male detox pt. 3
Okay, confession time: I matched with someone on Hinge. Yes, this technically doesn’t align with the rules and regulations of my male detox but I was due for a relapse. Once you read further though, I’m sure you’ll agree that I can’t really count this as such. I don’t go on Hinge anymore but my profile is still up. In a moment of validation asphyxiation, I popped on and saw someone cute who tried to match with me. I felt like he looked familiar so I responded to his message. I will now transcribe our conversation for you verbatim. Please try to overlook the cringe-worthy, despicable flirting…
Him: Caraline.
Me: Yes?
Him: How many dates till we get married?
Me: Depends on how you try to woo me. You look familiar, why is that?
Him: Not really sure. You must’ve seen me in a dream or something.
Me: Well I see you live in my hometown so I may have seen you around.
Him: Seems like we’ve got some type of invisible string theory going on. I’ll take that as a sign.
Me: So what are you going to do about it?
Him: Try and get your number. I think we should FaceTime and see where we go from there.
FACETIME? What am I, your WIFE? I didn’t respond to this message.
I deleted all the Hinge conversations that had fizzled out when I decided to take a break from dating. But, I saved some of the more shocking messages I’ve received to look back on and chuckle. Now, I am going to share them.
Men took anywhere from 3-12 seconds to type these words out with the goal of me finding them attractive, interesting, funny, whatever. Most of these messages were unprompted and unprovoked. Why am I sharing these, you may ask? Simply to be vulnerable with you guys, my beautiful readers, and for the sake of entertainment. Their names have been made up for confidentiality and comedic effect.
* * *
Paulert: Hey Caraline, you want me to respect the fuck out of you or fuck the respect out of you?
* * *
Cleft: 2 truths, 1 lie:
I don’t lie
I eat ass
I smoke grass.
Me: Number 1 is false. All men lie.
Cleft: Exactly.
* * *
Torpedo: my life’s joke, I’m sure I can make you laugh.
Me: give it a try.
Torpedo: one time I decided it would be a good idea to moon some of my friends, as I pull down my pants, I was pushed over a bus seat and stuck ass up as at least 15 people walk by and see my fully nude ass stuck face down in a bus seat.
Me: that just made me sad.
* * *
Fork: I mean, I can tell you have quite the 🍒’s but does the 🍑 match them?
* * *
Jappathy: Honnêtement j’ai envie de te tirer les cheveux Caraline.
* * *
Bork: Holy shit you’re beautiful
Me: thank you so much.
Bork: I know this is a little weird but just from your profile pic you’re just amazing.
Bork: Do you want to exchange nudes? I won’t tell anyone I promise.
Bork: Please
* * *
Corn: hello hello
Corn: sex
* * *
There are so many more of these comments that have been left in the graveyard of flirtatious texts, somewhere beyond the hub of Internet dating and past the sea of Snapchat scores.
After rediscovering these messages from men I have never met (and probably will never meet), I found myself looking back on when I was in love. It was months ago now but I was, really, in love. It feels quite depressing and shallow to move from romance to ‘left on read’. All of this bullshit made me realize how lucky I was to have had love when I did and also question how long until it finds me again. I want it to find me again.
Time sometimes feels marked by the men I’ve been interested in, like notches in a calendar. The guy from the last two years of high school, the fall semester of my freshman year guy, the spring of freshman year guy who followed me through summer and fall, and the men I met in Europe who made me feel like my life only counted on weekends. Right now, I feel like I’m hanging in the time between men. It’s a waiting game. I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to just live without always thinking about this. Without the past crawling up from behind my phone screen and taunting me with corny, horrific pickup lines. But then I remembered why I started this whole thing; waiting is better than falling into half-loves or quarter-loves. Waiting is better than basing human connection over the flick of a thumb. Waiting is better than sniffing out male validation on social media and waiting is definitely better than consuming myself with the thoughts of men because I couldn’t find what I was looking for within myself.
I hope one day this doesn't feel like waiting for love but instead, surviving after love. I hope I can learn to live in love. A kind of love that is not just made for men.
