Saying goodbye

Dated August 8th

I'm seeing Will tomorrow - nearly a year since we dated and broke up. I'm not really sure what to expect. I'm not really sure what I want. I don't know what my ideal is. I don't know if I have an ideal situation in this case. He's leaving. There's a high likelihood that I may never see him again. I'm sure he'll be back in Toronto but things as they stand now, I'll never be part of his life again. That thought haunts me even close to a year since we broke up. It's hard not being able to share any part of my life or his life. Even in conversation. It feels cold and mean.

I'll acknowledge how weird it is that I reached out and asked to see him. It'll acknowledge that I'm surprised he agreed to see me at all. But I'm glad. I'll tell him my fear. How I am uncomfortable with the parallels between a breakup and death. It is never not weird to me. Someone I spoke to every day, one day disappears from my life. We don't acknowledge the other person's existence, and that is something I'm not OK with. I'll ask why he agreed to see me. Why he bothered to give me an hour at all.

I want to tell Will that I miss him. I don't know and I don't think I miss dating him. I think a year has changed those feelings. I don't feel the same way as I did. I don't feel pangs of hurt or even anger anymore. I miss him though. I miss talking to him. I miss sharing parts of my life with him and hearing about his. I miss hanging out with him. I want to tell him that maybe it's a strange request but I want to be friends. I wish we can get to a place where one day if he's in town or for whatever reason, I'm in his town, we can grab a drink and trade life updates. I want us to be happy for each other. I want us to be friends because I think he's a really good person. Maybe the nicest guy I've dated. I would really like for us to be friends and that's why I asked to see him. He's a good person, and it would suck to completely lose him from my life without trying at all to salvage our relationship.

From another month earlier: 
I hate losing parts of my life like in a breakup. It feels cruel. It feels confusing how someone is in your life and then they are not. It feels unnatural to me. I don't want to lose you, Will. For the first few months, I just missed having someone to talk to. I missed talking to you. I missed hanging out with you. I didn't just miss dating you. I missed you. I missed having you in my life. You were good even if/ even though you haven't figured everything out yet. I haven't either.

I want to tell him what's happened in my life in the year that we've been apart. I want to tell him it's really been a struggle with work and school. Everything was constant and I felt constantly overwhelmed. I didn't know how to exist. I wasn't really, truth be told. I was hanging by a thread for a lot of it. But I made it. I made new friends. I learned more about myself. It was one of the first real challenges I put myself through. It challenged my sense of self. After so long (nearly a year), I finally made it. I start my internship next Monday.

I want to ask him about his life. How has his life been in the past year? How happy or sad or conflicted was he about leaving his job? How excited is he about starting his new life? I want to wish him well. I want to tell him that I hope he's able to change the world for the better. The world needs it, and I think the guy that I met and dated really wants to help the world too. I want to wish him the best life, the best grades, the best experience. I want him to tell me all about it the next time I see him, and there will be a next time because we will stay friends.

I hope tomorrow goes well. I hope I'm able to tell him all of these things. I hope I don't cry or feel panicked. I hope I still feel safe with him. I hope when we leave, we can give each other a big hug and well wishes. I hope we stay friends. I hope tomorrow is not the last time I ever see him. I really hope that reaching out to him won't prove to be a bad idea. I hope that we can be honest and vulnerable with each other. I hope that if I lay my heart out on the line, Will won't hate me for making him deal with this again. I hope tomorrow goes well. I hope we can stay friends. I'd really like that.

First Date Experience: Spencer

Reviving an old series on this blog, I wanted to talk more about my dating life. This series has gotten lost but it was an exercise I always found interesting. So, here we are again. 

Time: 21:27 the next day

Situation: Tinder date with a Queen's alum that I didn't want to leave

Feeling: really good, smitten

What happened?: We don't talk much before we decide to meet. By that, I mean we don't talk at all. I tell him at some point during the date that this is strange for me. I almost never say yes in these situations. I tell him I think he's vetted because we both went to Queen's, and with everything, Queen's will always hold a special place in my heart.

We are originally supposed to meet at 3pm. He changes it and we meet at 6pm instead. I am hesitant to meet. I almost decided to not go. Say I am not feeling well, and bail. I had work at 6 in the morning. I am tired. I could be doing something else more productive. There are always so many excuses when you put your mind to it. I go, we meet. I think we hit it off.

