Due to the fact that it’s 2015, I am not ashamed to publicly announce that I have dabbled in the wondrous world of online dating. At this point, if you are a single person between the ages of 18 and 28 and haven’t at least had a Tinder account for two hours as a joke, you are probably an alien doing a poor job of fitting in with human society.
There are a great number of benefits to meeting people online, such as the potential to be exposed to people you probably wouldn’t have met otherwise. For me, a huge benefit is the lack of initial face-to-face interaction. I am absolutely horrible at face-to-face interaction with new people. I get all anxious and my brain goes blank. I end up either coming off as unsociable and unfriendly, or else I start babbling word vomit and tell the hilarious but inappropriate story of the time I got really drunk and puked on one of my best friends while we were sleeping in my bed (sorry, Brittany). Through text, I am able to thoughtfully compose replies and edit as I see fit, thus enabling me to present myself as charming, articulate, and humorous, which is only sort of lying. Then, if I actually end up meeting the person in real life, they will still think I am charming and hilarious, no matter how many puke stories I tell (I have a collection, you see).
One of the downsides of online dating is that it often tests your faith in the male population, if not humanity as a whole. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve absolutely met some nice people online, and even the ones that didn’t work out were due more to a lack of conversational compatibility than anything (or they didn’t have anything more compelling to say than “hey watsup” and “lol”). But, I’ve had more than enough…um…interesting experiences to make signing into my online profiles an emotionally exhausting endeavour. What will happen today? Will I be sexually harassed? Negged? Propositioned and subsequently insulted by a man old enough to be my father? Bombarded by a myriad of white guys holding up dead fish? Every swipe, click, and/or tap is truly an adventure!
So, without further ado, I invite you to follow me into the realm of fuckboys, douches, man-babies, and custy old dudes, if you dare.
I think (or, I hope) I speak for most people when I say that routine check-ups at the doctor’s are rarely pleasant and often nerve-wracking. Am I secretly dying? Do I have a late stage of some unknown and/or untreatable disease? Such is the culture of WebMD, where a muscle twinge could be a sign of cancer. Or maybe I’m just paranoid. Continue reading “3 things i learned when i was diagnosed with prediabetes”→
So, there you were, swiping along on Tinder, when you came across a pretty girl. Let’s call her Betty. You checked out her profile, and she seemed like a cool gal, so you gave her a right swipe. Lo and behold, a match!
After chatting some, you and Betty decided to meet up. Low-pressure; a casual dinner date. You talked, you laughed, you had a nice time. The date ended, I’m sure you felt, on a positive note. Betty came home and recounted the date – her first Tinder meet-up, in fact. She’d been quite nervous beforehand, considering “Don’t meet up with strangers from the Internet” is basically the first lesson you learn in Not Being Kidnapped 101. She said you were very nice and had enough in common to keep the conversation flowing, but that she didn’t really feel any sort of “spark”. Overall, though, a positive Tinder experience, considering she hadn’t been murdered. Continue reading “an open letter to a Nice Guy™”→
I understand that in writing this post, I am engaging with you, which is the exact opposite of how you’re supposed to deal with trolls. However, I don’t feel like you’re a “personal” troll. You seem more the type who peruses tags of subjects you like to troll about, where you commit your troll-y acts as you see fit, and then move on to other troll opportunities. Thus, I am fairly confident that you will never visit again and won’t ever read these words. Unless, in a plot twist, you actually found the post through my Facebook, meaning that I have unwittingly been Facebook friends with an anti-feminist troll for an indeterminate amount of time. If this is the case, please feel free to delete me from your friends list at the earliest opportunity. Continue reading “an open letter to the absolutely fantastic troll who visited my blog the other day”→
My personal experience with Fifty Shades of Grey went something like this:
Because I don’t live under a rock, I’d heard whispers about it. I was mildly intrigued, as most people would be upon hearing that word porn had somehow managed to become a socially acceptable bestseller (as an aside, once I overheard a classmate telling our elderly male prof that she had read it on her tablet in bed…like, he knows what it is! It’s not a secret!). I had the distinctly awkward experience of noticing that my mother owned all three books, and the distinctly awkward-er experience of witnessing my mother lending the books to my grandmother. One day, when I was alone in my mom’s bathroom, I noticed it on the bathtub ledge. Curiosity got the best of me, and I flipped open the first page. Continue reading “fifty shades of absolutely not”→
So, I have a confession. This might come as a surprise, but…I am a feminist. A big, huge, raging Crazy Feminazi™. Actually, that really shouldn’t be a surprise. If you’ve read more than one of my posts and haven’t figured that one out for yourself, I don’t really know what to tell you.
As you’ve probably noticed, feminism has kind of been having its day in the light for the past couple years or so. Some might even call it “trendy”. Nowadays, it seems that every time a female celebrity gets interviewed, she gets asked the question, “Are you a feminist?” And, I mean, I guess that’s better than asking mundane questions about their diets for their latest movies or where they get their hair done or whatever, but many of their answers have revealed something about the public’s view on this controversial topic:
People really, really don’t know what feminism even is.
Of course, I’m far from the first one to try to correct these misconceptions, but I thought I might as well add my voice to the crowd, because I really like hearing myself talk (reading myself write, whatever, same/diff). So, without further ado, here are a few of the most common “myths” about feminism that I encounter in my trollings around the Web and in my daily life: Continue reading “feminist mythbusting, part I”→
Dear my dental hygienist (sorry, I don’t have anything better to call you),
I’m not going to lie; as it stands, I already really hate coming to the dentist. Well, I doubt anyone really enjoys the dentist, but for me, it’s like a torture chamber. I have this thing about metal against my teeth, like a nails-on-chalkboard cringe-y feeling (I avoid biting my forks and spoons for this very reason), so I’m sure you can understand my distaste. Also, I apparently have really weak enamel (I’m a very diligent brusher, promise!), because every time I come to the dentist, y’all are like, “You have 300,000 cavities! Guess you might as well move in here for the next few weeks while we freeze your mouth and drill your teeth out of your head!”
Dear dude on the subway three Thursday nights ago,
It was 10 o’clock on the night before Halloween, and the first night of Halloweekend. Halloween is one of my favourite times of the year; you get to be whoever and whatever you want, be as sexy or silly or weird as you want, and nobody will say anything about it.