Ryan O'Connell

“I need to be with someone who isn’t afraid to look stupid,” he finally said. “Otherwise, I just feel stupid.”

They were too busy shooting up a drug I like to call Single Person Heroin. Its street name is Tinder and it comes in the form of a dating app that allows you to peruse the profiles of nearby singles.

I start seeing a trainer once a week. He’s hot, from Ohio, and likes to eat lettuce wraps from PF Chang’s. I like him and I think we have fun productive sessions together, but I still have no idea what the hell is going on. I do weightlifting, I think? I do cardio, I think? I drink four margaritas and eat guacamole and chips after a workout? Yes, that I know.

I remember certain nights for no reason. I recall them with such a fondness you’d think that it was the night I met my one true love or something. Not even close.

This was not the plan. I had imagined LA to be the place where I went on daily hikes, drank cold-pressed juices and told strangers named Moonshadow that I was in a “really healthy place” but instead, I gained ten, fifteen, maybe twenty pounds.

I’ve spent so much of my twenties testing myself, seeing how far I could go before I retreated to what felt safe. That’s why I met the man off Grindr. I wanted to see if I could hook up with a stranger and have it feel okay, even though I already knew the answer.

You’re tired of consuming junk. You want a sex life that’s organic and locally-sourced and grass-fed. You want boring and predictable sex at 9:30pm before bed. A chore that’s like brushing your teeth.

Go to a free event. There is so much free stuff to do in the summer. Winter = we’re annoyed that it’s cold out so we’re going to charge for everything. Summer = OMG, we’re so laidback! Come hang at our cool event for free!