A WTF Tinder Date (In The Philippines)

A Rocky Start

   The buzz of an airport's The airport's midnight buzz may even aggravate those with the most patience. Could it ruffle the red and yellow of the Dalia Lama's robe?   Burger King grease scented the air to help rumble restless stomachs. The bench's jagged edges poked from the spine through the rib cages and into the  of the resting travelers. The midnight buzz of Manila stayed in its place. In Manila, ,

The speakers cracked above my head. 

My eyes felt like rocks. 

Sun heated The Puerto Princessa  Airport pavement. Dogs slept under the benches.

The blind massagers at The Manila Airport stayed behind. Their plastic chairs also stayed behind.

A sign advertised the benefits of eating crocodile.

I decided to walk. I always make this decision.

I distrusted my surroundings.

I Want To Walk- Oh Shit, I’m in a Trike

***Trike- attach a side car to a motorcycle taxi. ***

Trike driver: “Excuse me sir, where do you want to go?”

Me: “To rent a scooter.”

Trike driver: “Ok, come with me. I have a friend who will take great care of you.”

He spoke with kindness. Trust filled my heart.

Shit- that changed quick.

Me: “Ok.”

After the first turn, trust exited my heart.  My legs cringed as we passed each stoplight. The trike driver asked about tours. 

I run my own hiking group. Paying for a hiking tour feels sac-religious.

Me: “No man. I’m ok.”

I wanted out of this trike. I didn’t want to get scammed.

Trike driver: “But I can get a good price just for you my friend.”

Phish Hippies- Get Me Out of Here

My friend Angry Gus doesn’t travel abroad. Angry Gus calls badgering to buy shit, Shakedown Street.  Other people call badgering to buy shit the same thing.

Shakedown Street, anywhere in the country (USA), reminds Angry Gus of being at a Phish concert.  

Phish concert Hippies pester you to buy anything from nitrous balloons to peanut butter & jelly sandwiches

For a moment, I wished I was Angry Gus.   I wished I never traveled. 

Trike driver: “Ok my friend.  You can rent the scooter here. How much money can you give me for my tip? Call me if you want the tour.”

Me: (Thinking- Oh fuck, don’t get annoyed already about the pestering to buy shit, I have two more weeks- Think about how poor the country is.  Again, try not to get annoyed.)

The trike driver annoyed me.

Shit- that happened fast.

“50 pesos is ok. I don’t want any tours. Thanks for the ride man.”

The scooter lady offered me a scooter for $500 PHP (US $20 per day). The price seemed high. I bargained down to $400 (US $17 per day).  She demanded my passport.

This demand confused me. She showed me other passports.

I gave her the passport.

Next Stop Caruso Road- Bamboo Backpacker’s Hostel

Today’s agenda included a jaunt through the main roads without pavement to

Caruso Road to lay down some things. Stop lights, and stop signs, provided plenty of suggestions for motorists to peruse. With one thousand vehicles estimated on the road, in less than ten kilometers of travel, a drive north on a road mandated to drive south didn’t make much of a difference.  The wheels of the scooter first wobbled massively to the right. The new scooter wobbled slightly left. The exhaust from trikes, and the sounds of booming stereos from the Jeepneys overwhelmed the operator of the tiny ride.

   The signal for Google Maps left the driver as fast as friend with a truck, when one is moving house.  The town became too small for the courtesy of road signs with directions.  Blue, yellow, & red roosters on the roads caked in dirt gave those not from here a good belly chuckle. The skin of the driver began to redden with no cover while driving. The driver maddened with the dirt from the poodles caking his calf hairs, and suit made for swimming.  Others who drove those road as a profession came into sight. The illusive fate left to the man operating three wheels, and not two.

Explore Tinder

I decided to explore. I always make this decision.

Cheesy tour brochures filled the hostel front desk. I told you before. I hate tours.

Fifteen minutes passed me by. I failed to initiate a plan for the day.

I noticed an electric socket. The Puerto Princessa wind must have blown the Wi-Fi signal back to The Bamboo Backpacker’s Hostel.

My phone needed a charge. My phone got Wi-Fi.

I never took a vacation longer than seven days. I had fourteen days to exceed the wild expectations of a vacation on a tropical island.

I had fourteen days to top the last time I came to the Philippines, when I spent the week having scandalous affairs with a Filipina midget.

I shouldn’t have tried to top that vacation.

The weather forecasted fourteen days of punishing rain. The weather forecast tempted me to leave.

