romance

CultureDatingSex

Browsing through the endlessly diverse gauntlet of humans bearing their soul and persona for your consumption.

He has real pretty eyes, she has a great smile, welp thats a mighty fine torso shot, fuckable for sho, not looking for a hookup? WTF are you doing here? Is that person even real? Ew, he is holding a dead deer in his pic and those guys all have fish they murdered. That one likes their truck more than the earth. Military or cop not for me. She seems cool but she has seven kids. That one doesn’t like cats. He’s seems ok but somehow lives 200 miles away. That’s just a blank screen. Lots of couples looking for unicorns (usually a female that will fuck both you and your partner), then the jerks who say they are lesbians when they are actually straight cis men, and then BOOM out of the blue someone you know in REAL life. HMM…

Imagine a friend or acquaintance coming up. You have always found this person attractive but never spoke up. Maybe you just never really got to know them.

They look super hot in these photos, fuck it, swipe right. Ok, whats the harm? Let’s see what happens, they probably swiped left anyways, oh well, here goes nothing, drumroll… IT’S A MATCH!

Holy fuck! Wait, does this mean they are DOWN? Or is it just like yo bro, what up I KNOW YOU! Like are you trying to fuck though? This is a hookup app and we are on here for the same thing right?

It’s super awkward the next time you see them. Do you bring up the match? Do you say anything? How does one put these kind of feelers out?

It’s so hard to do this face to face (like people have done for fucking centuries, hope you can hear the ironic tone there). What did people do before dating apps determined compatibility?

So you match with your super duper sexy friend on Tinder… but what now? They like you back, how do you know if they are DTF or JK lol?

It’s downright scary to approach people sometimes. Hiding behind the little itty bitty screen seems like a cop out, like it is just too scary to be rejected in person.

Swiping away on the hottest hook up app seems so second nature, it is so easy just to place judgement on those we don’t know (or want to know better) based on several photos and a tag line. It is dangerous and sad to merely say I like you or I don’t based on only looks alone, hot or not.

I really think its sad that we have come to this. People sitting next to each other in bars swiping when they should be interacting with other humans in the same room.

My friend matched with a bartender he knew, she was his friend, they always laughed a lot, but until faced with the absolute yes or no of this app he had not pondered the idea of sleeping with her. After all, a lot of people in the service industry use Tinder to bring people into their bars.

“I bet she swiped right for everyone,” he thought. She’s cute, really funny, yea, that’s something I like! So he super liked her at 4am drunk.

The next time they hung out it was obvious that the feelers were being put out on her end. He may not have been entirely serious about the super like, but is still down to fuck if she is. It came down to an awkward moment at the end of the night, she stuck around until closing time and they were the only two left.

The ball is in his court now. Now you have to go deeper than just bullshit ice breakers. You are already past this. It’s now or never, take the plunge and see if she bites.

He did not pursue, figuring that if she liked him for realzies she would have moved in. He must have not liked her that much to not ever really notice it or say it out loud, right?

An impossible filter that I wish was on Tinder is the EX’s and EX’s of your besties. It’s a real bummer to come across someone who is hot and interesting and then realize that your best friend had a bad breakup or hookup story with them. Then you come to the EX’s of your current squeezes and that builds a whole new level of crazy.

Also relatives, that just creeps me out. I would never want to come across one of my cousins on a dating app.

The moment we have all been waiting for, the other day I came across one of my crushes on Tinder. I have always liked her lots, but never felt like I was her “type” (whatever the fuck that means).

She’s hot and talented, we have an incredible friend chemistry, it’s so easy to talk to her, but I never ever imagined she would like me back. I was afraid so I swiped left. Days later she told me that she swiped right.

FUCK! I done screwed up. I told her that I didn’t even see her pop up. I lied. In that moment I should have confessed it all, but I didn’t and now I feel like the moment has passed. Now I will never know if she actually likes me or not, woe is me!

Actually, no, cut the shit, if you like someone tell them IN PERSON. My roomie saw one of my other long term from a distance crushes on Tinder and I literally swiped for two hours straight to find him to no avail. I hope I didn’t go too fast and accidentally missed him!

