Dear Portland Mercury readers—Brace yourself to see the glistening, jagged blade of the cutting edge of comedy as I unsheath it from the weathered, Semitic scabbard of my intellect: DATING SURE IS WEIRD, HUH? Especially weird in OH! THESE MODERN TIMES.
Forgive me for being so achingly late to this party, but I’ve never really dated before. I’ve mostly just gone from relationship to relationship, ‘cuz I’m a hot fucking commodity with a tight college bod, and you can’t keep this dick on the shelves or even buy it on eBay. (Either that or I fear being alone more than I value the actual health of a relationship, because of my parents’ divorce. Science has yet to definitively answer this question.)
I’ve joined the apps for the first time in my life: Tinder, Bumble, and Raya (which is Tinder for people who’ve been on television). Now I’m not here to just flat out complain about them, but this shit is dizzy. Depending on your mood, the vast array of digital suitors can either seem like a car dealership full of romantic potential, or the dating equivalent of the Highway of Death. Just an asphalt graveyard full of bombed-out, broken, on-fire girls named Amy (OR LIKE GREG, IF YOU CAN’T GENDER SWAP THIS ON YOUR OWN).
After you learn that Tinder is essentially just setting up a booth at the Comic Con of fucking, the next you thing you learn is that MOTHER. FUCKERS. BE. HIKING. They be hiking! Everyone is fucking hiking.