Beehive’s very own Coleman Nichols has been testing the Tinder waters here in Utah. He recently wrote down some of the hilarious/strange/Utah sagas this app has led him into…
Check it out here!
Tinder: A Love Story
Ok, so I may have some deeply rooted sexism issues to deal with here, but a woman with a machine gun or pistol is a lot more terrifying to me than some overweight goateed white dude dressed in camo holding a rifle he got for free at Cabellas when President Obama was reelected. So women with guns are a big dealbreaker for me, because well, I can’t pretend to care enough about guns to fake a conversation with you and I’m really scared of you.
There are entirely wayyyyyy too many single moms in this area. Of course, I have always lived here so I don’t have anywhere else to compare this to, but I did attend public schooling here in Utah and I know my sex education came from reading a Redbook magazine I found in a Smith’s parking lot. I’d probably still think sex is sticking your tallywacker in someone and peeing if it wasn’t for that magazine. So yeah, I can see why there are so many single moms on Tinder.
Not that children are a dealbreaker for me, this is just an observation. Multiple children and I start to get really bored really fast because the stars have to align just perfectly for them to find someone willing to watch their kids and they have to enough energy to keep from falling asleep between frames at the bowling alley for a first date.
The 22 year old who wrote in her bio “I have 3 kids. Yes THREE. I don’t need no dad for them. If you have a problem with that just swipe left. No hookups.” really bummed me out. She’s only going to be asked out by guys who think she’s easy, or men who don’t need a woman with good grammar. When she does go out her poor mom is going to be putting 3 babies to bed while she’s out there making terrible decisions (again) because she’s so lonely having her young adulthood robbed away like that. Someone needs to sit this poor young adult down and tell her that she should try dating in a decade or so for her kids sake.
I decided that the only way I’d date a mother is if she had her shit together and the child was old enough to talk.
|Mormon models that aren’t White?|
|Hmm, the sarcasm isn’t for me.|
|How can I resist?|
The next thing I realized, and this might not sound that surprising, but there are a lot of Mormon women on Tinder. Even though there is a ward house with a singlesward in walking distance of every person with a vagina in this state, 4 out of 5 women on Tinder are of the LDS faith because that’s easier than choosing between the parade of men wearing their bleached white shirts, with their original tie designs from Khols, and who love talking about the parasite they got on their mission to the 3rd world when their faith was being tested. So consequently there’s a thing on Tinder where you have to put “LDS” or “Not LDS” in your bio, because that is actually the first thing people look for, the second being your attractiveness because we don’t want no ugos sealed to us in the temple.
That shit is forever.
I still have to sift through Mormon profiles but I found real quick that changing my distance settings to 35 miles would keep me from picking up as many Provo students. The amount of blond haired and blue eyed white girls quoting the Doctor and his Covenants in their bio was enough make Brigham himself roll over in his grave wishing this was not the place.
Oh you’re studying music at BYU? You’ll make a great primary pianist one day after you get married. I know that’s stereotypical, but stereotypes come from somewhere.
|Here is my profile|
I changed my age preferences to 21-33.
Age 21 being the low because I don’t want to go to movies for every single date, and I don’t want to have to buy anyone beer. Realistically, I am looking for women who is a little more mature than a 21 year old, but I don’t want to rule out the possibility of one of those gals who is really impressed I have my own Geo Prizm and is fun to have around for a few weeks. I don’t want to rule out the possibility of one of those gals who didn’t take seminary in high school and consequently is already in grad school at her age. Hopefully it works out and I can retire early.
Age 33 being the high because I heard that 33 is a woman’s sexual prime and if there is a 33 year old woman out there looking for a 26 year old bachelor to keep up with her body’s last hurrah before cobwebs start to gather, who am I to deny her of that? Highly unlikely, sure, but I am not ruling it out.
