I Am Back On Tinder And Loving It

Going back on Tinder originated, as many of my life decisions do, with a tantrum. Though I am allegedly a human adult, when displeased, I have been known to slam a door, lob around breakable objects, if not throw myself to the floor, kicking my feet in protest. I certainly do not do these in the visual prevue of my children. I’m not an animal. God forbid if they ever find out all that drama is genetic.

One of the people I have been dating kind of stood me up on Saturday night. Let me be clear, this is not my boyfriend, but a Chappy whom I enjoy banging, and who enjoys banging me, but from whom I expect exactly nothing. We have exchanged ‘I love you as a friend’s and he was actually remarkably helpful to me when I recently had to throw one back in the water who actually was a potential boyfriend (hopefully not still bleeding from the fish hook.) Only when Chappy said he would come over and then didn’t (he didn’t even text), did I find out perhaps I did have an expectation of Chappy after all.

Chappy was promptly placed on the shit list (don’t worry we’re friends again) but on a whim, I decided to download Tinder. For those unfamiliar with my last Tinder experience, here’s a little recap, though that article was for a Recovery magazine, and so is framed in more addictive terms, which I no longer believe apply, if I ever did. I have come to see love and sex as a hugely empowering part of what makes life pretty great, so pathologizing sex is no longer on the menu. Nonetheless, I had some trepidation…

I can be a little… flighty. Ungrounded. Even, dare I venture, a smidge unstable. While I have many tools to manage these things (yoga, therapy, nutrition, vitamins, homeopathy, BDSM) self-examination is chief among them. I have to be unflinchingly honest with myself about what I can and cannot handle. It. Sucks. My vagina wants to heal the whole world, but sadly I just can’t fuck everybody. In fact, I can fuck almost nobody, if I really listen my intuition. I guess my vagina had no idea it had so many choices…

Look I know I’m attractive, I’ve even written about it, risking major troll ire, but ALL THE WOMEN OUT HERE ARE RIDICULOUSLY HOT. Maybe it is the power of the sexual awakened woman, and how men seem to be able to spot that quality in a picture. Maybe I look like I come a lot? I don’t know. Beyond ego flattery, I have been genuinely complimented by being visually desirable-in-good-lighting. This is not where I get my self-worth, you understand. However I do get a good chunk of self-worth from exploring my sexuality, so on the surface it would seem that Tinder (Dial-A-Dick? Click-A-Cock?) is a definite right swipe.

So armed with a newfound sense of self-control that I wasn’t in possession of since my last Trampage, I decided to re-stock the shelves. Now that some merchandise had been let go, it was time to go shopping. No bargain basement pity purchases either – just top shelf stuff that is carefully vetted and inspected before purchase. If there is one thing that life has taught me it’s that when it comes to sex, even if you keep all the receipts, there are no returns.

In the last week I have flirted obliquely with three (3) people, seriously texted/talked with three (3) dudes, and been on exactly three (3) dates. (None of these are the same people by the way, so judge away… Also NOT ONE FEMALE MATCH. Come on, ladies, where my bitches at?) Incidentally I have had sex with none of the aforementioned folk, which exemplifies not only self-discipline, but also the sheer quality of the sex toys that await me at home.

One of the dates took place in my car outside of a McDonald’s late at night* and featured one of the cutest, most ripped, and least clued in humans I have ever met. This was exemplified by the fact that he said “What do you mean?” and “I don’t know what that means,” after almost everything I said. It turned out, like me, his education level was “some college.”

“Isn’t that ironic? We have the same level of education,” I said.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “What do you mean?”

The second person I had a date with was one of the smartest human beings I have ever met. I almost felt a little stupid around him (almost, but not quite) and began to long for the Car Jock who made me feel like a genius in comparison (almost, but not quite.) He almost but not quite made out with me (his tongue had the IQ of a deep thinker) and then jetted off to a festival out of town. I guess we will continue to text each other witty memes until someone gets horny enough to crumble.

The third guy was an actual PERSON with actual CHILDREN, also into Poly and in many other ways delicious. I took him to an actual PLACE with other actual PEOPLE, and was quite happy to have him there. I have been so SINGLE for so long, that just being able to walk into a place with someone on my arm that I was proud to be seen with was something I didn’t take for granted. Of course, when I was smug and married, this was just called “the weekend.”

In short, including the extremely YOUNG men I texted with and promptly gave up on (don’t ask), I got to encounter vastly different humans, of different ages, races and lifestyles, that I may never otherwise have met. This evening, when I reach into my bedside table once again for Mommy’s Big And Little Helpers, I will know even less about what my future holds. But widening the range of possibilities in the sometimes-myopic world of dating, makes me suspect that this was not a bad week…

They Can’t All Be Gems

*I do not recommend this for all women. If a young woman told me she was going to do this I would say WELL-LIT PUBLIC DAYTIME PLACES ONLY. I had already talked to him on the phone and have flawless mass-murderer avoidant skills. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.*


  1. […] blocked callers list is illustrious, full of people I met online during one of the Trampages or in person, who insist on popping up randomly and saying “Hi.” Their attention would come […]

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