This Tinder conversation is proof of:
1) Why I’m still single.
2) The quality of men on Tinder.
3) How much I hate bad grammar.
This story was written by me with full permission from my friend J.
J. met Battery Pack at the Bungalow a few weeks ago around closing time. He approached her with the line, “I bet you get so tired of guys coming up to you at the end of the night and hitting on you” and then he walked off. A few minutes later, he re-approached her and proceeded to actually hit on her. Her friend slash wingwoman for the night E. was not impressed with him.
J. agreed to a date with him where he wouldn’t agree to meet in a “in the middle” neighborhood and insisted that she go to HIS favorite Thai restaurant in his part of town. Red flag #1. He also offered for her to park at his friend’s place because it had “free valet” which she wisely declined. While at dinner he began discussing chiropractic techniques to which J. asked “Oh, are you a chiropractor?” to which he replied “No….well yes…I just don’t have a license.” Red flag #2. Surprisingly, the rest of the date went well, except for the point where he said “Oh honey! Your rib is completely out!” and proceeded to adjust it before getting her consent and the “adjustment” resulted in 2 days of soreness. Red flag #3.
Fast forward to Labor Day weekend, where we attended a barbecue hosted by J. and friends in Marina del Rey. She invited Battery Pack as their 2nd date and he agreed to come and then showed up two hours late. He finally called J. and complained that he could not find the place and was very irritated. While J. tried to give him directions, he snapped, “this is NOT helping me!!” and hung up. When he did finally arrive, J. went down to show him where to park and the second that she got in his car, he did not say hello and started ranting about how he “hates bbqs in these types of buildings”.
Upon his un-punctual arrival, Battery Pack called out J’s friend E. for dismissing him at Bungalow, which immediately made everyone in the apartment uncomfortable. He didn’t make an effort to talk to us (the friends) and swept J. to the couch where he tried to canoodle with her and give her a poor man’s massage and unwanted chiropractic adjustments. Between his groping attempts, Battery Pack would pick up his phone which was attached a battery pack that was twice the size of his iPhone and play his beloved video game.
Later in the night, some of our guy friends showed up. When they entered the apartment, Battery Pack waved hello to them and said, “Hey guys, nice to see you. There’s a bunch of you and I’m the couch so I’m not going to get up and shake your hands. Cool to see you!” We stared in astonishment and the boys were rightfully offended. Battery Pack then went on to have a single-sided conversation with the room about how he finances movies and he’s really, really good at it.
The majority of us decided we couldn’t hang around Battery Pack any longer and ran across the street to the local bar to escape. Our host, Ellen*, decided at that point the barbecue was over and told Battery Pack to leave immediately. J. was relieved that he was kicked out and joined us out at the bar, where we congratulated her on making the right call to ditch the dude.
Battery Pack continues to text J. even though she has explicitly told him she no longer wants to see him.
And so ends another tale of another douchebag run-in in Los Angeles.
On the first date, who do you think should pay? Should the guy pay because it’s his courting duty, should you go Dutch, or should us women of the post-feminist era foot the bill?
I recently ventured back into the dating world of Tinder and had a date with Jake*, a seemingly nice guy who works at a major talent agency. I should have listened to my instincts which said no one nice works at an agency in LA but I guess I felt unusually bold and hopeful. I further ignored my instincts and agreed to a Friday night date (a very unusual move for me).
We met at a bar near my house in Brentwood that I know to be reasonably well-priced and would have a decent Friday evening crowd. While Jake and I had a good conversation, I found his guffaw laugh to be rather obnoxious and didn’t feel much of a spark.
When the check arrived, I did the usual coy ask of “Oh, should we split it?” and he said, “Absolutely!” Now, I realize that it was absolutely my fault to even present him with the option, but shouldn’t chivalry dictate that he say, “Thanks for the offer but it’s on me.” After all, he asked me out.
After throwing down my credit card, I knew I didn’t want to see this guy again. To add insult to injury, he basically ran out of the bar and didn’t offer to walk me home.
And so ended another dud of a Friday night date in LA.
I have launched a social experiment to investigate what the kids are up to these days.
Recently, my 22 year old coworker friend talked me into trying out Tinder. Believe it or not, I do think it’s wise to take the advice of 22 year olds from time to time. They have a certain joie de vivre and lack a certain jadedness that us late 20somethings possess. And when you go out with them, you realize what a fun time they have. You don’t even regret the hangover the next day (sigh, to be 22 and hangoverless again…).
Have you heard of Tinder yet? Some call it an app for hooking up. I like to think of it as speed dating on the iPhone with all the superficiality that you’re supposed to pretend to lack on Match.com.
So far, I’ve encountered a lot of shirtless (and in some cases, headless…) men from the westside on the app. For example:
Tinder works in that it pulls your info from Facebook so everyone is “supposed” to be telling the truth. I have found this not to be the truth, as several alleged 19 year olds that I have been matched with are most definitely 35 years old.
Regardless, I have chatted with some 20something men on the app and found them to be…well…about as eloquent as they are on Match.com. Which is not saying much. One invited me over to hang with him him while he sat on his couch. I declined.
Basically, Tinder seems to be some sort of playground for all of us to play out our superficial fantasies and potentially find someone casual to hook up with. But hey, it sure is fun.
I’ll keep you posted —