In Profile

I changed my social media profile photo recently. If you arrived here via twitter or Facebook, you know what it looks like. If you got here some other way, it's over there to the right, on my feed - pink lips, a bit of cleavage, reasonably tidy office in the background. At least one of those things constitutes fraud.

A day or two after I changed it, a guy told me he liked the new pic. I recall saying it was a little witness protection-y, but he maintained it had two of the four things you need for a good profile pic - mouth and cleavage. The other two, according to the gentleman in question, are neither a fake moustache nor a cat; they're eyes and butt, with sexy shoes coming in around 5th place. I'm still trying to work out how one gets eyes, mouth, cleavage AND butt, never mind a shoe cameo, in there without needing Nicki Minaj's choreographer and/or a chiropractor. But it got me thinking - what have my profile pics said about me?

I'm not one to change up my pic a lot. I think I've had maybe half a dozen in 4 years. There was the stylized, sort of pop-art filtered one. There was the laughing in my living room, tipsy at a party, no glasses on one. The fake moustachioed one. The photobombed by my cat one. Occasionally, a close up of my eyes, which an ex-boyfriend told me go absolutely emerald green when I'm horny or angry, so I'm sure that one both arouses and terrifies him.

And then there's the most recent one. Let's be honest  - it's hot lips and a hint of boobs. Is it sexy? I suppose. I do know this - I've had no more than a handful of comments on all other pics combined, but this one, this one was comment heavy. From people I know, people I don't know, and one person who isn't used to seeing me that way who said "Is that you in the pic?" Sorry for making you blush, Paul. Women tended to comment on the shade of lipstick. Men commented on...other stuff.

After much (not really) analysis of comments both recent and not so, here's what I've determined my various profile pics have said. I'll stick mostly to men, because comments from women tend to be of the "your skin looks awesome / Tallulah is so cute / where'd you get that pillow on the couch?" variety.

1) My eyes - without glasses, fun, possibly intense, maybe horny. With glasses, smarter than you, will likely correct your grammar. All these things are true.

2) A fake moustache - I think it says I'm fun. I think I actually look pretty good with one. But I wonder if people who don't know me think I'm trying to cover up some weird mole. Also, I've discovered a handlebar moustache is surprisingly good at bringing out my cheekbones.

3) A cat - I thought the message it sent was genuine and cute. In retrospect, it may say "hasn't seen a penis in this fiscal quarter". Sure, people who own cats have sex. But people who have regular sex don't let their cats in their profile pictures. Should probably just call it and go back to that pic, actually.

4) Hot pink lips - blow job.

5) A bit of cleavage - You know what it says? One word: "Boobsboobsboobsboobsboobsboobs". Based on this, I'm pretty sure Hodor from Game of Thrones could instantly double his vocabulary if someone showed him my profile pic.

Actually, I'm not being entirely accurate. I seem to recall someone summoning enough vocabularly to say it made them think of jewellery. A pearl necklace, specifically.

6) Butt - Moot point. Never happened, never going to happen. When it comes to photos of my ass, I liken it to the famous, oft-debated photo of Big Foot:  not sure under what circumstances it was caught on camera, can kind of see some sort of  shape, if it weren't so blurry, it would either be terrifying or fucking awesome.

So, to sum up, if I want my pic to accurately represent me, I want it to say, firstly, smart, then funny, then, hopefully, cute, maybe a little sexy. So glasses, a fake moustache, a hint of cleavage are good. Hot pink lips, use at my own risk.

Tinder Dry

I haven't written regularly for a while. And in that time, it seems Tinder has exploded. Figuratively speaking. If Tinder had literally exploded, you should all probably get tested. Or at least consider one of those decontamination showers.

I know, I know - some people are on Tinder to actually meet potential romantic partners. Some people who meet on Tinder go on to date. And some people who were on the Titanic survived. Just not most of them. But, in both cases, we're talking about A LOT of people going down.

Here's what Tinder tells me about itself: Tinder's vision is to eliminate the barriers involved in making new connections and strengthening existing ones. We believe in fun and familiar experiences that are designed to emulate and advance real world interactions.

