Day 34

Well, it seems we officially reached critical mass on Day 33: 50 comments (and counting) on “Mr. Cut-and-Paste.” Damn, y’all do love a pile-on, don’t you?

Since I can no longer deny the necessity of a formal platform for this madness, I hope this means you’ll be as vocal and opinionated when I move these updates off of FB next week. Otherwise, I’m not sure I can justify staying up until the wee hours last night finalizing blog themes and color schemes…

Except, I had company. Virtual company, that is.

You see, in spite of his obvious messaging missteps, I felt so guilty about my lack of response to Mr. Cut-and-Paste (because, manners) that I found myself scanning my inbox for other signs of life that I could either compassionately cut loose or respond to appropriately (because, manners).

And there he was: a gent I’d had a few exchanges with in late August, whose last message I’d apparently missed, due to traveling. Assuming that he’d likely given up on me by this point, I sent a quick note, to at least assuage my guilt:

“Hey there, I’m really sorry for the delayed response; I’ve been away from NY—and Tinder—for the past week or so.”

Great. Now I’ve become Ms. Cut-and-Paste. I mean, it was true; but couldn’t I have personalized that, just a little bit? Whatever. I’ll do better next time. Dude has likely long since moved on, anyway. Clearly, I would have.

But 20 minutes later, there he was again, with an empathetic response:

“No worries—I get it. Tinder isn’t always a priority, plus, it’s draining at times. That being said, maybe we can skip Tinder altogether—text me at ________. Let’s grab a coffee or something.”

First thought: does this dude actually relate to my angst and now-ironic disdain for the “Dating Apocalypse?” (Thanks, Vanity Fair.) Second thought: What does he mean, “skip Tinder altogether”? He actually expects to *gasp* exchange numbers? And *gulp* text? Like, *clutches pearls* IN THE OLD DAYS?!?

I mean, was I ready for that type of intimacy, so soon? I haven’t even met this guy yet, and he wants my number? I don’t just run around, giving my number to every rando who asks for it. Who does he think he is???

Did I mention that I think too much?

I didn’t come here to think; I came here to date. So, after a few more glib exchanges, I reluctantly let down my guard and relinquished the digits, praying this wouldn’t be the beginning of a d**k pic bonanza…

Suffice to say, that wasn’t the case. He texted me immediately, sparking a conversation refreshingly free of impropriety or innuendo that lasted the next several hours and openly violated my (arbitrary and I stand by it) “no texting with non-intimates past 9:30 pm” rule.

We talked about Chicago, where I spent my childhood and he attended grad school, riffing on everything from Farrakhan to house music to Harold’s Fried Chicken. He told me about his six-year stint in the Marines—a slight red flag for me, not because I’m anti-military, but because my staunchly liberal philosophies are often at odds with military ethos. We discussed the obnoxious cost of making a life in New York (especially as a creative, which we now both are), and whether Tinder is indeed the end or beginning of romance.

That remains to be seen; but I can say this: I’m not sure this is someone I might’ve exchanged more than passing “hellos” with, were it not for Tinder. While he’s certainly a good-enough looking guy, I promise you that it wasn’t his pics, but his profile that caused me to swipe right.

“Here is an interesting human being,” I thought. “I’m not even sure I’m shopping for what he’s selling; but it’s such an eclectic assortment, I’d like to know more.”

Frankly, I thought I saw a bit of myself: Not scattered, but multi-faceted; not fractured, but fluid—someone adaptable, intelligent, multi-talented, and committed only to staying inspired. Again, that remains to be seen. But when I finally said goodnight to the man I will henceforth call “Nine Lives” (because he’s already led a few more than I have), I was grateful for having taken the chance to find out.

**And yes, I still cringe at the use of the term “sapiosexual” in a profile, but I’m giving this one a pass…for now.



About the author

Who me? I'm just your average Grammy-nominated goddess next door. May I borrow a cup of sugar? But seriously: I'm a musician, model, writer, all-around creative and devoted auntie. Like you, I'm just out here in the universe, trying to make it happen...whatever that is.