Okay, so if you're someone who happens to know who I really am, this is the part of my story where I have to admit that I didn't meet Danny on whatever app I told you I did. I also did not meet Danny on the train (lol) but doesn't that sound like a fun little story? It's not that I'm in a closet of any kind, I just don't even know if I like hooking up with guys yet (way more on that later, believe me.) And Grindr has a stigma. Grindr paints a picture. Unless you're a gay man shamelessly out and in-tune with his sexuality (and seriously, GOOD FOR YOU), you don't necessarily want your coworkers or friends to know that you use an app that presents to you the booty pics of the closest 100 men in your vicinity.
For the first two months after Katie and I broke up, I sunk as deep into my mattress as I possibly could. I spontaneously rescued a puppy with the hope that her love could fill the void - and while I love this dog to death, the void remained. I stopped eating and lost thirty pounds. Unfortunately, I was thrilled.
Hello, reader. Welcome.
Who the fuck are you?
What are you doing here?
There are far too many shitty, rambling blogs out there for you to just randomly find mine.
I don't buy it.
Who are you?
I guess that really wasn't a polite greeting.