The Trials of Quinnder (or how I tried to find love on Tinder) - Taboo Tuesday #17

I'm sure it comes as a surprise to no one, but it's a proven fact that uh -- God, what was it -- oh yeah, everyone wants to have sex with me and/or date me.

Exhibit A.

(Two Hot Topics and one Good Charlotte were hurt in the making of this photo.)

It was thus a shock relatively recently when I attempted to woo a gentleman and came to realize that I liked him more than he liked me. 

Rejection was, to say the least, mildly irritating. It was, to say the most, mildly earth-shattering. 

I have since learned that in my darkest hours I have a proclivity to drive to the nearest grocery store(s) and buy as many Lunchables as those establishments are morally willing to sell an individual.

I think the woman ringing me up probably just carded me because she was worried I was running a Capri Sun-into-Meth lab.

As I tore through about, oh, several dozen too many miniature Airheads and accidentally lost several more pizza sauce spreaders to my endless maw, I decided I had to do something that would not only make me feel better, but also wouldn't give me marinara/plastic spreader diarrhea. 

Now, if you are any one of my three friends (which, if you're reading this, there's a 60% chance that you are), I have probably offered you unsolicited dating advice post-breakup. 

That dating advice was to have casual sex.

You're welcome.

I don't know why, but I have always seen casual sex as a cure-all of sorts for those pesky things the human folk call 'feelings'. 

Unfortunately, despite several attempts -- I have never actually succeeded in having casual sex.

 I don't know why it is, but the tragic truth is that I can only seem to have fancy sex.

Because I'm fucking classy.  Hell, even my diarrhea comes with its own individual spreaders.

Exhibit B --

Genuinely the first condom I had sex with.

But, as I stared at my swollen-eyed, cheesy foreheaded reflection in my vibrator/soulmate, I realized: no, Quinn. You pick yourself up and you have casual sex. You can do this.

So I did what any self-respecting adult does. I downloaded Tinder.

"Oh here Rock, meet Bottom."

At first, I tried to take the whole thing seriously. I really, really did you guys. I picked out pictures, had all these high hopes about moving on and being a cool sexy adult

... but then I saw the other humans on Tinder.

"I wear pants." - A Normal Guy

Trying to make the best of this increasingly good decision, I scanned other people's bios to get an idea of what to put in mine. I quickly realized that there are only three things people on Tinder care about:

1) Height.

2) Weight.

3) Willingness to suck dick and zero threat of love.

So I figured, hey, better give 'em what they want. 

After a job well done I thought -- okay.  I'm going to find casual sex come hell or high water. 

I will take this seriously.

THEN I conveniently swiped onto a gentleman named Dragan.

Now, I'm not sure if there is a God -- but in this moment I told myself that if Dragan and I matched, that there absolutely was a higher power and he/she wanted me to do something very special.

Your move, atheists.

And then the most amazing thing happened.

He still wanted me to suck his dick.

Suddenly a whole world of opportunities was open to me -- a world where I could tell men anything and they still might want to put their meat batons in me.

So I made jokes for myself.

RIP Mom, ya naggy dead lady.

That didn't get me unmatched, it got me a "No judgement! lololol So what do you do?"

I had to try again with this dead mom thing. I couldn't believe it.

It worked! He still liked my vagina! But I wasn't testing these guys, these poon experts if you will, as thoroughly as I should have been. 

First I wanted to see if they liked my description. 

The answer is no, they did not like my description. Or they didn't understand it.

Or they didn't read it.

Great, I learned I could be whoever I wanted here, because what I said was of no consequence. No, I realized it was more about what they were saying that was important. I had to learn from them and their clever bios.

Beyond even those bios though, they all had sweet pick-up lines that I wasn't appreciating. 

My favorite are the Tinder boys who have a whole script going and cannot be deviated from it. Shows their dedication. 

God. These men seem so perfect. What could I possibly offer them? Maybe a bit of knowledge -- like what an aphid is.

Or even broaden their horizons when they seem to be close minded.

Then I'll admit, I went a bit power hungry. I became an asshole and physically could not stop myself from being an asshole. Mom was right.

His response: "Weeeeaooohhawwooo!!! Haha! Me too!"

His response: "What's a wereowl?"

His response: "It's okay."

My response:

Sparky is not impressed.

"Hey Quinn, Nickelodeon circa the late-90s called, they want their joke back."

Well too fucking bad.

I was thankfully humbled by a gentleman who was either being honest about only kind of being attracted to my stunning pictures, or who might have been negging me.

Then I was reminded of my own past.

I'm basically a mind reader.

And finally that, what the hell, maybe this is all an illusion.

Ultimately all these kind men were DTF regardless of the clear insanity that is Tinder and/or me.


Only one unmatched me.

It started on Friday, innocently. Too innocently. And okay... so I didn't respond.This man was not pleased when I clearly overlooked his Majesty. (Which is only what I can assume he's nicknamed his dick -- presumably his balls are "Purple" and "Mountain".)

So I had to try to win him back.

But it was no use.

My true love left me. 

To try to get my confidence back, I swiped right on someone with standards I desperately hoped, as I ate my twenty-somethingieth Lunchable, I did not meet.

And that was the end.

After my experience on Tinder I realized -- hey, maybe feelings aren't so bad to just have.

Something I learned from my new favorite movie starring Phyllis from The Office.

In fact, they're probably better to have than, say, herpes. 

I have also learned that it really does not take much to turn me into an asshole, one too many knock knock jokes and I will tear those poor film school boys to shreds.

Happy swiping, folks. Look out for murderers.

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