“The Rock Disaster Movie”

A while back, I went on two Tinder dates on one day. I have only posted about the second one so far. The first one was a little more mundane, at least on the first date.

This guy, we will call…. Badminton guy. Because he told me on our second date that he used to be a high level collegiate badminton player in India and almost went pro. Because I guess that’s a thing in India. And a friend of mine who has her own badminton net and no one to play with her always says she should go out with him so he will play badminton with her. But she doesn’t really want to go out with him, for reasons that will be explained shortly.

One funny thing that happened on my first date with Badminton guy is that we ran into the very same badminton-loving friend of mine, who lived in Baker at the time, on the street while we were going to Sweet Action to get some hipster ice cream. She was carrying a stack of books, one with the title “Teen Relationship Violence” or something dramatic like that and a picture of a girl with a black eye on the cover. It was for her thesis for her Ph.D., but she joked that it was her way of setting boundaries with random passersby in the street. Which cracked us up because we work in mental health. Badminton guy was not a therapist and not a native English speaker, so he did not get the joke and just said something about how people will think she is so studious with those books.

Anyway, date one was normal. Especially in contrast to the fact that immediately afterwards, I went on a date with that guy who showed up like 2 hours late and did a tongue-filled attack-makeout in the Lyft I begrudgingly shared with him.

The part where it stopped being normal is that after our first date, he wanted to text me and call me all the time. I think it was the day after our first date, I was grilling with some friends at my house and he sent me a bunch of texts, starting out normal with “how r u” (he had a good mastery of text speak for not being a 12-year-old from the U.S.) and gradually devolving into “I guess u just don’t want to talk to me :(” after a series of unrequited texts. My roommate told me that she wondered how many more non-response texts it would take for him to show up at my house and break down the door. Luckily, he didn’t know where my house was.

And he started calling me “baby” constantly, which I promptly had a talk with him about, but he kept doing it. But despite all this, I decided to give him another chance in the form of a second date because I tell myself that being overzealous is better than being underzealous (definitely not a word but I’m going with it).

So our second date started off when he picked me up at a friend’s birthday party picnic at City Park. Because he very specifically wanted to pick me up rather than meeting somewhere. This was complicated because of his lack of familiarity with Denver (like many bros I meet on Tinder, he had lived in Denver for less than three months at the time of this story) and communication barriers due to his less-than-perfect command of the English language and perhaps mine as well! After several complicated and annoying phone conversations, he finally found the spot in City Park where we were having the picnic. He then decided we should go somewhere with the best “American chicken wings” in town. I like the wings at Jake’s, so I decided to take him there. Where we awkwardly ran into one of the students I work with and his parents. Which is par for the course when I go to that place so I should have known better, and they are a really nice family, but still awkward.

Over the best “American chicken wings” ever, we talked about his badminton career, and how much money he makes. He was trying to impress me, I guess. He was a computer engineer for a diamond mining company. I guess that sort of thing exists other than just in the movies. He was also trying to convince me to go to Orlando with him because he had to go there for a month for work. I have a job, you see. Two of them. Also, it was summer, and Orlando is one of my least favorite places even in the winter, despite the fact that my heart is with all the victims in the recent Orlando tragedy and their families. Also, we are not there yet, at all.

But I decide to humor him and not just cut the date short right then and there. He wants to go to a movie. I remember there was some sort of halfway decent movie that was supposed to be playing at the Denver Pavillions downtown. We showed up, and any movie that would have been tolerable was sold out or playing in 2 hours. But he seems really committed to this movie plan, for reasons that I will discover later, and insists that we watch that terrible disaster movie with the Rock in a helicopter… San Andreas. I had to Google that, but it was the first thing that popped up when I entered “the rock disaster movie.” That might as well have been the title. But, as a consolation prize, it was in the theater there with the nice leather seats where you can recline a lot.

