How many selfies can a guy send you (that all look pretty much the same) before you scratch your head and wonder how many screws he has loose? Thank goodness I discouraged him early on from sending dick pics. I told him I preferred to be pleasantly surprised. Brave, right? I guess I’m over the cheese-dick incident.
The definition of stupidity is to keep doing the same thing over and over and expect different results, right? Well, I’m no dummy. I know something needs to change. I feel like doing something drastic.
Are the dating apps broken or is it me? A friend of mine received some friendly advice from her brother-in-law. He said, “Stop picking the tall, dark handsome types and take a chance on someone with whom you would typically swipe left. See what happens.” Guess what? The first odd-ball she took a chance on is now the love of her life. They’re going on three years of bliss.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been at a stop light and I look over and a hottie in a sweet ride (truck) is checking me out. I have never met a truck I didn’t like. Even in this situation, I’m always like, “Holy shit- is he looking at ME? Look away, look away!” Although, wouldn’t it be nice if you could instantly send the charmer your digits? Or say, “Let’s meet in the tire section at Farm and Fleet, handsome.”
That’s the kind of app we need! Businesses could use it, too. Do a scan of nearby phones that participate in the app and pick the one on the map that is in the correct location in relationship to your position. Next, send your business or calling card of sorts. You would only be able to use the app when not in motion. Safety first. Next, quickly select a canned message. Yup- I’m a technical genius.
Once the receiver gets a ping, the business card/profile appears and the receiver can choose to accept or reject the potential suitor. If accepted, the canned message that the sender crafted and selected for the situation appears. You see, the sender wouldn’t have time to cleverly compose a message, necessarily. Don’t worry- I got you:
“You’re cute. Care to chat?”
“Sweet ride. Can I ride you?”
“How about you let me cum all over your beard in the nearest parking lot?”
“Let’s head to Dick’s Sporting Goods. I promise to make your dick very happy.”
Or you could fuck with people as well:
“I saw you pick your nose, freak. What did you do with that monster booger?”
“Stop applying more makeup. It’s not going to help your situation.”
Or you could be helpful:
“Your passenger side taillight is out, asshole.”
“You may want to put your phone down, creepstick. You’re not my type. You just cut that poor woman off. Pay attention to the road, dickless!”
Okay, on second thought, I don’t think I could survive all the lawsuits that would inevitably start rolling in. Thirty years from now, we’ll be like, “Remember when the car owner had to do all the driving and couldn’t converse with nearby passengers? Man, that sucked”
As you can tell, I’m not overly distraught about Dead Pool being a waste of time. Someone will turn up. Or not. Whatever the case may be, I’m going to continue to have fun. And when I say fun, I mean I’m about to shovel. Again. And try not to wreck my lower back. Again. However, the rest of my weekend will be spent finishing up the unpacking while cooking and baking. I simply can’t help myself. Fun abounds.
Cheers to fucking,