Tinder saved my loneliness.

Tinder is an online dating site. 

Users swipe pictures. Swipe right if you like. Swipe left if you don’t.  A mutual swipe right means you can message one another.

Ninety seconds passed me by. I opened one screen to Tinder, one screen to return tickets home, one screen to flights to Malaysia, one screen to the prostitute scene in Makati (a section of Manila) I didn’t know what to do.

Another five seconds passed me by. Tinder notified me of a mutual swipe right. Game on!

The girl didn’t look amazing. The girl looked cute.

Why My Tinder Is Broke In Taiwan

The Tinder notification made me smile. In Taiwan, I often think my Tinder is broken.

The joke about my broken Tinder happens for a reason.  In four years, I have watched many friends in relationships in Taiwan divorce, break up, and flee. I fled once.

Relationships among the same culture create obstacles. Relationships among opposite cultures create giant walls. 

Some people climb the walls with love. Most people fall off the wall halfway. If I make that climb again, I suspect a fall.  This attitude causes my broken Tinder.

Try the Peanut Butter on Bottom

Put the fear of climbing the giant wall (in Taiwan) behind me.  The giant wall (in the Philippines) still intrigues me.

Filipina girls turn me on.  Filipina girls drive me mad enough for my own crazy dream. I dream this to question our current way of marriage.

I dream to find a Filipina girl. I don’t care much about the love. The idea of eternal love offers comfort. Nice ideas don’t always come true. Not everybody gets to be president. Not everybody finds love.

Sometimes, I inject reality into my world. I want a Filipina girl to help me run a farm. We could even use prisoners to help us manage the farm.  We reform the prisoners. We help society.

Simple, right? Do you hate me yet?

My friends that know about my dream ask me if I check a girl’s hands for farming strength first when I meet them. My dream is not that serious.

Feminists want to lynch me when I talk about this dream. The dream is half a joke, half curiosity.

Marriage in My Family

A reason exists for this dream.

Look at my family: Dad- divorced,   Mom- divorced twice,  Sister- divorced,  Brother- 3 kids, not divorced, don’t know if he’s happy,  Uncle 1- divorced twice, Uncle 2- divorced, Uncle 3 – divorced

Most statistics show 50% of the marriages in America end in divorce. Other free countries’ numbers don’t usually vary too drastically.

My family tried something (marriage). The thing didn’t work (marriage).

The whole world tried this same thing. This same thing didn’t work (for the whole word).

I see it like this:

I love peanut butter more than anyone.  I also love a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  I always put the peanut butter on top when I have a peanut butter & jelly sandwich.

If 50% of the people in the world died from eating peanut butter & jelly with the peanut butter on top, I would switch.

I suggest why not try putting the jelly on top.  The goal and the life-long commitment of running the farm represents the jelly.

I’m always going to love peanut butter. Why can’t I try the love second?

Don’t hate the dream crusher. Hate the dream.

And about me…

I loved enough to want to kill.

That love storm ended different. I learned something.  I loved the idea of loving her.

My dad gives high-fives, not hugs.

I say I love you to my mom.  I still love them both.

Movie lives overflow with flowers. Normal people’s lives overflow with work, and fear of tomorrow.

I don’t coach lives. I don’t succeed at my own.

Back to My Tinder Match

My match waited my next witty response to hello.

I planned on staying in Puerto Princessa for one day.

I should keep Tindering for matches. I should play for more chances.

One more second passed me by.

I wrote, “Let’s go for a drink. I leave for El Nido tomorrow morning.”

El Nido is a different town, seven hours away.

She asked for my preferred time.  I told her 8 p.m. is good.

My friend Irish Ken told me a horrific story before I left for The Philippines.

Irish Ken got roofied by a group of friendly people in a bar. Irish Ken spent the week in The Philippines begging for money. The friendly people wiped Irish Ken’s funds clean.

 Anxiety rocked my guts down to the core. I suspected fraud on the entire island.

I couldn’t resist. I continued playing with the fire.

She sent me a sexy pic. She wore a bra, underwear, and flower crown. 

I remembered why I raved about Filipina women. 

I didn’t think much about the peanut butter, or the jelly. 

I thought about the afternoon.

The anxiety traveled from the core of my guts, on its way to the exit. The anxiety fought to stay closer to the core of my guts than to the outside world.

Another picture came into my no longer broken Tinder.

My match sent a picture of her on her knees, hands held together, with hands resting on the third drawer of her dresser. You can imagine the rest.

I still suspected fraud.

