Yes, I’m off OKCupid. But I’m still online with the Tinder app. I figure, why not use an app that was designed to facilitate immediacy? Well, no surprise that it hasn’t yielded as much of that as I’d hoped. But I have found the men to be slightly more…game.
Thursday evening I met a gentleman from Tinder at the Punk Magazine 40th Anniversary Show at HOWL Happening Gallery. Proving himself to be a true iconoclast, he showed up at the all motorcycle-jackets-and-tight-jeans event in oatmeal-toned Indian garb. It was a frigid night and he was in sandals. Barefoot. Okay, I can groove with your “Oh, I’m so different” deal, dude; I’m different too. We looked at the art, I introduced him to a few people and then we drifted to 2A, where he more than held his own with some of my slightly mouthier friends. I thought we were getting along pretty well, if not spot-on perfectly. I offered him the “It’s probably best not to talk about your ex-wife on a first date” advice and he admitted I was his first. Date. He apologized for texting his daughter and it didn’t bother me. For the first hour. In the end, I’d enjoyed his company. We weren’t much of a match but I would’ve included him in just about any social gathering in the future. (And would’ve loved to introduce him to other women.) When he left I thought he felt the same. Apparently he didn’t because after a few steps out the door he began texting me somewhat nasty stuff. I responded with a “Dude, go home, you’re drunk” and suggested we communicate in the morning. He’d consumed three pint glasses of double-shot Cuba Libres and I just figured, eh, he’s sloshed. But he kept on. So I unmatched him. Who needs that shit?
Date number two had been arranged for Thursday night and we were gonna meet up, just the two of us, until a friend texted that she’d been served divorce papers. “I need a drink,” she told me. “Join me?” I texted the guy and he had no problem with it. He even said he’d buy her a drink himself. Well he did. A bunch. He bought drinks for me, for her, for her male friend. I don’t think I’ve ever had a date throw that much cash around. I mean, I’ve been on coffee dates where the dude didn’t even pay for my Americano! I am soooo far from a money-freak but man, that was a refreshing change! We had a blast. Truly. He was the most fun date I can remember. In New York, anyway. I was his first date (What is it with me and the just-divorced virgins?!) and his “profile” was the sincere admission “Not sure why I’m on here. Just looking for friendship.” I got no problem with that. I’m hoping he’ll show up at Happy Hour on Wednesday. He asked if he could bring a bunch of his friends. Now that’s what I’m talking about!
And last night I met up with number three. He was just as entertaining and engaging as the others. Smart, interesting…and interested. And there I had it. I could interest and engage. But that may not be such a good thing. Both #2 and #3 were interested enough. Yet I wasn’t. Sure, in friendship. But beyond that. No. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel like having sex again. In the past five years I’ve felt motivated in that direction with exactly three men. And had sex exactly four times. That’s not a lot. It’s actually kinda embarrassing. Especially from a self-admitted former slut. I don’t know how to handle myself. Last night’s date challenged me: If that’s how I feel, why was I bothering? Because I’m an optimist? I keep hoping? I’ve said so many times that meeting in person is the only way to know and then…meeting in person…I’m still left cold. Not by the men but by my libido. Or lack thereof.
I felt physically attracted to someone fairly recently. Someone taller and older and, sadly, 3,000 miles away. Well, he wasn’t at the time. But he is now. So I’m going to maintain my optimism. I’m going to continue hoping. And, quite probably, continue disappointing the men who’ve swiped right in hopes of meeting someone fun and interesting (done and done) and having sex with her (not so done). Surely one of them might be the one?