They mean boning, right?

I went out last night, and the women I was with tried to convince me to join Tinder. They showed me their profiles, they cajoled, they offered up pics of guys in the area. But none of it, not their testimonials, not the guy with the great smile, not even the guy I swear was a Village Person, changed my stance: the only thing I'm less likely to join than Tinder is one of those doomsday cults where they all wear track suits. Why, you may ask? You mean besides the fact I look really awful in track suits? Well, because I've realized I'm a semi-traditional girl. I like to meet guys the old-fashioned way - blitzed off my ass on Rockaberry coolers at a house party in the early to mid-90s.

Here's the first problem, one that flies in (sits on?) the face of the almost instant sex Tinder seems to promise: I've been known to present a DTF vibe in certain situations when, really, I'm more a DTMO (down to make out) type. I believe my love of deep v-necks, wine and rampant profanity to be responsible for this slightly skewed perception. Don't get me wrong; I've been known to kiss before the first date. But the s-e-x, it ain't gonna happen instantly. Refresher, for those who got to class late: my brain needs to be turned on, and it takes more than a few snapshots on my iPhone to give my cerebral cortex lady wood. It takes smarts, too. It may seem bothersome, even quaint, this whole "he has to have brains, too" thing. But, for me, it's less bothersome than waking up next to a really hot, complete idiot.

The second problem? I need a little easing in, a little wooing, and I don't think I'm alone. But the all-access backstage ass Tinder hints at seems to have relegated actually getting to know someone to the cheap seats. There's no opening act, no warm up. Pay attention, all you would-be suitors - you can't go from zero to you want to put what where? in 5 minutes. Maybe some women don't need the preamble, the mental flowers and candy. But I know a lot of women, and not once, ever, has any of us said "Yeah, it's pretty new, and I think I could really like this guy, but I wish he'd just hurry the hell up and talk about his cock".

One of my best friends recently read me some Tinder messages she'd received. She'd never met him, they'd chatted briefly that day, but he was saying stuff to her I MIGHT say to a guy after about 4 months. If I'd been drinking. And he'd been drinking. And it was his birthday. Unless I've had champagne, in which case I'll say that shit to my third grade teacher at an ice cream social. What's up, Mrs. Pierce?

The internet and social media have made sex easier to get than ever. Are we really that lazy, that pressed for time now, that we can't even get off our couches to meet people? It's harder to pay your Visa bill online than it is to get laid by simply swiping right. But you know what? It's not that hard in real life, either. The getting laid, I mean. Paying my Visa bill is actually fairly difficult, since I keep forgetting the answers to those goddamn mobile banking security questions. My first pet? Did I count Twinkle the cat when I answered that? I don't fucking know. Jesus.

Look, sex is AWESOME. Big fan. And sex with someone you know a little bit is even awesome-er. So what if getting to know someone takes a little longer? It's still really, really fun. I'm talking days, not weeks, so stay with me, horndogs. You know how there used to be lots of things you could only get around the holidays, and the anticipation made them just the best thing ever? And then things changed, and now you can get some of them all year round? I sometimes feel like I'm candy cane ice cream, and mini eggs are getting all the action.

Here's the irony. Tinder, by necessity, involves at least a little messaging back and forth before meeting up. In person, I'm less femme fatale and more George McFly. But, with a phone in my hand or a keyboard in front of me? I give excellent text. I'm really fucking good at it. If there's one thing I know, it's words, and I'm as comfortable in them as some women claim to be in 4 inch heels (they're lying). On more than a few occasions, I've even gone full Cyrano de Bergerac for my friends. Not for really dirty stuff, mind you - my friends are on their own for that (although I am available for suggestions). But for that first hook, that initial flirtation, that luring in? It might have been me, boys. By that rationale, I could be rocking Tinder's headboard.

