Despicable Me / Universal Picture via imgur
Me: You know what would be a REALLY GOOD IDEA?
Bank account: …what…?
Me: BUYING THIS MAKE-UP BRUSH RIGHT NOW
BA: You don’t need it! You just bought one two weeks ago.
Me: BUT IT’S SO FLUFFY
BA: No. Think of dinner! You like dinner right?
BA: You really need to stop anxiety shopping.
God. I hate it when my bank account makes sense.
…with roaches. Dear god I hate roaches. Big ones. Small ones. Some as big as a reasonable sized rat that has probably doing steroids and too many bench presses at gym, bro.
If you follow me on Twitter, you’ll have seen my
requests pleas about how to get rid of the pesky fuckers without burning down my apartment because deposits and references are needed when you can eventually afford to live somewhere where you can’t see your fridge from your bed.
I’ve said it before, I’m a fan of Tinder – because where else are bookish girls with a desire to go to bed early and make friends with cats going to find men? But, BUT there’s a problem (well, many) with internet/Tinder dating: It requires you to invest a large amount of time into people you don’t even know, let alone know if you like.
Part of being an independent, 20-something year old adult is learning to feed yourself and not end up some kind of severe nutritional deficiency/disorder/disease/die. Admittedly, when I first moved out of home, I depended a lot of frozen vegetables and couscous. Cause like, EASY. But I’ve realised that perhaps to avoid getting scurvy (THIS IS A THING YOU CAN GET ON LAND), I had to improve my game.
I wrote my first post about the things I’ve learnt about life since moving out home about a year after I left my parents place (so many skills, guys, I feel like TV lied to me about how to an adult – but it’s ok, I’m making up for it one popcorn dinner at a time). This is my fifth year out of my parents’ snug little nest and the fourth in my shoebox apartment. And man, the things you figure out. The things no one told you. The things my mom probably did but I totally wasn’t listening.
It’s no small secret that I hate dates and freak out when going on them. So, I’ve decided to give you a look into my mind when I’m on a date/meet-up/coffee-not-stealing-my-organs thing. For reals. This is my brain.
I suck at dating. I hate dating. I’ve sent several voice notes to the Long Distance Bestie about my hatred of dates – especially first dates. In fact I’m so bad at dating that it once took me six months to realise that the picnic my “friend” took me on, was, in fact, a date. No wonder he got annoyed me with me when I was vague about plans after that. He thought I was blowing him off. I was just being a flakey friend.
With joining Tinder (and OkCupid, yes, I’ve gone back to them) I’ve had a few first dates recently. Or are they dates when you are just meeting someone from a site and you’re trying to ascertain if they are, indeed, not serial killers (I’ve been watching too much of The Fall) or organ harvesters? Or they meet ups? Coffee hangouts? Let’s-not-die-tonight-face-time-in-real-time?