Monthly Archives: October 2014

Tinder 1

I went on a date last week the first one since breaking up with #72. Tinder 1 and I met through the phone app that’s replaced online dating. I had mixed feelings about it about dating again but the Ketel One and soda (with a lemon twist) I was drinking while I waited for him, kind of relaxed me. And I’m sure the half Ativan I took before leaving the apartment helped, too.

I put on my first date gear. Leggings and a flowy sweatery thing to hide the ring o’ flab and camel toe. And high black boots. And then, finally, my leather, beat up police jacket. I love that jacket. It makes me feel like the badass New Yorker I once was.

It’s been a week and I don’t 100% remember what Tinder 1 looks like. It was dark in the bar, but I could definitely see that he didn’t look like the pictures he posted on Tinder. Or maybe it was the half Ativan before drinking. What I do remember is his teeth were a little fucked up. I kept trying to look at his mouth while he was talking so I could check them out all the way, but I didn’t want to stare for confirmation.

Of course I made out with him when he drove me home. It was better than I thought and not as good at the same time. Sure he stuck his tongue in my mouth, and he has a big tongue, but he just kind of left it in there, almost choking me. I had to keep pulling back to breathe. But then he bit my lower lip and I thought there is some pancake potential here. Maybe I could teach him how to kiss, but the lip biting earned him points. Enough points to make up for the teeth and misrepresentative photos.

He sent me a text the next morning which is what #72 did everyday before noon. I missed those texts in the three weeks since I ended it. I was one of the nice things he did. Tinder 1 said that there are nice guys out there who will also fuck you. I realized he’s right and have already decided to test him out.

I still feel kind of bad about ending it with #72, but the 50 matches I have on Tinder make it easier. I’ll go out with Tinder 1 again, if for anything else, I want pancakes like, well, like a mother-fucker. And I’ll be that much closer to triple digits. Maybe being single isn’t such a bad thing after all.

Moral of the story, you don’t need a computer to meet people, an iPhone works just fine.

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#72 loves Scrabble. He plays against his friends in person, via his iPad and in between, against the computer. He has such a great command of the English language I can’t believe I beat him the second time we played. (Although the word “myriad” was a bone of contention with us. He didn’t think I spelled it correctly. I got over 50 points for it so I’m taking the win).

A few days ago #72 sent me a text with a picture of his latest computer scrabble game. There were four words right next to one another. “Deranged. Babe. Dying. Cunt.” We thought it was hilarious. Of course at first I didn’t see the word “deranged” because that didn’t interest me as much as Babe’s dying cunt.

Is it dying? I think so. I got a little hand job after our swim in his awesome salt water pool, but I had to ask for it and it was a little awkward but it was something. Right? No, not anymore.

It’s been over 2 ½ years since I’ve been properly fucked. I’m going to be 47 in a few months and am worried that in a few years I won’t be fuckable at all. Not that I’m looking much worse than I did last year, but I can’t tell. But I’m sure that I’m not going to look better than I did a year ago, or today for that matter. Time’s a ticking. It’s not a baby clock. It’s a cock clock.

I had to end it. I tried, for a year and a half and he always begged me to give him another chance, that he’d do what I needed him to do AFTER this or that. And I know I picked the worst time possible, two weeks after his surgery, but I couldn’t take it anymore. He was lovingly calling me his girlfriend in his Norco stupor and where we’d go when he got better. And I snapped. I wrote him his morning email of support and happiness and then got a text from #71, I changed my mind. I didn’t want to be his “girlfriend” anymore, I knew how much he appreciated me and cared for me. He said it all the time. But that morning, I couldn’t take it anymore so I ended it. Lynn said fuck this, the deranged babe’s dying cunt was going to get some dick.

It’s been almost 3 weeks and I miss him a lot. I do. He was a great guy and I do love him, but it’s time to love myself more. I’ve already set up a Tinder account and got 40 matches in less than a week. I finally have something to write about. List it as a favorite, tell your friends, Lynn Halsted is back on the market and on the prowl.

Moral of the story, depending on where you put it, “over” is worth at least 7 points.

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