blip: my every-app-match.

Meet a man I call the blip. I find a LOT humour in the blip. It’s not a full fledged story but because of the just bizarre reoccurance of the blip, and his connection to my brief nothing with a guy I call eight. I thought it might be interesting to include it for comic relief. And really, the blip is just one of the many ways that online dating is strange. If you’re ever on multiple apps, which I highly recommend by the way, sometimes you run into the same faces over and over. Read on dear readers, but don’t blink, you’ll miss the blip if you do.

What you need to know / blip context:

  1. Blip and I went to highschool together, he is one year older than me.
  2. Blip and I have never spoken. Or met. Ever.
  3. Blip dated a friend of mine in high school. No one knew until they had broken up.
  4. Blip is one of eight’s best friends. Undetermined if he knows about eight and I.
  5. Blip works in the same large factory as my ex. I can’t remember how I know that.
    … but the part that makes blip funny … 
  6. Blip is one of my first matches consistently on every dating app I’ve joined.
  7. Blip and I have matched 3 times to date – there will be more, mark my words.
  8. Blip has never responded to a single message I’ve sent him.

Let’s get blipping blipped. So the first dating app I joined was Plenty of Fish, let’s just say I didn’t last long on there. Maybe a week or two if memory serves? The sheer number of messages I got, some of them downright disgusting, was entirely overwhelming, while the average level of attractiveness of the men, in contrast, was absolutely underwhelming. I forget the terminology for Plenty of Fish: I know when you’re filtering dudes it would say “Go Fishing” but maybe it’s “so and so thinks you’re a catch(?)” I don’t know. Whatever it was, blip made my phone go *ding* on day 1 of online dating.

I knew his face instantly when I looked at his picture. His profile photo is him, crouched to the ground on a walking trail, wearing a royal blue windbreaker, with his left arm slung over the shoulder of a shepard-mix-mutt. The dog is cute, and you better believe that I will yes/no swipe depending on what breed of dog a dude has (it seems as good a deal-breaker as any other I can think of).  Blip has roundish cheeks and a nice scruff of a beard, not too much/little. He’s wearing a baseball cap with sunglasses perched on top of the bill. He’s attractive, but I can’t say I find myself particularly attracted to him, but I don’t write him off entirely, attraction isn’t always instantaneous.

I subsequently got like 30 more dings that day and turned off notifications for the app entirely feeling more than a little overwhelmed. All of my time on POF was spent opening messages, checking the profile, and blocking/deleting the dude. The general impression I got was most of these guys are lazy or total pervs and in general I just didn’t like the vibe. I quit POF like a bad habit with just one phone number exchange. (A guy called disneydad will skeeve you out in a future post.)

I didn’t reciprocate with blip on Plenty of Fish.

At the recommendation of one of my single bro friends I decided to give Bumble a try; he told me the guys would be more my speed, and I could pick and choose who to contact. I Bumble BOOM’d with blip a few swipes after the BOOM with a guy called eight. I admit I had sort of written him off because of the aforementioned “he’s attractive but I’m maybe not attracted?” and yet I do feel like if he had chatted me, and we hit it off, I would’ve did a date thing to see what happened. This is what I wrote about matching with Blip in the first eight blog:

“I have a new puppy and I walk constantly … and I think maybe I can strike up a conversation and make a dog walking friend. Swipe right. Boom, I match with the blip and I tap out a message: “Heyy (two y’s cuz chill girl) … looks like we’re having a high school reunion on Bumble.”

Blip never replied on Bumble.

Towards the end of the summer I deleted my Bumble profile because, frankly, I was talking to a lot of guys already. And one rainy night, I was having a lazy day at the gym walking on the treadmill and playing on my phone I downloaded Hinge out of sheer curiosity. The profiles on Hinge are extremely easy to set up. And you better believe that our friend blip made my phone go *ding* within an hour of downloading Hinge. Blip had liked a photo of me; it’s a selfie of me sitting at my desk pointing at a Starbucks cup. I laughed out loud on the treadmill as I clicked on his profile and saw his windbreaker dog photo. I scroll down. He had written something about how he’s never been skydiving and knows the best place in town for spring rolls. Yawn. I don’t eat carbs and jumping out of a plane seems like a bad time bro. I scroll more and what I saw next hit me like a freight train. The other photo on blip’s Hinge profile was of a bunch of dudes on a beach, and there, smack dab in the middle of the photo is a guy called eight. That’s not what got me though. In the photo eight is wearing the yellow cotton shirt I woke up in the morning after I blacked out and had sex with him.

