Crash and burn

Out of the blue I got a message from someone I met on Tinder a year ago.

“Where in the world are you?” he asked.

Odd question.

“At work,” I replied.

“I was in Denmark a few weeks ago and you popped up on Tinder. It said you were only a few hundred miles away,” he queried.

“Oh, I was in Sweden visiting friends,” I told him.

He then asked me to come back so that I could go skiing with him in Austria or Switzerland.


I don’t ski.

Never learned and I think it’s a skill best learned when you’re younger and fearless.

I told him as much.

Well lo-and-behold he used to be a ski instructor at Squaw Valley in the winter. He can teach me to ski.

No thanks, I can passably snowboard.


The last time I snowboarded I broke my tailbone.

“So you don’t want to come boarding with me? We can hit the slopes during the day and explore other activities in the evening.. . .” he hinted.

“No thanks,” I replied.

“I’ll leave you alone then,” he responded.


Sorry but this girl only travels halfway around the world to meet her Swede, not some random dude I exchanged a few text messages with on Tinder a year ago.

Momma didn’t raise no fool.

Panty dropping

So there I am, minding my own business on Tinder. .

Yes, on Tinder.

I’m not having sex but I’m still dating.

In any case, I get a message from a guy called Larry.

Larry sends me a GIF.

It’s a GIF of a woman from the waist down.

She’s standing in high heels and wearing a short skirt.

All of a sudden, her panties drop to the floor and she steps out of them.


O. M. G.

Why do I always get the sex perverts and fuckwits?

So I do the only thing I can think of.

I insult him.

I write back “Thanks for dropping your panties for me. While I don’t usually go for men who wear ladies underwear, I’m willing to give it a shot. Would you like to wear my red panties or my black panties?”

It was the most obnoxious thing I could think of saying in response to such a stupid opening “line.”

His response?


He closed the connection.


I’m finally doing something right!



I LITERALLY just started messaging this guy Jerry.

He seemed nice enough.

A bit of a daredevil seeing as how he sent me a pic of him way up in the air overlooking power lines.

Well, he DARED to be as ASSHOLE and I DARED to turn him down.

Has he even READ my profile?

You know, the one where I say that there’s more interesting things to me than just what my VAGINA can do?!?!

Good fucking grief!

I can’t win, can I?


Every time I get a little bored, I open up Tinder and let my finger do some swiping.

Usually I swipe left, but every now and then I swipe right.

On all the lumberjacks, naturally.

I force myself to sit and swipe until I find four men to swipe left on.

It’s just an arbitrary number I’ve assigned myself.

Four is just enough to ensure that I have at least one man respond.

Boredom alleviated!

Someone to flirt with.

Well, the other day I was swiping and I managed to swipe right on 4 profiles.

Mission accomplished.


Jerry, Eric, Steve and Truman.


The problem with texting four men at the same time is that you lose track of details.

Like who said what.

For example, one of these men owns a natural stone restoration company.

Which one?


Also, one has two boys and another has two girls.

Which ones?

Your guess is as good as mine.

Since 99.9% of my Tinder matches fail to materialize into a date, this most likely will not be a problem for me.

But, should I actually land a date, it would be embarrassing to ask the same questions and let on that I CAN’T REMEMBER A SINGLE DETAIL FROM OUR EARLIER CONVERSATIONS.

That’s it.

I’m screwed.

What’s up Tinder?!

What’s up Tinder?!

It’s a hookup culture online.

I could go through men like a woman with hayfever goes through tissues in the spring.




It’s absolutely crazy how frequently I get asked for sex.

Dr. Blockhead is just one of MANY men who proposition me during our VERY FIRST TEXT conversation.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, eh?

Well despite how displeased I am to get asked for sex all the fucking time (like I’m some sort of hooker), there are WORSE situations than that.

Worse than being a hooker?


But oh yes, there is.

My girlfriend suffers from what I call the “Buy me an iTunes card” phenomenon.

She’s been on Tinder a month and in that time she’s had 5 guys ask her for money – usually in the form of an iTunes gift card.


Why an iTunes card?

But even more dumbfounding is that they’re asking at all.

Grown men.

Supposedly employed.

Are they looking for a sugar mama?

And if they are, shouldn’t they look like Zac Efron or George Clooney and not a paunchy, middle aged, balding engineer with poor taste in polo shirts?

I’m just saying.

Fishing for Money

I happened upon another Tinder profile.

This one, seemingly normal with once exception.

On his profile picture there was a watermark stating “”

For real.


What kind of man ADVERTISES that he’s looking for a woman who is looking for a man with money?

It defies logic.

Is he super wealthy and just wants to land some playmate-esque lady to keep him company in exchange for him keeping her comfortable?

I don’t get it.

Don’t men WANT to be like for WHO they are not HOW MUCH MONEY they make?