I won’t pay for this app, not even to go back and swipe the correct way for my future soulmate. What if I go through all of that and we don’t match after all?

Tinder keeps coming up in my regular conversations. I am new to polyamory, so this is one of my new outlets for exploration, although I have not met a single person from it, mostly just small talk.

I got called out for not messaging a friend/acquaintance I matched with. He clearly wants it. This doesn’t mean I am required to go on a date with this person. It just means that I thought they had a cute photo. I was going so fast that I didn’t even know it was him.

I put all this faith in a swipe from someone I like and then I don’t think too hard when swiping myself. There are reasons why I never pursued this dude to begin with, so why now?

Knowing that a person likes you should not be the only reason to go for it. You must like them back and be honest, I am really good at making things awkward and really afraid of rejection.

But how will you know if you don’t just throw it out there? Why are we all so goddamn afraid of rejection? If someone doesn’t like you like that then just accept it and move on. You don’t need them to find worth and love yourself.

I must learn to be my own primary partner. There will always be someone else to date! I swear.

It’s a little more weighted in this case. If you have an established friendship and then are faced with the “Wait, if they want it, do I want it?” moment then you really have to put your cards on the table before you make an irrational move.

I have had a few friendships where I thought that I was unrequited with my feeling shift for years, too scared of losing the friendship over one awkward confession. It would have been awesome to read their mind, and know that even for the moment of the swipe I was an option.

The moral is don’t be scared to tell someone you love them. Life is too short.

If you rely solely on a silly dating app for your happiness you will not be a very happy person. True love, passion, and continuous joy are sparked by real life moments: catching eyes, brushing knees, petting the same cat, volunteering at the same shelter, reading books at the same coffee shop, or just a chance encounter on the street can bring you to your soulmate of the moment.

Keep your eyes open. You never know when they might come up!

* Featured image by Denis Bocquet via Flickr via Creative Commons

Culture

I hear a beautiful song or poem or painting or glance

It touches my heart
Then I want the artist to touch my body
Skillfully
Artfully
Fully

Spend time on me like a painting
Write our present moment like a song
Give my kisses the passion of a poem

I just want to know him
She is too beautiful to tell
I see the girls that strike their fancy
Hell
They look nothing like me

But I know that art is meant to make that feeling feel real
And I am not special
I am seduced like the others

You are the electric tangerine stripe in a cobalt sky just after sunset
You are the poppyseeds in my teeth
The barbeque sauce on my fingers
Delicately licked
Smacked
Sucked
Sticky

They will tear you apart
Until there is nothing left but your art
Open wide with a price tag
Vivisection connection
There on display for mass consumption

I see
Obsession in the third degree
I have a problem where I think the world revolves around me

But the art you made was for a girl you knew growing up
The song was about a stranger on the subway
Something you heard in a dream
Perhaps an ex or a fantasy

Not me
It was never about me.

…

As an artist myself, I am often surprised at how I fall in love with the sparkles of hope in someone’s soul bearing words or visuals. Every time I feel duped by shiny pretty lights. Smoke and mirrors.

I often wonder if someone has ever felt that connection to me? Has someone thought I was out of their league? Saw my art and fell in instant love, lust, glee, watched my ass jiggle on stage, or heard me read a poem for the first time, perhaps even reading this blog.

I hope to connect with the broken hearted but not to break more hearts. I sit here alone at every art opening and poetry reading, every concert and play, just hoping that this one time it IS about me, and I will live happily ever after with the artist of my dreams.

Every person I have loved is an art maker, a shaker, an artful faker, and a heart breaker. I need to be with an artist because I know they are capable of passion. Life must be lived with absolute passion, careful thought and careless blocks of paint and color, words that stop wars.

Musicians are the worst. I fall for them so easily, so hard. It’s like their words and sounds touch places inside me that cannot be touched by mere mortals.