However, a little ways into the movie, I discover this is not a consolation prize, this just means that it is super annoying and cramp-tackular when he wants to hold my hand during the entire movie. I periodically shift around to get his claw-like grip off of me for brief intervals. Eventually, he gets bold and moves to full-on boob groping. Because that is the next step after hand-holding? Ugh. “The Rock Disaster Movie” as I will now call it, is also really long for a movie so lacking in plot, so this dance of periodically squirming out of his grasp and/or removing his hand from my breast goes on for much longer than I would like.

After the movie, I just feel grossed out and want to leave. Also, during all this physical contact, I determine that Badminton guy’s general scent is a lot of B.O. mixed with a lot of man perfume. Why do I always find the ones that bathe in cologne? Anyway, this wanting to leave is complicated by my stupid decision to let him pick me up and leave my car in City Park. But after minimal complaining, he agrees to drive me to my car. I tell him goodbye and that I don’t really think I want to do this again. He seems very sad and asks me what he did wrong. I can’t quite manage to put my finger on a kind way to say it at the time, so I just say that I don’t think we’re on the same page or something vague like that. And I drive off into City Park, where he will never find me. The end.





Pizza party back in full effect… or the time I had two Tinder dates back-to-back

Hello readers, sorry for the delay in posting, it’s been a busy summer so far! Busy and full of dudes.

So, I decided I was over being on pizza break, and hit Tinder with a vengeance. Because why not? I Tindered up a bunch of dudes and was just trying figure out how to fit them into my schedule when conditions aligned just right for me to have maximum Tinder dates in one day.

Due to recent ridiculous flooding in Denver and my own stupidity, I flooded my car engine by driving through too deep of water on the way to meet my friend to see Pitch Perfect 2. I did not see Pitch Perfect 2 that day, instead, I waited for a long time in the middle of the street to get my car towed. My mechanic is magical so he fixed it and everything, but it required drying the car out over the weekend. I was originally going to go camping, but without a car, that wasn’t happening. So I figured, why not set ’em up and knock ’em down by setting up two Tinder dates in one day?

The first dude was normal and only became a crazy person after the initial date, so I will save that one for later. The second date might be one of my most impressive first date stories.

So, I literally stacked these dates one after the other so I was walking into my second date, scheduled for 5pm happy hour, right on time. I realize, however, that bachelor #2 had texted me a few minutes beforehand saying he was running late. “I’m just getting back to my house and need to change, but I only live a couple of blocks from Historians so I will be right there.” Great, I tell him I’m already in the area and I will just get a spot on the patio. So I find a spot at the Historians Ale House in Baker, a place I suggested due to their excellent rooftop patio. There is a really nice group of people having a college graduation party up there, and they offer me drink tickets and we shoot the shit and hang out. For a long ass time. Finally, at 5:45pm, I get a text from this dude saying he’s on his way. I would have probably left at some point but I didn’t have a car to go home quickly and there were free drink tickets! Another half an hour passes and this dude shows up at 6:15pm. A full hour and 15 minutes later than our originally planned meeting time.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, “I was talking to my roommate.” Terrible excuse! You could have at least made up an excuse that sounded like you had some level of respect for me or my time or something. So I tell him that I have to leave at 7pm, which I do, because I am meeting a friend to go to a show, but we can sit there until then. I am also a little buzzed at this point due to the beers I have been drinking whilst waiting for this asshat.

So we talk, blah blah blah, he’s from South Carolina, he moved to Denver recently, he works in insurance, whatever. It would seem like a generally normal and appropriate date conversation except that during the 40 minutes we spent talking, he took not one but TWO phone calls. “Sorry, I have to get this,” he said, before each phone call. Like it was an important emergency or something. And both phone calls consisted of basically the same conversation, “Hey bro, what are you doing? I’m just having a drink with this girl, yeah, what are you up to later? Yeah, let’s link up later. I’ll holla at you in a bit.” You did not have to get that. If I was a cartoon character my eyes would have turned red and steam would have started coming out of my ears. But I was also kind of drunk so I just looked off into the distance behind him on the balcony and had flashbacks Friends with Benefits guy who always looked at his phone. Even he wasn’t this bad!