The coffee shop he suggested is closed, so we walk and I bring him to a coffee shop I go to regularly. He gets an Americano, I get a chai latte. It's 6pm and I tell him I cannot have coffee so late in the day. We spend about an hour at Dark Horse. The coffee shop closes, he asks if I want to go for a drink. We walk over to the Friar, we get drinks here for a few hours. We drink slowly and steadily, but not a lot. After a few hours here, I ask if he wants to get some food. We decide on pho. It turns out neither of us is hungry; we just didn't want to stop talking. We didn't want to say goodbye. Or at least, I didn't want to say goodbye. He kisses me good night and I ask for his phone number.

I haven't had a date go so well in a while. I was so interested in all he had to say. He made me smile and laugh. I made him smile and laugh. It felt so easy. We were never short of something to talk about. His love and knowledge of Friends match my own. He knew every reference I made - including the gestures. I am smitten. I feel like I have met someone on the same wavelength as me. I told him one of my favourite films is Oldboy and he joked that he was in love with me. Everything I said didn't feel calculated. It was every jumbled and long-winded thought, and it was all accepted. He listened to everything I say. I do not have a moment where I do not feel validated or important. This is new for me.

I think we talk about a lot. We talk about all the things we're not really supposed to talk about, but everything is OK. We talk about our experience at Queen's. We talk about our parents and what they do. We talk about his ambitions, my interests. We talk about his job, movies, TV shows. We talk about politics and religion. We make so many jokes. We get to know each other. All of it is good. All of it is so good. It is a night of conversation that leaves me feeling full.

We have another date tomorrow night. We're going to watch the Shape of Water in the evening. I'm really excited. I want to see how this will go. I hope it goes well. I had so much fun with him, and it was all just talking. I felt so much like myself. I felt like a better version of myself. I felt so light and happy. He made me smile. Thinking of it, makes me smile. I am the smitten kitten.

On love and race, race and place

Eddie Huang is someone I have a lot of respect for. He has a unique voice in a space that can feel convoluted and overdone. From Vice to Fresh Off The Boat and now to Double Cup Love, I find his voice refreshing. And more than that? I think it's necessary.

I find myself reflected in some of Eddie Huang's writing. It's so hard to find myself reflected in mainstream media, something I'm sure so many children of immigrants understand.

Double Cup Love is Eddie's journey to China with his brothers. Following the success of his restaurant Baohaus, his Vice show and first book Fresh Off The Boat, he wanted to see if his food expertise will hold up to Chinese palettes. He wanted to see whether his success would've been possible if he was born in the Motherland instead of America. Simultaneously, he also addressed the question of dating someone who wasn't Asian, and if it was possible to still reach some kind of mutual cultural understanding.

I think Double Cup Love will be mandatory reading for any serious future boyfriends and potential life partners. (I'm assuming that most of these guys will be Caucasian if history proves to repeat itself.)

There are two major points that I think he addresses in the book that really hit home for me:

1. Time and time again, I've thought to myself that if I was not born and raised in Canada, I would not be as lucky as I am. I would not have been given the opportunities I've had. I think there are people out there who are smarter, more creative and more hardworking. But simply through the luck of the draw, I am here and I can do all this. I have so much at my disposable, so many resources to draw help and inspiration from. That is luck more than skill. I am deeply thankful and so humbled by this.
   
   One quote that really struck a chord from the book: "We are both Chinese, but so much in between, so much changed because you were born in America. I have lots of things I want to do. I have dreams, too, but I will never get to see them happen because I am born here with the parents I have."
2. Growing up in Toronto, I've always been exposed to so many different cultures. Within a 30-minute walk, it is possible to pass through neighbourhoods that span continents. That's incredible. Because of this, it has never occurred to me that other cultures can be daunting or scary. People and their stories are so rich and so fascinating. People are the best stories in themselves.
   
   As I grow older though, it has become more of a concern when I date. Is it possible to grow at the same pace as someone else over a lifetime? Is it possible to meet at one intersection, travel together and stay travelling together? How do we come to meet at that one intersection in the first place? How does it work when we start off at such different points?
   
   The reality is that my dating history is mostly white. Parts of it are even stark white, bleached two or three times over.
   
   I am the child of two Chinese immigrants. I am the first in my family to get a university education. And although it is not a thought that comes to mind often, English is not my first language. My parents are still not fluent English speakers. I still go with them to medical appointments to translate. This is a part of my history that I've never shied from. I am immensely proud of my parents who courageously came to a country they didn't understand, to build a life from scratch. The immigrant story is a powerful story.
   
