So in between all the bar stuff I’ve been doing, I’ve still been dating. I’m no longer using OKCupid. I’ve moved on to Tinder. I was hoping that it would offer more immediacy but, well, New Yorkers are busy people. Instead of instant gratification, which is how its gay predecessor worked (hot guy nearby, click, match, blowjob!), it seems to be the same as all the dating sites: much back-and-forth and multiple opportunities for misunderstandings and miscommunications. The most irritating aspect of this app is that people can disappear. Or in the current vernacular, “ghost.” You can be having a conversation one minute and then, moments later, the “match” can be gone, with no record of your having ever communicated. But that’s also a bonus; if someone is offensive or rude, all it takes is a quick “unmatch” and, poof, they’re gone. Even more odd, they can show up again in your match pool. You’d think the algorithm would know you’d already unmatched the person. Sigh. Technology.
Many of the men live in random suburbs, having married and moved away to raise their kids. Now they find themselves living in crappy apartments and making an unnecessary commute from nowheresville. I’ve enjoyed just about everyone I’ve met yet no one has managed to inspire my dormant libido. A few have been outright crazies, as this gentleman below. All typos and weird returns as originally communicated:
You have no idea.
I suppose I don’t.
Detest texting. 213-269-XXXX. My abmition as of this morning is to fuck a girl who might vote for Trump – that isn’t you but happy to have a drink. 213-268-XXX (213 is correct)
Does that mean I’m supposed to call you? I don’t want to disturb your Trump-voter-fucking. (He clicked on the little green heart to indicate that he “liked” that response, I suppose.)
If I can change one vote w
If I can change one vote…ready to sacrifice myself for country.
I’m ready to sacrifice myself for my country.
I’ll be in the downstairs party room of Jimmy’s BBQ tonight after 6 if you’re free.
Union Square, 16th Street.
If I can make it I will. I’ll look for you.
Are you able to make it tonight?
(Five hours later…) Guess not. Hope you found your Trumpet!
Hey Girl – bad day and Sorry. Feel flimsy no such hero ankle deep sewage of turkey life. Insurance co. refuses to reimburse -vet to supply right Cert. – landlord to leave me
In peace – asst to show up – daughter to get out of bed. And now being praised for fucking Trumpets on Weds before dark? I’m sort of embarrassed. taken for my better so ill hush and wait for Hillary say she killed Vincent foster so Bernie can save us.Ttake a rain check? Id really like that.
What does that even mean?
Which part? Though I like the “even.”
References to torpid days – and to surviving scandal. As innocent as O J? Sure. All forgotten? Of course.
I don’t know what you’re talking about. The days are not yet torpid.
My day the other day was like that – not the weather. I was looking for a stranger to console me.
I think it’s time to “unmatch” ol’ Joe here!
The best date was with the Colbert stagehand dude (waves hello) who invited me to see Iggy Pop. I think I already wrote about that, didn’t I? Anyway, we had two subsequent dates that I thought were fairly successful (though the second one involved my Manbun Meltdown). I just wish he lived closer. It’s tough to meet up after he finishes work at 8:30 when he has to take a train back to Connecticut. If he were local I think we might be seeing more of each other. I’ve invited him to join me for Brides of March. So we’ll see. I have a feeling that once the bar is up and running, I won’t have the time (or patience) for dating apps. Thank heavens. And who knows? Maybe I’ll meet someone in the real brick-and-mortar world. Er, bar!