Drummers hold a beat in the bedroom, guitarists and piano players are good with their fingers, songwriters and poets write lyrics better than sex, they linger. The everlasting embrace of creativity that enraptures me, seduces me, envelopes me in thoughts that are dangerous to my mental health.

I have no stealth. I clumsily love those who are floating on their own clouds. They all have hot girlfriends now, but not when I started. I feel eternally broken-hearted. I love so hard it blinds me, then when I see it’s truly embarrassing.

I do get sad. It’s unavoidable. The pandora stations I listen to are based on all of my past relationships, people I have dated, girls I have had crushes on. It’s not like I want to go back to any of them, I know everything ends for a reason. But I think what if I ran into him at the Pink? What if I looked up and saw that familiar pout? Would I brush the hair from his forehead and kiss him like I did a thousand times before? Would it feel the same?

I took it for granted, didn’t know it was going to end, did’t really have any expectations, I never do. I never know who is going to make my chest tingle, these people are few and far between. I don’t just pounce, I long, I wonder, I let things pass me by. I never think I am anyone’s “type”, do people have types? I don’t! I walk through life haphazardly bumping into people until one of them makes me tingle, then I cling to them like static and never say a word until, of course, it’s too late.

What happens when your current crush likes all the bands that your ex liked? Then who will the songs remind you of? Both simultaneously methinks. The good times are killing us while the bad times consume our souls. It is unrelenting and never ending.

I elevate my crushes so it’s easier to feel that way about someone who is already on the stage. Looking down on me and my insecurity, they have no idea how much love is bursting from my seams. My skin is going to explode and a ball of light is going to shoot out of me.

I need to love others, share the light, stand up and fight, words like daggers can stagger through the night. Putting people on a pedestal is wrong, they are just human. If I never tell any of them how I feel, is the feeling real? Or is it just something that lives and dies inside of me, a waxing moment of passion, gone in a flash.

Even this pain will fade, the colors will blur with new love and possibility. It will turn grey and shrivel. Lather, rinse, repeat. I will never stop loving musicians, poets, painters, photographers, and creators. Even if it hurts, it’s worth it to feel that moment of special. They SEE you! To be loved by an artist you will forever be second to their art, because even love and sex don’t compare to expression!

Usually I am lost in my own art. I haven’t written about my heart lately because honestly I haven’t “felt” anything “real” in awhile. My heart has been too swollen with the reality that a young black man has been murdered by the police in my neighborhood. The president of my country is a cheeto demi-god complex fool who is making even more a mockery my country. 40% of the food is in dumpsters and children starve around the world and around the block from me. Transgender women are being targeted and murdered, they can’t even pee in peace. No Muslim or Jewish person is safe, neither is anyone of any distinguishing race. Animals are being tortured for consumption. Rape, slavery, bombs, wars, and lack of education are killing us and big corporate greed is demolishing our Earth at a rapid pace (not even the water is safe). I have no debt but still don’t know how I am going to continue to pay my bills. My grandpa has dementia, my best friend is racist, and my job is in jeopardy due to gentrification. How can I find time to be sad about my lack of a love life? There is no time to wallow, only to fight, and not forget to dream.

That’s why I fall in love with fellow artists, with those moments that make me forget about how hard things are. It is a selfish release. I want to live in their world, be part of that fanciful scene. I want to be the girl they knew in high school or the song they wrote in a dream. I want beauty, passion, and all that lies between. Bask in the spotlight together, the same kind of weird.

Pay attention to your heart, pay attention to art. Love uncontrollably, even if it hurts after, it was worth it. It will always be worth it.

 

CultureSex

Ever send a text message you regret? It has been crafted, a well written expression of love and lust that will be sure to win their heart or at least grant you some quality time with their naughty bits. All typed. Ok here it goes, press send. DELIVERED. No taking it back now. Oh hell, what will he think, why hasn’t he looked at it yet, it’s been two whole seconds! READ Ahhh! It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for. Then I wait and wait some more, no response. Life is over. 🙁

First there were newspaper personals, then on to chat rooms (ASL?). fast forward to Hot or Not, Friendster, Plenty of Fish, and the infamous Myspace. Now Tinder, Grinder, OKCupid, Facecrack, Craigslist, text messaging and social media in general have changed the way people look for sex and romance in this modern (technology obsessed) world.