   How do I translate this experience to someone who has a wholly different one? How do I understand their experience? How do I communicate the vulnerabilities, insecurities and prideful moments that come out of my history and existence? How do I understand the vulnerabilities, insecurities and pride that arises from another existence? How do we develop a mutual understanding and carve a new path? Where do we find the acceptance in all of this?
   
   These are questions I ask myself every time I date; every time there is ambiguity resulting out of a difference in (cultural) understanding. I know these will be questions I ask when I decide I've found my person. Eddie does a great job encapsulating these questions. (Spoiler alert: he figures out how to appropriately address these questions. He works through them, finds out what's important to him. It works out for him - kinda.)

An essay on breakups and funerals

It feels strange to be here. It feels strange to continue on. Mostly because of how simple it is to do just that. Wake up. Go to work. See friends. Feed yourself. Indulge in goodness and then some bad. Sometimes it feels like sadness overwhelms you, but mostly it is unbelievably easy to move on. The sadness, the ugliness of that part of life - we compartmentalize that away.

It hasn't been so long but it is already so easy to not see that part of my life, and then it becomes easier to forget that it existed at all. The part of a breakup that bothers and scares me so much is how much it resembles a death. It feels like dying. Only there is no burial or funeral process.

In a breakup as a funeral, it is a loss. Someone who became so important can become gone. It is strange, so strange how we stop talking. How is it that one day I will know all the mundane and intimate details about a person? But at another day, I cannot begin to say hello. The vain side of me hates that he can forget me so easily. The vain side of me hates that I can die, that I am dead in his world. A creased existence in his life.

I'm so bad at letting go. It makes so little sense to me when I have to. I don't want to.

In the past weeks, I have moved on. I see friends. I go to parties. I've gone on a date. I have done things that make me happy. Indulged in food, in wine, in sweat. In the positive attention and light of people who feel good. In many ways, it is surprisingly easy to move on. That part of a breakup is strange too. It is so easy for life to return to normalcy. For something that feels so devastating and dramatic in one moment, to leave no trace on any other aspect of life. Nothing else slows down or really changes. All the pieces that were there before continue to be there. All these other aspects; life unchanged. It is shocking how quickly and easily life can embrace someone and then how just as quickly and easily, it can spit someone out. No traces like they were never there to begin with. Like they will also never be there again.

In something I've seen recently, it said something like, our systems are designed to compartmentalize. To contain our bad moods, our sadness because otherwise, we would not be able to live. We have to be able to continue living. We cannot be so consumed by sadness that we do not move; cease to exist. Humans, in this way, are so resilient. Built to withstand the different destruction our world puts us through. Heartbreak cannot kill us. Not really. It's possible to forget. It is shockingly easy in fact. More inevitable than a possibility.

Soon, he is little more than a distant memory like the others have become. Visited only occasionally just like a burial site. It doesn't matter how well designed or how much money is put on a tombstone. Someday, a tombstone is just that. A tombstone, barely connected to memory. Barely visited.

I will become this to him. A tombstone in a graveyard part of his life. Little more than a distant memory no longer visited. I hate that I will be this to him. But we are the resiliency of the human spirit.

My friend, Henrieta's tips to deal

1. Men need to show the fuck up.
2. The ideas of 'crazy' and 'just in my head' are bullshit.
3. Listen to your body and to your emotions.
4. You deserve to spend your valuable time with people who do not exacerbate your anxiety (fuck that shit).
5. You're not unreasonable. You are a rational and compromising person.
6. Beyond thinking if you're good enough for others, think about whether or not they're good enough for you. 
7. You will stop apologizing for being a full human, a full dynamic human. That means there are good and bad parts, including the parts you're trying to build. 
8. For anyone to only expect your good parts and fuck off when shit gets real, can fuck off. 
9. You are loved. You deserve love. 
10. EXPECT MORE. 

Will and I at Niagara Falls

Date no. 9

I'm smitten and I think it shows. I think it is very obvious and I have made no attempts to hide it. I'm smitten and then I have to admit that for the first time in a while, I am happy.

Mom, don't worry about me. I think I'm finally figuring things out. I'm finding my way. 

Yesterday, he wrote an important exam. I could tell he was tired when I asked him to hang out with me at the park. He looked so sleepy. We laid in the park, basked in the last of summer's sunshine. He told me that he was glad he came out even though he was tired. It was a beautiful day - one worthy of being celebrated.