I had been walking on a treadmill, probably closing in on my third kilometer, when I saw the photo. The air completely escaped my chest. I had to step up off the belt onto the side walls. I had a completely visceral memory of how thick the cotton of that t-shirt is, of folding it lengthwise in half, and of hanging it over eights claw-foot tub. Eight and I were still in contact at this point – but the horse called eight that I was kicking was dead and I knew it. I replied to the blip “Uh oh, lol, hey.” I chose this approach because of the unknown variables:

  • Does he remember me from high school? Probably not, eight didn’t, after all.
  • Has he just been courtesy swiping. If above is true, decidedly not.
  • Does he know about eight and I? I have no clue at all if guys discuss dating.

Blip never replied on Hinge.

Hinge isn’t super popular in my town; there just wasn’t enough options on there to make keeping the app worthwhile. But I kept it installed for 48 hours longer than I wanted to just to give the blip a chance to reply. Later that week, after deleting my Hinge profile, the blip showed up as a recommended friend for both my Snapchat and Instagram – interesting huh? I was at work checking my social media, as one does, and I literally groaned out “oh sweet merciful assholes” when I saw his name.

His Instagram account is public but it hasn’t been used in over a year and only has 6 photos, two of which are poutines, alongside the windbreaker selfie. I decide my better option is sticking to my strengths,  so I added the blip’s ghosty ass to Snapchat and I sent him a video selfie saying “bet” and captioned: “Bet $10 you won’t reply Hinge/Bumble ghost”. I deleted him immediately after sending it.

Blip never replied on Snapchat.

Blip is still in my recommended friends on Instagram, we have a few followers in common, including eight. Blip is weird to me because I’m not even attracted to him – but he is attractive, I think? I don’t know – but him not replying is oddly enticing, like an online game of hide and seek; I like games damnit. Rest assured that I will swipe right on the blip’s blue windbreaker selfie, every single time I see it, whenever I rejoin the ranks of online dating, And because sometimes I do things just for the story, I plan to recreate my own royal blue windbreaker dog selfie and use it as my next profile photo.


9. eight: destiny’s denouement.

Post 9, that’s more than one too many blogs about a guy who I never did date, not really, but multiple months of my life were spent, in a strange way, together. But in the interest of story telling, and taking up my time in a more productive manner, you got all the dirty deets and now we’ve come to the end. Towards the end of eight and I’s brief nothing every single day had become increasingly confusing and frustrating. I don’t know what changed but I don’t really care enough to ask; I know this one is not my issue.

One night after asking me how my day was, the normal chat turned sour. Eight said he was chirping me for fun and I told him “if he’s going to chirp, to do it nicely, fucker”. He doubled down on the nonsensical one liners. I tried to soften just a little “to be honest I don’t know what is going on”. He tells me that’s OK and he’s going to bed. I really do hate misunderstanding someone more than I hate confrontation, so I just picked up the phone and called him to clarify. I’d never called him before, he’d never called me. He ignored the call of course, he’d only texted me that a minute before, but the next morning, sometime on his break I assume, I get a text from him “Hey you called last night? I put my phone on silent when I go to bed.” I think I told him that was smart of him and wrote it off as I was going to ask him to come for a smoke walk with me. He says that would have been nice.

Ten days later he snap-chatted both to me and to his story: a video of a fancy cottage he was staying at, videos of the wake of a boat full of dudes, a photo of steaks marinating, and another video of him walking to a tennis court. I only replied to the steak photo because duh steak. What did I say ? I sent him TWO steak emojis, it’s friendlier than one steak emoji, after all.

What was interesting to me was that our last conversation, spanning over a few days, is basically us tying up loose ends with each other, and that gave me a lot of peace.

I was out shopping and see that eight had sent me a snap of an earring that I had left in his apartment on my birthday. Side note: I always wear “disposable hoops” when I’m going out to a bar, a fact that I shared with eight during our patio drinks. “Oh haha, just chuck it, disposable remember?” He replies back, “I didn’t know if this was a tactic to see me again.” I’m direct so of course I just blab out, “Yes I would see you again. But I don’t need a tactic.” Then, ding, an SMS comes through:

8: “Much rather talk on here. I didn’t think I asked any questions but I like the way that sounds.”
Me: “Talk eh? How’s your week been?”
8: “It’s a 2 way street. My week has been good thanks. I’m hurting today though. And yours?”
Me: What do you mean? Aw gnarly what’s wrong? I took a day off the gym because my ribs are shot. Work is insane this week for me.”
8: “I tied one on last night. Self inflicted. What did you do to your ribs??”
Me: “On a Wednesday? What a trooper! Oh some stupid gym class. I’m jazzed – I ordered a pink skipping rope.”
8: “Yea it was my bday so I got into it a bit. Still went to work today though.”
8: “Thanks yo!”
Me: “You should’ve told me I would’ve bought you a drink.”
8: “I like keeping my bday lowkey.”
Me: “Lowkey is good too!”
8: “Yea I like it way better than going over the top for the bday.”