My first few matches on this thing were spam accounts and cam girls. This was great for my self esteem and really built a lot of confidence in the app. My first real matches were a woman visiting from Brooklyn and a woman visiting from Connecticut for this convention going on downtown. Great! I am so good at this thing.
By the end of the first week I had a few matches with Utah women and it gave me a great distraction on nights where I was laying in bed trying to fall asleep. I made plans to go out with a bartender from Chili’s on a Wednesday night. She wasn’t really my type and I wasn’t 100% interested so when Wednesday came I asked if we could reschedule because I had a work thing early in the morning, but really I just wanted to go to bed early. She agreed, but I didn’t hear from her again.
The next week I was super pumped up to go on some dates that weekend. I had one lined up for Friday and Saturday nights and one lined up for Sunday afternoon. I am texting my first date Megan, who is 29 and loves wine, on Thursday and she asks me for a photo to save with my contact information in her phone. I send her a picture that no woman can resist. Me in my pink party shorts on an overnight Ragnar relay. She loves it. She wants the shorts.
I ask her for a photo to save to her contact information and she sends me a photo of her pink footed pajamas with her legs pointed to the ceiling in a recliner next to a Christmas tree. Oh, and a toddler in matching pajamas in her lap.
The pajamas were more worrisome than the toddler, but it nevertheless brought up a few question about the age of the child because I have a rule. She told me she had a 7, 4 and 2 year old and was still married, but legally separated.
What does legally separated mean? I feel like it is common knowledge that you can get a divorce just as easily as you can get married.
I am not going to get myself run over by a disgruntled husband in a minivan when he sees me in the parking lot of a Jiffy Lube because I took his wife out once. Those kids would need therapy after witnessing that.
I was proud of myself for telling her that I wasn’t really interested anymore in a polite way rather than ignoring her. But after pumping myself up for all these dates all week, I had to find a replacement date in less than a day.
So I asked the gal I ditched the week previous and she agreed to meet me at Poplar Street Pub, a douchey bar commercialized by public radio stations here. Rachel does most of the talking at the beginning, telling me how she just got her sister into rehab for heroin, how she’s been with Chili’s for 7 years and transferred from Las Vegas. She asks me if I have been to a Chili’s. Which I try and be funny and tell her I am more of an Applebees kinda guy because they got a better rating on Yelp under the “Restaurants in a Strip Mall Near Costco” category. Rachel doesn’t get it.
I make a sweet save by saying I hear their babyback ribs have BBQ sauce. She gets it, but only smiles. I didn’t really make the joke land because I noticed that at the table next to us are several of my old friends who chose my ex after the breakup. I love dating!
I ask Rachel, who has a horse on her shirt and heart tattooed on her wrist, if we can move to the other side of the bar to make it less awkward for me. She agrees but this brings up a lot of questions that kinda ruin the night for me.
After I am done talking about a previous relationship, and convince Rachel that it was forever ago, and that she is in no way my first date since the breakup, she tells me that I am her last attempt at Tinder. Talk about pressure, right?
She tells me about this 21 year old guy from Clearfield who she had messaged for a few weeks before he drove to Salt Lake for a date. They went out to a movie and he kept trying to get on top of her and makeout during the film. His constant persistence got him some “hand stuff” at the end of the night. I started thinking about what a bizarre way to describe to her date that if I am obnoxious enough she will touch my penis.
Then she tells me how the 21 year old admitted that he was Mormon and a virgin after that night and all his actions throughout the night finally made sense to her. I laughed and made a joke about how he just gave up the chance to have his own planet in heaven for “hand stuff”. Sexually oppressed 20 year olds in Utah are a dime a dozen, but her next story doesn’t happen as often.
She goes out with this guy and she’s having fun. He’s not a drinker, but doesn’t care that she has a beer or two at dinner. They go back to her place to watch a movie and hangout and then on a speaker they hear a woman’s voice asking the guy to come outside. She’s confused at first wondering where the voice is coming from, but her date gets wide-eyed and scared and throws a throw pillow at her telling her to
“Shut up, shut up”.
