I was stood up on Valentine’s Day and I blame the telephone.
I have always maintained not caring
much for the phone half of my smart phone. The last time my phone earned
genuine excitement was when my parents got me my own line in high school so I
could talk to my friends from the National Young Leaders Conference without
tying up their line (wish I was kidding.)
Now, phones should be reserved for emergencies only like bitchy
comments about friends you don’t want someone to be able to screenshot you
saying or when a person is bleeding out and you need to call 911. I digress. More
about my funny Valentine in a bit, but not to worry, I didn’t try and drown
myself in four inches of water. I went out with friends for all the wine Smith
and Wollensky had to offer. All the wine.
I had a real “He’s Just Not That Into You” epiphany recently
and because it’s 2014 and my life is spiraling, it had to do with Tinder. Over
drinks with coworkers, chatting about that clever little app turning
all of us straight, singletons into less functioning members of society, my
much younger, male coworker - surprisingly not a fan of Tinder - asked us, “you
know what guys do on that app, right?” Umm, obviously not, Gavin! I’m 32-years
old and single as fuck. I thought it worked like Facebook where I literally
have hundreds and hundreds of matches with whom I never ever speak.
Apparently guys just swipe right on everyone and the wait
and see what’s thrown back at them in terms of supposed mutual interest. And here I was thinking the menfolk put
thought into who they wanted to sleep with strike up a conversation with
and potentially meet. This makes so much more sense, especially considering a
recent interaction I had.
I noticed a new conversation, introduced by someone with whom
I’d never spoken, that simply said “Really???” Initially, I didn’t get it,
thinking to myself, odd, we both ‘liked’ one another. Not the case. Now I know
this guy hadn’t bothered to look at me in the first place, but felt the need to
follow up and in one word, express both his assumed superiority and disgust that
I could have possibly, even for a second, let my thumb toggle on his picture
before saying screw it and swiping right. Real ego boost, that realization.
A gross misunderstanding in how you’re communicating with one
another isn’t the only thing to trigger a chain of events ultimately resulting
in crushing defeat. Take Connecticut Ed, or ConnecticEd, as my coworkers know
him. (Listen, we’re in the original content
game and are nothing if not really fucking creative.) Ed is someone I’d been
seeing since just after the New Year and talking to even longer. Naturally, he abruptly
went radio silent. I let it go for a week and this past Sunday, delirious with
fever, I texted him.
Sunday,
2:56PM – Pretty sure I’m not supposed to reach out after a week of not hearing
from someone, but I never claimed to champion my own dignity. What happened to
you?
I know doing that goes against the rules, but we’re adults.
Have the balls to convey the simple message that it was fun while it lasted,
but you don’t see us making a run of it. Ed still hasn’t responded to me, but
his answer is pretty loud and clear.
Lastly, there’s the over-communicator like my would-be
Valentine, Matthew Tinder, who proved to me you might be screwed either way. Like
others before him, our mutual friend gave me the assurance he’s likely not a
bunny boiler. Dear Matthew was all about
the chitchat and the phone calls even after I expressed concern that in my
experience, too much of that sort of thing before the initial meeting generally
leads
to disappointment on the first date.
He persisted. I caved. There were multiple phone calls and strings and
strings of texts.
He chose last Friday for our first day. I don’t know if he
knew it was Valentines Day or not, but I wasn’t going to bring it up. It would
have made me look like I was hung up on it when I absolutely was not. I was going to go drink wine with or without
Matthew Tinder. He made a point to say he was happy I found him to be
Friday-night-date-worthy. Well, Friday rolled around and I heard crickets. So I
asked him if we’re still on for Brandy Library later. He replied with “your
thoughts are?” and then not another word. Ever. No skin off my back, but what a
waste of time.
I would like a future date to reach out, not even say hello,
but instead “meet me at the Spotted Pig next Thursday at 8:00. We'll take it from there” I know people
say you’ve got to kiss a lot of frogs, but must they all be so slimy?
