I woke up yesterday and deleted my newly made Tinder account. I’m not sure why I go on these tangents where I think I need to find someone to occupy my time or to entertain me, because they are rarely entertaining or worth the time.
Some of them still have my phone number, but it seems since I deleted my profile they think they were “unmatched” and haven’t bothered texting y phone anyway. Or maybe it’s because it’s the weekend and they aren’t at work trying to find someone to fuck around on their wives or girlfriends with (that’s just my theory).
I swear my mind goes back and forth on wanting someone to hang out with more than a good tennis match. Until I actually meet people. And then I realize that I am hard on people. I must be. I always say that I’m easily amused. And I am. Temporarily. Then I’m bored and yawning and looking at the imaginary watch on my wrist so I can cut out.
So no dates while I’m in Ohio. Plus, I’m still comparing all my conversations with Flea Market Guy. I know, I know. Get over him already, Fuck! I’m trying. Bear with me.
So instead of going online and trying to find people I have something in common with in a sea of uncommonalities, I’ve decided to put on a dress and go line dancing.
RouletteWeekend 