Anyway, I have pretty much had enough so I tell him I’m going to go get a Lyft to meet up with my friend. We’re going to a concert at Black Shirt Brewery, which is, incidentally, one of the better places to find the most bearded of Colorado bros in their natural habitat. Right as I am trying to leave, it is starting to rain, because Colorado has apparently become a floodplain. “I’m not tryin’ to walk home in this rain,” he says, and asks if he can share my Lyft for a few blocks because he only lives a few blocks over and it will be on the way. Fine, I figure it won’t be much harm to allow this. We go downstairs to wait by the door for the Lyft. “It’s coming in 5 minutes,” I tell him.

He suddenly realizes that he “really needs to go to the liquor store.” There is a liquor store right next door to the bar, but still. I tell him that I am leaving when the Lyft arrives so he’d better get his booze quickly if he still wants to get a ride. I figure I will go with him into the liquor store, and that’s where shit really gets weird. We go in the door and he is all high-fiving and bro-ing out with the liquor store guy and calling him “cuz.” We are standing there, waiting in line for him to buy his Crown Royal, and he goes, “What do you think, do you think I’m hot, do you think I’m cute?” He is actually sort of hot; but the kind of hot that gets uglier the more he opens his mouth, clearly. I tell him he looks “all right” because I don’t know what else to say to this fool. He says he thinks of himself as hot but he wants to hear me say it. What a douche! Then he says, “You want to date me, don’t you?” I can’t fake anything anymore and I just say, “No.” “Well, I don’t want to date you anyway, I just want to be your friend, I use Tinder to meet friends.” Ok… I tell him the Lyft is coming in one minute, because it is, and move to the door. He finishes paying just in time. As he walks out of the liquor store, gesturing towards me, he says the following to his bro-friend, the Vietnamese liquor store owner, “Look at how beautiful this girl is, I’m gonna marry this girl!” I keep walking, horrified, and pretend I didn’t hear that.

We get in the Lyft and during the 5-minute ride to his house, he keeps going on and on about how he can tell I am such a great person and have good vibes and I’m so beautiful and am I sure I want to go to this show with my friend and not come over his house instead? Yes, I’m going to the show. What about after the show? I’m going to hang out with my friend and go home. I’m going to text you later and we can link up, he says. Like I don’t have a choice in the matter. We get to his apartment, which is indeed about 4 blocks from Historians. It is also literally right across the street from my good friend’s house, so I now feel slightly concerned that I will run into this guy when I go to her house.

The Lyft stops and he keeps jabbering about hanging out later that night, and then does what I will call an “attack-makeout.” He literally lunges for my face with his mouth all open and tongue-y. It catches me off guard and I sort of kiss him back because it seems a bit dramatic to slap him. “Ooh girl, you nasty!” he says, and then reiterates that we are going to connect up later and finally gets out of the Lyft.

I apologize to the Lyft driver, who looks sort of scared. He later tells me he just moved to the U.S. a month ago from Bahrain. Poor guy, welcome to America, where all the dudes are dicks and do awkward shit in your car while you are just trying to make a buck!

I make it to Black Shirt Brewery, where I regale my friend with tales of my crazy ass dates while watching a band called Church Fire. They can best be described as “the sort of band that would be playing on top of a car at Burning Man.”

I don’t hear from bachelor #2 that night, which is a pleasant surprise. A few days later, he sends me a text saying “How’s your day?” I don’t even respond, figuring that the fadeaway is adequate in this situation. Learn social cues, dude! I also discover that my Lyft driver from that night gave me 5-star rating. Maybe he felt bad for me. Or maybe he just loves America… Happy Late 4th of July! ‘Merica!

Resume pizza break! And don’t be a douche in Denver, this town is too small for that…

So when I went on my pizza break, I never really had a defined ending point. I figured I would just see if I got bored of having a pizza break, or see if anyone that seemed worth my time came my way. The goal of the pizza break was to be open to possibilities in the man department, but not try hard. Which has been nice, let me just say. I’ve been referring to 2015 as “Don’t Give a Fuck 2015.” Which is not to say that I give no fucks about anything, but I am being selective about the fucks I give. Literally and figuratively. So I have been just minding my own business, enjoying my life, writing archival stories in my blog because there haven’t been any dudes all up on me.

