Tinderp Tale #12: Devil’s Advocacy Is A Pussy Dryer

I’ve been told that my standards for men are too high, and that is the root of my problems when it comes to dating. Too picky, is what many friends have described me as. Which is why I decided to lower these standards when I got on Tinder again in the fall of 2016. Standards? Who needed those things? They were just cunt blocks preventing me from fulfilling a goal that was actually viable: losing my V card.

And it happened, not long after my return to Tinder. I had sex for the first time, and it was…pretty awful. An item finally checked off my bucket list, but at the cost of my pride, dignity, and emotional wellbeing. I came away from the experience feeling undesirable and out of control, with no closure or comfort from the asshole who had devirginized me.

Instead of focusing on building up my self-love again, I went on a dating spree in a misguided attempt to lessen the pain of being treated like shit by a guy I had mistakenly assumed would be a kind and decent human being to me (a guy, I will add, who specifically made sure I felt stupid for expecting human decency and kindness from him–I just wanna make sure we’re all on the same page and understand that he was and is total basura, k). I even hit up a guy I had ghosted because dating multiple dudes at once is generally very stressful and annoying for me. Let’s call the guy I ghosted…Brian #3 (since his actual first name is shared with 2 other dudes I’ve written about–Brian #2, the bad kisser, and Brian #1, the white guy with an eye twitch).

You matched with Brian #3 on 10/5/16

Brian #3

Hey, how’s it going 🙂

Nov 30, 2016 (nearly two months later…😅)


Hey! Sorry for the late response, things have been hectic. How are the holidays going for you? 😊

Brian #3

They’re going alright. Not too hectic for me :)~~


Okay, cool. That’s good

I looked at his profile again and remembered the other reason I hadn’t bothered responding to him the first time. His bio was completely blank, and the few pictures he had uploaded of himself were shitty in quality and revealed nothing about him. The fact that I was talking to him at all spoke volumes about my lack of standards, but I think that’s pretty obvious by now.


So I literally don’t know anything about you, tell me about yourself

Brian #3


I’m an east bay native living in the area but currently working in SF

I’m an INTJ

And I like pizza

How about you?

Here we go again. Was there a way of automating all this basic ass info about myself so I didn’t have to expend energy typing out the same shit to a different guy over and over again? Ugh.


I moved to the Bay for college and decided to stick around cus my hometown sucks


And I love boba

Brian #3

I liked how you framed your answers just like mine

I wish you had more respect for the Myers Briggs though 😫


Sorry not sorry lol

A few more messages in, Brian #3 popped the millennial dating question.

Brian #3

Want to go on a date with me?


Sure, you’re probably not a murderer


tinderp 12.1

It took several more days for us to actually make plans, mainly because I was being really passive. I had no energy to take the initiative, still stuck in the emotional throes of my post-devirginization turmoil. Luckily (or unluckily), Brian #3 was very persistent in messaging me and asking pointed questions about when we were meeting up and what we should do. We eventually decided on grabbing dinner at La Penca Azul, a Mexican restaurant in Alameda.

On the night of our date, Brian #3 was waiting outside for me (as they usually do). My heart plummeted at the sight of him (as it usually does). His proportions were all wrong. I had tricked myself into thinking he was taller and leaner, with an imagined swagger (which yes, is very sizeist of me, but it was unfortunately the reality of what I felt). To my disappointment, I was met by a smaller, gawky dude who seemed to have trouble making eye contact with me.

Things didn’t get better from there. Apparently La Penca Azul was a very popular restaurant, the kind you should make a reservation for on a Saturday night. We did not have a reservation, so we awkwardly waited just inside the door, watching harried servers rush back and forth between already occupied tables. In the first 5 minutes or so of waiting, Brian #3 and I attempted small talk that quickly petered out. 10 minutes, 15 minutes ticked by. We silently stood watch. My discomfort and apprehension grew. So did my resentment. This restaurant was his idea, after all. What a terrible choice. He really should have thought this through. Shouldn’t we just leave? Maybe I should leave.

After we had been waiting for at least a half hour (if not more), Brian #3 called it quits. “Let’s go somewhere else,” he muttered, turning around and walking out the door. I followed suit. “Somewhere else” ended up being a Thai restaurant just across the street.