All of this honestly felt like a knock against how messy I had been on my birthday and to be perfectly honest fuck him if that’s what he was saying. But I don’t know for sure – I’m coming out of a 10 year relationship where I wasn’t allowed to have male friends and was discouraged from spending any time outside of my home – when I say this is new to me – this is NEW to me. I had been waiting to say what I type next until him until I saw him in person because I’m an adult but I was over whatever he was playing at:

Me:“Yeah about that, I was meaning to say to you I was sorry about the state I was in on my birthday. To be perfectly honest I blacked out that night. I actually don’t drink very often in my regular life. I legitimately had no recollection of speaking to you that night at all. My bad.”
“You weren’t bad at all. You were speaking coherently but no worries. Not sure if you remember but we did have sex. Just wanted to throw that one out there.”
8: “I’ll take that as you weren’t aware.”
Me: “Ah sorry. I just got home. No, I pieced that together by the morning. I remember getting in your car and not knowing how you’d got there. You’d been texting cheeks all night. Not me. I remember you asking if I wanted to go to your house and me saying that I did. And everything else is hazy.”
8: “Nice, well that’s a bonus. I would have felt a bit weird if I just broke the news to you.”
Me: “No you didn’t. I honest to goodness meant to say something to you but texting that is awkward. Plus I assumed you’d bounce since I came off like such a trainwreck in that state.”
8: ” I don’t think you know what a trainwreck is if you consider that trainwreck worthy.”
Me: “Trainwreck for me.”
8: “Bah don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Me: “I’m learning to but it’s a journey man. I’m in the best spot I’ve ever been as an adult. It’s peace.”

The following day, after more nothing texts back and forth, I was as direct with eight as possible, using some fluffy astrology (it falls flat) to ease into my straightforwardness:

Me: I was thinking how funny it is that our birthdays are close.
8: Yea I know a solid handful of people close to mine. How was your evening?
Me: I didn’t mean coincidentally, moreso that your personality fits Virgo junk. Like analytical and blunt. I just got out of the shower, going to roll a few joints and walk shortly.
8: I don’t follow that kind of stuff but I’ll take your word for it. That sounds like a great plan.
Me: Oh I don’t follow it persay but it peaks my interest when its accurate. Anyway I wanted to say that I appreciate you reaching out about the sex and being kind about my trainwreck birthday. It’s all good. I’ve not gotten the vibe you’re particularly interested in me – and I’ve done the FWB thing with disastrous results – so I’m not sure what else there is to say really.

Two days later …

8: Hey! Sorry for the mia’ness, been max relaxing this weekend and sleeping a tonne! No worries. I’m not exactly sure what to tell you either. I don’t see why we still can’t smoke one from time to time, and if we see each other out or whatever and are both up for some fun then we can cross that bridge when we get there. Like friends with partial benefits.

Uh, partial benefits(?) whatever the fuck that means, from a ‘friend’ I never see. 

I wasn’t jazzed to send a response and it’s not that I care who gets the last word, but I don’t like to be misunderstood. It’s not that I want to burn bridges either. I think of it as I want some bridges marked as condemned/heritage property; they’re still nice to look at but they are decidedly retired structures from the past that we know can no longer bear weight safely and shouldn’t be crossed. 

I waited a day and then I sent this last message. The last message actually. 

Me: Sounds chill level 9000! And that’s cool, I’m definitely down for smoke/friends whenever but partial benefits isn’t at all what I’m trying to get into. I need potential in the air, its what pulls me in and excites me the most, if that makes sense. Anyway, hope your Monday is baller productive guy! 🙂

And that’s it. We stopped texting entirely.

For a while he continued to like my Instagram photos but eventually stopped that too. One day out of the blue he sent me a Snapchat photo while I was posted up in a Starbucks, coincidentally, I was writing these blogs, so it extra caught me off guard. It’s a mirror selfie of him shirtless in a change-room wearing a furry vest that was almost as hairy as his chest. I replied something along the lines of “Haha what’s this about?” He chats back something like “I can’t help myself when I see weird clothes, I have to try them on.”  I can’t remember what I said, if anything in response. I went on with my day, and the next, and the next. I never did get another SMS asking “How was your day?”

If eight texted me today, I’d reply. I was absolutely interested in him romantically and a part of me still is. But it was only potential that drew me in. I can’t say for certain that his proposition, if we see each other uptown and are both up for some fun, won’t happen in the future, because frankly, I want him. But that’s the unhealthiest part of me: wanting to prove my value, to a man who isn’t interested, with sex. So whats the last thing I can tell you about eight and I’s brief nothing? This is where were at:

Eight still watches my Snapchat and Instagram stories.
Every. Single. One. Of. Them.
We still have Snapmap locations on for each other.
Probably uptown rendez-vous reasons.
I still smile when I see his name.
I associate eight with a really happy summer afterall.

dad and I at eight’s last game.