She said: “You like massages?”

The anxiety released from the core of my guts into The Puerto Princessa sky.

The cleaning people continued sweeping by the floor of my bed. I determined she was a hooker. I didn’t have to go through with this.

I responded by asking, how much. She clarified the free price. The anxiety rocked back down into the core of my guts.

Shit- she wasn’t a hooker. I wasn’t off the hook.

She requested we move the conversation to LINE.

I thought what a place. I get to fornicate with the first girl I meet on Tinder. My Tinder doesn’t even work in Taiwan. Now, I’m well on my way to fornication.

Not So Fast... Tinder Match

I never prided myself on being a macho guy. I still pride myself on being a dude’s dude. I mean this. I like sports, hiking, outdoors stuff, etc. Dude’s dudes like this.

I also never got in a fight in my entire life. I still have nightmares about Bobby Goosely. Bobby Goosely wanted to fight me in Junior High.  I evaded the fight with words.

I tell my friends, “I never fought Bobby Goosely. I never fought anyone.  It never made any sense. If I win the fight, I still break my hand.”

You probably want to know why I really don’t fight. Maybe, you don't . I will still tell you.

My parents had a nighttime routine.

They put the kids to bed. Then, they fought until stalemate.

Stalemates sometimes came from sincere forgiveness. The 6 a.m. alarm clocks normally caused the stalemates.

As a young child, I was emotionally attached to the hip of my mother. If she got sick, I got sick. If she felt pain, I felt pain. If she sang, I sang. If she watched the soap opera Days of Our Lives, I watched it.

As a 12 year old child, I stood in the divorce court on my dad’s side.

Fighting with words, or with fists, brings me back to that time.

Avoiding all fights creates an inability to stand up for yourself. It normally caused dramatic problems in my dating life.

I once dated an emotionally abusive narcissistic woman. I call her Baby G (Godzilla) Being emotionally abused by a woman creates no darker hole in any man’s life. I struggle for the words to describe this.

To recover, I spent six months listening to podcasts about narcissistic women, watching You Tube videos, and even considered therapy.

I found an online therapist who specialized in helping men who find themselves with narcissistic women.  She offered therapy via SKYPE. She focused on helping men set boundaries. I never had a boundary on anything before in my life. My friends from college called me Wild Man. My friends now call me Crazy Uncle. Students call me Crazy Teacher. I will try anything.  

This attitude offers a wealth of experience. This attitude has no boundaries. I determined the therapist to be too expensive.

With time, I learned to set my boundaries higher. I learned one of my highest values comes from spending my free time outdoors. My free time outdoors can be hiking. My free time outdoors can be swimming. 

My free time outdoors can be anything. My free time should just be outside.  I learned to stay happy I need to be given this free time, with or without anyone I am dating. This created my first boundary in my dating life.

She wanted to meet in the early afternoon for a movie. I stayed strong.

The movie sounded like hell. I suspected sex after the movie.

At least, I didn’t break my afternoon boundary.

Broken Boundaries

We agreed to meet at Jollibee’s, a hamburger restaurant near the movie theatre, at 6 p.m.

The cloud of suspected sex lingered over my head.

I went for lunch.  I found a restaurant with giant shrimp. It costed $20 USD. It tasted like shit.

I took pictures of the shrimp.  I wrote down the tastes. I tried to make the tastes sound good.

Banana leaves rested on top of the shrimp dish.

The banana leaves reminded me of the time when I went on a first date in Taiwan. The girl had a banana farm. I asked her to bring me a pile of banana leaves. I wanted to use banana leaves as plates for my apartment. I thought I was saving the environment.

The girl brought the banana leaves. The leaves ended up being decoration for my indoor miniature golf course made from natural resources,  that I never completed. 

The banana leaves sat on top of my broken plastic statue of Buddha, inside my house for a long time.  The banana leaves dried out. I never saw the girl again.

The shrimp tasted like shit. I imagined I would still write about all of the unique flavors.

I don’t like traditional blogging. I can’t do it.

My first match messaged me, “I’m bored.” The cloud above of suspected sex increased its likely hood.

I loved the idea of sitting by the sea. The seafood tasted like shit. I still wanted to spend the afternoon writing about the place. The flies started to bite harder. The beers’ cost started to empty my pockets.

So, I went for the suspected sex.

After all that shit, of saying, I reformed my ways. I don’t go for girls that don’t stake an equal claim in my values, even if it is just for a day. I caved for suspected sex.

