Hi from my sickbed.

After arriving at my office early this morning, my co-workers told me to leave immediately. They claimed I looked like I was either hungover, half dead, or both. Truth is, these days, I don’t have enough “fun” to be hungover anymore.

So here I lay ill. And for the first time in months, I’ve actually had time to think about things other than my job or networking or being funny or being adept in social situations (i.e. not drooling on my own shirt when I’m feeling relaxed in public places).

You may wonder what I’m thinking about. You may not. But either way, I’m going to tell you.

All I can think about is dating and the disappointments that come with it.

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Is This It?

I’ve read plenty of “inspirational” quotes telling me things like, “If it’s not okay it’s not the end” and “There’s no such thing as a true ending” and “Everything must come to an end sometime.” A lot of these sayings contradict each other but that doesn’t stop girlie girls from putting the words on pretty a background and posting them to their Instagrams.

Here’s my problem: I hate endings. I don’t know how to handle them. I very rarely even say goodbye to anyone. I always end the dinner or the drinks or the party by saying something like, “See you next week.” I never simply say, “Goodbye.”

I can’t handle the permanence of The End.

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I’m A Terrible Sexter

This is generally how sexting goes for me:


I don’t find it sexy at all, especially when an absolute stranger wants to engage in textual acts with me.

The most intense sexting experience I’ve ever had was in the summer of 2012. I had just returned from my annual trip to Outside Lands, a music festival in San Francisco. A short and tattooed Los Angeles native somehow got a phone number out of me and proceeded to text me when I got home to LA, where I was spending the summer before my senior year at Penn.

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My 100th Post and the Things I’ve Learned Thus Far

This project has gone on for a few months now and thus, I feel like I should express the things I’ve learned through this weird and sad little journey. I am only telling you these things to help you. Take them as a warning if you decide to take the plunge into the online dating world. I, of course, think it gives you many more options when it comes to meeting people that you may not otherwise have come across. However, most of these people are psychos or recluses or sex fiends. But now you can go in saying you were warned.

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Missed Calls

I have a serious problem. So far, it hasn’t been treatable and I have yet to find someone who hasn’t had a similar issue at some point in his or her life as a cell phone owner.

The problem is talking on the phone.

My problem has gotten so bad that my recent call records often look something like this:

missed calls

Mom and Dad are a safe bet. I’ll answer their calls because I know what to expect. But unknown numbers? No. Friends? Oftentimes no, mainly because I’m worried they’re calling 1) to give me terrible news or 2) to give me amazing news about something that has happened to them that will make me feel shitty about my own single, jobless life.

It sounds dumb. It is dumb. But I can’t seem to get past my fear of why someone may be calling me. Texts are often meaningless. Casual checking in or making plans are what texts are for. But calls have become serious. Unless it’s my parents or my grandma – who refuses to learn to text but has finally grasped the idea of sending emails (hallelujah) – on the other end of the call, I know that the caller has something important to say. And usually I just don’t want to hear it. So I ignore it. Because I’m the worst.

What does this have to do with online dating, you ask? A lot. Moving from sending messages online to mobile interaction has become a real-life problem. Since the start of my little dating project, every dude who has gotten my digits has been a valiant texter. No callers here. Until one guy – the one I actually want to hear from – started calling. He’s not a texter at all. And it is terrifying. Every time he calls, I worry that he’s calling to say he doesn’t want to see me again. Because I am insane. But nope. He just doesn’t text. And it’s kinda nice. But also kinda scary,  because of my insanity and all.

I’m starting to get over my refusal to answer the phone, though. I’ve been practicing. Proof is below.


So what if I’ve only talked to my parents, brother, and aunt in the last week. It’s something. And I am proud of my ability to talk to more people voice-to-voice. Chivalry isn’t dead! We should talk on the phone more often. Call me to force me to practice. Really. I need all the help I can get. It may be what breaks my weirdo phone phobia. I promise I’ll try to answer when you call, rather than throw my phone on the floor and cower in fear, as if it’s about to detonate.


1984 1

1984 2

A misfire indeed.

Decided to revive my Tinder account tonight. I’m swiping right on literally everyone. 

Let me know if you have an idea of what an “Obama stand up routine” is !!

Shiver Me Tinders

Consider this a sidetrack from the usual Ok Cupid fodder. 

Before I became a member of the aforementioned site of horror, I tried out an app called Tinder. Let me Google that for you in case you aren’t familiar with it. 

One lucky man became my match and proceeded to message me. He seemed nice and smart enough to warrant a response. Sick of Tinder (it’s seriously a horrible hole to fall into), I gave this dude my number and deleted the app for good. After a few texts back and forth, he decided he wanted to meet me. 

But I realized something. I had no idea what this kid’s face looked like. Looking back, I’d realized he only had photos from far away or with other people. Who was this mystery person? He claimed to be 6’4 (you all know by now that I go weak at the knees for a man who stands that tall) and Hungarian-American. But honestly, I couldn’t meet the kid without knowing what his face looked like.

When I told him this, he proceeded to send me a photo of himself in a cow costume. Yes, really. Was his face in it? Barely. All I could see were udders. Udderly distressed, I finagled his last name out of him. Don’t ask me how. After a thorough Facebook search I’d found him. And I realized why he was so private about his facial features. While this guy really was 6’4, his nose was about 5’10. His stretched out face was hard to ignore. And while I was able to look past the strange schnoz and the obvious embarrassment this guy had over his looks, I could not look past how weird he got after a few more texts.

He decided he wanted to come to a party at my house. He started typing in paragraphs. Every text ended with a period. I began to feel like I was talking to a well-written book that wanted to stalk me down and prey on me. I told the guy that I was uncomfortable and no longer wanted to meet up. He said I was a waste of time and to never lead someone on again. 

Truth is, I’d only texted him a handful of times compared to the many, many messages that he’d send me. Never led you on, bro. Just got scared that you were gonna snort me up your giant nose like Rob Ford would snort a Canadian crack rock. In other words, I began to fear for my life. Kind of. I also feared his awkward demeanor and stalker tendencies. 

This experience taught me one thing: If you’re going to Tinder, only swipe right on those who have faces. Or just don’t swipe right at all. Go outside or something instead. You’re less likely to die.

Update: Ben

Guess who just called me? Naturally I ignored the call because I am not very charming on the phone and I’m not-so-secretly embarrassed of my valley girl voice. 

Then he texted me to apologize for calling after 10pm. 

Howdy and welcome to my life once again, Ben.


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