Until a series of events transpired a couple weeks ago. I went out for a birthday celebration for one of my friends and met up with her and a bunch of her peeps, some of whom I didn’t know. This cohort of revelers included one dude who we will call “Undercover Bro,” because he didn’t really seem like a bro at first.

First of all, he didn’t even know my friend, he came with one of her hippie friends who was wearing a scarf that looked like cat paws the entire night. You know, those ones favored by 13-year-old girls where you can put your hands inside a flap and pretend they are paws? Yeah, this guy was his main associate, so I figured him to not be so much of a bro. Undercover bro’s “game,” if you will, was talking about feminism and gender roles, having a ridiculous sense of humor that nicely complimented mine, and getting me to give him rides. That type of game is apparently more effective on me than Tastycakes or love poems…. But, needless to say, these are not your typical bro moves. We had a surprising amount of very honest and interesting conversation in one night. I actually thought he was enjoying my personality, and he was all up on me the entire night at my friend’s party. Which ended when I drove him home at 4am and we made out in my car in front of his house. Which I drove him to because he has no car. He didn’t invite me in because it was late, but I kind of suspect he lives with his parents, in retrospect.

But whatever, we hung out one more time and then I think he lost interest because I didn’t sleep with him the second time we hung out? I tried to hang out with him again a couple times but he didn’t really seem to want to so I stopped trying. Whatever, clearly this undercover bro showed his true colors.

So this was the start of a month-long festival of “Denver is a small town” coincidences and other weird episodes that began the very same weekend I met this undercover bro dude.

A friend of mine, we’ll call her Lindsey (many women of my generation are named this, but this woman is not, in reality, named Lindsey) asks me in passing, “How do you know so-and-so?” So-and-so being a guy who she was talking to on Tinder who she saw was my facebook friend. That’s one of the joys of Tinder, you can judge people by their acquaintances on facebook and/or do recon on people by asking your mutual friends about them. Turns out, she was about to meet up with this guy who is my roommate’s ex, and someone who I am also connected to through my work. I told Lindsey she probably didn’t want none of that, not because he’s a bad guy, but because he’s not very motivated in life and wasn’t compatible with my roommate, and Lindsey and my roommate are friends and very similar people and so it would be weird and probably not work on several levels. And I totally forgot to tell my roommate, so Lindsey brought it up, thinking I already told her, which was also weird. Complicated.

This whole ex situation makes my roommate curious about Tinder, and somehow makes me want to go on Tinder. Also maybe the fact that I got rejected by undercover bro, maybe there were a few fucks given by accident about that. I will say this for Tinder, it boosts my confidence when I see how many dudes think I am attractive enough to theoretically bang. Anyway, my roomate seems curious, so my other roommate and I teach her how to play our favorite (and only?!) Tinder game, “Find the fish.” I think I have mentioned this before. It’s very simple. The first person to find a dude with a picture of himself holding a fish wins. I won, repeatedly. This caused me to get several Tinder matches in the process, several of whom started messaging me. I will come back to these later.

So, the next coincidence that happens is that my co-worker starts talking about how he ran into this guy at the dentist who works at another local nonprofit and sends out a lot of mass emails with his picture on them as part of his job. And how this dude was super awkward when my colleague introduced himself and told him he recognized him from the pictures. Unbeknownst to my co-worker, I had dated this guy years ago. And he was super awkward when I dated him. We went to a really good but sad independent movie at the Denver Film Festival, and I cried during the movie. Which made our already-awkward dating even more awkward.

Next coincidence, and this might be my favorite, I run into Wiener Problems Guy (see previous post, “Come on, little guy!”) at the DMV. He walks right by me we make eye contact for a split second, and he looks away like he’s seen a ghost and keeps walking. I almost start laughing out loud at his look of fear but luckily, the pervasive depressing and boring atmosphere of the DMV saves me from actually laughing and further embarrassing this poor little guy who can’t just can’t seem to recover from that wiener malfunction.

