Hooking up is hard to do.
You might say that's an improbable statement, what with us being the confident, prized ladies that we are. Or you might say it's a faulty notion, what with the plethora of peen (quality notwithstanding) readily available out there. And yet, my experience has not reflected such conditions.
Ever late to the game, I joined the ranks of Tinder a little less than two months ago in the hopes of, well, steamy encounters — but that's about as far as I was willing to set the threshold for expectations.
In that vein, I opted for the "men and women" setting ("Maybe you'll meet a new friend!" said my well-intentioned but somewhat obtuse mother). I also decided to let any potential hookups take the lead; I would just go with the flow and react as naturally as I could, as opposed to inciting action or voicing what it was I actually wanted. Read: I was skeptical and lazy.
Perhaps that was my first mistake. In truth and to this very moment, I really don't know what I want from an app like Tinder. So I left it up to the right-swipers. The problem is that I'm not sure they really know what they want either.
I submit Exhibit A, a fellow otherwise known as C, with whom I established good and sexy banter. We talked a lot about our favourite movies and liked the same sort, so naturally the conversation inched towards a Netflix-and-chill suggestion. I was getting excited now, in more than one way.
C cracked a couple of jokes about building a fort. Hooray! I thought this was a clear indication he wanted to make a blanket fort in my bedroom and watch movies by the Coen brothers. I was wrong. Our cute chat was now laser-focused on the structural integrity of said fort, consolidating our blankets and pillows, and wondering whether stuffed animals would compromise the validity of a plush fortress. Things got fairly serious — I was sending him links to tent frames online — and pretty much the opposite of sexy.
A lot of my in-app conversations seemed to be going this way — that is, the conversations with people that I didn't outright ignore due to terrible pickup lines and first impressions. (And my bar was low. Exhibit B: "Wazzzzzzupppp?!? :P:P:P." Sorry bro, I'm swiping left on your poor grammar.)
There was a lot of text-flirting, which is almost worse than ghosting. Like, are you that bored to string me along just to get off on words on-screen?
So I decide to be straight with another potential fling, D. One evening he texts me about how I am not a very good replier to texts. (Our relationship had progressed from in-app messages. That I think this is significant or even warrants the word "relationship" is indicative of how low my standard had become for so-called realness.) I tell D that I'm not really feeling a text-only relationship, and would he be interested in meeting for a drink.
D responds, "Haha. Drinks next week?" And of course I agree (very coquettishly, of course), but it's been almost three weeks since, and we have yet to set a date.
All the while I'm still rolling the proverbial boulder up the Tinder hill, trying not to lose spirit. The prospect of getting laid is a motivation unrivalled.
So I "keep playing" and, after thumbing through much on-screen muck, I finally land myself an unequivocal, indisputable date at a real bar with a man who, if he fell in a forest, would definitely make a sound — he exists. I meet B for a drink and sometime around the second swig of Malbec he tells me he's not looking for a casual hookup.
I felt my brow begin to furrow at the centre, but caught myself just short of full-on disappointment. (My second emotion was pure joy at the thought of the cold pizza waiting at home for me in the fridge — ah, now that's amore — the one true love a single gal can depend on; my cheesy rock.)
The date with B was going fine, and I'd even go as far as to say we shared genuine connection — something of a surprise, but a welcome one. Had I become so deeply embroiled in the Tinder game? Why should I be disappointed by his revelation?
B went on to say he never had sex on any of his Tinder-found first dates. This was contrary to what so many of my friends, coupled and single alike, had disclosed to me, and who had suggested Tinder as a mostly harmless way to suss out potential casual flings. Which is what I was looking for. Or so I thought.
But B had it figured out — in fact, all these guys had cracked the code: Tinder is what you make it. Now, if I can only pinpoint what it is that I want, I'll have decrypted online dating or hooking up or friendship (ahem, Mom) or whatever once and for all.
The post 50 worst tinder dates appeared first on Shedoesthecity.
