Tindr, Grindr, Growlr and the death of the letter ‘E’
So I recently made the leap in to micromanaged online dating. Gone is the step by step profile where I eloquently lay out my banality. Instead it is replaced by summing up my mediocrity in 500 characters or less and places me on a basis of proximity. Apparently distance seems to equal desire to fuck.
Let’s just make sure I have all my tools ready.
- Mirror selfie with meticulously placed hair
- About Me with the depth of a Clifford the Big Red Dog book.
- Boxes ticked detailing which of the many gay scenes I’m super in to.
Inbox ready to accept dick picks
So for an old school nerd who was brought up on indie movies and folk records you can understand why these apps do as much for me as a bucket on the Titanic. It’s not for me. I tried. Maybe for some people getting messages like this does something for them.
“Woof!” // “Grrrr!” // “Fuck?” and “Nothing about sex scares me,(Everything about sex scares me) so how about we try something fun?”
But not me. I’m not really sure what’s wrong with me. I’m young, single and staying in for a good time. I guess I quickly realised that this stuff isn’t me. I can’t take a semi naked selfie and invite someone over to fuck. Ultimately I suffer for it.
Tindr is a new development for me, it doesn’t seem to be so based on sex. Not so far anyway. So far I’m basing all of my decisions on mutual interests which is cool, but it’s terrifying. I can’t make first contact on these things so when I swipe right and it’s a match I jump out of my skin. What on Earth do I do? Apparently throwing my phone in to the laundry basket wasn’t the right choice…that might have been due to the charger it was attached to.
Other than getting over it I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know how many more nights I can spend alone in my room listening to early 00s Pop Punk. I can feel my sanity flying out the window in a haze of common chords and teen angst. I’m twenty fucking six. I should be at cocktail parties and weekend BBQs getting set the fuck up. Or so the world tells me.
Now, the question I’m often asked is “Do you even want a boyfriend?” Hell yes I do. I want a kick ass boyfriend who goes to gigs with me and likes my friends and isn’t going to be a dick about going to a museum and just likes me. Even that feels like way too much to ask of someone. I feel like I need to make up some idealised version of myself, or who I think guys would be in to. And I worry guys who are in to me are in to me because I fall in to this cub/chub category and I just want to tell them there’s way more to me than a beard and my excellent collection of flannel shirts. I’m a mess. But I can be fun. And by most standards I have a terrible music taste, but I like it. I only wear band t-shirts because they’re comfortable and it’s all I’ve worn for the past 14 years. Ditto flannels. I own like one adult pair of shoes and I rarely buy new underwear. I can’t do a sensible food shopping. And you get the point. How the crap do I sell this to people? “Hey bro, I don’t know the first thing about being a person, but we like the same two movies so swipe right!”
I’m overthinking all of this, but that’s what I do. So next time you’re having a cocktail party or a weekend BBQ invite me. In fact, you should probably physically come and get me because if not I’ll make some excuse and stay in bed eating popcorn from a fucking casserole dish.
Tonight I witnessed a truly awful reaction to Scotland’s referendum result. I work just off George Square where pro-union loyalists began to incite acts of violence.
We didn’t see much of the horror that has been reported, just hundreds of police, people marching whilst singing racist songs. The reports that I have heard are shocking, a stabbing, multiple arrests, the attempted burning of The Herald Newspaper building.
You’d be forgiven if you confused Scotland yesterday and Scotland today as two different countries.
I had to shut my work early so I could get my staff out safely. I’m still really tense and angry at what has happened tonight.
Just find me a guy who looks like George Petit, will go to kick ass gigs with me and is cool with letting me watch old movies all the time.
I can give burritos. That’s my contribution to relationships.
Dating is the worst. Don’t do it.
Only one is a wanderer, two together are always going somewhere