It was recently brought to my attention that Manhunt thinks I’m one of the hottest guys on their site. Well that’s a new one. I’d honestly forgotten I even had a profile on there until I received this email from them the other day:
“Hey there! We love your look, and we’re sure a lot of our users would agree! We’d like to feature you as one of our hottest members. This will include one picture (only your public pictures would be used) and a link to your Manhunt profile featured on our blogs and social networks.”
My ego would like to extend a sincere thank you for the boost of confidence.
But really, Manhunt, thanks. I’ll take the compliment.
I mean, who knows…perhaps some Prince Charming in a Maserati (or on a yacht) will see this and be like “Well helloooooooooo, future husband material!” and come speeding/sailing to rescue me from my high-rise tower on Lake Michigan.
One can dream, right?
So here I was, sitting around avoiding folding my Mount Everest-sized pile of laundry engulfing my bed when *ping* – in comes an email from Manhunt showcasing it’s hottest members of the week. Soon after, my phone started pinging more frequently alerting me that my Prince Charming wannabes were sending me messages. Well that was fast.
However…the first message sent me into a fit of laughter and reminded me how ridiculously barbaric some men are. If you thought there was no hope for humanity, you’re probably right based on some of these conversations. I can’t help but shake my head in disgust while laughing to myself as I take a screenshot. So on that note, I present to you Round 2 of some of the more ridiculous messages I’ve received lately on Grindr, Manhunt, and other such apps. Continue reading
I’ll say it: It pays to be the fat kid. Sometimes being hungry pays off.
About two weeks ago, I had started talking to this guy – and no, not on Grindr. This time, I was testing out an app called Tinder. Now you straight people may be familiar with it. It’s probably the closest thing to Grindr you have on your phone. To fill those of you who’ve been living under a rock in, it shows you a picture of someone else who’s also “looking” and you swipe one way for yes and the other for no. Interested? Not interested? Swipe away! It’s like a game. Seriously. If you both swipe that you think the other is attractive it’s like “Congratulations! You’re a match!” and then asks if you want to message them or “Keep Playing” – seriously…keep playing. It’s a game. I told you. Oh, and you link it with your Facebook so you can easily upload your pictures and get to swiping quicker, see mutual “Likes” and interests, AND see if you have mutual friends. Pretty easy. Welcome to the dating in 2014.
So here we are: Congratulations! You’re a match!
Umm…jackpot. Gorgeous. Looks phenomenal in a suit. Has a picture with a French Bulldog. AND we have a mutual friend (that I can research him through and make sure he’s not psychotic). Forget this game. This calls for sending the first message.
So we talk for a few days, swap numbers, and make plans to meet up for drinks since – let’s face it – pretty much anyone can come across good via text, but if you’re socially awkward or just weird in person in general, a nonchalant meeting over a beer and and appetizer will spell it all out quick and easy. We made plans for a random weeknight – partially because I had other plans later in the week, but more importantly because working early is an easy cop-out if you need an escape from a bad weeknight date – to meet up in his neighborhood since it was on my way home from the office. Step one: Check. Continue reading
Seriously buddy…did you miss Rape Day in elementary school? When I say “no” it means no. Not “maybe” or “yes” – it means no. End of discussion.
So there’s this guy that I’d been talking to. You know how the story starts. Blah blah blah. Seems like a nice guy. Profile notes how he’s super romantic, long-term oriented, not looking for a hookup, enjoys checking out different bars and restaurants…whoa…it’s like we’re twins. So we chat for a week or two. Talk about making plans to grab coffee or dinner. Schedules keep conflicting…until yesterday morning. Continue reading
To say that this post has been a long time coming (no pun intended) would be an understatement. As I’m sure you’re aware (if you’ve read any of my past posts about awkward dates), I have a knack for attracting the weirdos. There’s been a video circulating of some ladies reading messages that people had received on apps like Grindr and Scruff. This could not possibly be any more accurate.
When conversations with these nutjobs occur, I have a tendency to screenshot them. Some make their way to Twitter and Facebook. Others get circulated around via group text. Others stay in my phone for times when I need a good laugh.
DISCLAIMER: Not all conversations on Grindr and other such apps are trainwrecks like the ones you’re about to see. Don’t believe me? See also: Not All Grindr Dates Are Bad Dates.
So for your viewing pleasure, I present to you…some of the most random/awkward/funny/epic #GrindrFail messages (and a text someone sent to the wrong number) that I’ve received in a while. And no….this is probably NSFW (or Not Safe For Work for those of you who don’t understand common abbreviations – yes mom, that would be you since I’m sure you’re probably reading this). Continue reading
Let’s play a little game of “Never Have I Ever.”
