Put on a fucking shirt, Marvin

What’s Marvin got to do with any of this? Let me explain.

 

It all started on Thursday afternoon. Mid-conversation, a friend grabbed my phone and stated: “You NEED to get on Bumble.”

“And this is a dating app?” I asked, assuming – because of the nature of the conversation we’d been having – that it was. Suddenly, as I gazed down, something struck me.

“Hang on a second, Sally — I’m actually wearing BUMBLEBEE corduroy pants today… and you said this app’s called Bumble? Like, BUMBLE-bee?” I repeated, incredulous.

“Yep. See? It’s destiny,” she murmured absentmindedly, doing things with my phone. And then, she was giving my phone back to me, and it was asking me to select a profile picture for my new Bumble account.

Holy shite.

***

When my mom offered to pay for a dating website subscription months ago, I immediately declined. Friends have encouraged me to use dating technologies (both before and after Sierra’s offer), and I’ve always responded with a solid and strong no.

But the fact that I was wearing orange bumblebee pants at the time that Bumble was suggested to me did seem rather uncanny… after all: BUMBLEBEE PANTS?! How obscure and unlikely! Charlie’d gotten them for me at a consignment market Whole Foods had put on in their break room once, years ago. Super random.

I was busy for the rest of the day (w/work + school + a group bike ride in the rain) after Sally’d downloaded the app, so I waited until the next morning to upload a picture. And I uploaded six pictures, actually, as there were six grey circles requesting pictures during the enrollment process. I also answered lots of questions, like “what’s your sign?” and “what’s your height?” and “mountains or ocean”? (Btw, I chose mountains — DUH! Rivers usually come with them and rivers are just as cool as ocean waters. Anyways.)

 

So I completed my profile and then went about my business, which meant going to work. On my lunch break, a thought struck me: I hadn’t specified that I was NOT a hookup kinda gal!

So I pulled up my profile and added, at the end of my bio: “Full disclosure: I am NOT a hookup kinda gal.” Whew.

 

Then, pleasantly consumed w/projects and meetings, I mostly forgot about the dating app for the rest of the day, remembering its existence again that evening. I told Charlie I’d finally downloaded one of the damn things while he was cooking dinner (yummy tacos that he calls “turtle tacos”: salsa verde, sour cream, corn tortillas, veggies and black beans!).

“Want to do the thumbs-up, thumbs-down thing with me?” I asked hopefully, because I was apprehensive to do it on my own; I didn’t know how this kind of thing went, and the idea of being superficial and judging a book LITERALLY by its cover made me feel extremely uncomfortable. And shitty. I’ll just look at the eyes, I told myself. Eyes are windows to the soul, right?

 

Charlie participated on the sidelines (walking over with a spatula now and then) for about 15 minutes and then said it was also stressing him out, and too much — that he was beginning to feel worried over my safety.

I can say, after thumbs-upping and downing (aka swiping left and right) on and off for the last 24 hours, that these kinds of things would cause me to make the decision to swipe left (which means “no thanks”):

  • The guy has an unhappy fish or dead deer in his hands/arms OR is wearing camo OR appears to be in a football stadium.
  • The guy isn’t wearing a shirt or is sticking his tongue out or is otherwise posing suggestively. #classless
  • The guy has pictures of themselves @ the beach w/lots of pretty girls. I know — I’m assuming the dude’s a player, but what else could I possibly assume?! That they’re his sisters and cousins? Oh wait…
  • The guy looks like he stole this pic from his LinkedIn profile. A suit and tie? Financial adviser @ blah blah blah? Yuck. “But you work in finance,” Charlie objected from the kitchen, overhearing my mumbling at the table. “Yeah, I know — but BOTH of us can’t be boring,” I explained.
  • The guy lists that his career is “artist” or “self-employed.” Been there, done that, WAY too many times. I’m also an artist, amigo, but you’ve gotta be able to bring home the frickin veggie bacon.
  • The guy says something stupid or chauvinistic in his profile, like “go dodgers! lookin’ for a southern gal who can cook real good” or “why you ladies be ghostin? is it cuz it’s halloween?!”.
  • The guy mentions Jesus and wanting children in his bio.
  • The guy’s name is Christopher or Chris OR he has a reddish-orange beard OR he’s a Gemini.

 

So — with all of these firm dis-qualifiers in place, plus my innate sense of attraction, I find that I’m swiping left the majority of the time (we’ll say 29/30 times).

 

On my way downtown this AM, I ran into a friend (one who’s been wanting to me to download one of these apps for a while now) and shared the (good?) news with her. I also mentioned that I was feeling a little overwhelmed.

“Bumble says 50-plus guys have already thumbs-upped or swipe-righted me — I don’t know who they are, and I’m already trying to carry on so many conversations, remembering who’s who and what we’ve talked about…”

“Don’t feel like you have to respond to each person right away or ever,” she said. Another helpful thing she said: “This is your opportunity to figure out where your lines are.”

Lines. I recently learned how important it is to draw (and enforce) those.

 

So, being only 24 hours into this business, I haven’t much to report, other than:

  1. What I like about Bumble: After you and the other person have mutually thumbs-upped or swipe-righted each other, the woman gets to make the first “move” when it comes to messaging. I appreciate this because I’ve heard friends mention getting icky, unsolicited pics from dudes and, so far, I haven’t had to deal w/that nonsense.
  2. I’m enjoying talking with people. Currently, I’m conversing with a guy who does coding, a guy who loves hiking (he was just in the desert for 10 days!), a guy who’s doing liver cancer research, a guy who manages a jewelry store, and a couple of musicians. Interesting folks! Something funny: One guy said I had a “severely cute mug”, and because 1/6 pics I’d uploaded was of my infamous pumpkin spice mug, I naturally assumed that’s what he was talking about. I told him all about how I’d found it @ a thrift store and how I carry it with me every single weekend, and then he was like “I meant your face” — looking back @ his pic, he appears British, so it makes sense now.
  3. The liver cancer researcher invited me to coffee tomorrow morning and I said yes. So if you never, ever hear from me again, it could be sweet-looking, smarty pants Sam…

 

 

Still here (for tonight, anyways),

Aun Aqui

 

PS: To clarify this blog’s title, Marvin was one of many shirtless men who I swiped left on. Smh.

6 thoughts on “Put on a fucking shirt, Marvin

  1. Marvin takes off his T-shirt and dives into his swimming pool. I dive in with him and swim to the bottom. The floor is inlaid with beautiful Mexican tile. Marvin himself cut the tiles. He likes when the sun glances off it from the top, because it looks like the black marlin.

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