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50 worst tinder dates http://ift.tt/1RQfvWw Sabrina Nanji
Hooking up is hard to do.
You might say that's an improbable statement, what with us being the confident, prized ladies that we are. Or you might say it's a faulty notion, what with the plethora of peen (quality notwithstanding) readily available out there. And yet, my experience has not reflected such conditions.
Ever late to the game, I joined the ranks of Tinder a little less than two months ago in the hopes of, well, steamy encounters — but that's about as far as I was willing to set the threshold for expectations.
In that vein, I opted for the "men and women" setting ("Maybe you'll meet a new friend!" said my well-intentioned but somewhat obtuse mother). I also decided to let any potential hookups take the lead; I would just go with the flow and react as naturally as I could, as opposed to inciting action or voicing what it was I actually wanted. Read: I was skeptical and lazy.
Perhaps that was my first mistake. In truth and to this very moment, I really don't know what I want from an app like Tinder. So I left it up to the right-swipers. The problem is that I'm not sure they really know what they want either.
I submit Exhibit A, a fellow otherwise known as C, with whom I established good and sexy banter. We talked a lot about our favourite movies and liked the same sort, so naturally the conversation inched towards a Netflix-and-chill suggestion. I was getting excited now, in more than one way.
C cracked a couple of jokes about building a fort. Hooray! I thought this was a clear indication he wanted to make a blanket fort in my bedroom and watch movies by the Coen brothers. I was wrong. Our cute chat was now laser-focused on the structural integrity of said fort, consolidating our blankets and pillows, and wondering whether stuffed animals would compromise the validity of a plush fortress. Things got fairly serious — I was sending him links to tent frames online — and pretty much the opposite of sexy.
A lot of my in-app conversations seemed to be going this way — that is, the conversations with people that I didn't outright ignore due to terrible pickup lines and first impressions. (And my bar was low. Exhibit B: "Wazzzzzzupppp?!? :P:P:P." Sorry bro, I'm swiping left on your poor grammar.)
There was a lot of text-flirting, which is almost worse than ghosting. Like, are you that bored to string me along just to get off on words on-screen?
So I decide to be straight with another potential fling, D. One evening he texts me about how I am not a very good replier to texts. (Our relationship had progressed from in-app messages. That I think this is significant or even warrants the word "relationship" is indicative of how low my standard had become for so-called realness.) I tell D that I'm not really feeling a text-only relationship, and would he be interested in meeting for a drink.
D responds, "Haha. Drinks next week?" And of course I agree (very coquettishly, of course), but it's been almost three weeks since, and we have yet to set a date.
All the while I'm still rolling the proverbial boulder up the Tinder hill, trying not to lose spirit. The prospect of getting laid is a motivation unrivalled.
So I "keep playing" and, after thumbing through much on-screen muck, I finally land myself an unequivocal, indisputable date at a real bar with a man who, if he fell in a forest, would definitely make a sound — he exists. I meet B for a drink and sometime around the second swig of Malbec he tells me he's not looking for a casual hookup.
I felt my brow begin to furrow at the centre, but caught myself just short of full-on disappointment. (My second emotion was pure joy at the thought of the cold pizza waiting at home for me in the fridge — ah, now that's amore — the one true love a single gal can depend on; my cheesy rock.)
The date with B was going fine, and I'd even go as far as to say we shared genuine connection — something of a surprise, but a welcome one. Had I become so deeply embroiled in the Tinder game? Why should I be disappointed by his revelation?
B went on to say he never had sex on any of his Tinder-found first dates. This was contrary to what so many of my friends, coupled and single alike, had disclosed to me, and who had suggested Tinder as a mostly harmless way to suss out potential casual flings. Which is what I was looking for. Or so I thought.
But B had it figured out — in fact, all these guys had cracked the code: Tinder is what you make it. Now, if I can only pinpoint what it is that I want, I'll have decrypted online dating or hooking up or friendship (ahem, Mom) or whatever once and for all.
The post 50 worst tinder dates appeared first on Shedoesthecity.