Neither of us had been there before. The food was decent. The conversation was not. The semblance of wit, charm, and warmth I had discerned from him throughout our Tinder messages had all but disappeared now that we were face to face. He was withdrawn, expressionless. I tried to make the best of it, chattering about nothing, everything, smiling, smiling, smiling, and pretending everything was great.

We inevitably landed on the topic of the presidential election. “Who did you vote for?” he asked.

“Hillary,” I said grudgingly. “You?”

“Gary Johnson,” he replied.

I couldn’t hide my dismay. “Are you serious?”

“Yep,” he said.

“But…he doesn’t even know geography!” I spluttered.

“Did you know about Aleppo?” he asked.

“Well no, but I’m not the one who was running for President!” I retorted.

“What about Hillary’s e-mails?” he shot back.

I bristled. “That controversy is nothing compared to Trump being an outright racist and a sexual predator. I hate how the media has been setting up false equivalencies between Hillary and Trump. Yes, Hillary is shitty but she’s the lesser evil. Trump is going to be so much worse. At least Hillary has actual political experience.”

Brian #3 shrugged. “I was just playing devil’s advocate,” he said.

I resisted the urge to flip the table and throttle him right then and there. Devil’s advocate??? Fuck this dumbass who voted for Gary “What Is Aleppo” Johnson and enjoyed playing stupid rhetorical games involving the future nightmare of our country. I was done. I should have known better than to indulge someone who had a blank bio and low-res pics.

tinderp 12.2

Actual restaurant not depicted (actual restaurant was nicer).

After dinner, Brian #3 walked me out. We didn’t say much. I knew and he knew that this had not been a good date. It didn’t need to be said aloud, or texted about in hindsight. We would never see or speak to each other again after tonight. Sometimes the red flags are unambiguously clear.

Once we said goodbye and went our separate ways, I got into my car and drove back to Oakland. On the way home, I started crying. I was thinking about Nick, the asshole who devirginized me, and how even though he had been an asshole to me, I still missed him especially in light of tonight’s debacle of a date, and this was just sad because it meant my standards had really fucking hit rock bottom, and knowing that made me cry even harder.

I wish I could say this was the last time I cried about Nick in my car, or the last time I cried about any man or men in general in my car. But I’d be lying, and I don’t like to lie. Even when the truth is painful, cruel, humiliating, and undermining my feminist principles. My truth is really all I have. So here it is.

tl;dr Learkana is emotionally fucked up from losing her virginity and goes on another meaningless date in an attempt to fill the void in her heart and her vagina!

Now it’s time for…

Venue: Toomie’s Thai
Rating: ***
Review: It was okay. I’m incredibly biased though because this date sucked ass and the restaurant was basically empty which made the date more awkward and also I like Cambodian food better but kudos for the hella Asian decor?



you cannot change
the core of who you are
you love with fire
and you hate with it too.
your joy sets people’s hearts ablaze
they dance with you, entranced
then run away and never return
when they see your rage
is an inferno.
they ask you to stop your flames
and leave you to weep
in the smoldering remains
you cannot change
the core of who you are.
when will people understand
fire is fire
it will warm them
and it can burn them
it cannot be put out
when all they strike are matches
they will take what they can get
then abandon you,
seek fire
they can control
but you cannot change
the core of who you are:
this burning passion for life
with the power to destroy
everything in its wake



i want my words
to make you laugh
move you to tears
nourish your mind
inspire you
to fight back
and join a

i want my words
to send shivers
down your spine
instill an ache
inside your heart
and between
your legs
make you believe
you know me
as if reading
what i write
is the same as
your fingers
lightly pressing
on my soul

i want my words
to reach the horizon
in endless droves
while i chase them
thanking them
for setting me free