The woman’s voice repeats herself and he decides to talk back to it.
“I’m not at home.”
“We know, we’re outside this apartment building waiting for you.”
He then pulls up his pant leg and reveals an ankle monitor where the woman’s voice was coming from. Before her date leaves her apartment he asks her if she wants to have a quickie.
Now, I’m not sure if that’s a true story, but it’s an awesome one, and it was a huge red flag for me that this woman did not have very good taste in men, not that I have great taste in women particularly. This story also made me feel kinda good about Tinder. Like there isn’t a lot of competition for me out there, as I am not looking for handstuff and I don’t have an ankle monitor. I have a job and a car so that’s just icing on the cake.
I walked Rachel home a couple blocks from the bar, I was just trying to be nice because I didn’t want her to swear off dating just because of a few bad dates in a row. Also, I am new to this dating game again so I wasn’t picking up on the subtle hints.
She wanted to makeout in her doorway, so the alcohol and myself said sure. She immediately grabbed my privates in a way that I can’t describe in writing, but it was not how I pictured “hand stuff” and it made me nauseous and caused me to hunch over grabbing the door frame for balance. She did apologize, but I still wanted to go home. She tried kissing me again before whispering the sexiest thing a guy can hear,
“I’m on my period. We don’t have to use a condom.”
I laughed out loud because no one is ever going to believe me when I tell this story.
She then says pointing to her her boobs in the horse shirt,
“What the fuck is wrong with me? Why are you laughing?”
She tries reaching for my jeans again.
I’m not sure Rachel knows anything about male anatomy or why men don’t like it when you grab their genitals in a violent manner.
I told her I had HIV and unprotected sex wasn’t a good idea for her with all the blood from her period- no just kidding, that is what I should have said.
I told her I don’t sleep with strangers and we’d have to go out again. Thankfully I never heard from her again. When I told my coworkers this story I had to change it a little bit because I didn’t want it going around the office that I was racked by a Chili’s bartender.
Then next morning I was still in shock and very much thinking about if I should delete the Tinder app, but at least no longer nauseous. Very much rethinking my date that night with Lauren the snowboard photographer from Wisconsin. I switched our meet up location to X Wife’s Place so we could play pool if the conversation wasn’t great like the previous night. The bartender had two black eyes and had to use the card reader to ID me because of it. A pitcher of beer is $8 and the Kentucky vs Notre Dame basketball game was on TV while I waited for Lauren to show up. 2 cute young ladies hit on me. I think they were amazed someone of my good looks would come to a dive bar like this, or so I told myself. I should have just gone with it and used the flirting practice for my Tinder date, but I was nervous for my second date and dismissed them easily.
Lauren was a sweet young lady, although she seemed a little bummed I wasn’t a skier or snow boarder. We both really sucked at pool. I was frustrated because neighboring tables finished 3-4 games by the time we finished one. We sat down and drank a pitcher of beer and I was amazed at how normal she appeared for a moment. She finally admitted after the pitcher of beer that she was on Tinder to find a snow boyfriend or contacts that might one day buy her art. She says there are a lot of rich guys in Park City who will buy her photos if she goes out with them a few times, and snowboarder guys usually give her free weed.
This was fine by me, I didn’t have to admit that I was just “practicing” dating again since I didn’t meet her requirements.
I slept in until noon on Sunday. I am not in my early twenties anymore and going out two nights in a row is something I need to work back up to, or preferably never do again. I had to cancel my date with the graveyard customer service specialist at Netflix because I’d rather stay and home and only put on pants so I can drive to Del Taco. $7 and you can feed a village.
Our schedules are opposite and its not going to work out anyways. She is pumped to meet me and asks if we can reschedule for the next Sunday, our only time we can ever meet because of our opposite schedules. Sure we can reschedule.
