Member-only story
Don’t Pay to See Your Likes (and other Holiday Advice)
If you read my stuff here then you know I’m on and off the Dating Apps, or the APPS as those of us on them like to say.
When we say APPS, I wish we meant the good kind— jalapeno poppers, mozzarella sticks, chicken wings, nachos, queso, potato skins, taquitos, spinach artichoke dip, pigs in a blanket, guacamole, canapes, stuffed mushrooms, clams casino, scallops wrapped in bacon, charcuterie, mini crab cakes, Swedish meatballs, pimento cheese dip, jello shots, CHEX MIX!, tator tots, et. al.
But we don’t.
This morning I paid to see my likes on Bumble and I’m mad. How many times I have Charlie Browned this fucking Lucy football?
What a gallery of trolls. I mean it. TROLLS. Men with unwashed faces and hair, everyone from New Jersey (I know some of you are good, but why did you have to give up and move there?!), and men who write things like:
Man of Mystery
I’d tell you my secrets, but then I’d have to kill you
I’m in Law Enforcement
There are also a few construction workers from the middle of Pennsylvania. Construction work is cool, but middle of PA, I beg of you sir, how can it work? There are two lesbians in Long Island. Trying to stay open to you! A couple looking for a…