“Never have I ever been surrounded by a couple hundred seemingly desperate straight women and douchey men who can’t dance at 7pm on a Thursday night.”
If you didn’t just put down a finger then you should have been at the launch party for this new dating app called Hinge this Thursday in Chicago. Seriously. I have never been surrounded by so many heterosexuals that early in the evening who were “looking.”
Probably about a week or two ago, I received an email from “The Social Mistress” – a ridiculously fun lady that The Sassy Nebraskan and I met a while back at a scotch tasting event that I’d RSVP’d us to before realizing she hated scotch so much (whoops) – that there was a new dating app throwing an open-bar launch party at one of the best night clubs downtown (there’s always celebrity sightings there on the weekends). With zero hesitation (you had me at “open bar”), I clicked the link, RSVP’d and was on the guest list. Continue reading
I don’t know what it is. Perhaps I was drunk one night and got a tattoo that only glows in blacklight (hence the reason I’ve never noticed it in the mirror) that says “If you’re weird, please talk to me and/or ask me on a date” or else maybe I have a Kick-Me-esque sign eternally taped to my backside with the same message. Regardless, I seem to attract weirdos and only weirdos.
SEE ALSO: Dating for Dummies, Secondhand Smoke Isn’t Harmful (and other such lies from an awkward date), and several other posts (go read them for yourself)
As it would seem, I have a knack for attracting the socially awkward types. It doesn’t matter where I meet them (OKCupid, Grindr (or G-Harmony as a friend calls it), friend-of-a-friend, etc.) they usually turn out to be missing screws.
It. Never. Fails. Continue reading
A text from a good friend (and ex-boyfriend actually) of mine texted me this afternoon – accompanied by the picture in question.
Someone called me an otter. What does that even mean and when did “otter” become a thing lol. Based on that picture do I qualify as an otter? I think they’re real cute when the sleep and hold hands
Which really got me thinking. Well played, sir, well played. Way to spark an intellectual conversation and make me think. And on a Friday of all days too.
- Where do all these terms come from?
- Who thinks this shit up?
- What’s really in a name after all?
We’re a weird species, us gays. We have a name for everyone. I get it. We’re judgmental. We hate to be classified as one thing – especially as “gay” in general for the most part – and try to break the mold…only to box ourselves into another one. Continue reading
Ever have one of those days where your short-term memory seems to be nonexistent? Perhaps a goldfish one-ups you with their three-second memory span capability. Ever find yourself texting with too many people at once who want to meet up for dinner/drinks/coffee/whatever and you can’t remember who you agree to meet up with on a Thursday night and have to go back through your phone to try and figure out who it was? Welcome to my life.
After tweeting this morning about my dilemma of not remembering who I’m supposed to be meeting up with tonight, my friend @SpotGTony (since Twitter thought @TonyGSpot was inappropriate) informed me it was more accurately called #WhoreProblems rather than #GayBoyProblems. I beg to differ. I call it weeding out the idiots in a quest to find someone decent. It’s like the denim tables at Nordstrom Rack – you don’t typically find the perfect pair right on the top of the pile. The perfect pair is usually misplaced on the wrong table or at the bottom of a stack that you wouldn’t find if you didn’t go looking for it.
Which is exactly the reason why I’m more than willing to go on dates with a variety of people. I live in Chicago. I’m single. I’m fresh meat. I may as well take a chance, live it up, and meet some new people while that lasts. Plus you never know who you’ll randomly meet or the conversations you’ll have on a random date. At the least it’s good blog material.
Needless to say, I’m interested to see who I’ll be somewhat-blindly meeting (probably not having previously Facebook-creeped or Google-searched as usual) this evening. Perhaps he’ll be a winner (see also: I’m Not Picky….I Just Know What I Want). Perhaps not. Regardless, I better not get catfished…and he better pick up the tab.
Sititng here watching MTV’s Catfish with Not-so-Carrie while she sets up an online dating profile, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d be an excellent candidate to host this show should one of the hosts be unable to stick with it. Partly because I may as well have “Professional Googler” listed as a marketable skill on my résumé.]
And you can bet your happy ass that I’ll be utilizing these skills as she gets ready to meet up with these men.
Allow me to elaborate.
A few weeks back, she’d been visiting a 31-year-old Adderall-snorting toolbag (sorry, but it’s only cool if you’re 25 and under) who’d bought her a plane ticket to see him. Needless to say, she didn’t enjoy the weekend and he was dropped like a pen that wouldn’t be picked back up via the Bend and Snap technique perfected in Legally Blonde. Continue reading