I appreciate that he is someone who will say yes to me, who will say yes to my whims. This need of mine to be outside and to do things, to never feel trapped. He is someone who will say yes when he starts to see the ways I falter, my inconsistencies, and the way I am stubborn. I appreciate that he is so different from me in this way. Kinder than me, more patient than me, likely more forgiving than me. He is far warmer than what I'm used to dating.

Yesterday, we sat at the park for about an hour, maybe a little more. We spent the time trading more stories, more experiences. I was reminded the way that dating is the way we fill each other in on the details of our lives. He told me the time he drank the Sourtoe Cocktail. He told me the time and the way his grandpa admitted to smoking marijuana. I told him about my dad's reaction to the legalization of marijuana. We talked about the way that Ontario will roll out its own legalization process. I showed him some of the thumbnails I was working on. We were laying in the grass. I was rolling around. I felt really happy; it felt light. After about an hour, I recommended Hanmoto for dinner. A Japanese bar with tapas-style food. We had to wait, but he really enjoyed the spot. We each got cocktails, split the food. If I'm honest, when I say I'm smitten, I like just spending time with him. I move outside of myself and I realize I like just sitting across him, waiting for our food. I like watching him. I like these moments. I'm very smitten. After dinner, we migrated to his place. We chatted with his roommate. I appreciate the way he introduces me to the different parts of his life - the parts of life that build a real person, a real existence. We spent the evening watching Twin Peaks, cuddling and making out. I went home at the end of the night, but I didn't really want to. I wanted to spend more time with him. I didn't think he wanted me to leave either. We spent an hour "leaving".

On the porch, we hugged and kissed goodbye. I think I am becoming less frightened that he will be someone who disappears from my life without so much as another thought. It is a wonderful evening. I like the way he pats my head. I like the way he holds me, tightly but with a pressure that says he is worried that he may snap me. I am happy thinking about it. He feels safe. He is easy to talk to, someone I'm comfortable around, and he feels safe. I'm smitten. I like him. I really like our time together.

I'm a fan of this one.

Tommy Thompson Park

This is a photo from the day he first kissed me. We went for a 5-kilometre trail through Tommy Thompson Park, making it a 10-kilometre hike (walk). My feet will be sore for a week and a half after. It will hurt so much that I am unable to walk for two days. He kissed me when we were sitting on some rocks, watching sailboats and the city skyline. When I'm with him, I never want to stop.

I met him at a pool party almost three months ago. It was an old university acquaintance - someone I had classes with and sat at a couple pubs with, but not someone I spent a lot of time with. It was through another mutual friend that I was invited at all. It is funny how these things happen. Funny how coincidental life is. When we tell people we met at a pool party, I wonder who I am. I wonder how these things happen to me. This doesn't seem or feel like something that will happen to me. I met this boy at a pool party and I assumed I would never see him again. Nearly three months later, I miss him when I don't see him. I like hearing him laugh. 

Last Saturday, he texted me he was hungover. We were supposed to hang out. I brought pizza and kombucha (my hangover cure) over to his place and we watched Black Books and Bojack on Netflix. We sat with his roommates. I met a guy from my old high school (many years my senior). I am in awe how we do these things, in awe of how comfortable I feel in these situations with him. 

He holds my hand when we walk together. We do things together. We watch movies, go to bars, go to Shakespeare in the Park. He asks me questions about my weeks, my life, my history. He introduces me to his friends. We spend time with his friends. He wants to see me and spend time with me. This is a real experience, a real exchange with a real nuanced person. With him, and with me. The more time we spend together, the more we become 3-dimensional figures in each other's lives. I heard once somewhere that someone is less likely to steal from your wallet if you have a picture of a baby in it. I think you're less likely to have your heart broken when someone first acknowledges that you have a real heart capable of being vulnerable. We hold hands. We kiss. When our bodies fold together and I'm cuddled against him, I wonder how I might never leave. I like him. 

This is different. This feels different. I am not ready to admit or really openly vocalize my excitement. My best friend and I are of the variety that believes when good things happen, the other shoe will drop. The faint optimist in me wants to believe otherwise. He is so good. This is different. This feels different. If we look and compare and contrast, there are differences. I think both minor and more substantial. If we look, we start to begin to picture things that may not be there. I think we are creatures desperate to see what we seek. But this feels different, I say again. 

This is another photo from the day he first kissed me. I want to see him again soon. 

PS. Thank you to my friend Amanda who asks me about this blog, and reads my content, and encourages me to write more. I miss you.