I decided that coffee dates might be a better idea for any woman I’m “iffy” about. So come Monday and Tuesday I was trying to schedule afternoon meet ups at various coffee shops around the city. I’m messaging a 22 year old and she asks what I’m doing. I tell her I’m on my lunch break and what I do for a living. When I ask her what she does for a living, she replies with how she is just a student. And how she is actually 16.
Ok soooooo, this is Utah, so I am assuming that her mom probably signed her up to find her a husband so she can have grandchildren. But unfortunately I unmatched her because jail is real and my rules.
After a very funny lunchroom conversation about Internet dating at work, I realized I was so excited to be dating that I wasn’t really asking questions to properly vet these women like “What is your real age?”, “Do you know that hitting men in the testicles causes pain?”, “Do you know that I am not rich or a drug dealer?”, or maybe I was ignoring possible warning signs. I guess in my defense, I haven’t dated in a long time and I was never good at it anyways. Deciding it was only one bad date, and one boring date, and one almost stint in prison I pressed onward messaging some more women.
I secured a coffee date with a dog lover for the coming Saturday and I felt really good about it. We texted all week and got to know each other. On Friday I was still feeling optimistic about this 25 year old woman who also worked at Netflix.
|Lashele likes kids AND sports|
Like is that a real job? I feel like Netflix is just 2 guys at a community college who wanted to make some side money so they developed a streaming service with shit they downloaded off a torrent site.
I’m not going to use Netflix lady’s real name, because I feel like she will eventually be my social media friend and might read this, so let’s call her GIRL. Girl texts me that she is at X Wife’s Place with her friends and invites me to come over. Of course I say screw coffee tomorrow, let’s get alcohol tonight. I get ready and stroll on down, only to find the place full of dudes. It must be dude night. The bar tender still has black eyes. No Girl anywhere.
So, somewhat pissed off, I start drinking whiskey while I wait for her text response. I’m kinda drunk by the time Girl responds that she wasn’t watching her phone and she’s out back cornholing. She’s kinda drunk too. Her friends are really drunk. I had a great time cornholing and laughing all night but we really didn’t get to know each other. We all called it a night at last call and I passed out from alcohol.
Girl was super hot so I definitely wanted to still go on our coffee date the next day but we were both hungover so we met up for food instead. Turns out she is pretty cool sober too. We made plans to meet up the following Friday night. I texted the other Netflix woman and cancelled our date the next day. I am not even interested in going out Sunday. Sunday is my new recovery day. And honestly I don’t want them ever knowing about each other if the slight chance something consistent comes out of these dates.
So the thing about Tinder is everyone loves binge watching Netflix and is an avid hiker and is looking for a gym buddy.
Like shut the fuck up. Netflix is not a hobby, it is something we steal and use as background noise while reading lists on Buzzfeed pretending we are not crippled with loneliness.
Hiking is not something you do regularly or defines you and should be in your bio, so stop lying because no one is outside as often as you are claiming, it is a fucking desert here and it snows as often as people pay their tithing.
If you need a gym buddy try going to the fucking gym.
So I guess what I am getting at is here, there is a lot of noise you have to filter through on Tinder to find people who are not so Utah.
|Binge watching documentaries on geogaching|
|Pickup lines of the Gods|
But I am a Tindering machine at this point. I swipe left on the spam accounts so fast there is steam coming off my phone. I swipe left the religious accounts so fast my thumbprint is missing and doesn’t work on my phone’s touch ID anymore. I can tell within 2 messages if I’m at risk of ending up on Dateline. I can tell within 3 messages if they’re inbred Utah retarded. I can come up with original pickup lines so quick I get more dates than James Bond. Actually, some of what I just wrote might be exaggerated.
On Friday I got ready to see Girl, totally showered and put on one of my work shirts instead of getting out the iron. She texts me that she is at the Trapp. I look this up on Yelp and the only thing that comes up is the Sun Trapp – a gay bar. I’m not entirely sure if she is still planning on meeting up with me, because we did plan on grabbing a drink but didn’t specify at what kinda bar we would be meeting at. But it turns out she was kinda flaky.
