Love Me Tinder

Sometimes, I sit alone. For too long. And my mind starts to wander and wonder what things might be like piano was my boss and what big teeth he'd have, or what a world would be like if not wearing a wig was freakish.

But today, I've been thinking about dating. Dating reminds me of basketball in the sense that it is a sport in which I suck. My layups always miss their mark, my jock is always too tight and just when the game is supposed to get started, I realize that I've left my basketball shoes at home which causes my mother to yell at me and ask "where is your head?!" Only these days, I'm the one wondering where my head is. Well, today, it's on Tinder.

For those of you who have been happily together so long that you've entirely missed the wonderful, mystical, frightening, disheartening and delicious world of online dating/hooking-up, or those of you who live in prison cells with no access to the Web, or those of you dwelling in small shacks where you carve the teeth that have decayed out of your mouth into toys for your brood and where the Internet simply doesn't reach–let me explain.

Tinder is a dating app where people that are currently advertising their blowjob skills on hook-up apps come to pretend that they are wholesome farmers looking for a new Mrs. to replace their sweet widow Betsy. And Betsy is their recently deceased Pomeranian. That pretty much explains it, but let me get to the mechanics.

It's simple. You scroll through a bunch of peoples' faces (to reference previous analogies, this is the other basketball team, or your potential dating pool.) Basically, if anyone is looking for anything and they're in a 20-mile radius of you, you'll scroll past their face on Tinder. Next, you have a choice–based on this face, and this individual's one-line biography, stating that he "enjoys cold runs in the desert and the occasional gummy bear" you decide whether or not you ever want to see his face again. Literally, if you look at his picture and choose to use your thumb to swipe left across his face, you will never see it again unless he happens to be your doctor, then you might skip the date and go straight to a rectal exam upon your next visit (true story). If you choose to swipe right however, you spin the wheel of fate and sit back (for approximately 1.5 seconds, with no actual wheel turning or any fanfare) to wait to see if this person also swiped your face in the right direction. If they did, then you're faced with one of life's big choices. Tinder says "Congratulations! You've matched with SubBasement of Love (profile name changed to protect the innocent,) do you want to message him now, or keeeeeeeeep swiiiiping!?"

What a choice! Message the man who also enjoys gummy bears (or at least is attracted to men who like the occasional one) AND has also swiped my face to the right? OR, do I keep playing this addicting new game of personality roulette and keep swiping? And, you don't have to worry too much if you swipe right due to drunkenness, loneliness, or being hangry–you can always reject them later. It's just a face, get rid of that thing!

So, I began to wonder what it would be like if I had the immense power of Tinder in my normal life. What would a typical day be like if I were able to swipe left and right?

I woke up late this Monday morning. Going out partying on Sunday is the trick of the non-nine-to-fiver on the rest of the world. And I probably shouldn't have had those two whisky shots.

There was a particular abandon about me in the past, a wild streak, that's been beaten out of me. Now, I wonder whether I shouldn't just swipe left on the world and find a cabin in the woods in some state that no one wants to live in, like New Jersey or West Virginia. But, that's probably because I haven't had enough coffee, and in any case probably sounds a lot nicer than it really is. Who wants to shit in a hole they dig themselves, really? If I'm gonna shit in a hole, someone else is digging it. I'm a lady after all.

Ugh. I look at my puffy face in the mirror. I can't take it. Who wants to see that face? Jason, remember, it's just because you went out too late. Don't make any rash decisions until you've had coffee. You'll never see yourself in the mirror again if you...[swipe left.]

After putting on what I hope is a nice outfit, since I can no longer see myself, I leave my building to head to the subway. At this time of morning, I just blindly swipe left to every face I see. I never have enough coffee and am rarely awake enough to face the world at this time. Surprisingly, no matter how many faces I swipe left on, more show up the next morning. It's surprising we have anyone working these days with all the procreation going on.

Once I get to the station, I swipe my way through anyone in my way until I get to the place I stand to wait for the train when I've had too little coffee. It's like I'm a Monarch butterfly who just knows his way instinctively to the dirty subway pole he leans on, and just heads there without even having to look.

My train arrives, and I find a seat. Taking a sip from my travel mug, I look around at the faces seated on the periwinkle blue benches. Being gay, I swipe left on all the female faces immediately. That clears out half the train in seconds. Who remains? Puffy man in even puffier vest [swipe left.] Thug kid with tattoos and tantalizingly tight pants...[swipe right???]...nope, he has ear plugs bigger than my grandmother's china. When we're retired, I can rest my arms in his earlobes while waiting at the DMV. Nope [swipe left.] Oh wait, this last one's cute.  Shit, that's a woman. Missed her. [Swipe left.]

Well, looks like I'm alone on the train again. Am I too superficial? Or have I just been desensitized? While trying to decide I position my thumb into swiping pose waiting for the next person to board the train.

I spend two straight meetings at work totally alone in a conference room after swiping away everyone who could make a decision about our current project. Guess we're delayed again....

In my last meeting of the day, I anxiously sat across the table from my work crush, whom I'd swiped right for, but he never spoke. Apparently, he couldn't decide whether to swipe left or right for the entire hour, despite my slow strip tease and light whispers of "to the the right" in his ear.

I spent my solitary subway ride home thinking about Hector, the Colombian immigrant who needed a green card that I'd swiped left on earlier this month. Perhaps I was hasty? If I'd only had more self-control, Hector could be taking his citizenship exam right now and I could be the new Mr. Jason Lawrence-Escobar and heir to quite a fortune.

Now I'm re-reading this blog [swipe left.]


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