First Date Experience: Stewart

I'm starting a new series about the first dates I go on. The goal is to do a quick assessment of how the date went, as quickly as possible after the date. What happened, how I felt after, what we talked about, details about him. How we actually met, etc. It is in hopes of better understanding the people I meet, the patterns I fall into. A better log of my dating life.

Time: 00:09

Situation: Tinder date

Feeling: Insecure

What happened?: We meet around 8:40pm. He is ten minutes late. We switch from our original bar arcade idea to a quieter bar where I know the bouncer. We order two pitchers. The first pitcher is Creemore ("Creamore") and the second, Mill St. Tankhouse. We talk about our siblings. I tell him about my precarious relationship with my sister. He tells me he's the middle of three brothers, with their age defined by the numbers of tattoos each has. His birthday is March 10th. His parents got real busy in July. I tell him about past Chinese political history and he tells me more about Brexit. We discuss our parents. His are Scottish immigrants. Mine are Chinese. We talk about Humber College, where he went, where I recently applied. I tell him about my tattoo experience and how sick I got. He says he owns a tattoo gun, and does some tattoo work himself. He talks about his roommates and his friends.

I think we have a good date, but around 10pm, he suddenly tells me his roommate with the nearly dead grandmother, now has a dead grandmother and he has to go console his roommate. I don't know if I should be hurt. He settles the bill. He mentions that I can get it next time. We walk out. I can't remember if there's a hug or not. He says he had a nice time. I can't remember if he suggests another date. He walks off. I go back inside because I ran into a friend while I was in the toilet.

It's the next day. At 00:30, I text him telling him I came home safely. He never responds. I spend Sunday more or less unsure of the date. Unsure whether I will ever see him again.

I think I'm nice during the date. I talk about the things I'm passionate about. I am honest and I am myself. I let parts of my vulnerability and insecurity slip through, but I don't think it's overbearing. I describe the experience to my best friend as meeting and talking to someone at a friend's party. There are pockets where it's a little awkward, but not unbearably so. At least, I don't think so. Maybe he does. I'm not sure if I'll ever hear from him again.

Jordan

Letter to Hanna

It’s Thursday, Hanna. Days after I got your letter in the mail. I’m writing this again in that little coffee shop I always go to. I have to leave for work soon but I wanted to maybe get in a few words. I saw a photo of you by Jenny and I’ve always loved her photos. I thought of what you wrote me. I had a date last Thursday and I thought it went so well. I had such a good time. I was laughing, dancing in front of this beautiful boy with lashes so long. I don’t understand how he changed his mind between Thursday night and Friday. He’s a ghost now, and in a big-small city like this, I don’t think I will ever see him again. I don’t understand people. I don’t understand men. I wonder if they are heartless. I wonder when falling in love became a weakness. I wonder when vulnerability will stop failing me. Is it so toxic for me to want love? For me to expose myself in this way?

He was holding me and we were laughing. We were both high. He was so impressed with the way I smoked, even though I told him I almost never smoked out of bongs. I felt almost carefree. I hate that every time I feel this way, it inevitably gets stripped away from me. I don’t want to feel bad for being vulnerable. I don’t want to feel weak for wanting love, but that’s how I feel. I want love, for me and for you. I want something great. I believe in something great. I don’t want lacklustre. I want something so bright and powerful that it might consume me but I wouldn’t care. I want good.

I can’t believe I’m still thinking about this boy I went on one date with. I’m not sure why I’m still bothered. He bit my lip as he kissed me, and I wanted so badly to know how he would bite the rest of my body.

The last boy I dated

He doesn't live in the City anymore. We met in August of last summer, and this was a picture I took of him on one of our first dates. I don't have many photos of him, but this is my favourite photo of him. I think this was also one of my favourite dates with him. We just sat in the park and talked and made out. It was very easy then. Very simple, very sweet.

I used to say and I guess I still do, "It was good until it wasn't."

He started to get busy with work. I started to get anxious and lonely and desperate. I think he liked me, I know I liked him. We never got into a big fight, but we kept telling each other we were unhappy. I haven't seen him in maybe three months now. We stopped talking for a month or two. He moved away and I didn't even know. I've since told him how I was upset. He asked if it was too late to say sorry. We still joke around. We still text each other occasionally. I tell him I still miss him, and he still teases me the way he used to. But now he lives in a different city and we barely functioned when he lived ten minutes away.

It was good until it wasn't, but I still miss him.

Pictured above: Richard, and the sunset we missed that day. 

