the kind of tinder date only i could have
i swore i was not going to go on any tinder dates, and i honestly meant it. i knew exactly where this app was going to lead me, and it was not anywhere good. however, i was still down to “yes” and “no” every 22-38 year old male in a 7 mile radius all day every day, sometimes making small talk. but anytime a dude asked for my number, i just stopped responding and moved onto the next mostly boring conversation that i could glean a few compliments from to entertain me before ditching that guy as well. eventually i come across a profile of this cute bmxer and we have 5 mutual friends, all bmxers i knew from london including one of my best friends. so i message my friend, and he’s like you have to meet this guy, you’ll love him. and then he tells me he’s messaging the guy as well, i’m sure to only tell him like “oh brittany? she’s a slut you gotta meet her,” and before i know it this has become “a thing” and it is clear that this meeting is going to happen.so i cave and give him my phone number, and soon this 6’4” giant man covered in tattoos will not stop sending me dozens of cute animal emojis and asking when we are going to hang out. “tomorrow,” i finally reluctantly agree.
he starts texting the next day to make plans, telling me he’s free whenever and now is just hanging out with these 17, 18, and 19 year old bmxers who are crashing with him for the night, sending me a picture of their underage tween drinking on the couch. “aw, cute,” i tell him, although was somewhat weirded out that a 30 year old man was chilling with high school students? but we plan to meet at prado in echo park at like 10:30 so i can be supervised by half my friends who would also be there. so around 9 i start drinking, and drinking, and drinking. like i am not about to meet some random off the internet while even anything resembling sober. but i definitely over did it, and by the time i get to prado, i am already pretty much wasted. bmxer shows up a bit later, neck covered in tattoos and i swear there was like a teardrop tattoo on his face which he probably got after murdering the last tinder girl he met up with, and within about 5 minutes of his arrival i am making out with him all over prado. this is one of the last concrete memories i have of this evening. the only other fuzzy event i can recall was announcing we were leaving to go to a bar downtown, and my friend asking if i really thought that was a good idea, and i’m sure i replied by slurring “yes, it’ll be fine,” famous last drunken words for sure.
the next thing i remember is waking up in a bed that was definitely not my own, boy arms wrapped around my midsection. but strangely, i am wearing all my clothes? which instantly gives me an alarming overwhelming sense of pride, like wow, i didn’t actually have sex with him. go me! however, this feeling of accomplishment immediately vanishes when i roll over to look at him, and notice that wait…this guy doesn’t have any neck tattoos… or arm tattoos..and oh my god. then i realize who it is. it is the 17 year old bmxer from the photo he had sent me earlier. “OH MY GOD YOU ARE THE 17 YEAR OLD!!” i start completely freaking out, asking him why i am in this room, what the fuck is going on and if he was born in a year starting with “20” (close, 1997. jesus christ). at that moment, the actual bmxer walks in the room, clearly confused as hell.”what the fuck? i thought you left in the middle of the night?” i open my mouth to try to explain, but in my hungover haze can barely string words together. the 17 year old is in a panic that his bmx idol was about to beat his ass, and he starts to tell him that i just got in the bed in the middle of the night and he swore he didn’t touch me, well besides some cuddling and tween boner like illegally poking me in the (clothed) ass. eventually we all just start cracking up because the entire situation was like next level absurd. my purse was in the 30 year olds room. my shoes were next to the 17 year olds bed. i would pay very large sums of money to see videotape of what actually transpired once we got back to that house, but for now i’m sticking with got lost on the way back from the bathroom, as this apartment was confusing as hell and had way too many beds occupied by bmxers for a drunken me to successfully navigate, and the three of us were too drunk to remember anything. the actual truth will remain a mystery, and all that is certain is that i am now like the mary kay letourneau of the bmx groupie world.
later that day, after adult bmxer drove me home as i tried not to vomit in his car, he texted me a screenshot of the tween bmxer’s twitter. “woke up with a random girl in my bed” he posted, followed by like 20 likes and replies from his horny high school friends who were only been barely making it through each horrible day of adolescence by dreaming of a future life where random girls could just end up in your bed. “that’s so cool,” one of them told him. and he replied, ” it was more weird than cool, it was my homie’s girl.” i immediately started @ing him, “more weird than cool?!?! lol rude.” i have no idea if he even figured out that i was the actual random girl who had been in his bed, but he never answered :( . so i guess that means he’s not asking me to prom…
spent all day on saturday at an oceanside house in malibu where they probably have filmed way too many porns. winter in los angeles is really not so bad.
