New Town, New Tinder Adventures

New Town, New Tinder Adventures

Last week was my birthday. I don’t typically even like to acknowledge the fact that I’m getting old, much less celebrate it, but this year was different, only because we used it as an excuse for an epic girls getaway. Well, as epic as a girls getaway can get when you have 30 hours available for it anyway. Still, it was amazing. We ate the most delicious food, enjoyed some wine tastings, did some winter hiking in the Colorado National Monument, and just left feeling completely restored and rested.

Actually, the other two-thirds of our trio was rested, I was dealing with some wicked insomnia and took the opportunity to tinder in a new state instead. I learned something new while tindering in Colorado though. Apparently smoking copious amounts of marijuana makes me hot AF! Let me clarify this, I wasn’t smoking copious amounts of marijuana, but rather these guys who smoke copious amounts of the stuff think I am, in their words:

  • A-Fucking-Dorable
  • Holy shit, you’re hot
  • The only way you’re a solid 2 is if this is on a scale of 0-1
  • Can you move here already?
  • I’d go Harvey Weinstein on you
  • 10/10 would smash
  • I bet you never pay for your own drinks (Fun fact: no guy has EVER paid for my drinks at a bar.)
  • I’d let you come home with me, and I don’t sleep with ugly women

Cool huh? So the THC level in your body directly affects my attractiveness. Nice. Actually, I already had my assumptions on this one, thanks to the year 2016, but I was 100% good with this theory NOT being confirmed.

Still, it’s good to know that if I need a quick boost to the old self-esteem, all I need to do is tinder in Colorado, except none of that nonsense means ANYTHING to me. I mean, sure it’s fun to hear (maybe not the Harvey Weinstein comment from a stranger though; that’s a little rapey), but it literally means nothing. Why? Because I don’t believe a word of it. You can say whatever you want about my appearance, and I won’t believe you mean it, because I don’t see it, and I’m going to write it off thinking you’re drunk, high, delusional, or desperate.

Want to know how to REALLY get inside my head? How to tell me something that I’m going to believe? Here are two of the BEST compliments I’ve ever received:

  • You are definitely not the typical *insert small town I live in* girl.
  • You’re not a typical person. Male or otherwise. Not many people I’ve ever come across understand the world in a clear way like you. No matter how you joke, it seems reality doesn’t escape you, which I believe to be a very, very rare thing.

Both of these compliments came from people who really don’t know much about me. I mean, they have a slight advantage over these people from tinder, and the dude from the bar, who throw out their pick up lines after a few minutes of back and forth messages or chatting, but these two compliments are MILES above the comments about my appearance, and I think I can speak for most girls when I say, if you want to make a lasting impression, don’t compliment my appearance, because I won’t believe it. Compliment my character or my mind, because I am brilliant, and I’ll appreciate that you notice that.

I took a tinder hiatus

I took a tinder hiatus

I took a little tinder hiatus. It didn’t last long though, because as luck would have it, I often have nothing better to do than mindlessly swipe. Yeah, I know, the house still needs cleaning, but is that REALLY better than mindlessly swiping? No, it’s not. I also let a few of my friends in on the swiping action, which may or may not have been a HUGE mistake, since I got some insanely strange matches out of their swiping.

The good, bad, and ugly (OK, there really isn’t any ugly, because my friends have insanely good taste in dudes) from the latest group effort in tinder matching, complete with their original grammar and spelling:

  • I’m just going to start by saying… I strip for money. And by money I mean free… and by strip I mean I like burritos. So needless to say… do you like burritos? (I mean, burritos aren’t exactly tacos or pho, but they’re a solid choice. Dude seems cool enough.)
  • I’m reading a book I just found. It’s kind of a psychological fast paced thriller called Green Eggs and Ham. It is about a diabolical little bastard named Sam I Am who keeps trying to ambush the main character and make him eat green eggs and ham even though the main character does not like them. It is very fast paced and it definitely has caught my attention. I can’t put the book down. I give it 4.5 stars. Highly recommended. It is written by one Dr. Theodore Seuss if you want to look it up. (I actually want to just go do shots with this sarcastic SOB. I feel like we could be great bitchy friends.)
  • I excel in killing spiders for helpless single women. Take a chance on me and I’ll surprise you. (I see why my spider hating friend swiped on this guy, so she can have this one, and I’ll continue to just kill my own spiders.)
  • Liker of things, doer of stuff. Breakfast foods are the best foods. (Yes, breakfast foods ARE the best foods! Sold!)
  • Dress normally and don’t have your septum pierced. I love st maarten, firearms, and the military. Let’s go to Ruth’s Chris. (Well….there’s a good way to flaunt your money without actually coming right out and saying it.)
  • Single Dad to a 10-year-old human. Here to date, not bang randalandoms (weird I know). (Ok…actually, I know you, and you’re a giant jackass, and you are too there to “bang randalandoms” but you keep telling yourself that you’re not if that’s what helps you sleep at night.)
  • Shaved beard; currently too hideous to change pictures. Recently single for the last 7 lifetimes. Ready to get back in to courting. Ladies: Please stop requesting d!ck pics (too tiny to be caught on film). (OMG, yep…this is hilarious! Too tiny to be caught on film…this is fan-freaking-tastic!)
  • Dude from my hometown with nothing but pictures of his kids on his tinder. (Really?! I mean, you actually work in law enforcement and think putting your minor children on mother f wording tinder is a good idea?!)