So I know I should have learned my lesson from the last time I found a last second date on Tinder, but I had already put on a work shirt and showered so dammit I was going out. Kelsy (without an e) agreed to go out with me. Her profile had 4 pictures of her, each with a different color of hair. This should have been the first red flag for me. Women who change from dark black, to platinum blond, to brunette, to black again are clearly going through something.
Don’t disagree with me.
They are clearly dealing with some sort of crisis or trauma because if they were being “edgy” or “rebellious” or even “reckless” they would choose a color like blue or red or purple and not a total identity change.
I met this 23 year old at Sugarhouse Pub where she was already almost finished with her drink. We chatted and go to know each other over a beer. She graduated from Westminister last year with a degree in Neuropsychology which doesn’t sound real, but I didn’t want to be rude and interrupt her and/or secretly google Westminister programs on my phone. Kelsy (without an e) tells me that she was working in a private clinic where violent boys were sent for rehabilitation but got fired for being late most of the time and fighting with a resident. I’ll let you pick out your own red flag from that sentence.
Kelsy (without an e) asks if we can go to her apartment because she is trying to save money while she is between jobs. I offer to buy her a drink because that’s what I thought she was hinting at. She tells me that she really wants to do a puzzle at her house that she started earlier. Which sounds real.
|This isn’t a job interview Destiny|
Here roommate and roommate’s boyfriend seem professional. The living room has lots of textbooks and no TV. There’s a puzzle with the edges on a card table. She grabs me a beer and pours herself a glass of tequila. Not a shot glass, but like a glass of tequila. Strangely enough this was a red flag for me.
“Tequila is my drink. I don’t even get drunk, I just like the taste.” so serial killer or former hobo, I can’t decide because no one just sips alcohol like in the movies.
I’m not doing a fucking puzzle on a weekend. I’m 26 years old and I’m trying to find a someone who can make me laugh, doesn’t want to get married or go to church, is fine with going out a few times a month, and finds me attractive enough they will possibly sleep with me on a consistent basis.
Like I feel like that is pretty normal for 26 year olds to want.
But what do all the young twenty-somethings want to do? They want to go to gay bars, and manipulate older men into buying their photos. They want to want to go hiking and do puzzles. And there’s so many of these women I feel overwhelmed and like I’m the strange one because I don’t want do to these things.
“Don’t take offense to this but I want to ask you something kinda personal.”
“Are you bisexual?”
“No, I am not.”
…. There’s a long pause so I lift my shoulders and left eyebrow while lowering my neck and turning my palms towards the ceiling.
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, I just thought because your voice has a little bisexual in it.”
“Just something in your voice. Are you sure you’re not a little bisexual?”
“Pretty sure. Also, pretty sure you can’t tell sexual orientation from your voice.” I say squinting at her confused.
“You can. Have you ever had sex with a man or watched gay porn?”
“Which would you recommend is more enjoyable?”
“Oh you are so uncomfortable right now I can tell.”
“I wonder why? Are you going to tell me why you care so much about a stranger’s preference in porn genres?”
|Cut the shit. Marry me Indigo?|
“I learned how peg guys really good from going to these swinger parties.”
“Yeah, I hear those are big here in Utah.” I reply, ignoring her grammar.
“They are. There is this whole community of people who meet on this website that is kinda outdated but still works. I signed up as a unicorn, except I am straight so I am not as popular as real unicorns.”
“No one can ever be as popular as real unicorns. They can peg with their horns.” – now that is funny. But Kelsy (without an e) just glosses over my joke and gives me the definition of a unicorn.
“A unicorn is a single female that couples can share. But I don’t have sex with women so I am not a real unicorn.”
“So you’re a mistress?”
