tinders I would actually use

like Tinder but instead it's people nearby who own cats or dogs that you can borrow for cuddling

like Tinder but instead it finds people nearby who have similar Shazam tags so you can go to concerts with them

like Tinder but it's just people nearby with similar grocery lists so you don't have to shop alone

like Tinder but it's just the last five things you've screenshotted

like Tinder but it's just people who have taken the classes you're taking so you can borrow their old textbooks

like Tinder but it lists people's specific cleaning skills (like for example, maybe they're really good at cleaning toilets, and I hate doing this, so we would make a good team, probably)

like Tinder but instead it's just the top five compliments people give them (this would be very telling, you know)

like Tinder but instead it's people who have the camping gear you don't have so you can team up and go on weekend camping trips with them

like Tinder but instead it's people with mechanical skills (for cars and bikes) (because I need help with both) (this is, in fact, a cry for help) (SOMEONE WITH PROPER BIKE TOOLS COME OVER. IF YOU ARE READING THIS, I HAVE HOMEMADE COOKIES)

like Tinder but instead it's people who will gently wake you up from your naps when you've gone overtime

like Tinder but instead it's people with long fingernails who are willing to give non-committal back scratches

like Tinder but instead it's people nearby who always have a constant supply of gum on hand so you can find them and get a piece

like Tinder but instead it shows how much Parks & Rec/The Office they can quote verbatim

one of dad's favorite D.I. finds

just some whining about dating, how very original

I just made THEACTUALBESTBEEFSTEWOMG and then I poured it over cheesy polenta and while I ate it I decided on a good time to go get froyo later. I'm basically dating myself. That's what all single people should do, right? Isn't that some hipster quote on a meme-instagram? Memestagram. Idk.

Today I watched a lil' documentary that apparently played in between conference sessions, but I was sleeping during that time, so I didn't see it. It was about marriage/dating/relationships, especially in regards to millennials. Do you see where this is going? DO YOU? Yes. To froyo. But not till 8 o'clock when everyone in Logan is at the HOWL and subsequently not at Yogurtland. Yay.

But really, dating. Why is it this mysterious concept to some (maybe most?) of us...? Examples. I have gotten "asked out" (yes I am putting that in quotes and I have REASONS) via social media two times as of late. While there's nothing wrong with using social media to make connections with people, sometimes I think it becomes a little bit too convenient. It makes it too easy to judge whether we like/don't like someone, based on their profile pic or their tinder bio or the funny things they tweet. And yo, everyone tweets funny stuff. That's all Twitter is. My point is, it's edited. There's an English-y word for this: a simulacrum. It means "a copy of a copy."

The best example I can think of a simulacrum besides social media is Main Street USA in Disneyland. Main Street USA is an imitation, or copy, of this ideal neighborhood which, in fact, does not exist. Social media does the same thing to human beans. We're all trying to show each other we have the "perfect" life, but what does that even mean?! WUT DOES IT MEAN.

Another thing that bugs about dating in this day and age is I'm often wondering, "Isss....this a date? I can't tell." I thought a date was a pretty clearly defined activity, but honestly it's getting harder to tell. When a guy asks me to hang out/come over/eat pizza, and I don't even know him in real life, I think "Okay....umm....wait...but I don't know you. Are you sure you wanna hang with me?" It wouldn't be as weird if they just asked me on a date, flat-out. But this culture of being afraid that the person you go on a date with is either a) your spouse or b) not, makes it easier to say "let's hang out." And so, I am never 100% confident of the boy's intentions, and I balk and want to run away. Balk. What a weird word.

I'm rammmblingggggg. Maybe I need that froyo now. No...must...resist....can't...be...seen...in...public...by...a student...

This documentary talked all about the backwards view that millennials have of dating. They think that they need to spend a certain amount of time with someone before they commit...and then they never actually do the committing. The documentary interviewed dozens of couples, some that have been married a few years, some for 70-something years, and some in between. They all had the same thing in common--commitment. They said that good, strong relationship come after we commit, not before. Duh! But we, being millennials trained to wait for the perfect person before we take a risk, get scared, and then don't do anything. I am soooooooo guilty of this. Like, so guilty. I'm trying to get out of that funk right now. It's easy when I'm literally doing homework from dawn until dusk, and can't ever do anything social (besides going to froyo by myself). Ha. Such sarcasm, very sass.

