I’m Still Obsessed With Tinder


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Nice Move


Regardless of what you say, we all love Tinder. Whether you use it to actually meet guys, or just to get a little confidence boost when you’re having an ugly day, you appreciate its value. I have to admit that I really missed the boat on Tinder. I was in a relationship for a year or so, and after we broke up, I just saw it as a way to invite creepy guys to hit on me. Hard pass. I could find a rebound the old fashioned way (blacking out and hoping for the best). Unfortunately for me, after a year out of the game, I had forgotten how to flirt like a competent human being, not to mention the fact that the breakup had zapped my confidence.

Flash forward to three months after the breakup. My perfectly calculated plan had failed me, and I was officially in a dry spell. I expressed my concern (extreme thirst) to my friend, and she suggested that I download Tinder for the confidence boost, if for nothing else. After pondering it over a bottle of wine, I decided to go for it. As I began swiping left and right, a God-like sense of power came over me. I’m not proud of it. The boys are mere peasants, all fighting for your coveted right swipe, and you have all the power. Over the next few days, I Tindered constantly. I’m pretty sure I developed mild carpal-tunnel in my thumbs. It was like nothing I had ever done before, a socially acceptable way to flirt with strangers from the safety of my couch. I could say no to creeps, and yes to the hot guys I would normally be afraid to even make eye contact with, all without any risk. Needless to say, I was on a crazy, Tinder-fueled power trip.

One night, I received a message from one of my matches. He was an attractive, young alum of my school, and seemed normal (thank you, Facebook). After flirting back and forth for a few minutes, I put my phone away and didn’t give him another thought. My friends and I went out to a pregame, where I proceeded to ingest enough alcohol to intoxicate a small country, à la my “blackout and hope for the best” recipe. This is where the night gets fuzzy. We went to the party, and after an hour or so of dancing and drinking, I looked around and realized my best friend was gone. Upon scanning the room, I realized I didn’t know a single other person at the party. So I did what I always do in uncomfortable social situations, I took out my phone.

After exhausting all my social media apps, I realized I had forgotten about the newest addition to the family. I opened up Tinder and saw that beautiful red dot. Young Alum had messaged me back, and he wanted to know where I was, and if I wanted to meet up at his hotel. I could almost picture the angel and devil on each shoulder. “Don’t be stupid,” said the angel, “you have no idea who this kid is. A hotel room with him alone? Do you want to be a story on the 5 o’ clock news?” I could see the headline now, College Student/Call Girl Found Dead in Sketchy Hotel. But then my devil chimed in, “You haven’t gotten laid in months. Take a risk for once in your life, you’ll probably be fine. You’re all alone anyway, what do you have to lose?”

At war with myself, I decided to walk to the bar. Maybe I could find my friends. I told myself that if I found them, I would go home with them, and if I didn’t find anyone (highly unlikely considering the popularity of the bar), I would meet up with the guy.

As I walked into the bar, I looked around the room for a familiar face. Nothing. Not a single person I recognized. Now, I usually don’t believe in signs, but that night I think I received a sign from the Lord above, telling me to go out and get that D. I opened up Tinder, and learned my guy was at the same bar as I was. That last sign was all I needed. I went outside and told him to meet me. We had a brief awkward introduction, followed by a short walk to his hotel room. I’m pretty sure I asked him several times if he planned on killing me (smooth), and he assured my he did not plan on it (encouraging).

That night I had my first good old-fashioned one night stand. The sex was decent, the guy was hot, and at no point did he try to murder me and hide my body under the mattress. All in all, it was a success. He told me to feel free to stay over, and I told him of course I would. And like any classy lady, the second he passed out at 3am, I practically skipped out the door to my waiting Uber, feeling like a sex goddess. My confidence in regards to men was renewed. I got back in the game, despite the questionable circumstances, and I owe it all to Tinder. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.

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