“No, I just do the guy at the same time as his wife, but I don’t do her.”
“You are very open for a 23yr old.”
“So you’re vanilla?”
….. I raise my left eyebrow and give her the ‘what gives’ gesture.
“You have sex in the missionary position. Sometimes doggy.”
“I am not as experienced as you. I’m not sexually active currently in my life because I just started dating. I’d have sex in whatever position she’ll let me on a bed or if we’re really crazy on the couch. Once I had sex on the hood of my car and asked the woman to move in with me the next day. So I guess that’s vanilla.”
“I didn’t mean it offensive.”
“When I travel I like to get a hotel room with 2 queen sized beds and dedicate one to sex and eating and the other for sleeping. That’s the dream.” – out of all my sarcasm that hasn’t landed in this conversation she thinks this statement is sarcasm. Um, excuse me Kelsy (without an e) I do not sleep in a dirty bed. Get one bed for sex and eating and then you can have fresh sheets on your naked body in the other bed. It’ll change your life.
“We can talk about something else. Cory is more open about his sexuality.”
“Is Cory your boyfriend?”
“Yes, I dom him. I am usually a sub, but I dom him.”
“What the fuck, did you read 50 Shades of Gray or something? You are 23 years old.”
“I am just open with my sexuality. I didn’t lose my virginity until I was 21.”
“I lost mine when I was 17 and I got the worst charlie horse and kicked over night stand trying to stretch out my hamstring. She laughed at me when she saw I had hair on my butt.” I’m trying to see how far I can escalate this conversation as I pull my car keys out of my pocket.
“You’re making this up.”
“I am. But only because you are. You don’t go to swinger parties and don’t have sex with the radio DJ that plays the same Nirvana song everyday.”
“I’m going to show you something.”
“I am actually going to head home. I am not sure we have much in common.”
She comes out of her room with a red toolbox with a combination lock on it.
“This is Cory’s box.”
Ok, I’ll bite.
I’m standing in the doorway of her apartment on the third floor waiting for her to open the box. Far enough away that I won’t catch an STD but close enough to satisfy my curiosity. Inside the toolbox is a bottle of lube, some furry handcuffs, anal beads, and some other things I can’t really see from across the room.
“You’re a total poser. No one locks up their Blue Boutique stuff. I keep it on my nightstand so I don’t have to fuck around with combinations in the dark. It was nice meeting you Kelsy.”
“Do you want to see my Hitachi?”
“I’m not really into cars.” I said as I closed the door.
For the rest of the weekend I did not even try to line up a date. I was laughing out loud at myself every few hours and knew that no one was going to believe this story, but then I came to the sad sad realization that if I had already been on this many terrible dates there would probably be many many more.
|Selfie on the potty|
On Sunday I went to an ultimate frisbee pickup game/practice since our league starts in a month. (also, we still have room in the league if you want to play it’s only $25. we play on Wednesday nights in May and June) The woman who was teaching the rules and how to do that flick throw was definitely not hard on the eyes. I got her name which was a more common man’s name than woman’s name but it sounded really familiar for some reason. Let’s just call her Frisbee because I will definitely be asking her out someday. After Frisbee’s frisbee class I was pretty sure I was going to embarrass myself if I didn’t immediately get to a hospital and get a wrist and lung transplant. My out-of-shapeness didn’t let me flirt with Frisbee.
On Tinder that afternoon (see how quickly I bounced back), Frisbee messaged me. Hey were you at a frisbee thing today at Sunnyside Park? I couldn’t tell if it was you or not. I wondered how many Coleman’s there were in this city.
This is why Frisbee’s name was so familiar.
I had been chatting with this professional 27 year old woman for a few days and we had even laughed about the terrible date I had that weekend earlier that morning. Frisbee is great because she doesn’t ask to stick things in my butt when she meets me and she has a degree in philosophy and admits she’s useless to the economy so she teaches. This one conversation gave me faith in Tinder again.