it is now officially valentine’s day and i’m sitting in my bed alone listening to taylor swift and falling in love with boys i barely know as i stalk them through every form of social media, which i’m pretty sure is what every single girl is contractually obligated to do on february 14th.
i think i haven’t had a valentine in 4 years? god, that’s pretty pathetic, like truly approaching cat lady levels. i just got an e-card form my mom signed with my dog’s name, and it looks like that’s the best i am going to do this year lol ugh.
in theory, it doesn’t seem like it should be that hard to meet someone i like. i go out a million times a month, i’ll carefully craft a plan to talk to any dude i think is cute, a lot of guys will usually hit on me, and i guess i do meet boys. dozens and dozens of blog pages worth of them. but even though
most some are perfectly cute/smart/nice, there’s always just some fatal flaw that means it would never work, like lives far away in nyc/london/michigan, wears flip flips, doesn’t drink even though he works at a bar?!, or has a wife and baby (lol k one that was p bad).
but clearly other people are not having this same problem, as every day my newsfeed continues to blow up with more people getting married and engaged. it just seems like such an odd coincidence to me that in the past 2 years everyone has suddenly miraculously simultaneously found their soul mates, all with timing aligned perfectly with an appropriate midwestern life plan. i mean, i know some of these people are truly in love and cute and perfect for each other, but it’s too easy not to completely see how the other 65% have just accepted this is it because they are too comfortable to break up with their boring as hell girlfriend and start over again at the ancient age of 28 and possibly be alone for a year or two before someone else comes along.
and i think maybe that’s my problem in a way. i’m perfectly happy being by myself and with my friends. i’m certainly not desperate enough to start dating the first dude who wants to hang out with me twice in a week just so i have someone to stay in and watch netflix with. it’s like when i think of having a boyfriend, i think of it as giving up the freedom to do whatever the fuck i want, and that’s not something i’m going to do for just anyone. of the few boys who have ever meant anything to me in the last eight years, when we met, it was just so immediately something, fireworks, sparks flying, all the cliche taylor swift lyric imagery you could imagine. and once you feel that, it seems sad to date someone if my attitude is just “meh yeah i guess he’s cool, we’ll see what happens.”
sometimes i wonder what will happen to me. like what if you just never meet anyone you truly want to be with? i hung out with this tinder boy my age last week and he told me he went on a date with a 38 year old a few weeks before, and in a way i was scared that was my future. almost 40 and trolling for hot twenty something skaters on tinder. it very well could be. or who knows, maybe in 3 years i’ll be the one blasting my engagement to my tall dark haired tattooed dream boy all over facebook and planning some dumb twee as hell vintage wedding sponsored by pinterest. but somehow i really really doubt that.
but instead of worrying about my sad destiny of cat lady cougaring at the skatepark, i’m going to try to have the best single girl valentines ever and buy myself clothes, eat in & out, wear a slutty red top, and hang out all night with the only thing i ever really loved, bud light, until i’m drunk enough to make out with the next boy who is all wrong for me.
guys, jef from the bacherette is messaging me on tinder nonstop and it is taking everything in me to not breakdown and completely start interrogating him about how much of a horrible bitch/nascar slut emily had to have been. totally too scared to meet him because could not possibly conceal my bachelor/ette obsession past 2 drinks and would probably start completely fan girling the fuck out. other noticeable tinder pick ups include ariel pink, who was already having insane violent sex multiple nights a week with my old roommate last year, and toph eggers, dave eggers little brother in “a heartbreaking work of staggering genius” lol.
"are you on the list?" an impossibly large bouncer asks us as we walk up to a club in hollywood. "no," my roommate tells him, "but we are here to see isaac and eduardo." he nods immediately and moves to let us pass, as clearly these names mean something. but to me they are still just names, names of these random rich old men my roommate had met earlier in the week and gotten money from and now she had dragged me out with her to meet them in the hopes there would be more where her first money filled envelope came from.
we push our way through the crowd until i finally see them, two seventy something year old men in a sea of douchey tanned bros in designer jeans. their faces light up when they see my roommate, rushing over to give her a kiss on the cheek and a hug, and she introduces me to them, and we join the 5 other 20 something girls gathered around their table, drinking from their giant bottle of grey goose and talking extra loudly so their too proud for hearing aid ears could hear us. the conversation is surprisingly not as awkward as I would have imagined, and several grey gooses in I forget these men could be my grandpa and start having fun. the waitress brings the check, and our designated old man tells us he can’t read writing that small anymore, and my roommate informs him the bill is 1500 dollars, and it’s clear this is pocket change to this old man, as he then orders another huge bottle, just so I can have one more drink before we go to dinner, leaving the rest abandoned on the table.