Imagine having to walk into a bar and actually being forced to strike up a conversation with an attractive human?! Holy shit! You mean I don’t get to know what his quirky hobbies, food allergies, and favorite ironic tv shows are beforehand? Can you really ever “know” someone without seeing their “profile” first? Sketchy.

It’s so easy to browse for a mate with the swipe of a finger and a tracking system that lets you know how close they are to you! Only 20 feet away, now 10, only 6, and fast approaching. He is much shorter than it says, I wonder what else he lied about? Oh well, YOLO. Wow, stalking, I mean dating, has never been so convenient. Do you like scary movies?

There is a glow: illuminated face, eyes glazed and dilated, mouth slightly ajar, a small puddle of drool forms, and a muscular thumb ferociously taps away. Everywhere you look, from the darkened movie theatre to the family dinner table, there are people of all ages with their faces in their beloved phones.

6369804665_0466cb6870_o
Photo credit: Phil Campbell, Flickr CC

Just think, most of these people are typing the filthiest things, sexting, and trying to get some action. These things are too dirty to even mention here. At any given moment there are probably millions of #selfie boob shots and even double that in dick pics being sent through the digital waves all around us.

What happened to “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” I actually have a back log of all the unsolicited dick pics sent my way. Some big, some not as big, curved to the left or right, hard as a rock, slightly chubby, cut, uncut, veiny, lots of pubes, or diligently manscaped.

My usual response is to send a big bulging ween right back to them. I recycle the ridiculous cock shots sent by others and claim them as my own flopping member. I hope these bros have learned a lesson. What did you expect me to send a lovey shot of my snatch instead? Not saying my bearded clam isn’t absolutely gorgeous, she’s just modest and looks kind of fat in pics.

It’s not ok to whip your dick out in public, what makes you think its cool to send it to my inbox? People hide behind technology. They feel a sense of confidence and sassiness that is unmatched. When you send a message, you can edit it and say just the right thing. There is no chance of being instantly rejected, slapped, or arrested for indecent exposure like in “real” life.

Call me old fashioned but there is no substitute for falling in love in person. That moment when you meet someone for the first time and just stop breathing. Your heartbeat changes. You lock eyes and melt into a puddle of dreams, hopes, and lust. All you can say is jibberish or nothing at all.

Love transforms us into babbling idiots, and that’s how it is supposed to be! The journey then begins, you get to ask him about the things he does, the places he has been, and explore the things that make him, well, him. It’s beautiful. It takes time.

Sometimes we get shot down, and it hurts, but you have to keep getting up and living life. Love comes around when you aren’t looking for it. You never know, the man reading Nietzsche at the coffee shop, the person baring their soul on stage, or the woman pumping gas next to you might be the one you have been looking for all along.

Life is too short to hide behind technology. Don’t get me wrong, I use and abuse it too, I have sent texts that I am not proud of and gone on dates that are even more unmentionable. I have even written a misconnection or two.

I’m sure there will be those who argue with me on this, that small percentage of folks who have met their soulmate on Christian Mingle and have lived happily ever after. But in general things that are fast are not good. Instead of emerging yourself in the digital sex trade please set down your phone, power down the tablet, close the laptop, brush your hair, put on a clean shirt, and get out there! You look great today btw.

Say hi to the next attractive person you see. (Hint: the hottest ones are generally the most insecure because they are so hot that nobody actually speaks to them). Keep your head up and always remember that you are a unique, totally interesting, confident, and incredible human. You are not afraid to have real face to face interaction and live life to the fullest. Go get ’em, tiger! I believe in you.

Phil Campbell, Flicker CC

CultureDating

Ah, Tinder. The latest buzz-making matchmaking app and my last obsession. Cause yeah, no more mooching off my friends to play… I created my own account! Hey man, no shame; everybody with a smartphone is drinking that Kool-Aid.

