“I got these cheeseburgers man”

-Menace 2 Society

Off she went, saddles blazing, middle finger and pride firmly hanging out the window for anyone but mostly myself to see. She’d left in a hurry, shamefully admitting her mistakes. Left behind was the leopard print pushup, one earring, half drank bottle flat bottle of Andre Champagne and broken pipe dream of us actually dating. She’d be okay I told myself, this wasn’t her first rodeo or last walk of shame. “I told you so” was all I could come up with. Internally I was conflicted with “I’m sorry” and “You deserve better.” I knew it was all hollow and only existed to make myself feel like less of an asshole. So how did we get here? Let’s rewind the story a little bit…

“We’re on a break.” “This isn’t working out.” “It’s not you, it’s me.” “We both deserve better.” These are all the statements we have used to serve walking papers to ex or two. We start with our best intentions but inevitably the relationship runs it’s course, whether it be due to the lack of sexual satisfaction or somebody finding too much if it with a secret lover. Hell maybe it just ended because you got tired of him being a deadweight that smoked too much and just wanted to Netflix and Chill instead of Sushi and Couples Paint. One way or another somebody failed to communicate efficiently and the other is left uttering those generic words in an attempt  to end the relationship. Those phrases also happened to be the same words I shamelessly uttered to my wingman/smartphone when I chose to delete Tinder. I had grown tired of randomly swiping and getting no results and I wasn’t about to put real effort into meeting somebody though an app in my phone. Following my date with Lil Joker I experience a dry spell with matches few and far between. The Tinder Gods had shunned me and placed me into a bizarro version of the late 80s-early 90s show “Love Connection” only with no Chuck Woolery and marginally better dates. Behind Door Number One was Arlene, a “good, no drama, old fashioned and down to earth Christian girl who’s waiting for sex until marriage”, suffice to say we shared a few paragraphs worth of messaging before fizzling out. We’ll just chalk it up as two people with opposite moral compasses. I couldn’t be the “Christian Soldier” she was seeking url cesspool. That misstep would lead me to Door Number 2, Val, a 29 year old mother of four, who described herself as “Silly, open and looking to meet Mr. Right.” First off Val needed to invest in Valtrax. The mole hill on her upper lip was unbecoming of such a classy lady. Most importantly though, I didn’t see a need to waste a mother’s time. Finally Door Number 3 gave me Jessica, the albino version of Precious, who had a soft spot for cupcakes and snickerdoodles. That match was completely the product of swiping with reckless abandonment. She may have been a good person at heart but there was too much person in front of that heart for me to handle.  Aside from these eligible bachelorettes I began pairing with countless robots. These Bots were on a mission to obtain a credit or debit card in order for me join them in a live chat.  Normally it goes something like “You look sexy, I’m horny and haven’t fucked all day. Go ahead and click the link and cum chat with me baby. I’ll get the cam going.” I had fallen far but “Live Cam” was not going to be in my IP history. So there we were, my phone and I, saying our last goodbyes to Tinder. It was a fun run, I scrolled through my matches and messages. A fleeting flood of memories that were set to be deleted and discarded, some good, most bad but memories nonetheless. As I scrolled through the messages I decided to send a few “deleting this app, here’s my number” messages to these Tinderonies. Couldn’t hurt to throw out a life line right? With that I hit uninstall and was done with that chapter of my life.

I had just left the gym and was going to get ready for work. Feeling like a refined man, more energy, alive and clean, I’d been Tinder free for little over a week. There were several bouts with withdrawals, nervous twitching, excessive eating, clammy skin, thoughts of reinstalling for just a quick swipe or two, where was the Tinderholics hotline when I needed it? Slowly but surely I had begun to ease off the smack and attempted to interact more with the real world. A hipster sandwich shop here, a vegan coffee shop there, I’d even gone back to a club  “Mix” and gave single Sergio an opportunity to socialize. Several atttempts to start conversations and join these  middle aged State Workers in the art of twerking I realized how terrible idea of an idea this was. A) I have two left feet. B) I posses little to no filter when intoxicated and C) A+B= Security asking me to leave. Not to mention the cost of drinking there was ridiculous. Could somebody please remind the owners that they are at the end of the day a Club in Sacramento? So to recap: I went hood rich at the club on subpar drinks, failed conversations and a private escort to the street. I guess it could have been worse night.

So where were we, it was a Thursday morning as I prepared for work after a quick gym visit, when I received that faitful “Hi ; ) it’s Trish.” I debated on responding but left it alone. A few minutes would pass and I’d receive a followup “It’s Trish….From Tinder….” Multiple dots and Tinder,  she was slightly ashamed. I again didn’t immediately respond as I had no recollection to who this person was. After what seemed to be the most uncomfortable seven minutes in Text Message Purgatory I finally settled on my trademark “Yo”. Again I was attempting to be a dominant male but also to come of as cool and not that interested. Trish apologized for the delay in messaging me and blamed it on her not checking the app. How could she had gotten my message if I’d hit uninstall on my phone? Did Tinder somehow survive my trash can? Oh well, sure there was a reason but still I had no clue who this person was or why they had a (530) area code. There were way too many possibilities, I shouldn’t have ever expanded my search radius to 30 miles. I stalled via small talk “How’s your day going? Oh you’re at work? What do you do? etc.” Backfire, turns out she was “off work” like permanently off work and going back to school to be a caregiver. Sounded like a real winner. Still no clue to who this woman was. I decided to buy more time and text that I was going into a meeting and would call after work. She quickly replied and was “getting impatient”. My curiosity and fear were beginning to peak and wander.

After a particularly stressful day at the office, made worse by a woman that had soiled herself, refused to bathe and wanted to argue about racism in world, I was ready for a drink and some relaxation. Only thing was this Miss (530) was still on my mind. How could I be certain this wasn’t a prank? News of my Tinder activities had begun to spread and I was getting crusified by my friends for the “quality of women” I’d met on online. It was a field day, think cats in heat with a fertile feline, tail up and all. Maybe one of these hyenas were up to no good? Several years prior one of my friends, we’ll refer to him as “The Indian”, had created a fake Craigslist ad. He listed me under Erotic Services and MFM (Man for Man for the uninitiated), described me as being after “a good time” and ready to mingle. The Indian set up a fake email address and had these pervs send over there “stats”,photos and requests. Some married, some closet and most describing the foul things they wanted to do to me. I can’t put any of it in print. All things considered, a practical Tinder joke by one of my friends was not out of the question. There was only one way to be sure if I had been played.  I had to ask for a selfie which would jog my memory. “Let me get a pic.” Nothing but the most honest intent behind the question. She responded with “What kind of pic? I’m with my kid.” Instantly I realized she had presumed I was asking for T&A shots. I figured I had two ways to proceed, I could correct her and clarify I meant a face shot or I could push the envelope. I chose the raunchier. “Hit me when you’re alone.” That generated a response of ” 😉 will do..” With that little bit of addrenaline rush I knew, like any good junkie, the relapse was coming. I could feel my excitement rising at the thought of throwing on my slut slippers again. I was more than eager to go into the belly of the beast once more. Tinder and I were going to need to put our differences aside. I was going to be the bigger person. We were going to kiss, make up, have disappointing sex and call it a day. Tinder and I were about to embark on phase two of our relationship. God help me and the Tinderonies in the Sacramento area.