So much for me not bringing up the topic of boys.
She immediately knows what I’m referencing and says, hesitantly, “I have an idea, but it might not work.”
The nail tech is almost done scrubbing my calves and feet with sugar scrub. She’s about to start moisturizing them with some lotion.
“And you waited until now to tell me?! What is it?” I ask desperately. This is so unlike me.
“Well, I’m not sure if it’ll work. But you could always go on Tinder and see if you find him on there. He either lives in Silver Lake or is staying here as a visitor. There’s a pretty good chance you could find him.”
She says it like it’s not a huge breakthrough for me.
I look at her in amazement, “Lana, you are a fucking genius! Fuck you for keeping this gem of an idea from me all day!”
“We didn’t get our phones back until now anyway, I didn’t want you to be all antsy,” she says.
She’s right; she’s a good friend.
“Ugh, I love you!”
I open up Tinder and pull up my profile. I ignore the 180 unanswered messages I have and just go to settings. There, I edit my profile so the first visible photo is one from my shoot with Lana, when I was wearing the green bikini. If he’s on here and sees it, he’ll definitely swipe. Why wouldn’t he?
I also go ahead and buy the Tinder Gold subscription so I have a better chance of finding him. Anything for my dream man. I’m desperate to find out what was under those thermals that he wore so well, because even though I only saw his mesmerizing eyes and sparkling smile, I just know he was a walking Calvin Klein ad.
I feel like Prince Charming from Cinderella, searching for the eyes that drew me in instantly. Only, he was looking for the perfect fit to a shoe.
Same thing.
I’ve never worked so hard to find a man in my life. I’ve never worked for a man, period. It’s funny, usually I’m running away from and avoidingthem. What? Most guys don’t get the hint if I leave while they’re asleep and don’t leave my number.
There was this one time, I hooked up with a guy, Emmet or Evan or something, and he was a huge cuddler– I nearly gag at thememory. So when I wake up the next morning, I was all trapped in his arms and legs. I didn’t know what to do. So I started freaking out and moving him as hard as I could, pretending that I had to throw up and run to the bathroom. So instead of going to his bathroom, I left the room running with only a sheet around me and made it all the way back to my dorm wearing that sheet.
Let’s just say my RA (Resident Assistant) was not happy with me, but at least I never had to see that guy again.
The tech finishes rubbing my feet and calves with lotion and proceeds to wrap my legs and feet with a moist warm towel. She moves on to drying my feet so she can start cutting the cuticles from my toes and I’m on my phone going complete stalker mode.
I make sure to be careful at the speed I’m swiping so I can get a good look at each guy. I’m only looking for blue-eyed men with a perfect smile.
“Wait,” Lana says. “What if he’s not on Tinder?”
“Babe, if he’s not on Tinder, do we assume he’s loyal or just really bad with technology?”
“Both sound hot to me,” she replies and I give her a wink in agreement.
My thumb swipes left eight times until I find someone with piercing blue eyes. His name is Jacob. He has pictures of him snowboarding and others with a cat. He looks like he could be the guy, so I go ahead and swipe right.
As I continue to swipe I keep getting notifications that I already matched with guys. But when I go further into their profile they all have a picture holding a fish. If I match with one more guy holding a fish, I’m starting a petition. There should be a background check for that. It’s weird.
I swipe left, swipe right—this is basically cardio. I’m burning emotional calories right now. Maybe I will forget about Mr. No-name in no-time. I swipe right on the blue-eyed men and left on everyone else.
All of a sudden, the perfect idea hits me!
“Hear me out—we throw a party tonight. Tiny. Exclusive. Sexy. Our Airbnb becomes the après-ski afterparty.” In case I can’t find my mystery man, the best way to get over him is to get under another one.
“Uhhh…won’t we get in trouble for that?” She asks.
Typical Lana.
“Not if the Airbnb hosts don’t find out!”
