Chapter Three of The Tinder Diaries follows one of my good friends and his journey through Tinder. He wishes to remain anonymous because of the insane popularity and paparazzi he would inevitably face after being publicly recognized on my super famous blog, so a clever pseudonym will be used. Chic!
The story of Will E. Tank, ladies and gentlemen,
I first started exploring Tinder when my two-year relationship started going to trash in early January. We were in that break-up-make-up-fight phase where all toxic relationships eventually find themselves. I got on Tinder to just explore, flirt a little, or maybe find an intellectually stimulating conversation.
It worked for a while as just that. I never really crossed that line from monogamy to cheating, but there were definitely some blurry lines. Some suggestive comments made over steaming cups at Heine Brothers or Quill’s, or maybe lust-infused eye contact over Jimmy Johns sandwiches. But when the coffees were cold and the sandwiches devoured (every last bite because it is JJ’s) I went back to my job and house and dog and horrible relationship.
Then I moved to a different city, and we broke up. For good. Like blood slinging, frying pan throwing, middle of the restaurant yelling, I hate you forever, gravity-defying breakup.
And Tinder became a monster. A cuddly monster, though: one you drink a bottle of bourbon and curl up under the blankets with because you’re new here and have no friends and your drunken emotions shouldn’t be allowed out in public.
“Hi, my name is Will and I’m new here. Wanna show me around?” really worked. No shit. I never knew so many girls wanted to be f-cking tour guides. Today’s little story is about the most memorable date from the “Tour Guide” phase.
She had a really exotic name. Like Arianna. But not Arianna. We’ll just call her that for fun. Arianna wanted to show me around downtown (that means two things), and I took the bait. According to her pictures, she was 10/10, like SMOKING hot; I told myself, “Why not, you deserve this. You’ve had a rough time.” (Editor’s Note: Heard that!) We met at Starbucks, exchanged pleasantries; she ordered a dark roast, no room for cream. We talked about food, became Facebook friends (remember this for later), and she loved Harry Potter. Jackpot.
Everything was normal. She had great style, astonishing (genius level) intelligence, and did I mention drop-dead gorgeous? A coffee turned into a beer or eight, followed by a bottle of wine at her apartment during the last Batman movie. I woke up the next day, left a cute Post-it note on the coffee maker, and went to work. Absolutely. Perfect.
Then it happened.
I got a Relationship Request from Arianna on Facebook.
Often, a common side-effect of genius-level intelligence and incredible good looks is that said person happens to suffer from a slight case of BAT-SHIT CRAZY.
This was the case with Arianna.
Over the next twenty-four hours, I received ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY THREE TEXT MESSAGES, and a novel on Facebook messaging. She posted a status on Facebook, “I found the one :)” and got around 56 likes. She literally asked what I wanted to name our first child, what I thought about the date of November 15th as a wedding day, if I wanted to raise a family in the country or the city, when could she meet my parents. Did I want an outside wedding? Why aren’t you responding? Did I come on too strong? Your handwriting is adorable. Will you write our names together and send me a picture? Here is my full name with your last name, isn’t it so lovely? My mom wants to meet you this weekend. What kind of dog can we have together? Can we wear matching Fourth of July outfits?
She basically crammed what should have been 15 – 18 months of romantic dinners, cute lunches, weekend getaways, late-night wine-infused conversations, and long moonlit walks into 24 hours of mind-blowing craziness. It was like seeing a year of New York City on a thirty second time-lapse: frightening and just wayyyy too much. How does someone who was so awesome one night before, turn into a marriage-and-children-craving psycho?
I tried to let her down easy: “Arianna, I had a great time with you last night, but you are completely insane and I am afraid that our children would be serial killers, or at the very least that they would listen to Nickelback. I’m sorry, but please don’t contact me again.”
Of course, that wasn’t enough, but that is another story. However, I received a text from Arianna two months later with a picture of a ring on her finger captioned: “Shoulda put a ring on it.”
Me: “I should have swiped left.”
Good luck, Arianna, my most crazy Tour Guide.
To my friend Will E. Tank, this is seriously brilliant. And I can’t actually believe that I’m admitting it was hilarious because I like to think I harbor all of the hilarity that the world allows within my own writing, but this is great. It is true about the capital C Crazies, though, in that they tend to be both smart and seriously gorgeous, and you should let this be a lesson to all of you reading here at One More Thing.
TFIG to all and fingers crossed that *Will* finds the Jimmy Johns loving Tinder hottie that his spirit deserves.
Do you have a Tinder story worth sharing? Do you want to be truly famous and make millions of dollars? Well I can’t help you if you answered yes to the second question, but I can help you if you answered yes to the first! Email me, OneMoreThingKP@yahoo.com.
And don’t forget to like, share, and subscribe! Kisses.