I want to be content with life right now, and life for me is basically school and making delicious foods for me, myself, and I. But I also don't want to scare myself from being in relationships because of how convenient it is to get out of one (because of social media). You know?

McKenzie, the Dating Connoisseur. (Tombstone Rough Draft Idea #1) (Because I Might Be Dead Before This Is Actually True)

I can still hear that Celine Dion song ringing in my ears....

just so you know what everyone looked like at the time this story took place #tights

Did anyone else call Celine Dion "Celion Dion"? (Suh-LEE-Ahn) It sounds so much better to me. I used to call her that still call her that. It's also fun to use as a swear sometimes.

*stub your toe* "CELION DION!" Nobody will ever know what you're talking about. And that's the beauty of it!

Ok, looking at the name "Celion Dion" this many times in a row is tripping up my vision. I'm not here to talk about her (even though I have successfully done so for the past few sentences, and I honestly never thought I'd be able to accomplish that in my lifetime). I'm here to talk about The Incident At the Stake Dance When I Was 14. No, it does not have to do with my period. An alternate title for it could have been:

**~~I'M SORRY I CANNOT HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF MY PRIDE AND DIGNITY BEING ANNIHILATED WITH YOUR DUMB TEENAGE BOY LASER BEAM EYES~~**

Have you ever had a zit (everyone better nod your head) that was in a very-difficult-to-reach spot, like in the middle of your back for example? And have you been blessed/cursed with very short limbs, so as to disable you from reaching said zit? Well then it bothers you a whole lot and you think about investing in one of those freakishly long bobby pins that isn't good for anything except popping hard to reach zits and picking car locks (the second one is easier to do with a knitting needle, I mean, if you want a real-life experience on picking locks)..? But then you don't, because wasting money on something you'd only use for such a short time is really illogical, is it not (#weddingdresses)? I don't know. The point is (pun intended), this experience I'm about to share is like one of those zits.

I tried to forget about it, and push it to the very back of my mind, into the cave portion, where Gollum might live if he lived inside of someone's hippocampus (and there we have the creepy existential thought of this blog post, you're welcome). Alas, I could not. And so I divulge it with you now, in the hopes that it will then exit my head forever (again, pun intended. I like my puns to be of the intended variety, yo).

Upon walking into this stake dance in the year 2004, the chaperones had set up two baskets, one for girls' names, and one for boys'. Ha. AHAAA yeah haha you think I'm that dumb I'm not gonna put my name into either one of those baskets, no way, no way. The only way my name is going into that basket is if there's a ball pit made of M&Ms through these doors. 

I didn't say that. I said "No. Thanks." And walked into the dance, feeling pretty good about myself for averting a major crisis. The DJ played Cotton Eyed Joe, we all oogled each other uncomfortably across the gym floor, the girls pretended to be thirsty, the guys quizzed the girls for a painful 3 minutes on their favorite color of toothbrush (I wish I was joking), etc, etc. All pretty normal stake dance biznat. Then someone, probably a descendant of Stalin, took the mic and announced that they would be *drumroll plz* pulling boys and girls names out of the baskets, respectively, and pairing us up for a dance.

My short-lived elation got on the Tower of Terror and plummeted into the basement of Regret & Anger as my friend turned me to me and said, "Hey I saw you didn't put your name in the basket so I did it for you cuz I am definitely your best and greatest friend rn."

Me, in that moment:

Suddenly the room was hotter than Sauron's eyelash curler. I HAD 2 GET OUTTA TEHREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

E

E

EEEEEEEE

I turned to my other only friend and said, "I'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things, Sam."

Jk, I said "Son of a b, get me out of here, what do I do, HALP" and she said "here, trade names with me so I can get out of this," and at the time I had no rational thinking going on so I said "Okay yeah this sounds like a good solution, just trade names with me so I still have to go through with this and you don't hahaha yes I am the best at problem-solving." #wishIwasinJamaicarightnow

I took her name and proceeded to figure out who the person was that had this name, a name which has since been burned into my memory. I wandered over to the refreshment table, which I recall having an awful lot of fruit on it. I'm sorry, I know what you chaperones were trying to do for us, but I think you just wasted a lot of fruit and I know for a fact the boys were sneaking Nutter Butters and Animal Crackers into the dance in their crowded pockets (Isaac, I'm mostly talking to you). 