And the hits keep coming! This weekend, I go out for another friend’s birthday, and see my friend whose birthday I went to a few weeks ago. So, birthday friend number one and I are shooting the shit because birthday friend number two is late for her own birthday! Birthday friend number one says, what happened with that undercover bro guy you met at my party? I tell her he lost interest. She doesn’t seem that surprised and shows me a text from another girlfriend of hers that is a screenshot of undercover bro’s Tinder profile with the caption, “Isn’t this the guy who was all over your friend at your party?” Yes, it is. Hilarious. I don’t think I have seen him on Tinder myself yet, but who knows, I could have already swiped left on him.

Birthday friend number two arrives after a while and also asks me what happened with that undercover bro guy I met at birthday friend number one’s party. I also tell her he lost interest. She says she ran into him at the Ginn Mill with his bro-y friends the previous weekend. Sounds about right. All the pieces of the bro puzzle are coming together. The night I met him, he told me that the night before he had been at the ViewHouse. I made fun of him about that… I call that place the DoucheHouse because, well, you can figure it out. But I realize now that I was making fun of his whole lifestyle. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to hang out any more. I mean, in some ways, I think it must be nice to be 30 years old and not have a car and live with your parents and sell credit cards at the airport and go to LoDo every weekend. The only part of that sentence that is not a stated fact is the living with the parents part. So next time I’m at a bachelorette party or something in LoDo, or at the airport, I will be sure to see this dude. Awesome.

Other “Denver is a small town” sidebar. At least I’m straight. I’m pretty sure Denver is even smaller if you’re gay. The site of this story about birthday friend number two and her party was Hamburger Mary’s. I managed to run into both my old roommate and another friend I know through a different gay friend there that night. The two of them actually know each other, also. Basically, I feel like it would suck to be gay and try to avoid exes in this town. You could never go to Vinyl, Beer Bust, Tracks, or apparently Hamburger Mary’s.

Last but not least, the final cherry on top of my ridiculous return to sort-of almost-dating, and one of the reasons I am going back to no-fucks-given-pizza-break-mode is this. One of the more promising Tinder matches I was chatting with after my fish-finding episode keeps making it seem like he wants to hang out and then not messaging me back. He asks to hang out with me yesterday, and I suggest a time I’m available between other things I’ve got going on. “My wife gets back at 7 so I don’t think we’d have enough time if we got a drink at 5.” What the hell?!?! Don’t put that on your profile or anything, just drop it casually in conversation when you’re trying to set up a date! Jesus, man, Tinder is the worst place to cheat on your wife! I probably know her. Or her divorced/single/cheating on her husband friend is going to see you on there and rat you out. So the moral of this story is: Don’t be a douche in this town, not just for the usual reasons such as “being a douche is bad,” but for “Denver is a small town” reasons!

Just for the fellas: A treatise on penis photography

Hello, everyone. I hope you have all been enjoying your holiday season. And of course, no holiday is complete without some reference to dick pics… Right? Surely that’s a thing in this day and age.

Anyway, I have recently been hearing a lot about the strange phenomenon of the North American male dick pic. Men seem really into sending ladies pictures of their penises. And no offense, guys, but women don’t really want to see that. Penises are not beautiful and we are not really that into looking at them. At best, you see a dick pic and think, yup, there’s a dick. At worst, it is burned into your eyes forever.

For example, a friend of mine once got an unsolicited dick pic (is there any other kind? more on that later…) that was super weird-looking, like, it had weird coloring, probably due to some medical issue… but anyway, she got it and thought it was so hilarious that she saved it on her phone and showed it to a bunch of us at a party. And it was one of those ones that gets burned into your eyes forever. In retrospect, I’m not sure why I looked at it. Maybe dick pics are also reminiscent of car crashes. You know you don’t really want to see it, but you can’t seem to help yourself from looking anyway. But, the point is, dudes, this is what will happen when you send women dick pics without their consent; random girls and guys you don’t know will laugh at your dick at parties, or over happy hour. My friend (the recipient of the multicolored dick) was even saying she wanted to make a website dedicated to making fun of unsolicited dick pics. There probably already is one, but a) I don’t actually want to see that shit and b) I am using my parents’ computer and don’t really want that in their search history. Merry Christmas, Mom and Dad!