But here's where it gets un-swoonworthy. Many men, it would seem, don't finesse it. There's no style, no savoir-faire. They're giving you the text equivalent of jackhammer sex, without stopping to ask if you actually like it that way, baby. And, worst of all for someone like me, maybe because they're texting with one hand, many of them are hammering away with barely literate come-ons. In my version of "It's a Wonderful Life", every time an attractive man uses the wrong form of "your" or answers a text with "k", an orgasm dies. Friends tell me I'm a word snob, and that an extra glass (or 5) of wine can compensate for language crimes. Perhaps, but why is getting turned on by intelligence deemed so off-putting? You can say you're an ass man, or you like tall guys, or beards just do it for you, and that's perfectly fine, but if you say proper grammar floats your little man in a boat, you're a snob. You know who says that? Dumb people.

I'm sure there are plenty of smart, kind, caring people on Tinder and its ilk. But those things aren't exactly in the pole position to draw you in, are they? People likely aren't swiping right because someone thinks John Hughes was a genius. And while I like a nice smile and sparkling eyes as much as anyone, it lasts for about 3 minutes. And then, what else you got? My suspicion is that Tinder not only doesn't care, it's also too busy checking its wallet for a condom to notice I've put my fuzzy socks on and logged into Netflix. 

It just seems so superficial and, honestly, kind of empty to me. I know people say it just "makes things easier", because you know for sure the people are single and looking. Or at least horny and looking. But why does it have to be easy? Easier isn't always better. See also: Kraft Dinner vs. homemade mac and cheese. As someone who isn't easy, I know what I'm talking about. And if that means the only swiping I'm going to be doing on my phone is trying to pay that goddamn Visa bill, I'm cool with that.

List it

I have writer's block. Ironically, one of the things that usually cures it is writing - about something else entirely. Stream of consciousness stuff works best. For me, that means either a very angsty "My So-Called Life"-esque diary entry, or a list. And since I'm having wine, a list is safer. It's simple - I let my mind wander, I only give myself 20 minutes, and you reap the dubious benefits.

1) The calendar in my office is still on April. The month my dad got sick. Don't need to delve too deeply into that one, hmm?

2) "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" just came on my playlist. Chair dancing has ensued.

3) I am allergic to giraffes.

4) My current favourite lipgloss is called Lollipop. Very Lolita, I know, but, damn, it looks good.

5)  I've gone a week without a burger. That ends when I hit publish on this thing.

6) Moscato is delicious (and an essential part of this evening's writing).

7) I had a Snuffleupagus puppet on my hand this afternoon. Related: I do a terrible Snuffleupagus impression.

8) My Jane Goodall autographed Far Side is right above my desk. Meeting one of your childhood idols is otherworldly, awesome, and deeply affecting. I was truly humbled by every word she spoke in my presence. In that tiny office, with a handful of people, her quiet grace enveloped me. Best day on the job, hands down.

9) I was guilted into going on the Kraken rollercoast in Florida by a 12 year-old. I retaliated by coercing him into going on Manta, the one where you hang underneath. As we tilted forward, I heard "Oh my god, Vicki, I don't know about this." You're welcome, Zak.

10) Julie Brown tweeted me a few months ago. If you loved "Earth Girls are Easy" as much as I did, you'll know why I was so stoked.

11) I was kind of checked out by a fairly big name movie star in a London cafe recently. Or, I was chatting loudly with my tablemates and he was just wondering who the boisterous Canadian was, but I prefer option A.

12) I make fucking awesome homemade mac and cheese.

13) My next tattoo will probably be an e.e. cummings quote.

14) I'm running out of time and now all I can think of are sex things you guys don't need to know.

15)  I have 4 minutes left. Um...I'm an awesome kisser.

16) I'm probably going to watch "Sliding Doors" tonight for the dozenth time and notice something I've never noticed before. Or, I'm going to watch some terrible action movie and deny it later.

17) All the women in my family on Mom's side can roll their tongues.

18) I have no idea how I got from "action movie" to rolling my tongue. Insert joke here.

19) 1 minute left. I can do an excellent cockney accent.

20) I secretly think I make better cupcakes than almost any shop in town. At least it was secretly.

Done. Don't know if it helped the writer's block, but man, I can type fast.