People keep telling me to date, to have many options and just have a "blast". Not knowing how I may have succumbed to signing up for meat market sites and apps such as OkCupid and Tinder. I've tried both momentarily just to see what this could feel like. I felt nothing. I just couldn't get into it. I think I liked Tinder for a period of 30 minutes to take screenshots of the single man photos. I've learned that men in Los Angeles have some pretty unique things in common. One of which being posing with a tiger. Something on many an LA man's to-do list. Where one goes to acquire a photo session with an actual willing tiger I do not know. I'm going to have to assume that somewhere within 2 miles of Hollywood lies an underground big cat zoo dubbed Ford: Tiger Division. A place where tiger models wait with their portfolios and comp cards, wide-eyed and eager to be apart of your fashion world. Until Terry Richardson walks in and their lives are turned upside down as they are now sprawled along an unfurnished apartment's floor wearing nothing but American Apparel disco shorts and knee high socks in the aftermath of a four day cocaine binge. Maybe I'm wrong. Other popular Tinder photography includes far off in a distance mid-hiking shots. These are great because you get to learn right off the bat that the person you have stumbled upon thoroughly enjoys being one with nature. In which case, I thoroughly enjoy being one with noping the shit out of you. If you love the great outdoors, that's one thing. You're only entitled to five photos on Tinder and if you dedicate one of those slots to a picture a pal took of you from two mountains away where your posture is being severely impacted by your seventy pound assorted rock climbing shoe and flare gun filled backpack, then you make a whole lot of NO SENSE. Allow me to type as I'd text for one minute:
Cuz don't wanna have sex with National Geographic mag ya know haha.
Names are pretty screenshot worthy as well. Saw a guy named "Judson", an apparent hybrid of two shithead guy names Judd and Hudson. His parents must have asked the question "How can we make our child an immediate douchebag upon introduction?" In which case, they succeeded.
Please find enclosed absurd single human being in search of God knows what:
Red flag much?
Soon after this message, I deleted OKCupid for my iPhone has only so much memory and I needed that room to download Fat Booth and yet another iOS update. And the fact that I can not take anything seriously.
I must say in my Tinder half an hour lifespan, I learned that personalities need not apply. There's a small bio section that was created for the purpose on elaborating a bit about who you are. People like to do this really cool thing where they leave it blank. Very substantial. Obviously this is solely based upon sex. And this of course, perturbs me to no end. I would rather pick cat hair off a bunch of goth kids than have a one night stand. Allow me to type the way I text again:
Cuz gross 'N' stuff tho.
For me, finding someone attractive occurs about once every 5 years. Your insurance can cover more colonoscopies at 100% in 5 years than I can find love. Therefore, when I finally do find someone I am able to stand for more than an hour, I am faithful. It's actually natural to me and incredibly easy. Apparently I must be from the planet Nimphinompi or someplace people have only heard about like Cupertino for this is a rarity. I don't quite care about physique and muscle definition. At times, it actually sickens me. Male models and commercially attractive people are boring to me. I prefer "flawed" and interesting people that are unlike so many others I can see whenever I please in this city I live in encompassed by "beautiful people." The term beautiful should more so be used to describe the feeling delivered by someone you let that close to you, not a description based on mere physical appearance alone. If this aesthetically pleasing person were to come in the form of a dull human being lacking a warm heart, without the ability to make you feel anything less than amazing then it doesn't really matter, does it?
There was this one guy from high school, we'll call him "Splad." Splad was a handsome fellow with some sort of a muscle pattern going on along his stomach region. He was much more fond of this than that of shirts. As soon as he would exit the school doors, his shirt would come off like he was going to bust out into a full-on Chippendales performance in the middle of Queens in November. The ladies seemed to like this. I didn't know what was going on half the time because I had my walkman on but I saw brown lip lined mouths ajar and heavily eye-shadowed eyes oogling and knew he was making a shirtless impact. One day Splad sat down to chat with me, in which case I was annoyed because I had to stop listening to my walkman. With his chiseled cheekbones and sharp, angular jaw, he turned to me and muttered something so boring I forgot it as soon as he said it. It was that meaningless that I didn't even hear it. I can't recall anymore from the encounter asides from thinking "This guy has the potential if he just didn't open his mouth."