So as Wednesday came around and I tried so hard to find someone to go with me to a competitive story telling event called “Dirt: Stories of Scandal and Soil” at Urban.
Katee the 31 year old from Lehi who is is a very inactive Mormon. Which according to her definition means she drinks and does other stuff. Like makeout Ha.
|I exclusively date crazy.|
Brittany the 27 year old red head who was married at age 19 and still lives with her soon to be ex husband and wants to talk for a few months before deciding on whether I am worth the time she would have to spend away from her daughter if she agrees to go on a date.
Erin the 23 year old Florida native who needs a man with his shit together. She says “Hey :)” to me everyday and then forgets to respond to me until the next day. She just asked me out for a drink. Sorry Erin, your emoticon to word ratio is 1:1.
There’s a 22 year old Mormon hipster named Cassandra who is struggling with her faith but doesn’t want to leave the church until she moves out of her parents house and I definitely need to be apart of that.
Laurie the 30 year old with a 5 year old. Who is so normal that I’m skeptical.
Laurie was the front runner but couldn’t find a sitter. So I went alone.
I met 31 year old Jamie in the line waiting to enter the event. She wanted to know why I was alone and I gave her the truth that I couldn’t find a interested match on Tinder. She thought it was funny I was so honest, she said luckily she had a couple friends to invite because she didn’t find any suitable matches on Tinder.
The event was so cool. I loved it because there were so many tortured stories in my community just waiting to be shared. At intermission a group of her friends asked me what story I would have shared if I had been a performing at Dirt. So with the intensity and courage that comes with the fifth beer, I started reciting the story I’ve written in this blog entry.
I had their eyes as wide as their mouths as they listened to how I was racked by the Chili’s bartender, and I felt like a story teller with an audience. There was side-grabbing and mouth-covering during the part of the story where Kelsy and I discuss our sexuality. Then Jamie, who I really thought I was connecting with all night, interrupts me
“You’re at 6 minutes. How do you tie it all together?”
“Well its not a finished story, I just started writing it. And I’m not even done telling what I have so far.”
“What you’ve said so far is really funny, but it isn’t a story. It’s a Daniel Tosh standup routine missing a punchline.”
So here I am, telling these strangers a vulnerable truth and painfully hilarious experience, yet it isn’t enough for Jamie. All my drunk self can think is, “Fuck, she is right. Where am I going with this?”
Intermission ends as I try to come up with a response and Jamie realizes she’s put me on the spot and as the group returns back inside from the patio she whispers to me that I need a lot of practice before I can be a storyteller. Then she said something else but I couldn’t quite hear what she said.
I didn’t talk to Jamie the rest of the night. I saw her as she bounced around talking to a couple friends. At the end of the night my drunk self left my phone number with her friends instead of interrupting her conversation with a man she was probably flirting with. They told me they would pass it along and thanked me again for the funny story. They had no idea my experience wasn’t a real story.
So you can guess that I never did hear from Jamie over the weekend. I took the advice she gave my very drunk self to heart. Cut out the bullshit and get to the message. Maybe that isn’t exactly what she was trying to tell me, but it was what I took from her words. Looking back on my awesome dates over the last month I could have easily played it safe and conservative, but I’m looking for a story.
I’m looking for juicy and dry, sweet and nasty, bat-shit insane and mellow mannered, I’m just looking for the right punchline to my standup.
For years, people have told me that despite my lack of training I should be a writer, but honestly, I can’t stay dedicated to any particular topic long enough for anything of inherent worth to slowly flutter from my fingertips before I’ve moved on to another story or poem. I think Jamie saw that in me, saw how I just wanted someone to listen to me and my stories.
Today, Jamie showed up in my daily Tinder matches. Small Lake City, its only a matter of time before you come across every possible match in this city. I swiped left and moved on, she’s already heard my story.
*This blog post was republished here with the permission of its author, Coleman Nichols.