Okay, so… I renewed the website. For 2 more years. Juicy stuff is still going on Patreon.
I still have no idea what I’m doing, but it feels good to be writing again, so ima do it.
Final Boss still owes me $1500 from an emergency vet bill, but he has covid too and last time it took him 18 months and a screaming witch fit from me to get my money back. I never learn, but I love that dog so…
I have other places that energy needs to go, and I have that money spent already. New laptop, new winter coat and paying off the credit card bill from leaving that island. I have a bad feeling he won’t pay me back until the winter coat thing is moot. Laptop continues to limp and I can access my secret stash to pay off the credit card, no point in accruing interest just because I am being stubborn.
Not only did I renew the website but I cleaned out my gmail (6000+ promotional and social emails) all before I shower so I can go get the wispy remnants of Chewbacca removed from between my legs.
Being back in Hamilton has its advantages. My favorite wax girl is here, plus my nails haven’t looked this pretty since Texas and I can run all my errands in varying circles. I know where to go if I need gas, groceries, pretty smelling candles and a haircut. There’s a logical circuit for everything.
Also, because I am in one place (relatively speaking) for the foreseeable future, I went back on Tinder, at the worst possible time. Right before I went back to work and just as the holiday season was ramping up. Made the whole ‘finding time for first dates thing’ pretty difficult, but it did weed out some assholes. Dude simmer.
The pic posted with this article is just a screengrab from the interwebz, but I did actually meet a cop who thought that me being a stripper was a ‘conflict of interest’…um excuse me, sir….’you know my job is perfectly legal, right?’
Whateves.
I got an avalanche of the standard “hey” messages. Ignored those.
A few other ones couldn’t make it much past their first patented line,
ie. [insert something clever] I’d respond, and the next message is invariably “do you have snapchat”.
Ya, I do and no, you can’t have it. I don’t want to see strange dick, ever.
I have a pic saved on my old phone, from the first time I ever tried Tinder. It is Panda making a bad face and pointing her finger at me, reminding me to stay off Tinder and pack for our move.
I think that was when I met the Lumberjack. But I don’t rightly remember. He would have been a spectacular boyfriend if he didn’t already have a girlfriend the entire fucking year he was pretending to be my boyfriend.
I think they have kids now, good for them.
I have learned a lot since then.
This is my 4th foray into Tinderland, since 2016 but the one time I tried in Newfoundland was so bad, can we just not count it? And one other time I think I lasted less than 48 hours, so that doesn’t really count either.
My expectations were buried somewhere below the floor and just a scooch above the fiery pits of hell, so it was uncomfortably warm but not burning. Faithful readers will remember such lovely incidents as the time I got sexually assaulted in a parking lot by a fake dom and a few other disaster stories. But I think Tinder is like labor and delivery, or a mall on Boxing day. Enough time passes and you forget how bad it was so you try it again.
I described my last sexual encounter to my roommate as ‘you know when there’s a fish flopping around in the bottom of a boat? I was the boat.’
So like I said, the bar was well below the floor. And vagina was hangry, so I tried anyway.
I truly don’t think it’s too much to ask for a dude that makes me laugh, can hold a conversation and has something I can at least work with in bed. Headboard is optional. I am not looking for a husband, just a snugglefuck buddy. I give zero fucks about credit scores and cars. Just be nice, don’t ghost and know how to fuck, somewhat… I am a really good teacher, but there is only so much I can do.
My last 2 ‘boyfriends’ were
1. In prison for half the relationship
2. Married and far, far away.
Does anyone remember that old SNL skit…lowered expectations? Ya, that was me after 3 and a half years (collectively) of the above coupled with my previous adventures in Tinderland.
And yet again, all I wanted was just something like I had with Young Un the First all those years ago. See each other a couple times a week, occasional outside dates, lots of inside dinners and movies, then he would switch into sexy beast mode, fuck my brains out, sleep, repeat.
Speaking of the time called ‘before’, I stumbled upon 2 exes in the app, we had good chats, but I hath been there and I hath done that. Nice to check in and congratulate each other on surviving and thriving thus far. It warms my heart to see them both doing incredibly well. And it is nice to be remembered so fondly.
Don’t look back, you aren’t going that way.
But back to the present. Matched with 50+ dudes. Talked to a dozen of them. Actually vibed with 3. Deleted the rest.
Made dates, one by one.
I got flat out stood up by the first one.
Block.
Next.
Had a mediocre date that was completely spark-less.
Polite goodbye.
The third was a gem of a metrosexual pretty boy who talked over top of me and said things that made my vagina slam shut audibly. He then begrudged me the singular taco and 2 drinks I had, (I offered to pay dude) and decided to blow up my phone with semi literate angry texts and several phone calls before I blocked him. He didn’t want to eat because he didn’t want to mess up his beard, spent the entire time explaining why he is so pretty (he wasn’t really) and also said that attractive blond men were more sexually targeted and assaulted than women. This was in response to me turning down a ride home after I said I was ready to leave. See why my vagina was having none of that?
Block, rinse, repeat.
I almost deleted the app, but decided to clean the slate and start over.
Glad I did.
I haven’t altered the rules of engagement as far as Tinder goes. I get myself to and from the first date. I always have enough cash in my purse to pay for my food. Uber is a godsend to single women everywhere, except when it isn’t. Long gone are the days when I would suffer through a bad date. I have zero issue putting money down on the table and saying ‘this isn’t working for me, good luck with everything’.
And, it’s still a 3 date minimum before sexy time. I’ve found that one night stands are statistically disappointing and we all know I have a pretty healthy selection of sex toys and exes if the itch gets that bad.
Many moons ago, I broke that rule. For no other reason than I just felt like it. I fucked someone on the first date, while truly believing it was going to be the last, and he pleasantly surprised me by showing up the next day and the day after that. About a month later we had the boyfriend girlfriend conversation and that was that. So began the Chronicles of Cruz. I did a thing and it worked out. I felt safe and comfortable and god dammit, I was horny and he smelled good. And that went fine for 6 months, until it didn’t. I ended up with a drawer at his house and he ended up with a drinking problem, so I emptied the drawer and I left.
No hard feelings, no regrets.
In spite of my historically disastrous tours on Tinder and the trifecta of meh dates, I went on one more. No idea why
Actually, that’s a lie, I do know why.
This one had big dick energy, was wickedly clever when we spoke and, at least in his pictures, bore a striking resemblance to the Darkling from Shadow and Bone. This theory was tested after the second time we fucked on the first date when I pulled a pic of Ben Barnes and held it up next to his face. Mine is actually hotter, mostly because he is real. But the resemblance is pretty uncanny. Doppelganger really.
We had our 3rd date the day before yesterday. The sex continues to impress and the company is spectacular. We fucked while watching Team America and giggling uncontrollably. It was hilarious, ludicrous and quite divine.
And exactly what I needed.