My spellchecker keeps trying to correct the word "chaperone." What do you wantME TO dO?! Change it to "chaperonie?" No. That didn't work. "Chaperoni." Forgeti this.

I walked up to one of the c-rones (that didn't work either, just for those keeping score) and said "Hey, which one of these awkward males is ______?" The guy smiled jovially and said "Ohhhhhh yess, that is a very fine young man. Very fine young man. Just moved here from Idaho." He then proceeded to POINT at the boy, as if the boy couldn't see two strangers staring at him from a few feet away and pointing. Why do people ever try to point subtly? Like, it does not work, unless you happen to be under an Invisibility Cloak. So I went up to the boy to introduce myself. This was a big deal for me because

a) he was surrounded by his other guy friends

b) I was slightly terrified of boys at this point in my pubescent timeline

c) I could've really used some strawberry fro-yo at this point in the story

d) wait I could use some now, hold plz

e)very t)ime s)he t)ells s)tories s)he g)ets s)idetracked w)ith f)ood h)ONESTLY

I blinked nervously. No tears at all. My fail-safes, my tear ducts, my beautiful wonderful Niagra Fall Holes in my eyeballs, FAILED ME. My heart started to work overtime, which I'm sure was very cute.

*Boy*: "Is this chick high on something? It's definitely not laundry detergent..." *examines my eyes more thoroughly*, making the whole situation worse.

And yes, I imagine he was the type of guy to call girls "chicks," and he probably wore cargo shorts on regular days and if he ever had a girlfriend I bet he yelled at her in parking lots. 

I stumbled and said "Uhh....I have your name...." I should have added "I pulled it from the Goblet of Fire." It's really a shame when you think of a good line to say like 15 years after the fact. Such a waste.

Suddenly Celion Dion started to play... "....it's all coming back...." *drum crash* *glass shatters* *speakers blow out* *breaks sound barrier* IT'S ALL COMING BACK TO ME NOWWWWWW!"

Now you know why I really can't forget this moment. Because that song, of all the songs, was playing as it happened. 

He acknowledged my presence after I told him I was his dance partner, basically, and THeN I said, "Nice to meet you. I'm Jared Gibby." Yes. YES. I read his name to him as if it were my own.

He and his friends lost their composure, as I'm sure my eyeballs were practically falling out at this point and I definitely looked like some kind of addict, and as I realized what I had done, Celine was belting something about the nighttime and whispering and I was like "You're goshdang right, I am whispering swears softly under my breath right now GETMEOUTOFHERE."

And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.....ly afraid of stake dances and never went to another one. 

I guess another title for this story could be "In Which McKenzie Explains Her Fear of Baskets and Basket-Related Things." 

I am going to punch my alarm clock in the jugular: a post completely unrelated to what I just said (but I am bloody tired)

my face almost every second of the day, erp

(the cat, not the girl, geez)

Being an introvert (all the extroverts be like *eyerolling so hard their eyes fall back into their skulls*), I get all the energy sucked from my body when I am social. Too social. Like Disneyland is a dadgum nightmare and a half. So many strangers walking around and talking and screaming and spreading measles and stuff. ~~**STreSs~~**

Going grocery shopping alone is my jam. Especially in the morning when hardly anybody else is there. So what I am saying is if Superman was an introvert then the sun=his alone time. Did that make anyyyy sense at all? Nah? Read the comic books then.

All of this talk about being introverted brings me to this: I am hecka good at writing notes/letters. Talking to people face to face is hard, but I could write notes to strangers all day. And in high school, I did just that. I left notes in people's lockers, underneath empty milk cartons, in the coin slot at the payphone outside the gym, and in the vending machine. They were all signed "Your Friendly Neighborhood Lunchlady." It gave me an insane amount of satisfaction....I, McKenzie, was communicating with people in an anonymous fashion, hopefully giving them something to think about (like mashed potatoes), and then wonder "Who is this FNL?" I know, it's not as catchy as "Zorro," but gimme a break, I was 16.

