I Was Banned From Tinder
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I Was Banned From Tinder
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We open with blood. A lot of it. After 22 years of getting my period, you’d think my uterus would know the drill — but instead, it showed up like a hitman. I’m at a wedding on a tampon scavenger hunt, whispering to strangers like I’m trying to score coke. One of them delivers like she’s handing off a baggie. It was dark. It was powerful. It was hot af.
Then we head to the strip club — for Italbae's birthday — and a reminder that Montreal might actually have the hottest women on the planet. We didn’t get a lap dance, but we did fall in lust. Deep, horny, confusing lust.
And yes, I did get banned from Tinder. But the real issue? Every single woman on there is either looking for their soulmate or trying to get me to fuck their boyfriend. Every profile feels like a Craigslist ad for a unicorn, or it’s someone’s blurry selfie on the streets or kissing their cat. We talk dating apps, red flags, bizarre bios, and what it actually means to explore your sexuality when the internet feels like one big group chat you didn’t ask to join.
This one’s unhinged. And if you’ve ever felt emotionally confused in a strip club bathroom, or swiped through seven poly couples before 9 a.m., this one’s for you.