after dinner, we go back to the old man’s house in beverly hills, and i get kind of nervous but my roommate reassures me that he’s not going to touch us and that she went to his house before and it was completely innocent, just likes hanging out with young girls. we pull in the gated entrance and his house is somewhat bizarre, with a beautiful pool and hot tub, but the interior clearly has not been redecorated in quite a long time, and he still has a tv from like 1989 in the kitchen. there is an andy warhol style painting of his daughter in the hallway, and i ask how old she is and he says he can’t remember any more. we move into the living room where a large bar sits against one wall with every kind of liquor i have ever imagined. he pours me a drink that has to be 3/4 vodka, and he tells us he has 8 homes around the world and is a citizen of monaco. he says he wants to put on some music, and he walks over to the stereo system, and i imagine “my way” by frank sinatra would soon quietly come out of the speakers. instead, i swear to god, a mash up of nine inch nails closer and 50 cent in da club begins BLASTING at full volume to the point you can barely hear what anyone is saying. this man was born in 1937. at this point i am pretty drunk and me and my roommate start dancing around his living room as nine inch nails shakes the floor of the mansion, and my entire life seemed unreal at that moment.
as the night comes to a close as it nears 2 am, i do my very best to be as charming and funny as possible to ensure future invites, and it seems to be working, as he laughs and laughs and when i mention i do not have a car and have to take the bus everywhere, he says, “oh, we can fix that. we will get you a car.” then he says he will be right back, and disappears, returning in ten minutes with 2 envelopes, hands one to each of us.”here are your presents,” he tells us, and we hug him and say goodnight, promising we will come back soon, and we drive out the gates and head back to silver lake as i tear the envelope apart to find 750 dollars, and this insanely rich old man could be the very best thing that has ever happened to me. just like anna nicole smith but with much much smaller boobs.
i have been minnie mouse for halloween almost every year since 2006, when i first bought this dress at a vintage store and forced my then boyfriend to be mickey against his will, permanently degrading him in the eyes of his friends for giving in to me. we broke up and minnie has been single and on the prowl ever since, and i will probably still be wearing this costume in 2016 because it is just too cute and that mouse nose slays ‘em every year.
"this man looks like almost a different person after years of drugs have take their toll on his face." 2007 seasoned meth head honestly is looking way better than 2004 entry level meth head, now hes kind of hot, ditched the mullet and his steroided out hockey player bro with an absurd neck circumference look. not the best example, daily mail, scabs covering the person’s after face, or gtfo.
sometimes it’s so hard to completely comprehend that an actor is not the character they played in a movie or tv show, which is why when kirsten dunst suddenly was grabbing the mic at hyperion public karaoke night to sing “remix to ignition” and “i love la,” a small sliver of my brain was still somewhat convinced that torrance from bring it on was standing in front of me, having ditched all her tiffany’s bracelets and cheer clothes for an urban outfitters shopping spree at the insistence of that hipster boyfriend who she finally got with after dumping her closeted bf. they graduated high school and moved out of the suburbs together to silver lake before he abruptly abandoned her and left for nyc where shit is “real” and “hard” and he could have something to be miserable about, and now she’s left here all alone, singing randy newman songs and crying to that mixtape the bf made her in 2000, and this has been my bring it on fan fiction.
the train tween
the very moment my life really began was somewhere in arizona when a criminal gave me my very first kiss on an amtrak train.looking back on it now, that was the very first “story” i ever had. nothing before that in my alarmingly charmed boring suburban life it seemed had ever been truly worth repeating until the day i met him. i have probably told the story of the train boy being dragged off the train in handcuffs, tears streaming down my 15 year old face, more than 200 times since that day 12 years ago.
in the last 3 years, i have ridden the train alone more than 30 times, to chicago, new york, los angeles, austin, and every time i wondered when i would get the new story i had been waiting for. but each time i got on board and scanned the faces of the other passengers, the only guys were like 90 year old men with oxygen tanks who were too frail to fly or weird white trash dudes who probably own multiple icp albums, and i began to give up hope.
but finally, when i got on the train at union station to go home to chicago for three weeks, i saw him. he was sitting directly in front of me. he was definitely very cute. younger than me probably. maybe 24? he had a flip phone, which seemed somewhat disturbing, like a potential sign of a habit of serial killing. but i was willing to take my chances. and after like looking at each other awkwardly half a dozen times, he finally talked to me and asked if i wanted to come drink with him and some other kids in the observation car.
