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May 1, 2017 | by  | in Shit Chat |
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My little huntress and other Shit Chat

This one night, my flatmate and I decided to play an ill-conceived game called Drink Everything In The House. One thing led to another, and, well, you know how girls get after half a bottle of week-open wine and a can of Smirnoff Ice. So this guy I matched with on Tinder came over, let’s call him Niev. Fair cop, Niev knew his angles; I felt a little catfished by a Tinder profile strategically curated to give the impression he was significantly taller than he actually was. Being the embodiment of the Take Her Swimming On The First Date meme myself, don’t think I didn’t see the irony. Looking at him, I did a cost-benefit analysis: ok I’m so uncomfortable with this / he’s got alright chat? / eee ok this guy is barely my height / but you’re really horny Sash. Naturally — after graciously declining a lukewarm Lion Brown — Niev ended up in my bed. After hours, I’m not exaggerating, hours of forced chat (me, way too anxious to make the first move; him, who the fuck knows because he sure as hell wasn’t genuinely enjoying me struggling to maintain a “chill girl” façade for four hours), I awkwardly went to kiss him and we were off. I’d be generous in giving Niev three minutes. Which makes you more anxious, having to spend the night next to him, or having to ask him to leave? The threat of the former proved too much; he assured me he was just about to suggest that he got going.


NOPE (seriously are those Dirty Dogs?)

NOPE (I’m sorry I imagined your face on top of mine and—)

(long hair) YES

NOPE (seven other guys in each pic? hon,)

NOPE (an American flag is a red flag, ammirite)

(* D O G *) YES

NOPE (tell me you looked in the mirror and said, yup, that’s the amount of hair gel I’ll wear today)


This one night, I was at a friend’s 21st and came across someone I’d matched with on Tinder; someone who is fondly referred to in my flat as Douche Lord. He was good looking — especially without my contacts in, especially seven gin and tonics deep — and his admittedly good bar stool chat offset the qualms I had about his snapback. I can only blame the gin and tonics for Douche Lord finding himself in my bed — snapback and all — later that night. Douche Lord was one of those guys that you’re physically attracted to, but intellectually and emotionally repulsed by. Highlights from our passionate encounter include his aversion to condoms, when he somehow decided it was a good idea to ask me how much I weigh, and when I had to ask him to leave at 3am. Apparently some guys just wanna say “f*ggot” more than they wanna have sex.


NOPE (finger guns)

NOPE (“also I’m a massive nerd” — good for you, Brad)

(goddamit long hair) YES

NOPE (one picture and it’s of your ute? for real?)

NOPE (oooooooooooh maybe — oh god no why do I even have 18-year olds on here)

NOPE (the screen wouldn’t load, tough luck Doug)

NOPE (“Barbell Connoisseur”)

(arrested development reference) YES

NOPE (imagine that sick beard from the Hunger Games, barbered by a literal goat)

(6’4” ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) YES


No one is as cool as their Tinder profile would have you believe, which is why if a guy has two pictures and both of them are of him wearing Dirty Dogs… it’s gonna be a no from me, dog. In an effort toward full transparency, my Tinder bio right now is “but how many girlfriends do you have,” so I may not be an authority on the authentic Tinder experience. I’ve also cancelled approximately seven different Tinder dates this year alone, and generally greet men I don’t know with the devil in my eyes and murder in my thoughts. So. Functional is a relative term. Tinder is the fucking worst, but as I sit in the Hunter Lounge, listening to some shit lord whine about how this girl wouldn’t fuck him all the while trying to snake his hand up some other girl’s skirt, it’s starting to sink in that this is only because people are the fucking worst. Limit your interactions with the opposite sex to drunken hookups at 3am in Siglo, is my advice. Better living everybody.


Love u, xoxo

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