Another moment in life where I was supposed to be attracted to someone yet wasn't remotely even near that was when I worked the front desk at this hair salon in Italian-America, NY. In walks this especially height challenged man with shoulders that extended wide enough to make doorway entrance a feat in itself. Seemingly similar to Donkey Kong upon appearing at level 1, facing the front of the arcade screen on his stupid ladder in all his broad shouldered glory. The little Donkey Kong man came adorned in a white top with no sleeves, dark sunglasses and a hairdo that was comprised mostly of gel than of actual hair. He approached me asking for a back waxing. Being that he is of the ape family, this is to be expected. I led him to the back with the other girls, who already disliked me because I wasn't Italian enough and wore glitter to work. Upon the sight of him, they gagged and swooned as they fought over who would get to apply wax to his stumpy back. The alpha female with the most gold on her person won. When he left, the girls jumped up and down about how hot they found him to be. I think I might've said something along the lines of "Wha?" which resulted in looks of horror from everyone at the salon and probably outside and around the corner as well.
With this being said, finding love for me is never easy. Yet once found, I like to revel in how I can find this person to be pure, innocent and new. It gives me much hope and instills the same kind of faith a child has before their mind is capable of recalling nightmares and developing their individual fears. The enthusiasm I can feel is still strong and vital even after witnessing apathetic behavior and violent reactions from the ones I have loved so. Situations that could have permanently disabled my ability to give as wholeheartedly as I do. Yet no matter what, I still maintain the desire and the perpetual ability to trust. It is a naive approach being that I eagerly seek someone to believe in and so readily do. I suppose it must be easier to trust someone that I could never love than to love someone that I could never trust. Nevertheless, I like to think that each person is his own and shouldn't be dismissed because of negative personal experiences. No one should ever get second rate treatment due to the fact that a former lover left you with their former lover's issues. It's somewhat of a domino effect: A contemptuous lover meets someone with an open and vulnerable heart and in time, that person's burdens roll over onto this pure and willing person who was only seeking companionship. These unresolved issues spread like an airborne disease in an aircraft cabin or HPV in a Long Island community college. Resulting in qualms and reservations embedded in the back of our minds which beckon us to become self preserved and inevitably obtaining the worst trait ever: Caution. Caution, being a result of fear, is the cock-blocker of love. All these quote on quote playboy types and the likes are merely pussies doused in cologne and dread who lack the introspection to see this. Or perhaps they know, but don't want to feel that unsurpassable amount of pain again. Can I blame them? Absolutely not. Some people don't have the means or the know-how to heal. Yet I must say, I feel as though if you met your match all that anguish you've felt from your prior failed relationship is converted into a particle of nothingness and you can truly appreciate the one who can show you how you ought to feel. Which is why I, after all the unpleasantries, still have the utmost endurance to keep searching.
How can one be so fragile, yet so shatterproof at the same time? In New York, we would call my kind "schmuck." Which indeed, I sure am. Have True Romance be your favorite movie and Depeche Mode be your favorite band and see what lovely decision making ensues. I tend to give everyone the benefit of the doubt no matter how obvious the doubt is. So perhaps taking my search to OKCupid to find schmucks alike wasn't an awfully terrible idea. Maybe I should reconsider signing back in yet never, ever meeting any of them, for that will burst the bubble. Instead emulating my cologne ridden counterparts who have shut down that part of their brain that longs for intimacy. Only keeping men as a daydream of what they could be, for safety reasons. Like the way I would in my youth by idolizing performers such as David Bowie, Mr. Navarro and Tim Curry. Glancing over to their posters on my wall and envisioning how I hoped them to be. Creating a magical human being with majestical powers no short of flying who will do such fun activities with me like sit in a car and/or diner. For from what I gather, no one I could possibly share my love with can match the capacity in which I can love: Never partial, never diluted. I suppose I can always continue to screenshot the images of single LA men and come to more conclusions on where these:
Tigers r chillin' haha SRSLY tho.