Remember that time I tried Tinder and it failed horribly and I almost ended up the victim of a potential serial killer? Well that was Toronto, so I wondered what Tindering would be like in LA.
I ended up meeting three people from Tinder within two weeks of using it. Don’t give me that look – how else am I supposed to meet men as a socially awkward introvert in LA? Also, tricking an American into a green card marriage has always been my Plan B, in case I can’t get a legal visa. In the paraphrased words of Ke$ha, “It’s going down, I’m yelling Tinder! You better move, you better dance. Whoaaa ooohooohoohhhohh oh oh, whoaaaooo–” fuck that song is in my head now.
Anyways the first guy I met was Chris*, an army combat filmmaker.
* Names have not been changed to protect identities because, well, I’ve only got like 4 blog readers so it doesn’t really matter.
The army uniform made Chris look extra hot in his pictures. ‘MERICUH! FUCK YEAH! But here’s the thing with Tinder – the description area is a 500 character abyss that the app simply calls “Description.” There are no required fields or questions to fill in, such as “Zodiac Sign” or “Profession” or “Height.” Given the nature of my high standards (read: I’m superficial), these requirements would be highly pertinent as to whether or not I’d want to meet someone in real life. I’m 5’7″ and height is especially important. So while Chris was hot within the confines of my phone, I was disappointed when he was only 5’9” in person; I’d be taller than him if I ever wore heels…
I know! It’s what’s on the inside that counts! It wasn’t so bad once we were sitting down though and I dutifully set aside my shallowness for some one on one conversation.
We met at a bar that that was screening Bend it like Beckham in the courtyard, and half an hour into the date there were definite red flags because I was more interested in watching Keira Knightley and Parminder Nagra play soccer than I was in listening to Chris talk. And THEN I started thinking about that James Spader show The Blacklist, which Parminder Nagra now stars in. But what was she in BEFORE The Blacklist? An ER type show I think, I’m picturing her in some kind of surgeon scrubs…OH WAIT is Chris saying something important? What? He was a really nice guy and such a gentleman, but the conversation was unfortunately bland.
Tinder Dude #2 was also named Chris and also a filmmaker. (Yes my taste in men is that transparent). Chris 2 was visiting from Australia and only here for another week, which in Tinder speak is “Let’s hook up while I’m on vacay!” But he was out with friends and invited me to the iconic Roosevelt Hotel for Night Swim, a super-exclusive, super-Hollywood, super-try-hard-hipster pool party. So why not meet up with Chris 2, it was either that on a Tuesday night or eating pizza in bed watching TV.
I used my feminine wiles to get on the party’s super-elite guest list, which is to say I begged the front desk to let me in and they took pity on me because I looked sad and lonely. Chris 2 was about 6’1″ and my first reaction to seeing him was “WHOA YOU LOOK LIKE TOM HARDY OMGZ HOTHOTHOTHOTHOT.” He totally knew he was hot shit though and had girls all over him. One modelly looking chick (in a sea of other modelly looking chicks) slinked over, sandwiched herself between us and said “Oh heyyy Chris right? *coyly bites lip* We met at Bret’s Fourth of July BBQ.”
Chris 2: Oh yeah, I remember you! Hey!
Hot Girl: Bret’s BBQ was so fun, he had the best tamales.
Chris 2: Bret’s tamales were definitely the best I’ve had in LA.
Hot GIrl: Yeah I ate like four of Bret’s tamales, so good!
Bitch I don’t give a fuck about Bret’s tamales! Get the fuck outta here! But she continued talking to Chris 2 and pretended not to notice my cut eye.
Hot Girl: And Bret was so nice too! OMG I fan-girled out and brought my book for him to sign. He was so flattered by it!
Hold up. Hot Girl brought a book for Bret to sign? BRET EASTON ELLIS, AUTHOR OF AMERICAN PSYCHO? Ok maybe now I cared more about these tamales of his.
But WTF who was this Chris 2 dude and how did he know the renowned writer of Less Than Zero and Glamorama? He told me that his cousin, a fairly successful actress, was good friends with Bret. I wasn’t savvy enough to get Chris 2’s last name for Google creep purposes, so I have no idea who his cousin might be, but I’m going to assume it’s Naomi Watts or Cate Blanchett. Thanks Tinder, for putting me in a celebrity’s orbit.
After last call I said goodbye to Chris 2 at the bar knowing that I’d never see him again. On to the next one! Tinder Dude 3 was, surprise, another filmmaker. He was actually pretty cool and ended up a Facebook friend, so I will be decent enough not to write about him, except to say that he’s Italian and was only in town for the summer and couldn’t help me get a green card, so I knew from the start there was no point in trying to bag him as a husband. Maledizone! (Damn!)
It’s been about two months now and I haven’t met anyone else from Tinder, but I have gotten a few propositions, mostly dudes messaging me late at night with “r u horny.” To which I respond “bro y u so lame.” Also, these dudes seemed ok:
The hunt for a husband continues! Orrr maybe I should focus less on dating and more on getting the paperwork that my immigration lawyer keeps asking me for…