny because he kind of looks like one.

9. Said he wanted to “reverse-catfish” someone. Meaning: post ugly pictures on Tinder but show up to the date and surprise them by being really good-looking.

Stop it, Toby.


Stop it Tinder, but not really

I downloaded Tinder last week.

I wasn’t sure if I should, because creepy, but a pretty girl that I once worked with said she was on it so I figured it was fine. I didn’t know what to expect, I didn’t want to tell anyone I used it, I was afraid to swipe anyone right, and I certainly was petrified I would bump into someone I knew on the Tindernet. What if everyone laughs at me? Quickly, though, I overcame those fears.

Tinder is an innovation in online speed dating that fills the most shallow, self-absorbed parts of me like HotorNot never quite could. I’d like to take this moment to point out that I have never swiped anyone right that was not an immediate match (toot toot), except for one time. The emotional damage of knowing someone I thought was hot didn’t think I was hot too quickly disappeared when a few short minutes later I was notified that he did, in fact, think I was pretty, he just hadn’t seen me yet. Match. 100% success rate. #winningattinder

Now, while I’ve only been playing Tinder for two short weeks, I have experiences I want to remember … forever. I’ve taken notes on paper, but this is 2014 and fuck paper. We are in the digital age: where notes are taken on computers, dating is done on iPhones, and 50-year-old men send topless selfies to unsuspecting 20-somethings because they think it will make me want to meet him in Chicago and “get dirty” with his sweaty, sunburned moobs. This page now exists so I can keep close record of all the hilarious, stupid, idiotic, embarrassing things people say when they think they’re being clever.

I often see pictures of men and wonder, “Why are they even on here? They can’t possibly have trouble getting dates.” But it rarely takes more than a few swift keystrokes, a minute or two of messaging, to know exactly why they can’t get dates. It’s because they’re idiots. Posting their lame (amazing) attempts at being clever is my 20-fucking-14, digital-age, paperless way of telling them to just stop it.