But I digress. The point is, don’t send random girls you haven’t met pictures of your wiener! I have also received a few of these beauties myself, many via Okcupid’s chat system. Thanks for that, nerds of Okcupid who invented that feature, a word of warning that you can send pictures over that thing would have been nice. Actually, the people who programmed the Ockupid chat function to enable photo-sending are probably guys, and probably thought about their fellow surprise dick-picking brethren when they made that more than they thought about the women who would log on to a multitude of windows popping up with dicks and messages starting with “sup?” And that is why I’m not on that site anymore. I ditched that one long before my latest pizza break.

So, again, where was I? Yes, my central thesis about when to send dick pics. There are two times when this seems to be advisable.

Acceptable Dick Pic Scenario 1:

I have heard that women do exist who will request dick pics from their partner when they are in a relationship. Something along the lines of, “Honey, I’m out of town for work and I miss you! Most specifically, I miss your penis! Will you send me a picture of Pookie so I can see that he misses me, too?” In this case, I would guess that said penis probably also has a nickname (maybe not Pookie). If it was me, I would probably just want to talk on the phone or attempt to have phone sex or sexy time Skype. But, to each their own. In conclusion, if asked, by all means give your ladyfriend the photos she desires! Then you won’t be having strangers laugh at your manhood until after you break up (or until you run for office)!

Acceptable Dick Pic Scenario 2:

You are gay and sending your member picture to another dude. Again, still recommended that you ask first, but my very informal and skewed-sample study of gay men who are also friends with me leads me to believe that in many cases, this is acceptable. Especially if you meet on Grindr.

If you do not find yourself in either of these situations, it is best to refrain from dick-picking. And by all means, do not use a photo of your dick as a get-to-know you icebreaker! If I don’t know you, there is no way that is the first part of you that I want to meet. That’s the equivalent of a dude in a trenchcoat whipping it out and then running away in the sketchy stairs of the library of my college campus. Believe it or not, this was an issue when I was in school at a certain liberal arts college in the South that will remain anonymous to protect the “indecent exposure guy.” That’s literally what they called him in the school newspaper.

I know, it’s tempting. I know that you think somehow this will prompt your victim to send you back some boob shots or full nudes. I know of exactly zero instances in which that has happened. I get the feeling that you don’t mind this, men of the early-weiner-shot-sending persuasion, having your dicks running around the internet everywhere. You are either just playing the (very low) odds that someone will respond favorably or like the feeling of showing off your mini-me that you are obviously very proud of, to innocent bystanders.

So lastly, if you are not willing to heed my advice and insist on sending wiener photos to women you don’t know well, at least follow these tips to make it less likely that your penis will be the running joke of her next girls’ night out.

1) Refrain from using objects for scale.  Your dick next to a pencil, cucumber, other phallic piece of produce, etc. does not lead us to marvel at it’s size, it just makes us laugh at you.

2) Don’t have outfits, piercings, tattoos, or drawings on or near your penis. And don’t wear underwear. A dick pic while wearing underwear isn’t even a dick pic, it’s just dumb. Also, Anthony Weiner, much?

3) Don’t include any text in conjunction with your picture. Also, no emoticons. I once knew someone who got a poorly-lit dick pic with the caption “U want this” …she most definitely did not. Relatedly, although the “moments” feature on Tinder (one of the dumbest features on Tinder, in my opinion, it’s basically a snapchat of a picture that immediately disappears, but all of your matches can see it) invites you to add text to any photo you put on there, do not take this as license to add text to your latest dick selfie. Also, don’t use the moments feature on Tinder to give your Tinder matches moments of your dick in the first place!

Which brings me to my last tip….

