The beginning of my dating stories for menrule.net
Here is my first piece I did for menrule.net. It’s the beginning of my Tinder/OkCupid dating series. Be sure to stay tuned because there is a success story following these adventures. For the article on the site be sure to follow this HERE. Or Read Below.
A First Tinder-Induced Night Out
It’s a Friday night and I have finally finished the article I am working on for This City’s Full. I have been stuck in my windowless room for eight hours when I finally remember that it’s the weekend. Since I recently moved here I don’t have many friends and going out by myself doesn’t seem like the kind of night I want to have. So, what do I do? I download Tinder. Again.
As I navigate the familiar superficial territory that is Tinder I arrive at the conclusion that this app is like a creepy playground. There are cleavage shots, Jesus lovers, and men who either entered the wrong gender or are scouting the wrong team. After thirty swipes I get tired of looking at the screen and a miniscule amount of shame washes over me. Now, I wait.
I’m almost in bed when I get my first match. It’s a gal who is in town from New York City. She is a fashion blogger on a cross-country tour with a photographer and a Gap model. They are in East Nashville at 308.
“How long are you in town for?”, I ask.
“Until tomorrow night.”
“Want to get together tomorrow in the morning? I’m getting ready for bed.”
“A woman is asking you to come see her before she leaves town tomorrow. Isn’t that the ideal kind of woman?”
She has a point. I throw on my jeans and a button-up, call a Lyft, and let her know I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. On the ride to East Nashville I don’t exchange many words with my driver. I’m too busy wondering what I was thinking telling her “I’m getting ready for bed”. I feel I’d be a disappointment to not only myself and her, but men everywhere if I did not go meet up with a woman so willing to meet me. The driver pulls into the parking lot and he goes to fist bump me–the signature Lyft greeting and farewell gesture. I touch his middle knuckle with my index finger–my signature response to fist bumps–and leave without saying a word.
I rush into 308. Not because of excitement but because I have had to piss since the moment the car left my driveway. On my to the back I scan the empty bar to see where the small group of people are. This also gives me an opportunity to pull myself together. The situation I am about to go in is trickier than most. There are four strangers, including L (the girl), who I need to bring my best bullshitting to. One or two people is nothing. Four or more is something I need a short pep talk for. I walk up to the table, say a quick ‘Hello’ to everyone at the table, hug L and go to the bar for a beer. Now I’m half awake and needing to be fully aware. The first half of my Dale’s Pale Ale goes straight down my gullet as I loosen up and join in the conversation at the table. I got there just in time because they are all cashing out soon after I sit down.
We leave 308 (successful so far) in an Uber called in by one of L’s friends. Five of us squeeze into a Ford Taurus. She sits on my lap. Our next destination is Santa’s Pub. I had never before been to the bar we’re leaving or the one we’re going to.
“What’s your sign”, she whispers in my ear. The rest of the gang is talking to the Uber driver.
“I’m a Libra. We match up well.”
She pulls out her phone and starts looking up our Astrological compatibility. Meanwhile, our driver has turned off the meter because he has taken more than enough wrong turns to justify it. While looking at her phone to read what new-age article she pulled up I feel her face next to my cheek. I turn to meet her face-to-face and she kisses me. Her small model friend sitting in the middle-seat next to me shies away uncomfortably.
Slam! The Ford has found a pothole in Santa’s Pub’s moon surface of a parking lot. Greeting us at the door, after the I.D. guy, is the voice of someone singing bad karaoke really well. L buys me a PBR and motions for me to follow her to the back room of this trailer turned bar. We make out for quite some time through bad and great singers alike. Once she has confirmed they are gone she invites herself over to my apartment. I send for a car and it’s not long until we’re on our way to my place.
“Pull into this gas station.”, she instructs the driver, “A carton of cigarettes is so much cheaper here than in the city. Should I get beer?”
When she gets back into the car she has me snap a photo of her proudly holding up the case of PBR cans and a carton of Marlboro lights. She will be posting this on some private Instagram account that her and other fashion bloggers, models, and photographers share to keep their crazier antics off of their personal/business accounts. The driver is playing Tyler the Creator which fits the mood and offers us Jolly Ranchers. I take five of them.
Fast-forward through needless details and we are in my room. We sit talking about our families and why I am pretty sure I hate New York City. Cigarette smoke is twirling toward the ceiling fan and music from some band I can’t recall is playing in the background. The album is over and she wants me to play guitar. She takes video of me playing a couple of songs. Not wanting to bore her to incredible heights I put it down and lie next to her my bed. We don’t have sex but do everything else around it in my smoke filled room.
The sun is rising and brings the realization that I went from almost asleep to sleeping only an hour before L had to wake up and head back to her hotel. I kiss her and she walks down the stairs to the car she called.
“Enjoy the rest of your time in Nashville”
She throws up a peace sign without turning around.