#app dating

[libero-de-mente]

App Dating /1

Posso fare una domanda alle donne?

Leggendo le bio in alcune App Dating ho letto:

- Dolce ma amara

- Tenera ma dura

- Semplice ma complicata

- Solare ma lunatica

- Romantica ma razionalista

Or dunque, io non c’ho capito nulla.

Ma che volete dire?

[sarcasticbabywhispererjess]

My prompt was referencing not being able to make decisions about places to eat or major purchases (ie. the couch I still haven’t purchased), not which mediocre man I’d allow to impregnate me. It is most definitely not going to be you, Kenn. Sorry, but not sorry I won’t be fulfilling your breeding kink or Quiverfull goals. 🤢 I’m honestly not sure your genes need to make it to the next generation.

[morelikeokstupid]

[eerythingisshaka]

3 years of a situationship and you think you’re BOTH monogamous?

[readyformylastfirstdate]

My main advice to anyone using dating apps...

Not getting a match? Keep swiping.

Went on a date and it sucked? Keep swiping.

Went on a date and it was great but it’s been a few days and you haven’t heard from them? Keep swiping.

A big part of me really hates the never-ending swipe - it’s problematic to modern dating. But the unfortunate truth is, it’s also really helpful when you feel stuck in a dating rut. 

[gingerambition]

Ginger vs. Do I Have a Type?

If you gathered the small group of guys I’ve been in relationships with you’d quickly realize they don’t look anything alike, and personality-wise I’d say the only thing they have in common is being very smart, but annoying drunks. I’ve been in Facebook official relationships with a ginger who had varsity letters in five sports, a West Point grad who wanted an industrial bar piercing, and an introverted software engineer. 

Apparently the guys I’ve been attracted to the past couple of years tend to look younger than their actual ages. I realize how super fucking creepy that sounds, but before you call Benson and Stabler, picture actors in their mid to late 20′s that play like college students, that’s what I mean. Maybe that’s from years of flight seatmates asking which colleges I’m applying to, years after graduation, or how prone my fair (read: super pale) skin is to beard burn. Regardless, the “hot” guys I literally point out to my friends look like they could be running for homecoming court or proofreading their valedictorian speeches. I’m talking tall, stick figure like builds, skin so soft they must only watch Jennifer Aniston’s Aveeno commercials, topped off with a full head of boyband-esque hair and a curfew I assume is 2 a.m. Now I’m really trying to treat single life like one big opposite day.

I’m also trying to lower my standards. Not like slutty college peak where I’d sleep with guys for their air conditioning in the summer, low standards. I used to live in a third floor glorified closet that was legally not allowed to be leased as a bedroom. So it was whoever maintained eye contact with me even after they’d seen me dance, or I would sleep on the fire escape half-naked. Either way someone was seeing my boobs whether they wanted to or not. Maybe I should phrase that as expanding my standards. When I was younger (I know I’m still young, by the time I’m 80 we’ll all just be half robots anyway) I thought smoking or too many tattoos would be a deal breaker. Now I think my only deal breakers are maybe not be a devil worshipper or one of those guys that dances with glow sticks in parking lots.

In terms of physical type, I don’t think I have one. Just be taller than me and have four limbs. I don’t have a hair color or eye color preference – you know, all the stuff you decide with a custom American Girl doll. Glasses? No. Freckles? Maybe, if I can connect them with a marker. Prior to my prom king flub, I just preferred guys with what I call, “that baseball player forearm muscle thing,” where if a dude rolls his sleeves up any further the seams would bust open romance novel style. (This is where I have to remind myself to breathe.) Also if your jeans are tight on me, that’s kind of a bummer. Luckily I only wear leggings now, so if I pick up your leggings instead of mine, I think we have a bigger problem. 

Traditionally, I avoid facial hair after a bout in college where my skin would get so red it looked like I sucked face with a box of cherry popsicles. I have recently discovered a bizarre attraction to 80's-inspired police officer mustaches – not the real gun toting cops that let me out of speeding tickets when I cry, I mean the kind in porn (I’ve heard) or most Will Ferrel movies. At first I was worried that something happened in my childhood and I needed to seek professional help. After much soul searching and La Croix cut with white wine, I think I’ve just fallen asleep to so many episodes of Blue Bloods on Ion that Tom Selleck has replaced the good decision making portion of my brain. 

My parents have always thought I’ll ultimately end up with someone older. Apparently I've always erred on the side of being “a bit much” for guys my age. I had wanted to be married before 30, but change that to “just before I die” sounds like a far more realistic and obtainable timeline. When it comes to men and marriage I think it’s a lot like musical chairs. They all kind of dance around and when the music stops some random morning, whatever chair they were inside last is who gets a ring. I think I’ll backslide into my childhood dream of having a boyfriend in every country and just travel, while also being world a famous artist / professional volleyball player. Personality wise my lineup is longer than the Duggar’s grocery shopping list, so let’s leave it at asshole with a heart of gold. I need wit, I need ambition, I need passion, and I need to be able to take a guy places without feeling like I’m rushing him for a sorority or I’ve just adopted a puppy. 