One great thing about Tinder is the fact that it’s semi-anonymous. No last names and few pictures paint an illusion of privacy to unashamedly pursue your online quest for booty. But it feels legit enough, requiring you to sign up with a valid Facebook profile, that finding yourself trapped in some psycho’s car trunk is not as high on the list of fears if meeting up. The person you are viewing is (almost always) real, and the information (first name and age) is probably accurate.

Unless you’re my sister who created Sloth McSlow to satisfy her Tinderiosity:

sloth mcslow
This guy is awesome.

Either you go on Tinder, or you play Tinder. How people talk about the app is a good indication of how seriously they take its hook-up potential. Sorry to crush your dreams bros, but many ladies are solely on there for an ego boost. There are just as many thundercunts as there are douchebags in this world.

But in regards to those who are really on Tinder to ignite some sparks, the app is no different than any other virtual dating playground. You’ll get all sorts of users ranging from seeking DTFs, real connections, right down to friendly acquaintances. I’ve even swiped through a few couples looking to add a little extra somethin’ somethin’ to the bedroom.

What’s crazy is how addictive it is. Like fo’ real. You will literally spend hours nope-ing the hell out of rando after rando. And for what? Honestly it’s like maintenance stroking your hard-on until the good porn finishes loading; you keep swiping with tired determination until you fall upon an actual “maybe” – or better yet – until you find an absolute YES (the unicorn of Tinder). That or your battery dies.

As a girl, and for simplicity’s sake, there are two types of men: Jerks and Nice Guys. Jerks are players who want to score with your pretty face but not pay for breakfast. Nice Guys always put on a condom and sometimes wear sweaters.

But hold the fuck up. With Tinder, jerk-o-meters get fuzzy. Because even if you think you found a Nice Guy, the dude’s gotta be superficial on some level, right? Tinder matches are founded on aesthetic compatibility after all. It’s a real Catch 22.

So what about superficial assumptions? My swiping system goes as such:

If you’re wearing sunglasses, I assume you have a lazy eye.
Swipe left.
Ed Hardy t-shirt wearers and swagfags alike.
Swipe left.
If you take a selfie while driving? That’s dangerous road conduct and terrible camera angle.
Swipe left.
If you’re posing in a mirror, you probably have short arms.
Swipe left.
If you quote James Dean, it’s just too cliche.
Swipe left.
If you have a tribal tattoo, you’re either 450 or have Chlamydia (don’t know which is worst).
Swipe left.
If you’re smoking a cigar, you have a small penis.
Swipe left.
If you’re shown traveling by backpack, you can’t afford a hotel and you’re probably broke.
Swipe left.
If you’re wearing a fedora, you’re the taint that girls try to bleach off their assholes.
Swipe left.
If you’re doing the Zoolander eyebrow thing, the equivalent of the male “duck face”.
Swipe left.
If you’re posing next to GSP, you look underwhelming by comparison no matter what.
Swipe left.
If you have kids, awwwwww…
Swipe left.

So basically, all guys. Swipe left. I’m window shopping 90% of the time.

Noobs take time to view your account. They appreciate the funny picture where you’re wearing that 3 Amigos sombrero. They give you points for writing a quirky bio. They feel morally obliged to answer your message if you matched.

Pros (you get your badge after, like, 3 days) need less than 0.75 seconds to process your picture. Your face becomes a blur along with every other stranger’s. Swipe, swipe, swi- Awe shit! I just swiped left a ‘maybe’!  Oh well, you continue compulsively worsening your tinderitis.

You have to wonder… Would you have really picked out your boyfriends or girlfriends if you had come across them on Tinder? Most likely not.

It’s such a commentary on today’s gen. Entitled, expecting immediate results, and ADD-level commitment. Tinder is the epitome of today’s Grass Is Always Greener society. It’s kind of sad, actually.

The app is fun and it definitely delivers what it promises. But after a couple of weeks, and a few numbers exchanged, and ONE super friendly meet… I decided Tinder wasn’t for me. I started to over-think it, see the bigger picture, and it cheapened the experience of making a connection with someone. So I quit that bitch. Bye Felicia.

