- Ghosted. A lot.
- Enough motivation to finally get an IUD, which was so painful upon implantation that I vomited on the OB-GYN. But I have since come to appreciate it quite a bit.
- Best friend-zoned.
- ^Twice.
- Secondhand embarrassment for a 19-year-old named Billy who pulled me up mid-blow job and said, “This isn’t working for me, can I stick it in your ass?”
- A newfound appreciation for having sex with people you like and are comfortable with.
- A robust double-digit body count.
- Gratitude for boob guys (the nudes are so much easier to take).
- A habit for unabashedly DMing hot classmates (yes, Harry, I took it personally when you left me on read).
- A realization that I’ve never met a man who was actually out of my league.
- Cause to temporarily question my bisexuality as I engaged overwhelmingly with cishet men.
- Chronically intimidated by the beauty and power of women.
- A big head about my head skills.
- Disdain for the following bios:
- Last time I was somebody’s type, I was donating blood
- Here for a good time, not a long time
- Good vibes only
- Just ask, I never know what to write for these things
- Aggressively simped for by a dude who then ghosted me for months before sending a faceless video of himself jerking off and subsequently messaged “good morning.”
- Introduced to the Hitachi magic wand.
- A 98-day Snapchat streak with a boy I’ve never actually met up with and probably never will.
- Informed that more than one man in the world is sexually invested in my orthodontic braces.
- A car guy.
- A weed guy.
- An arborism guy.
- A train-conductor guy.
- A sheep-farm lesbian.
- A finance-bro who came over to snuggle with me while I was sad and in pain from my tonsillectomy even though I could only eat applesauce and my breath smelled like rotten eggs with a light dusting of spearmint.
- Subjected to American Horror Story season 10, Trailer Park Boys, The Office, I Think You Should Leave, Dave Chappelle’s stand up, and several pillowtalk presentations on the intricacies of the social dynamics on Wall Street.
- Taken on an unexpectedly fantastic date to play pinball for several hours straight.
- A lecture from my therapist about usInG SeX wItH PEoPle i dOn’T caRE aBoUt IN ordEr To aVOId eNGaGiNg wItH THe vUlNEraBiLiTy oF caTChiNg FeeLInGs.
- Actually some quality sex.
- Unblocked by my first kiss within ten minutes of being back in my hometown over Thanksgiving break.
- Anxiety about the acne on my chest, the fact that my belly folds over, and that I’m too lazy to shave my leg hair, despite never having had a man run screaming in horror upon seeing me naked.
- An intense affinity for men who are vocal in bed.
- To have a one night stand in the Graduate Hotel (which is lowkey grotesquely Yale-themed and has unnecessarily tall beds).
- An as-of-yet-unfounded phobia of a braces+pubic hair related catastrophe.
- Absurdly, gloriously comfortable in my own skin.
- Far too many unsolicited volunteers to be the third in a fantasy threesome with me and literally any willing and able female friend.
- Called a BBW.
- Conflicted feelings about being called a BBW.
- Told I looked like a random pornstar if said pornstar was a fat preteen boy.
- The opportunity to master the virtual smile-and-nod.
- Unwillingly accustomed to having sex while my dog sits and whines for attention outside my closed bedroom door.
- Inspiration for an entire writing credit’s worth of poetry assignments.
- Banned from the app.