Allow me a brief departure from my usual pessimistic and overall negative outlook on, well, most things, and let me voice a small starry-eyed and hopelessly romantic fantasy I cling to late at night when I’ve convinced myself I have restless leg syndrome and can’t sleep. This may sound crazy, but I do have a heart that craves more than vodka sodas and writing hilarious Yelp reviews. I want someone who finds me indescribably fascinating, who never stops asking me questions, who has the most infectious laugh, and looks at me like he’s trying to remember every thing about every moment. A mutual affinity for Taco Bell is also preferred. And now back to your regularly scheduled biting wit and sass.

Luckily I’m basically a pass / fail kinda gal, so as long as a dude has a more pros than cons I can temporarily overlook things like cocaine or describing hiking as spiritual. You could always slip me a $10 and everyone’s a winner. Wait, does that count as prostitution? Kinda into that. Christ, time for another Coors Light fueled and Sherlock Holmes level self-examination. Until next time. 

[libero-de-mente]

FantaChat Tinder

(terzo episodio)

- Ciao mi chiamo Xxxxxxx e scrivo da Xxxxx, tu?

- Piacere Xxxxxxx, mi chiamo Xxxx e sono di Xxxxxxx.

- Ho dato un sbirciata al tuo profilo, noto molta simpatia e attenzione ai particolari.

- Hai visto bene, sorridere aiuta. I particolari invece fanno la differenza.

- Giusto, per questo il mio ex ne ha pagato le conseguenze. Lo conobbi qui su Tinder. Ora si è cancellato era "tronchetto17".

- Perché tra voi è finita?

- Conobbi "granito23". I dettagli mio caro, i dettagli fanno la differenza e danno la misura della realtà.

- Ca-capisco...

- Tu? Cosa mi racconti di te, quale dettaglio mi vuoi far conoscere?

- Sono simpatico, la butto sull'ironia. Sono simpatico in modo smisurato.

- Cosa intendi per "ironia"?

- L'alterazione spesso paradossale, allo scopo di sottolineare la realtà di un fatto mediante l'apparente dissimulazione della sua vera natura o entità: fare dell'ironia che può essere bonaria, arguta; come può essere amara, crudele. Questo è.

- Da quant'è che non stai con una donna?

- Ho perso la misura del tempo.

- In quello che si misura può esserci o meno la felicità.

- La felicità sta annidata ovunque, anche nelle cose piccole.

- Questo lo dici tu. Più felicità ha bisogno di più spazi, dimensioni.

- Lo penso del cervello io.

- Sappiamo con che cervello ragionate voi maschi.

- Quindi?

- Quindi le dimensioni del cervello contano.

- Ok, farò test, magari quello di Standford-Binet, o il Wechsler Adult Intelligence Scale, oppure Matrici progressive di Raven, o ancora il Culture fair intelligence test di Cattel.

- Puoi sempre fare il Bjndhella international metric test. Giusto per avere una scala di paragone.

- Credo che io sia un tipo normale.

- Non puoi capire se tu sei normale, la normalità è una interpretazione personale, quello che per me è normale per te può non esserlo.

- Non so se continuare un discorso alla Sigmund Freud o alla Gigi Marzullo.

- Ma tu in una donna cosa noti come prima cosa?

- Te l'ho scritto: il cervello.

- Quindi saresti attratto solo dal cervello in una donna?

- Sono plusdotato.

- Interessante, lo sei di natura?

- No, solo dopo il polase e sicuramente dopo il secondo caffè... con questo caldo sono in bambola.

- Non so, non riesco a inquadrarti. Sembri un mix tra intelligenza e l'essere un cazzaro.

- Ho visto che sul tuo profilo hai scritto cose molto interessanti.

- Davvero? Le trovi interessanti?

- Si, però non capisco cosa c'entrino sempre le tue tette come sfondo alle tue frasi.

- Sono un sostegno, un rafforzativo dei pensieri.

- Sei seria?

- La verità e che voi maschi non leggereste manco una parole senza tette o culi.

- Ma io guardo al cervello.

- Sei neurologo forse?

- No, sono un fottuto romantico di sta ceppa.

- Ma allora dimmi, che ci fai su Tinder?

- Non è il luogo giusto, vero?

- Direi di no.

- Ecco perché i miei amici hanno trovato delle trombamiche con cui si divertono e io no.

- Tu cosa hai trovato?

- Io sono l'amico delle trombamiche di altri trombamici.

- In poche parole?

- Ho cominciato a scrivere.

- Perché?

- Per imparare a trasformare i miei sentimenti in un flusso costruttivo, fluido e narrativo per... per... no, in verità mi stanno tutti sul cazzo.

- E scrivendo cos'hai risolto, cos'hai imparato?

- Se la vita ti dà limoni fatti una limonata.

- Ho capito sei in astinenza.

- Si però anche voi, scusami, dove sono quelle donne che "a me piace l'uomo che mi fa ridere"?

- Semplice stanno ridendo, ma con un altro.

- Non mi resta che abbandonare le App Dating.

- E poi?

- E poi... chissà se esiste gnagna dopo Tinder.

- Allora buona fortuna, in fondo te la meriteresti.

- Cosa?

- La fortuna.

- Solo la fortuna?

- Si solo quella.

- Ciao.

- Ciao.

Fine delle trasmissioni.