I am on fire! Smokin’! Ablaze!
I am on Tinder.
I’d dabbled with Tinder before, out of curiosity, and out of my insatiable craving to connect, innocently enough, to other people. But, in my previous foray, as I was in a relationship, I deleted the app and my account at the first sign of “interest” from a member of the opposite sex. Using the app for same gender friendships proved unfruitful and I returned to a better playground; MeetUp.
As I am now wild and single and free, and not by choice, thank you, I’ve doused myself in starter fluid and lit the match, um, no pun intended!
I have rekindled my Tinder account, carefully arranged my photos offered by Facebook, and, so far, I’ve written and rewritten my bio a half dozen times, with a note to self to do so again. That done, mostly to my satisfaction, I started perusing the faces presented to me for judgment.
With Tinder, you anonymously “like”, or “dislike”, people who are also anonymously liking/disliking people. When two people anonymously “like” each other, it’s no longer anonymous, it’s a “match” and you both get a notification. And then you’re supposed to get to know each other better through an “in app” text and “moments” function (think Snapchat, but in an app where sex is not a taboo).
Late at night, in a hotel room in Boston, thousands of miles from home, after a couple of adult beverages, and I begin to question the whole practice. I’m not even reading some of the bios, I am just saying “no” based on a photograph, and one that was posted as “the best possible option”. I’m an open minded person, and suddenly, I feel like I’m judging people like I might artichokes at the grocery store, only the prettiest, most flawless! Goodness gracious, these are people, with personalities and souls! I feel shallow.
Then I begin to consider the act of “liking someone”, what are the implications? The expectations? I’m mindful of the fact I’m probably in break up rebound territory, though it has been a couple of months now since I last saw my now former sweetie, at this point, it’s been, like a day, since the official “break up text message”. I’m going to be cautious. I’m not here for a relationship, really, yet. True, I’m a hedonist, and a very physical and passionate girl, I enjoy the sins of the flesh, but I’m not into hookups, and I’m definitely not here for a hookup. I guess I’m here to connect, to foster friendships that may, if the chemistry, timing, and logistics are amenable, may, that is may, turn into something more.
So, yah, late night, alone, far from home, and a little buzzed; I’m choosing men like I choose shoes on Zappos, “that one is cute, that one is classic, those two are wild, that one is a pretty color, this one would look great with my handbag”. I feel like Becky Bloomwood in a whole new department store!
I awoke the next morning, a little groggy after, perhaps, a beer too many, and, I had a box full of matches and one really, really nice “moment”, or should I say “mmmmmmm-mmmmoment”? All from the east coast, where I don’t live. Whoops. I kind of figured the mileage it listed on the pictures was relative to my “home” locale, the west coast. Nope. I forgot, the flame logo of the app, reminiscent of the hell many of us are bound for, suggests a more sinister focus for some, so the mileage listed is the distance to instant gratification, if that’s what you’re into. I chatted, as is expected, one of my east coast guys excused himself from conversation upon finding out I was a decent west coast girl and not a hookup. And, for the record, I must have liked him after the last of my adult beverages when my eyesight and/or judgment were at their most impaired. The other east coast guy is super, duper, sweet and we’ve been chatting and chatting and chatting, ever since.
When I get home, back on my home coast, I scroll through a few more profiles, and click, click, click, within twenty-four hours, I have as many matches, all talking to me. I’m thinking a spreadsheet, or a database, or something is in order, to try to keep them all straight! A few disqualify themselves soon enough, as I’m sure I’ve been handily handed off by a handful, too. But, still, I am left with quite a number of seemingly genuine, interesting, good looking (even sober) guys who are chatty and asking really good questions and are maintaining quality conversations for extended periods, like days on end. Is this where they’ve been hiding all this time? In the flames of tinder?
Funny, Tinder has been in the news; on the cover of Forbes and the topic of a funny Buzzfeed article Candace Bushnell posted a link to on Facebook. I’m thinking that more Tinder-curious people will be signing up and logging on, things could get even more interesting!
All I know is, I haven’t been this popular since I wore a short pleated skirt and a tight sweater with a block letter and the school crest across my chest! I’ve never had so much open, free conversation about life, or sex, or life, or sex, or life, in, well, since the last weekend girls’ retreat. But these topics, with men, at this level of candidness? Never. It’s refreshing, and a little scary, a little overwhelming, and a little comforting, all at once. And I’m having fun! Lots and lots of fun! I love people, I love men, I love making new friends, and I love the excitement of thinking, “maybe, just maybe, …”
I am on fire!