so we make our way into the car and sit down with like 4 other young people they had recruited, and everyone starts talking. “how old are you guys?” someone asks. “i’m 19!” one girl says. 21 says her boyfriend. 21 says another. then it gets to my boy, and he is 22. oh my god, these people are fucking tweens. it was now my turn and i panicked, before quickly replying 25. the very first time i ever lied about my age to be younger. “omg you’re 25?!? no way!” everyone reacted, shocked beyond belief, as if i had just said i was 65 and would be retiring shortly.
now that i realized i was old enough to have babysat my new friends, i began to chug 5 dollar cans of bud light as fast as i possibly could while flirting with my jailbait boy. he is going to colorado. he says he’s from detroit. it is pretty clear he is from detroit as much as i am from the south side of chicago and we bond over fake city origins and midwestness and by the time i’ve invested 30 dollars into my drunkenness, i’ve confessed my true age and we are making out in the booth while everyone continues the conversation around us.
at some point we go back to his seat to keep making out somewhat more privately, i guess as privately as you can in a train car with like 60 snoring obese people who could not afford to purchase 2 plane seats. “let’s go down to the bathroom,” i tell my tween. “are you like a nymphomaniac or something?” he asks, clearly concerned. “what. no?” i say, halfheartedly convincing both him and myself that this is not true. so we run downstairs and start hooking up in this weird powder room thing that does not have a lock on the door, and i’m trying to hold on to the door knob praying to god no one comes in. but i peak out the door a few minutes later just to make sure the coast is clear, and sure enough there is an elderly woman about to come in because she woke up in the middle of the night and realized she never took out her dentures or something. i shout out to please hold on one second and we quickly get dressed before innocently walking out and running back upstairs to his seat where i spend the remainder of arizona passed out in his lap, the seat where i had first glanced at a stranger only 7 hours earlier now sitting empty across the aisle.
the next morning i wake up in new mexico, and he is nowhere to be found. it suddenly dawns on me that this could be a horribly awkward situation, sober morning after trapped on a train with a one night stand you literally cannot escape from. but when i found him in the observation car, he was still so ridiculously cute that i knew it’d be fine. in the time i’d been asleep he had like adopted an entire fan club of old women who were in love with him and shooting me secret looks of jealousy and old men who were desperate for some sort of validation by impressing him with their stories of saving drowning teens, and i knew i was lucky to be with such a train power player.
we spent the next several hours plotting with a delusional war veteran who wanted me to seduce his evil 70 something year old brother to find out what off shore bank account he had hidden a probably fictional inheritance in, listening to a perverted old man tell my tween the best ways to eat girls out in the same breath as his plans to become a minister, and being lectured by an old ass hippie woman, who had definitely done way too much acid in the 60s, about how i need to be on birth control probably because she had once like chained herself to a pharmacy in Berkeley in order for me to have the right to take orthotricyclene lo each month or something.
we eventually managed to run away from the fan club to the lower floor in the observation car to make out as we watched the incredible juxtaposition of postcard worthy new mexico mountain scenery and junkyard trailer meth labs fly by, which finally started to turn into colorado’s lush green landscape, as each mile brought us closer to the end of whatever this was. and i started to realize i was genuinely going to be so sad when he left me to ride the rest of the way to chicago by myself.
suddenly the end that had been stops and states away had arrived, and we made out feverishly before he had to get off in trinidad, colorado.
”you made all my train dreams come true,” i tell him, “i’m really sad. i’m going to miss you.”
"i’m going to miss you too. but it’s a small world. i’ll see you again," he says, promising to come back to LA, and everyone knows 22 year old boys always keep their promises to random 27 year old girls they have sex with in amtrak bathrooms.
and then he was gone, and the whole thing seemed almost as if i had imagined it because on the train, reality seems to be suspended, as hours, days and states evaporate as if they never even happened. i walked back into the observation car, alone for the first time in 24 hours, and one of the old men asks where my “boyfriend” is. “he’s gone. i might never see him again,” i tell him. “you will. one day you’re going to open the door, and he’s going to be there. and if he’s not, he’s a god damned idiot, because i’m an old old man, and i’ve met a lot of girls, but you, you are something special,” he says to me. and maybe he’s right. and maybe i’ll see him again. or maybe he will completely disappear from my life, just as the first train boy did, only continuing to exist in the story about him that i’m sure i’ll be telling for years to come.
my one hour i had tinder, spent x’ing everyone and screenshotting the tragic dudes that popped up, or why i realized i will never love anyone again if the guys who are interested in me within 5 miles think their best photos are topless bro gun shots, molesting the stanley cup(is that what that is), pointing to a sign that says “a dream is a wish your heart makes” in i think an unironic way, and a selfie with disturbingly manicured facial hair with “mexico df” in like dripping blood font.