God Only Wants Me To Date Crazy People

I believe in a God. He created me primarily for his comedic relief. When he gets tired of watching our country tear itself apart, he changes the channels to something lighter, like me inadvertently ending up on a date with a homeless man. (Yes, that happened).

He takes great enjoyment in fucking with me. Sometimes I’ll pray to the big man and ask him to bring me a man that is capable of standing next to me, of being a wonderful, loving partner. I tell him I’ll be open and vulnerable. That I’ve learned so much through all my dating experiences and now I’m ready to love.

And like clockwork, I’ll open up my dating app the next day and meet a great guy…

Only to find out he’s a bipolar ex-con who actually believes he’s channeling messages from Moses.

Verrrrry funny, big man!!!! You got me!

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Self-portrait. My love life routinely goes up in flames.

I believe God is watching the Earth like he’s watching the Superbowl. You got your different teams, high stakes and lots of money bet on either side. And I’m sure he loves a smoked brat.

But when it comes to the halftime show, he wants to be entertained. Beyonce isn’t available, so he throws me onto center field, sets up a comedic dating situation and has a good old laugh.

In his defense, I have a propensity for crazy people. I find the possibility of a hilarious dating story so intriguing, that sometimes I can’t help myself. That was the theme of my dating life in my 20s in San Francisco. But into my late 30s I feel ready for something beyond dating foot fetishists, male strippers and guys who organize cuddle parties. The novelty has worn off and it would be nice to meet someone who loves me for me.

And doesn’t live out of his van…

And whose hair colors don’t compete with My Little Pony…

Is that too much to ask for?

I thought I had turned a leaf. After what felt like weeks of half-baked nutcases, I was talking to a very intriguing guy on Tinder. For the uninitiated (bless your soul), both parties have to like one another to be matched and start chatting. We hit it off! He was a journalist and had done some reporting for a local news affiliate. Tall, handsome, educated and well spoken, I was really excited to set up a date and meet him. I felt like I had finally met a dating prospect that could have real potential.

“Are you free on Monday night? Can I take you out for a cocktail?”

Yes, Dave, yes you can.

As I was responding the screen went black. It flashed white and then the app crashed.

Weird.

I reopened the app to finish responding and agree on our time and place. There was one problem — Dave was nowhere to be found.

Cut back to the game, where God ordered an extra large bag of popcorn and is shoving handfuls into his mouth, eager for the show to begin.

Goddammit. I knew his first name and that he worked for the news station. I began googling. No dice.

“I finally found a nice guy and this is what happens?! Are you for real!”

The big man is on his second Icee, red and blue stained lips circle the straw as he eagerly watches my reaction to what is about to happen.

I uninstall and reinstall the app. I google for possible solutions — how can I find Dave? There are only two possibilities. Either in the process of setting up the date, Dave had a violent reaction to my witty and charming self and unmatched with me (frankly, this seems unconscionable — not want to date MOI?), or it was the software bug that crashed the app.

What’s done is done. After about 30 minutes of troubleshooting, I reopen Tinder and begin swiping.

Maybe God has better plans for me?

And in his divine timing, this is the first thing I see.

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A fellatio fetishist? ARE YOU SERIOUS?

Like I said, God only wants me to date crazy people.

Game on.

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