While I’m comforted knowing that when my friends swipe away for me, they too gravitate towards the sarcastic and funny options, the vast majority of the choices just leave me perfectly comfortable with continuing the tinder hiatus….except I won’t, because we’re going out of town this weekend, and group tindering with the best bitches after a wine tour just sounds too fun to pass up.

On watching your kid’s heart break

On watching your kid’s heart break

It’s a fact, you don’t make it through life unscathed. It chews you up and spits you out every chance it gets, but no matter what you’ve been through, it’s a special kind of hell watching your child be disappointed, let down, and hurt over and over and over again by people who are supposed to care.

I get heartbreak. It’s been one hell of a quarter century. Your parents don’t get divorced and force you to move away from your home in the middle of your Junior year without some heartbreak. You don’t find out you’re pregnant and give up on your dreams of being a litigator or doctor (I had some HUGE ambitions) without some heartbreak. You don’t consider an abortion, then change your mind, almost die in childbirth, wake up from a surgery that saved your life and left you unable to have children ever again, give up on dating because nobody wants to raise someone else’s kid in their early 20’s to God only knows at what age that’s not  a problem anymore, without ever having the option of having their own children and you just can’t take that rejection again, raise a kid completely on your own, and do everything you can to make sure that kid is never at a loss for life’s necessities without some freaking heartbreak.

My kid has an amazing extended family on my side. They included him in everything and always made every effort to make him feel important. The situation on the other side of the DNA couldn’t have been a more stark contrast though, and I couldn’t stand the thought of him thinking they didn’t care, so every Christmas, and every birthday, there was always something from Grandma Voldemort. (Obviously that’s not her name, and I’d call her Grandma Satan, but there were like 10 times in 19 years that she was actually kind to him.) “Grandma V” always sent gifts for Christmas. “Grandma V” always sent money in a card for his birthday. I carried on that charade for WAY longer than I ever should have had to. Back up….I never should have had to carry on that charade, because Grandma V should have ACTUALLY done those things. Still, it worked, because my kid thought Grandma V was a saint. He was under my carefully constructed illusion that she cared.

Grandma V was right up there on that pedestal that his dad was on, and every time he slips in to asshole mode and tells me that he had a horrible childhood, that he didn’t get to do ANYTHING fun growing up, that he “practically raised himself” because I was at work all the time, that it’s my fault he didn’t have a dad at home growing up, or anyone that wanted to be around me enough to act like a dad to him because I’m a bitch, I fight back the tears, and the urge to completely shatter his image of both of them. I’ve spent almost 2 decades wishing they would fall off that damn pedestal. For nearly 2 decades, I’ve wanted to be able to say to them “That first step off your high horse is going to be a bitch honey. Tuck and roll.”

I think they’ve finally stumbled. I don’t think the ground that pedestal is on is as firm as it once was, and the worst part about it is that instead of finally feeling vindicated, my mom heart is breaking in to a million pieces again. It kills me to have him call and ask “Did I get a card from Nana today,” or “Did I get any mail,” knowing full well that I didn’t send it this year, and she probably didn’t either. All I want to do is tell him the truth when he says “maybe it got lost in the mail,” but the truth is, his birthday was over a week ago, and even though someone (probably the other half of his DNA) has him under the impression that he’s getting one, that card just isn’t coming.

“Yeah bud, it’s probably lost in the mail,” I repeat back to him, because I get heartbreak, and I’m not going to be the one who breaks his.