A couple of years ago, I sent out a message to the randos of the internet (via tumblr) asking any of my followers if they wanted a letter from me, and if they wanted me to write about anything in particular. I wrote like four letters to strangers, and all of them were about 5 pages each. I wish I had copies of those letters, because I think they were complete nonsense and would make good stand-up material now. So, thesis of my essay here: I can talk anyone's ear off.... if it's on paper.

Last night, I got to relive my glory dayz. GLORY BE!!

Visual aids

special s/o to Barnes and Noble for still existing even though Borders pulled a Titanic and went under #toosoon

SERIOUSLY SO MANY ADJECTIVES STAHP PLS

there were like 50 books here with the same title

so I wrote

"Ok so ANSWER then!" 

Had to.

all I wanna do is [*gunshot* *gunshot* *cash register noise*] take a nap for six hours

Having a messed-up liver is pretty lame. I mean, it's right up there with all the most delicious foods making you gain weight and having to pay lots of money for the coolest things (except for temporary tattoos. Temporary tattoos are only 25 cents! #staypositive). Like, what kind of world is this? Anyway. Liver problemz=me needing to sleep all the time. Like you've never heard that one. 

Just a random but true thought: I never feel like I'm more at the height of my English skills than when I type "fjsklafjsa;fdjl;sa" in a text message to express deep feelings about something. 

how to properly text someone you like: (by me)

you: hey you remind me of pizza.

crush: how so?

person: I love pizza.

BOOM.

And now, the  "McKenzie-Is-The-Most-Awkward-Human" portion of our show:

The first time someone asked me about Tinder was a year ago. I thought she was talking about kindling. I was like "do I have tinder? For what? Are you starting a fire? Can I come?"

I'm not an arsonist. Just for the record. I'm just always cold. 

So, Tinder. 2 weeks ago I was completely against the idea. Then my friend Kenzie (not the friend in the mirror, c'mon you guys, I know I'm crazy but not that much) was like "Yo I have a tinder, it's way funny and sort of a confidence boost."

So says I, "Okay, I shall download it." And I did. And it was...the...most...hilarious thing I have ever experienced. And it probably ruined online dating for me forever. As in, it made me think I was shallow. More shallow than a kiddie pool. 

The concept is thus:

You write a 500-word bio. Most people don't write the 500 words because a) they don't know what to write to "hook" people [don't make it gross] and b) they think simply writing their height and where they go to school is sufficient information to snag a date. 

Then you add up to 5 pikshas of yourself, preferably mirror selfies if you're keeping up with the times, and hope that people start swipin' right. Basically, Tinder finds people in the area that match your age criteria (that's it, just age. I KNOW RIGHT?! It's wrong. It's so wrong. And yet it's right. I guess. Wait. I don't have evidence to back that up so I take it back.). And you just swipe through the options, all day long. Left=not interested. Right=interested.

But hold on a minute. "Interested" in what exactly? What do you know about this person? You know they are somewhat attractive based on the (hopefully) current pictures of themselves they have posted. And you know their height. And you know they all have a niece or two. I'm just saying, this is the pattern with the men of Tinder. Lit'rally almost every guy has this information on his profile. And 95% of them have a shirtless picture. And that's basically it.

The guys I swiped right for had something different about them. And that "something" was the (*angel chorus singing*) BIIIIIIiiiiiiOooooooooooooOOOOO.

Translation: the bio. 

Words. Words are my jam and my jelly. 

These go in the hall of fame. Or shame. I'll let you decide which ones I swiped right for. 

And then, something weird happened. Boys started to talk to me. And all of them had something to say about my bio...er...except for the first one. And that, my friends, is the power of some good writing skillz. Sha-bam. I'm not even embarassed that 50% of my "about me" was about food. Not even a little bit. Because look where it got me.

Don't worry. I saved the gif he sent me. Because it was pure gold. 

In the end, this was a super great social experiment. I learned that my English degree is super helpful in...picking up guys. Who knew??? 

Yesterday I deleted my account, so the fun is over. Until ne(ver)xt time! 

okay...one more. this was somebody's profile pic. whoever writes the best caption for this picture gets a jillion dollars and/or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, made by me (the sandwich, not the jillion dollars. I'm definitely not gonna be the one making that).

p.s. this post is not meant to criticize anybody who uses Tinder. 
It's gr8. But...just not for moi. /end scene