And then I got a cat, my new obsession. Now I can never die alone!

I think I’m doing a really good job embracing the single life, don’t you?

Featured photo credit: Denis Bocquet, Flickr CC.

CultureHumour

Let it never be said that Johnny Scott does not know heartache.

I began my painful life of pining for the gentler sex when I was still in diapers. And through the years the longing in my heart, like the diapers on my bottom, has only grown deeper and wider. I’ve had many loves in my life, many lost and many never-to-be. And the one common thread running through the whole absorbent, leak-proof tapestry is that each one was so cavalierly tossed aside at the slightest hint of a mess, like so many soiled Attends.

So, maybe being a great lover isn’t my strong suit. Maybe every love I’ve had has ended with me prone, halfway on some item of furniture, too debilitatingly heartbroken to move to reach the near-empty two-litre bottle of wine that has so carelessly rolled just out of my reach. Rolled just out of my reach like so many women before it, who also did so once their delicate bodies were no longer full of two litres of wine.

And this is what’s led me to the dawning comprehension that whatever my failings may be in maintaining a successful romantic relationship, the inverse is true of my skill as a passionate practitioner of the art of longing. Yes, however badly I cock up my pursuit of the love of a lady, I make up for it tenfold with my subsequent life-consuming yearning for her.

It’s a tremendous skill to have. Because what’s better to be able to do, woo someone with promise and successful delivery of an eternal love and devotion, or remind them constantly of an inextinguishable misunderstood preoccupation with what could have been if only they’d succumbed to your anguished advances? Clearly the latter shows a much greater degree of effort and commitment. Troubled desire is the intense, misshapen cousin of healthy love; and much like my intense, misshapen cousin at a family gathering, it’s hard to look at but impossible to ignore.

Now all of this, societally acceptable pursuit or degenerative brooding, is geared toward one thing: finding a partner. So if, like me, the former isn’t your bag, you might as well try your damnedest to be the best degenerate brooder you can be. Do everything you can to make yourself miserable in the name of longing, and do it right. Get adequately prepared, because wallowing in a puddle of your own despair is harder work than it sounds. And you want to make sure the object of your torch-bearing knows you’re not being lazy about it.

If you’ve got a job, you should probably consider quitting it, or at least taking some time off. You’re not going to be leaving your home for any reason whatsoever for a while, with the possible exception of occasionally putting on a long coat and staring pensively out over a body of water, internally comparing its depth and coldness to that of your own ravaged heart. Oh yeah, so make sure to buy an appropriately large amount of toilet paper before you start, because your whole image of stone-masked turmoil is undermined if you’re clutching a pack of Cottonelle puppies.

You’re not going to be eating very much, or wearing any clothes most of the time, so spend most of your grocery and laundry money on good, full-bodied red wine or mid-quality brandy. If you don’t yet dabble in heroin, now would be a great time to start. Ether is another good choice, if you can get it. The goal here isn’t to get right messed up on any of these, but to maintain a constant, days-at-a-stretch languor which dulls the pain smouldering inside you enough that you can focus on all the things you’d be doing at any given moment with your erstwhile soul-mate if only they’d finally see that they’re meant to be with you.

The soundtrack to your furious craving should be stark. I suggest the ceaseless drip of a kitchen faucet between songs on the same side of a beat-up Hank Williams record that keeps replaying itself again and again. Whatever you choose, it should be played indefinitely, to serve as a constant reminder that your suffering will never end.

Most importantly, keep a record of your pain. Great writing and music and art throughout the centuries has been created because of profound heartache, and what’s been the point of all this if your torment isn’t known to those around you? To that person whom all of this has been an effort to impress upon how lost you are without?

So fill your Facebook feed with vague status updates of lovelorn agony. Tweet relentlessly of your desperate search for meaning without the only person who can steady your shambling life. Instagram snapshots of the squalor imposed upon you by your burdened soul. And, always, blog blog blog.

 

Photo by Johnny Scott