Behind Closed Doors, Looking Back

Photographer Rob Meyers has a book called Behind Closed Doors that captures "the private homes of 25 of the world's most creative people". Some of these people include Courtney Love, Jeremy Scott, Martha Stewart and Tavi Gevinson. The premise of the project is that Meyers asks people to photograph their home using a disposable camera and then to mail in the results that they liked. This means that they can mail in a single photo or the entire roll, and of course any amount in between.

I bought this book because it was on sale at Urban Outfitters for $5. 

I was out shopping with one of my old roommates when I bought it. My old roommate and I went out for dinner after shopping, and then I ended up at the apartment of the guy I was seeing at the time. He's a photographer - both professionally and I imagine at the very nature of his soul. After explaining the project and flipping through the book, I asked him to take some photos of his apartment. How he saw it, how he wanted to show it. 

Phil's Place, Toronto, August 2014

He lived in this single room in what was a rooming house. It was a small place, but it was good I think. It was in the hub of downtown, close to some notorious bars in Toronto, across the street from old remnants of my childhood. We spent a lot of time in this little place while we were dating.

I've been looking at old photos from the past year. I count a lot of dates; events that I consider to be beginnings and ends that may not matter very much in the grand scheme of things, but I remember regardless. This weekend marks the anniversary of the last time I spent any time with this guy. I ran into him once when I moved back into the city but I haven't seen him since.

There aren't any leftover feelings.

Philip, August 2014

It's weird looking at these photos and remembering. I'm not sure he even lives in this apartment anymore. 

Recently, I've been busy with work and thinking about applying for grad school. I spend quite a bit of time thinking about where I am now versus where I was last fall. It's striking how quickly things change and how we adapt to new changes. I'm not in school anymore, I'm currently working a retail job. I don't see the same friends as often. I'm dating (but not quite - it's nothing serious and sometimes, hardly anything at all). I'm trying to be more responsible in my adult choices. For example, I started the process for repaying my student loans and I'm looking into better banking options. I also try not to go to sleep at 3AM. 

I think I'm finally getting a hang of how to move forward from last fall and being a student. Cheers. 

On/off Tinder

I don't know if you've heard about this phone app called Tinder. If you haven't heard already, there's a lot of hype about Tinder. According to the Wikipedia article, Tinder won "Best New Startup of 2013." Tinder is described as "a location-based social discovery application that facilitates communication between mutually interested users. The app allows users to chat with their matches." It is basically a match making app, but it is largely used for hook ups.

Back in June 2014, I first downloaded Tinder. Since initial download, I have had an on-again-off-again relationship with Tinder. I've met some interesting people off Tinder, some hookups, one dating experience, some normal decent guys, and some incredibly boring. There was one coffee date where I wanted to leave after ten minutes. Tinder can get interesting with the types of people you can meet. It should be noted here that my relationship with Tinder has lasted longer than any guys I've met off the app.

Now, there's some stigma around Tinder, around online dating in general. There's this idea about the kinds of people who use online dating platforms. I want to stand up and fight for Tinder and online dating. Also, because I use Tinder and I'm not a (complete) weirdo.

1. Tinder and meeting someone at the bar aren't that different - you know next to nothing about each other, you judge each other primarily by looks, and they're probably better looking in those moments than ordinarily anyways. 
2. Tinder can be a nice way of getting in touch with the people you may miss in your day to day life. One Tinder date and I established that we live in the same neighbourhood, attend a lot of the same events, hang out at the same spots, etc. But if it had not been for Tinder, we would have never approached each other and spoken.
3. I can Tinder while laying in bed in my ratty PJ shirt from when I was 10, with my sixth hour of Netflix on, and an almost empty tin of barbecue Pringles. 

See, Tinder can be pretty great.

I'm off and on Tinder a lot - for a number of different reasons. Off: during the school year and I wanted to concentrate on my studies. Off: when I was dating someone. On: vacation. On: I'm bored at home and Tinder can be kind of fun. Like for example, my Tinder profile says - "let's be honest to each other: I'm actually 13 years old. I just have longish legs and I like to drink beer. I'm looking for a guy w air conditioning." Some guys see the humour in this, but it's especially amusing when guys ask me, quite seriously, if I am really and honestly 13 years old. They are worried about possible statutory rape. No boys, I am in fact 21 years old and you are jumping the gun. Tinder is mostly harmless fun and games.

Yeah, Tinder is OK. It's fun. Go try it. Live a little. Have some Pringles. I am however, (temporarily) off Tinder at the moment.

PS. This is not sponsored by Tinder or Pringles, although that would be pretty great because I need a new laptop. (That's another very sad story.)