I’m sorry for the delay in posting but I was distracted with a perfectly drunken disaster and I promise we’ll get to her story soon enough. I truely appreciate you taking time out of your day to sit and injest this. Your feedback is always welcomed and useful. What follows is my date with a woman that could probably knife me in my sleep. All names have been changed to protect the innocent, allegedly.

I’d all but given up on Tinder and the thought of meeting a legitimate woman in my phone. Between the catastrophe that was Shelby and the shame of bumping uglies with Sandra it was becoming apparent to me that Tinder/online dating wasn’t the place to find your version of a family, dog, picket fence and love. Yet there I was in my bed on another lackluster Wednesday night with nothing but a trip to Sturgeon under my belt. I’d been out, enjoying another stronger than average Jameson and Ginger from Mark the Bartender. We filled the night with conversations about his fondness for Serena Williams, note to self: Don’t bash Serena in front of Mark, it’s a recipe for disaster and a one way ticket out of the bar. Mostly though we debated about sports betting and my recent dating adventures. As we sat there and exchanged barbs I’d again begun to reach for my phone, looking for that feeling, my trusted companion that could provide me with entertainment and maybe adventures for the evening. Tinder and I were beginning to become an item, for better or for worse.  I’d even done “homework” on Tinder and was coming to the realization that this was no “Christian Mingle” or “E-Harmony”. Tinder and a slew of others like it were designed to be strictly dickly and was meant for instant gratification, nothing more. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are tons of “serious and committed” relationships that have been formed from randomly swiping. I’m also fairly certain that Tinder is responsible for a spike in STDS, broken dreams and phone rape (Phone Rape being defined as “the unwanted or non agreed to advancement of sexual proposition, commonly involving eggplant emojis and the request for sexual favors”) but I digress.

After several unsuccessful “right swipes” I’d chosen to go home and call it a night. It was there, as I laid in bed, that a flashing blue LED light notified me of a match. A match made at 12:23 in the am….Hmmm, my curiosity had just peaked. As it turned out, I’d swiped right on a feisty little meatlocker, we’ll refer to her as La Diabla. She had an inspirational quote as her header “Patience is a virtue and through that virtue I found Him” She described herself as follows “28, SINGLE, entrepreneur, BLESSED, PROUD momma of 2, LOYALTY and RESPECT above all, I keep it 100 and always classy, never trashy but with a dab of nasty. Only real niggas need apply”. From what I gathered she was a mother that had the gift of rhyme, owned her own business and was looking for a real man to treat her like a lady. Her profile pictures fell in line with the bio in that they showed off her “assets” in a cheetah print dress, rocking hoop earrings that I could fist, her at club/bar, a questionable selfie that was all eyebrows and a Raiders jersey, with her finger raised to all the 49er fans out there. She Topped it off with a shot of her in a little black dress holding a flask of Hennessy and emphasis on some poor sap’s name tatted on her left breast ( Would later find out that was Baby Dad number two) along with a quote in cursive that ran the length of her chest plate, it read “Live, Laugh, Love, Respect” in what must have been 30 point font. It was right there, in that moment, that I realized I’d just hit the gold mine. I had finally found myself the down ass Chola I desperately needed in my life.

I made sure to send a manly and simple message to her “yo”, figuring it was the best way to say hello without sounding desperate. I promptly received a message of “Heyyy”. Three “ys”, this girl was fun already. We went back and forth and again exchanged basic info, IG and SnapChat, I discovered she’d just moved from San Jose and was using Tinder to “meet new people”. I could respect that, I’d been struggling with getting back in the dating game and was nobody to judge. La Diabla had been single “forever” (forever being six months) and was raising her daughters on her own. Her “Entrepreneurship” consisted of making hats that utilized bold lettering of statements like ” Bae”, “On Fleek” “$ Trees”. This was without a doubt a woman on a mission.

After what seemed like weeks of back and forth flirting La Diabla finally asked me ” What’s good tomorrow night?”, a Thursday, I suggested Benny’s or Fanny Anne’s, two Bars that were more than suited to the crowd she typically ran with and that would display my ability to adapt, not to mention it would be fun run in the mud. We’d both agree on Benny’s as she’d been there prior. Benny’s is a local dive bar, a bar where you can score stiff drinks, loose morals and if lucky, get stabbed in the stomach if you played should you play your cards right. I absolutely couldn’t wait till we met up. Where would we go? Would she be down for a shot and a red can or would I end up holding her pocket? The excitement was again growing and I’d begun to feel alive. Cheers to tonight and the endless possibilities it brought.

I sat at the bar, nervous again, sweaty palms and a couple of Stellas in. La Diabla finally showed up in all her glory. White skirt, breast and chest tats on full display. The bloodshot eyes were also a nice touch in the “I don’t give a fuck” kind of way. We took a shot of Hennessy to ease the nerves, her choice. We sat there, listened to music, exchanged flirtatious comments, lies and desires. It took roughly 30 minutes before we ran out of things to say. You can only talk Raiders football for so long. I attempted to force a conversation around “what are you looking for” and was met with that awkward pause. You could see the hamster wheel racing as she searched for politically correct response. We each knew we were wasting the other’s time. Maybe it was that I’d slightly catfished her and was indeed 5’6 to her 5’8? Either way La Diabla was not feeling me, the conversation or my eyebrows. It may have gone sideways when I failed align with the terms “fam”, “ya feel me” and “On Mommas”. I wanted to break away and call it a night but I was legitimately afraid of how quickly she could knife me just for pissing her off. What was once nervous curiosity had evolved to hypertension filled fear. After what seemed like and hour La Diabla looked me in the eyes and said “Be cool, I’m not trying to fuck with you.” Out of instinct I wanted to respond defensively, in an attempt to cover my embarrassment and letdown. Who was she to tell me that I wasn’t worth a mistake? I fought the urge to throw my drink at her knowing that nothing good could come from that. The reality is that I ultimately ended up paying for our drinks, my bean dip next door and a free bag Pringles.  La Diabla would leave me at Benny’s with nothing more than a slight hug and “Don’t change”. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? Where does one go after being let down by a clown with breast? I need to stop randomly swiping. These were all thoughts and questions that passed though my head as I kept sipping and thinking, drinking and swiping. What did I learn? Sometimes it just doesn’t break your way. Sometimes the universe swipes left.