It’s like me advertising that I have 38G breasts.

Then I’d get a butt load of men interested in me for my physique and not my stellar personality.

Not to mention my humility, right?

I swiped right, against my better judgment.

He has “superliked” me, after all.

Might as well see what he has to say about the topic.

You know, so I can write ANOTHER blog post.

So I shot off a message:

“You do realize your profile pic has a “” watermark on it?”

And we shall see what he says.



Read his response yourself.  Apparently he can balance an investment portfolio but cropping a picture is above his pay grade.



Nope. Never.

So I’m swiping through Tinder when I come across something striking.

A man’s profile picture containing nothing but whips, gags, floggers, paddles, and switches.

I’m intrigued.

Who does this on Tinder?

There are better sites to go fishing for BDSM play partners, after all.

Like FetLife.

But okay, I’ll bite.

So I read his profile.

Sure enough, he’s an experienced dom and he’s looking for women who want to explore their submissive side with him.

And he’s into kinky sex.


I swiped left.


Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

That’s the nice thing about sowing your wild oats when you were younger – you have a better understanding of yourself, your likes, your dislikes.

Of course, I could always learn something new about myself, but I’m betting no.

If I’m going to explore new horizons, I’m going to do it through travel, or learning Swedish, or making new friends.

Maybe all three.

But hooking up with a Tinderized version of a dom?

No thanks.

I love Tinder

I love Tinder.

Had a bad date?

Another man is just a swipe away.

Looking for someone to sext?

Another man is just a swipe away.

Want to get your flirt on?

Another man is just a swipe away.


It’s so easy.

It’s like Google Express for men.


It’s crazy how easy it is to get a date.

Of course, the trick is GETTING A SECOND DATE!

That almost never happens.

But so far, I’ve met some pretty interesting guys through Tinder.

One of whom I’m still in touch with.

It does occur to me that this is what’s wrong with the online dating scene these days: It’s so easy to land another date we invest in no one.


But here’s my theory.

I connect with no one because I just haven’t met the right person yet. When I finally meet him, we’ll click and that elusive connection will suddenly materialize.

So I’m pretty chill about meeting men.

Easy come, easy go.


michelleI finally had a good date.

He showed up in a polo and jeans and I was instantly attracted to him.

“Michelle?” he asked.

“Yes, hi,” I replied.

He sat down at my table. We were at the Jack Rose in Los Gatos on Thursday evening. The same place where I had my DISASTROUS “let-me-see-your-tits-better” date on Tuesday.

He instantly came off as sincere and respectful.

At first there was a bit of awkward silence.

We both scrambled to come up with something relevant to say.

The silence didn’t last long. Before I knew it we were chatting like old friends.

I asked him to tell me a secret. It’s a standard question I ask on dates. I like hearing the response to that question. I’ve heard everything from a drunk driving story to admission of a foot fetish.

He told me about his wilder younger days.

Then he asked me to tell him a secret.


I admitted I liked going to nudist resorts like Lupin Lodge. But shhhhh! My parents don’t know.

My date was a consummate outdoorsman. He likes to fish and hunt. He drives a truck and owns a boat. He likes to camp and hike.

In essence, MY PERFECT MAN.

Yup, there’s only one problem. . .

I don’t think he liked me.

I’m not sure what gave me that impression.

Maybe because he didn’t kiss me goodnight.

Maybe because he didn’t mention another date.

But there you go.

I don’t expect to hear from him again.


My date with Sam

Um… would it be bad of me to admit that I’m juggling 6 men?

Yeah, probably.

I’m pretty sure I’m being juggled by at least 3 of them.

I met a BUNCH of guys on Tinder.

All of a sudden my phone is BLOWING UP.

One is in Scotland, playing golf and looking for a distraction.

Another is in the area, working on movie projects and fun to sext.

Yet another can’t get over how beautiful I am (?) and sends me the most inspiring messages.

Then there’s my steady who actually visited me at my house the other night.

There’s also a new guy with a monobrow who I find strangely appealing.

And finally, there’s the ginger lumberjack who I’ve decided I’m ALREADY IN LOVE WITH.

Yeah. . . me and lumberjacks. I know.

Yesterday I got all dressed up to go out with my friends Will and Kat.

IMG_9456Then I got asked out by ANOTHER man. An Apple engineer.

Should I double up? Meet the engineer at a bar by my house then hook up with my friends later?

I know Murphy’s Law.

If I went out with the engineer, we’d be interrupted by my friends. If I didn’t go out with the engineer, my friends would run late and not be able to meet up with me before my bedtime.


I was right.

I wound up spending the night dressed up in a sexy black jumpsuit, sitting on my couch drinking scotch and watching Sam Heughan in Outlander.

Another lumberjack.

Maybe Sam Heughan can be my boyfriend. . .