Corona Log: Day 30

Man, what a difference a week and a pair of properly-fitting pants can make, am I right?

The day I left New York (WHICH WAS ONE CHRISTIAN MONTH AGO TODAY, LOLOL) was busy and stressful, and all I took with me was two hastily-packed duffel bags: one full of skin care products, the other full of too-big sheer t-shirts and exclusively too-small yoga pants. It was an unfortunate decision that led to an uncomfortable number of weeks. I eventually got tired of slinking around my sister's house feeling like one of those snake toys full of neon-colored water that slips out of your hand if you let it roll down too far and ordered three pairs of gloriously high-waisted, emotionally supportive, judgement-free yoga pants off Amazon. A fact I'm hesitant to admit publicly, as Chris recently referred people who still buy things on Amazon as "goddamn nazis" and I know this is going to jeopardize the high I'm still riding from being better at self-isolating. And it gets worse.

Because I accidentally shipped all three pairs to my New York apartment. 

Which I didn't realize until I was like DERRR THIS DONE EMAIL SAYS IT WAS DELIVERED, MA. WHERE'S MY STUFFS I AIN'T SEEN IT AT THE FRONT DERR???, and couldn't cancel in time.

Then I had to weigh the moral ramifications of risking essential workers' lives because I'm too fat for my pants for the second time, and you know new pants won. I wish they hadn't, but they did. That said, my mood has noticeable improved since I started to wear pants that actually fit me, and now that I've simmered down slightly, I've entered the phase of quarantine where I'm so bored I downloaded Tinder.*

*Downloaded Tinder again. I have a Tinder account I used in New York twice with mixed results:

Wave 1: APPROX Spring '14. Met a great guy but things felt like they were moving too fast. I had just gotten out of a serious long-distance relationship, and this new guy lived in Stamford, Connecticut (a.k.a. my parents' mutual hometown where they met at Stamford High and went on their first date on April 16, a.k.a. MY BIRTHDAYYYYY), and Connecticut felt too long-distance at the time. I broke up with him over sushi and it was awful. I brutally misjudged how long it would take for the check to come and there was so much uncomfortable silence over orange slices and check tray mints. He was the only partner I've told about my vulvodynia and was so cool about it. We'd do it gently and binge watch Twin Peakes. He lives in San Francisco now and has a girlfriend, which is unfortunate because now that I'm finally ready to settle down, I realize I may have fucked that one up. But what am I supposed to do with that knowledge?

Wave #2: I re-downloaded on a whim six months ago. Sensible bob emoji shrug 🤷‍♀️ Nothing came of it and I ended up deleting my account again. I did, however, re-connect with my friend Ian, which led to me temporarily take in his delightful tuxedo cat for two months until the coronavirus got real and I was like HERE'S YOUR CAT, TAKE YOUR CAT, I HAVE A DUFFEL BAG FULL OF TINY YOGA PANTS AND SERUMS AND WE'RE ALL GOING TO NORTHERN VIRGINIA, THIS IS YOUR CAT.

Now, 30 days later, I've moved on from a state of being constantly terrified to a state of being constantly terrified and bored, and that puts a girl in the mood for some good old-fashioned flirting. I re-re-downloaded Tinder on Friday night and put up some circa 2016 unrealistically attractive photos of myself, which I feel like is whatever because we're quarantined and I don't live here. What—are we going to date when this is all over? And fall in love? And I'll break my lease? And we'll move into your apartment? And I'll be close to my friends and family again? And we'll take my parents' house when the time comes? And we'll start a happy little Maryland family together, just like the one I had? Full of local tradition and whimsy? (I will have lost weight by this point, so we cool.)

We have two Coronabaes in the mix. One is from Orlando and has two photos of shockingly disparate levels of attractiveness but is clearly the same person, and the other is a personal trainer in Arlington who just revealed he might be bi and loves big black cock porn (BBC). Which is fine in and of itself, but this schlong talk kind of came out of nowhere and the field has been covered in red flags ever since. I don't mean any of that in a sex-negative way, mind you. Because good for him. It's just that he described himself in his bio as a sweetheart 200-lb golden retriever and I think it's only fair to be slightly disappointed when your golden retriever asks you to peg him with a giant black dildo.

Although any promise of eventual contact does sound nice right about now. It's at the very least something to think about.