4) Put your best dick forward. Pay attention to lighting. Most dicks look best in soft, indirect light, but not with weird shadows… Never involve a mirror. Pay attention to your environment, as in, keep your pile of laundry, pit bull, stack of video games, Ninja Turtle sheets, etc. out of the photo.

The last thing that all of this makes me think of is one of my holiday favorites. Giving someone a dick in a box is pretty much the same thing as sending them a dick pic. Which, as Justin Timberlake can attest, makes a great gift for any occasion. To re-iterate my main point here, please note that the gentlemen in this video were presumably dating the recipients of their dicks in boxes.

Dick in a Box

I think that’s about all I’ve got for you today, dear readers. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Come on, little guy!

Here is a nice recent story for you. It happened last week. To start, maybe I should tell you that of late, I have pretty much stopped trying very hard in dating. And the best way to date when you don’t want to try hard is the wonderful invention called Tinder. Tinder is like a weird game or that website they used to have called hotornot.com, but for sex/dating. Actually, I just looked it up and I guess they still have hotornot.com and it is actually trying to make itself like Tinder with an app and all, and even with their branding. Very interesting. Sad for them, they invented the concept of Tinder but are reaping none of the rewards.

Ok, so first a few interesting sociological notes regarding Tinder. Tinder is a very interesting sample of the dudes of the United States. I never knew how many dudes nationwide catch large fish on boats and consider those pictures to be the very best pictures to showcase in their Tinder profiles. There are a lot of them. Lots of fish. Sometimes I play a game with my friends who are also on TInder called “find the fish” and the first one to find a guy with a picture containing a fish he caught wins.

The other thing I have learned about the men of America from Tinder is that there are some regional Tinder trends. In Denver, mostly every Tinder guy has a picture of himself skiing. In Boston, the most common pictures are at Red Sox games and at the beach. In Chicago, there seem to be a lot of dudes who want to be/are DJ’s because there are surprising amounts of pictures of guys on turntables. But pictures with fish and pictures at someone’s wedding seem to be universally regarded as the most suitable pictures to show the ladies how awesome you are on Tinder. Note to the fellas, the fishing pictures, potential phallic imagery aside, do not actually impress the ladies.

The other thing that I have noticed on Tinder is that it is a place for guys to request immediate sex delivery (sort of like pizza delivery) from women. I often get a new Tinder match that asks me what I am doing RIGHT NOW because he is lonely and horny so I need to come have sex with him within the hour or he will die! What?!?! And then I tell him no, and he un-matches me and disappears into the Tinder pool again. Do women actually take guys up on this? Even if I am going to have a one night stand with a guy, I usually at least want to go have a drink with him first to a) try to assess whether or not he is a murderer and b) at least feel a little bit like I am having sex with a person and not just using a vibrator.

Ok, enough commentary about the wonderful world of Tinder, on to my story. I started talking to a guy on Tinder who actually requested that I meet up with him for a drink, rather than come have sex with him NOW, which was nice. We go have a drink on a weeknight, and he lightly alludes to the fact that he would like to take me home but that he’s ok if I don’t want to do that right then because he likes me and doesn’t want to jeopardize hanging out with me in the future. He likes hanging out with me! He has a job! He has normal social skills and we have things to talk about! It’s all great, really. He is also new to Denver (see previous reference in my entry about the United States of Bros on the benefits of new baby Denver bros), so that’s fun because he is so impressed with all the places I take him and is so excited about how great Denver is and wants to do all these fun things that he has never done before in this town! Hooray, Denver! So we hang out several times, and I decide to let him come over, “just to fool around,” he says. Fine, great, let’s do that.

We commence “watching TV” aka making out and getting partially undressed. It’s good, we have good chemistry, I am enjoying myself and it seems he is, too. We start undressing a little more and he starts, as one of my dear friends so eloquently calls it, “fingerbanging” me. So I decide to return the favor and see about a hand job for him. Here is where the trouble starts. There is nothing going on in his pants. It is the opposite of a pants party. I try really hard to get him hard (haha, I’m funny) but nothing is happening. I also continually resist the urge to say, “Come on, little guy!” which keeps popping into my head and I know is definitely the wrong thing to say in this situation. He keeps apologizing and telling me it’s not because he’s not turned on, he thinks it’s because he’s been working out a lot lately, or watching too much porn. I don’t know how much porn it takes to make you have weiner issues with real women, but I have heard that that’s a thing.

