Category: slice of life

Generic Life Stuff as I go about my days.

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It’s actually more boring than it sounds. I didn’t get lewd and I didn’t piss off thin-skinned misogynists.


I’m back on dating apps; I figured it’d give me an edge in addition to doing things The Old Fashioned Way– and because some days, my introverted little heart just wants to stay in bed and browse the Internet. I’ve also decided to branch out beyond OKCupid, since I wasn’t getting much headway there.


Four other apps later, I finally got on Tinder. Why the heck not? All the cool kids are on it, right?


And for a while, I had a blast. I had five conversations going. I swiped left on too many couples. I thought I’d get creative and link to unicorns-r-us.com before they got their feelings hurt trying to match with me. I educated someone about the whole non-binary thing. I had a brilliantly-worded explanation on how exactly I practiced polyamory and what I was looking for.


Within hours I was Error 40303‘d: banned. At first, I couldn’t fathom as to why I was banned! I’m cute! I was polite! I was upfront with my polyamory! Did I annoy too many Unicorn Hunters by not being so easy? Were people so hooked on serial monogamy that I was mass reported for being a non-mono hussy? Did I not send enough peach emojis? Did my Safe For Work muffin joke really not go over well?


No, I just forgot that spam was not allowed and any “.com” addresses on your profile is considered as such!


OKCupid has utterly spoiled me. (I have not one, but three links explaining why a certain subset of non-monogamy grinds my gears. But that is a whole other post.)


I was fine for a few days, even though I put in a lot of work into my profile, and I left my five conversations forever orphaned. I’m too slow on moving the conversation to other platforms, so unless they recognize me elsewhere I’ll never know how they would’ve meshed with me.


Then FOMO hit me. FOMO is “Fear of Missing Out,” because of what I said earlier: all the cool kids are on Tinder! Who am I not hooking up with or having a coffee date with or bonding over Mario Kart with right now because I’m not on Tinder?! I swear, I was fine, until my friend came across Someone We Are Mutually Interested In who seems super fucking cool and they sent a Super Like and that’s it, I’ve had it, let me back in!


So, in short, I ban evaded. And I will tell you that I did my homework only after the fact– while I did manage to get back on, there were indicators that I was suffering a worse fate: The Shadowban. No one can see you or your likes. Messages mysteriously don’t send. You don’t get the shiny gold circle thing going on. And it’s likely you’re on borrowed time before you’re just banned again if you didn’t jump through all the hoops to make sure Tinder servers didn’t recognize you.


And that included obtaining a new phone.


That was when I looked up from my old budget phone after three hours of Googling ban workarounds and browsing a certain subreddit dedicated to having the best profiles and more ban workarounds and deep analysis of how it all works and “why am I getting ugly chicks?” and I thought


What the hell am I doing?


In my moment of clarity, I realized I was doing the meatspace equivalent to “trying too hard.” I was caring way too damn much about a dating app. Especially for an app I only used until very recently. I got caught up in the swiping game, spending hours on this issue when I could have been doing literally anything else.


Like going back to bed.


Or playing Minecraft.


I’m taking this experience as my cue to go chill out. I was fine without it before and gosh darn it, people like me! I’ll just run into them at my favorite bar. We are not going to mention the five other apps still on my phone.


I deleted my second account and uninstalled the app. There’s a whole moral here about unplugging and Swipe Culture but whatever, I was invited to the cookout anyway.


All the cool kids are also elsewhere.

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“I deal with my pain by writing.”


That is how the original draft began. This is what I said to my girlfriend an hour ago.


It’s still true.


And it’s been a week. A typical, stressful week: I had 17 dollars to my name until payday, work sucked slightly more than usual, that monthly hormone nonsense, and bad news.


I thought things would be okay. I got a new lamp for my bedroom. I had a date. I had another date. Payday happened and I could pay my bills. I know a little more of what I want to do with this blog. Living with my nesting partners is still going smoothly.


We received news that he was conscious and in a walker and had grits and coffee and did a few more tiny Facebook posts.


A part of me knew that the prognosis still held. I know that all too well. They gave my dad 6 months but he managed to stay with us a year longer.


But still I thought he’d be home again, drinking rum and recalling times when he had to pull out a Sharp Pointy to prove a uh, point.


When he passed on, I was on a date. I wanted to be a present as possible– I was preoccupied and 10 minutes late– when the date mentioned spiced rum and orange juice I had a feeling– I was still reeling from having to call 911 for someone going through heroin withdrawals moments before said date arrived–


(A stealth edit: The life/death juxtaposition still holds. You died, and I’m trying to live a little more.)


I’m sorry I was late.


The news came to me after finally digging and scrolling through Facebook’s shitty algorithm. The last of our rum was in a tiny cup on the altar being lit by one candle because I had a feeling.


I haven’t deeply cried again, not yet. I’ve had a week to prepare. So it may be another week before I do. Or maybe I’m not used to other people seeing me cry like that, at home.


I received a text from said date; they weren’t feeling a connection and wished me the best. But life goes on, even if it’s a little dimmer without a friend in it.


Even if we weren’t close, but were fire-forged in such a way that’s unique to people who haven’t got around to meeting in person, but still shined through to each other.


Sometimes family is chosen and the distance doesn’t matter.


Sometimes you don’t realize who your chosen family is until they pass away and you realize “friend” is just out of habit but not quite strong enough.


Sometimes a draft is almost perfect and enough:


“Knowing” is relative. We’re Facebook friends. We were in the same group. We had a lot of mutuals in common. … Their posts and presence always brought a smile to my face.


I don’t know what to say.


Other, better people have said it better.


I feel like I’m too late. All of my gratitude, my thanks, my love– I should have expressed it more when they weren’t on their deathbed and now they’re gone.


I never write on Facebook walls; I did a few days ago.


I love you. I’ll miss you. We all will miss you.


My world genuinely grows darker without you in it.


And anyone that says Internet Friends aren’t real? They don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about. Facebook just shrunk the world, that’s all. …This is impacting me as if we were only a short drive away.


Remember, everyone, you touch people. No matter how slight it is.


And as with every death, the emotional cycle: anger at someone so good being taken away, sadness at not doing more, utter fear of losing my loved ones, the reminders that sound like shallow platitudes but actually need to be said again and again, so we don’t forget.


Because it’s really easy to forget when you’re thinking about bills and feeding the cat and that damn neighbor throwing trash in your fucking yard and that date you wished worked out a little better or the supervisor you’ll have to deal with Monday.


Here are some of your reminders:


  • Love hard.
  • Tell people you love them. Often.
  • Reach out.


And no matter how small an impact, you still made an impact to somebody. Your passing will always affect someone in this world.