I’m turning 24 soon

why don’t I have my life together

why have I accomplished so little

why am I drowning in college debt

why are there ants crawling all over my bathroom sink

why are Diva Cups so hard to insert

why have I not looked for another job yet

why am I still stuck on my screenplay

why haven’t I revisited the one story that my college advisor said I should publish

why haven’t I gotten laid yet

why won’t boys I like, like me as I am

why do I have to suppress myself in order to be dateable

why do I always have something to say that nobody else wants to hear

why don’t I feel like a woman

why do I feel like a lost little girl

why is it so hard to reach out to people for my birthday

why am I so afraid that people won’t want to celebrate the day of my birth

why am I still terrible at leaving voicemails

why haven’t I opened a retirement account yet

why can’t I understand that honesty is the worst policy

why are you reading this

why is another year just another reminder that I am one step closer to never amounting to anything


Who, Who, Who

At a staff meeting last Friday, our new ED introduced a get-to-know-you exercise for us to do. We had to partner up and take turns asking the following questions:

  • Who are you?
  • Who do you pretend to be?
  • Who are you becoming?

The toughest part was that the answerer had to respond to each question repeatedly, in different ways, and the asker had to keep asking the question without reacting to the answers given, until the minute was up. It was a very difficult, awkward, tense, emotionally unsettling, and introspective game, but I’m glad we did it. I will share what I remember of my answers below, for reasons.

Who are you?

I am a girl.

I am a woman.

I am an intersectional feminist.

I am a slacktivist.

I am a social media narcissist.

I am someone who is still trying to figure out what her life is about.

I am Cambodian American.

Who do you pretend to be?

I pretend to understand love, when I guess I don’t.

I pretend to be someone smaller than I am.

I pretend to know everything about some things.

I pretend to be honest.

Who are you becoming?

I am becoming a woman who doesn’t feel like a girl.

I am becoming a more self-assured, confident person.

I am becoming someone who is realizing that life is a beginning, and not the end.


What’s the point of life? Well whose life do I mean? I’ve always gone by the self-made principle, because really, it’s you who makes your life what it is right, I mean arbitrary circumstances and oppressive systems aside, life is 99% attitude and 1% effort or sorry I forgot how the platitude goes, more like 50% attitude, 50% sweat blood tears, sweaty bloody tears, teary bloody sweat okay that isn’t right either but the point is, there is no point until you make a point which is rendered pointless when you think about it so the point being, don’t think about it? Let’s backtrack here. What is the point of my life? Everyday, every moment seems to trigger some existential crisis. The drive to work, the drive from work, windows cracked, singing off-key at the top of my lungs knowing I’m going to haphazardly park my car in the gutter until the next morning then it’s the drive to work, the drive from work, you know the rest, I’m lying in bed wondering where did I go wrong, or did I go so right that it’s all wrong, am I making any sense, stuck in another cliched mind-trap because no thought I own can ever truly be mine, nothing I say do or think is original, my life isn’t original, but is the point of my life to be original? Or is it to be good, am I good, am I a good person, I’m trying sometimes is that enough, I’m comparing myself to the worst is that enough, if I believed in hell I’d already know where I’m headed once I die, is this life not enough, do I need several lifetimes to prolong my faltering human potential and mediocrity?, no back to the purpose, the purpose, what was the point, what is the point, do I need someone to tell me, does it have to be a He cuz fuck that shit, I define this, my life, but when I’m doing such a shitty job of it can someone take the wheel, Jesus take the wheel?, no I need to fucking take the goddamn wheel and drive, driving again, driving to and from work, 9-5 all day errday, it’s the same thing over and over and yes I’m living but I’ve stopped feeling alive and I’m young and stupid but drugs and boys are not the solution, what is my solution, not this, this monotony, but I need this monotony to live even if I’m not really living, do I need fame, I said I didn’t but why the irrepressible urge to be known, to be admired, to be loved, it’s human, it’s only human, fame is just another medium, people don’t want to die alone, people want to die loved and remembered, can you be loved and remembered for driving to and from work all day errday stuck in the deep rut of monotony don’t answer that, I need to be fulfilled, I need to stop being this lazy fuck and go do something that will make me look back and say I was worth something, to people, to me, but mostly to people because I am defined by people and I’m told not to care what people think but that’s fucking bullshit everyone fucking cares about what everyone thinks why else do we talk about loneliness like it’s the worst thing in the world and love like it’s the best, the point of life is to care about what people think and make people love you and then you die, is that it, yes that’s it