I keep telling him it’s ok and not to worry about it. I feel bad for the little guy (both of them, really), so I decide I will be extra nice and try to give him a blow job. It starts helping a little bit, and I feel a little encouraged but I have to take a break. I go back to trying to give him a handy, and very suddenly we have the opposite problem, namely, a lot of jizz in my hand. At least it wasn’t on my face. I awkwardly go wash my hands and by the time I get back into the room, he is dressed and ready to leave. He says he’s going to go, and that was embarrassing, and keeps apologizing. I genuinely don’t think it’s a big deal and do indeed like this dude as a person, not just a weiner, so I tell him that we should still go hiking the following weekend (this happened on a Wednesday, that’s probably why we had this problem, Wednesday is not an especially sexy day, despite being sometimes called Hump Day. I’ve never found it to be a particularly great day for humping). He says ok, let’s go hiking, I’ll call you later, etc. But, my male friends tell me this is the sort of thing there’s no coming back from. And he definitely didn’t come back. He did not respond to any of my attempts to contact him about going hiking and I saw that he was on Tinder at the very time I was texting him. Looking for the next girl to have weiner problems with. Good luck with that, my friend. Better take a break from your constant porn watching.

An addendum: International bros… in different area codes!

I have recently realized that there is such a thing as an international bro. In fact, I was just dating one, it was my first date I met on Tinder. I have lots more to say about the social phenomenon that is Tinder later, look for a future entry on that topic.

So, the thing about meeting a guy from another country, in the case of my European bro that country was England, is that at first you are easily impressed by his accent, good dressing skills, and general vibe because he is different from your average American Midwestern bro that you so often find out there in the wild. You think wow, he must have a very unique and interesting world view. He must like arts and culture and cooking or some other cool things because that’s what people like in other countries! But alas, the more time you spend with the European bro, the more you realize he does not have a lot of individuality and, like your American bros, he “just wants to have fun! In a group of 5 or 6 other, similarly dressed bros!” -Jezebel – see previous entry for a full explanation of bro typology and a link for this Jezebel article.

For example, this English bro I hooked up with wore just as much cologne as any American bro I have ever been with. My roommate actually said when I brought him home that when she walked in the house, she noticed the distinct smell of “dude trying to get laid cologne.” Sounds about right. In addition, this bro was an accountant, not some sort of cool international job where you travel and speak different languages. I am pretty sure that most English bros have another thing in common with American bros, they don’t speak any language other than English. The main thing about this bro that didn’t really do it for me was that he basically said “That’s aiight” or “that’s not too bad” (but in an English accent) constantly, and that also seemed to be his general philosophy on life, that everything was “aiight” or “not too bad” but nothing was amazing, or bad, or interesting. He really liked me, for some reason, but I feel like I was not a very great date because his boredom was rubbing off on me like the smell of his cologne… There was only so much to talk about since it seemed like his main interests were motorcycles, James Bond movies, drinking, dive bars, and telling me now that I met him, I wasn’t going to have to be on Tinder any more. You can only do so much with those sorts of very generic topics. In short, once I got used to his accent, there was nothing to distinguish this guy from every other boring bro dude guy I have ever encountered in the great US of A…

A friend of mine was also dating an international bro off of Tinder who she referred to as “The Spanish.” You guessed it, he was from Spain! The Spanish had similar accoutrements to the English bro, the accent, the fact that he did indeed speak Spanish and English (I think English bros may be the most similar to American bros in their linguistic simplicity and general vibe, at least out of the European countries), the dressing skills. But he had bro-y sports habits about futbol and didn’t actually like to go out and do fun things, he mostly just wanted to have my friend come over his house and watch TV. Definitely a bro move. So, the moral of the story is that a bro by any other name, or from any other country, as it were, still smells like a bro.