I look down at my phone…
My buttcrack is sweaty. It might be because I’m on a bike at the Y, pedaling like I’m chasing my creepy neighborhood ice cream truck man, but it also might be out of anticipation…
I shake my head. It’s definitely mostly out of fear. Fear my dad will send me the dreaded, “YOU USED 86% OF THE FAMILY’S DATA THIS PAST MONTH. USE WIFI.”
I pedal faster. I will not use wifi. F*ck wifi. I can’t wait five minutes just for this response to load. I’m a millenial.
My thumb hovers over the app that is actually the cause of my anxiety. Its little yellow square taunts me.
“You is not smart,” it says.
“You is not important,” it says.
“You is not kind,” it says.
“Your profile pics include two photoshopped Kristin heads on a sock monkey body,” it says.
“Shut up!!!!!!” I yell. “I’ll poop in YOUR pie!” (The Help reference…)
The man on the bike next to mine steals a glance at me, raises his eyebrows, and shrugs.
I look up at the ceiling and pretend to swipe at invisible gnats, feigning craziness.
I bring my eyes level with my phone’s screen again.
I have one new message.
Well, screw me sideways in a baked potato.
My bubbles in the conversation are noticeably larger. His bubbles contain two sentences at most.
Crap. We don’t know each other’s last names yet and he already is the one who “cares less”. FML.
“Very small,” his bubble says in reference to the size of his
penis Rhode Island. “I had an Audi but I actually just got a BMW.”
He’s rich AF, looks like he models for Vineyard Vines, and can buy himself a nice car. What is he doing swiping right?
Naturally, I did what any other person would’ve done if they worked at a competitor of BMW. I panicked and typed back, “You are the worst.”
Very sexy! You a bad b*tch! Ten out of ten! Bad and boujee!
I double clicked my home screen button and held my thumb down and deleted the stupid app.
It had been a great day.
I had Bumble for exactly five hours and twenty-six minutes and OkCupid for even less. I clocked in at about forty-three minutes for the latter after receiving messages like the following:
I’ve never been more terrified in my relatively short, very privileged life! Last time I was out of my comfort zone was when I left my residential neighborhood in Wisconsin and entered Chicago for the first time (a 200% increase in every ethnicity besides Caucasians!!!!!! EVERY ETHNICITY BESIDES CAUCASIANS).
I know I’m far from normal in the sense that I find it humiliating to get hit on, but this was on a whole new level. I couldn’t even justify chatting to more than one guy at a time! Why? It felt like I was cheating on all the other swipe-rights even though he was most likely chatting, “heyyyyyy” to a stripper with a great rack and daddy issues at the same time I sent him, “it was the sock monkey picture that made you swipe right, riiiiiight?”.
Listen, I’m not judging. It’s just how online dating works sometimes. And I don’t think it’s for me.
I found myself swiping people left and right based on their Ivy-League education (or not) and a few self-selected photos.
Bob, 25. Likes dogs. Photo of him next to some chick. Photo of him cliff diving. Bio: looking for
head a friend to travel world with. Swipe right.
Ned, 56. Photo of Ned on yacht. Occupation: Financial Analyst- AYYYYYYYY SWIPE RIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Rick, 30. Photo showing a lot of Rick. Another photo dangerously coming close to Rick’s package, photo of Rick’s package…pause. SWIPE LEFT!!!!!!! WASH HANDS!!!!!! GRAB BIBLE AND BEG JESUS FOR FORGIVENESS!!!!!!!! USE HAND ANTIBACTERIAL IN EYES!!!!!!!
Some guy even did the swiping for me- “if you don’t go to the gym, just swipe left”.
Though I do frequent the gym often only to check myself out in the mirror while doing bicep curls, I found this to be sort of douchey. Surely, I could bench press this guy based on his gym selfies. He looked weak sauce anyway~
The more I swiped and the more I matched up with people, the worse I felt. Judging someone based on six photos and a 200-word description just seemed shallow. Some of the most wonderful people I’ve had in my life had been the equivalent of “swipe lefts” when I first met them.
The more I swiped, the more self conscious I felt about my profile. My photos and bio morphed slowly from four pictures of me submerged in snack food and a bio that included what you read in my first post to four more attractive pictures and a bio that included “former Division 1 volleyball player” because I thought it marketed me as more desirable (volleyball means spandex, spandex means booty, booty means…yeah).
Turns out “former Division 1 volleyball player” just gets you a lot of questions that include, “Listen ma…ur h0t but h0w tall r u?”. The nerve of that little man. If you can’t handle the fact that I will be the first to notice a bald patch on the top of your head, it’s not meant to be. I am sassy, 5’10”, and don’t care about your height.
So anywho, while I am always up for an experiment, this one blew up in my face. I burned all my bras after deleting both apps, decided to grow both a mustache and armpit hair, and came to the conclusion it’s not the way I’d like to meet someone- and that’s okay.
Dating apps are becoming more and more popular and will most likely only increase in popularity as time goes on. In fact, I’m already designing an app that will match people based on dick pics. Dicks R Us. OkDicks. It sounds shallow and it definitely is, but I might as well provide the public with an app they can use to meet other vaginas women and vice versa if they want it. Go for it, but don’t forget that if you have sex, you will die.
Though dating sites and apps make me uncomfortable, I won’t sit here and claim they don’t or do work. I’ve heard both success and horror stories. Either way, the success stories are great and make me want to vomit and the horror stories make for great conversation. Lesson learned: do you boo (if you haven’t noticed, this is always the lesson in my posts).
I’m just glad I put myself out there for those five, bliss filled hours. I never would’ve learned this about myself if I didn’t take that risk. My dad will also be thrilled to receive dick pics over the next few weeks as I definitely gave his number to a few eligible bachelors I met on Bumble.
Here’s to love, friends. May it ever be elusive until you find the right man candy or hoe.
Happy (early) Valentine’s Day! ❤
PS: to the guy who probably thinks I’m a psycho for deleting him after telling him he sucks for not purchasing an Audi or Mercedes-Benz…you dodged a bullet. THIS TIME.