I found myself rushing to get to the movies by 3:30 p.m.

Movie Time With WTF Bitch

When we moved the conversation to LINE, I noticed her screenname: WTF Bitch27.

The name, WTF Bitch27, created a red flag.

 I discounted the red flag, for suspected sex.

I found myself standing outside The Jollibee. I looked at every girl at 3:35.

Every fat girl, I decided if that was too big.

The suspected sex could not evade me.

I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t find my hostel.

I started running late enough, that a shower, and getting to Jolliebee’s by 3:30 looked impossible. My heart started pounding.

I found myself trying to make a girl who calls herself WTF Bitch27 happy. I gave up on my hostel. I parked my scooter next to a trike stand.  The trike driver took me to the movies.

I like adventure. I like sex. How could I refuse?

My whiskers, some gray & some white captured my face.

I looked at all the fat girls. I made the appropriate decision if that was her, could I still go for it? I sided no, on one occasion.

The messages of, I’m here now, at 2:45 added to my nervousness. At exactly 3:30, I received a message of It’s 3:30, where the hell are you? “  The messages also made me roll my eyes.

I looked the same way when I went on my first online date 15 years ago in the states with a girl I used to have phone sex with, and I ran when I saw her.

I finally saw WTF Bitch27. She didn’t say hello. She just kept walking forward. She motioned for me to follow her.

RED FLAG!!!

Her walking so far ahead embarrassed me. I should be embarrassed to be with her.

I like to make people happy. I still tried to make casual conversation, even from back.

Then, my heart pounded again. I didn’t organize my money.

Stacks of 1000’s (peso), 500’s (peso), and 100’s (peso) formed a mess in my pocket. This is a stack of Filipino money.

I started thinking about how to get them out of my pocket. I didn’t want her to know I had money. I still could not confirm if she was a hooker.

I looked at her again. She was ugly.

I thought I could complete the date.

I dug through my wallet. She counted in her head (probably) how much money I had.  She glared for me to hurry and pay the movie ticket.

I knew I had to pay for a Filipina girl to see a movie. I didn’t like the expectant glare.

She asked a few times, are you ok before we entered the movies.

WTF Bitch27 inched closer.  WTF Bitch27 wanted popcorn.

The Movies with WTF Bitch 27

WTF Bitch 27 escorted me to our seats. In The Philippines, movie theaters assign seats for customers.

WTF Bitch 27 asked a few more times if I was ok. I stood my ground, “Yeah, this is great.”

WTF Josh- What are you doing?

Before we sat down, WTF Bitch 27 told me to stay. She said she would return.

I agonized for eighteen minutes, I thought of every plot I could to flee this situation. I thought she was making a plot of her own to rob me.

I can be nuts sometimes.

Eighteen agonizing minutes came to a conclusion. WTF Bitch 27 returned to her seat. She didn’t speak a word of her absence.

WTF Bitch27 popped the arm rest in between us. This aggravated me.

She proceeded to reach for the popcorn out of my chair. I bought the popcorn.

I conceded defeat of my popcorn. She carefully rested the popcorn out of my comfortable reach.

Her eyes showed disgust. She motioned for me to hold her hand. They don’t call her WTF Bitch27 for nothing.

I wanted to dump popcorn on her head more than I wanted to hold her hand. This was too weird, too weird even for Crazy Uncle.

The cloud of suspected sex flew back over my big head.  I held her hand.

I couldn’t believe it. A minute ago, I wanted to leave. A minute ago, I wanted to dump popcorn on her head. 

That damn cloud of suspected sex.

The movie continued. WTF Bitch27 didn’t act normal.  She blurted out every fifteen minutes, “ I really like this movie. This movie is really good.”

Her blurting shit out irritated our movie neighbors.

Sometimes, she took my hand closer to her pants zipper. Her hairy thighs grossed me out.

WTF Bitch 27 motioned for me to open my mouth.  For every eight handfuls of popcorn she scarfed down, she tossed two crumbs down my mouth.

I justified her torture by suggesting to myself that maybe she is really poor, and really hungry.

I remembered the therapist’s website so clearly. I could see all her words encouraging men not to get treated like shit. I thought I had come along way. Clearly, I hadn’t.

Even with her shitty treatment, the suspected sex cloud continued to linger. I kept telling myself to walk away. I also kept telling myself she could be kinky.

WTF Bitch27 finally buried the cloud of suspected sex.  She let my hand down.

She licked the cheese off her hands like a fat kid licking the icing off a CinaBun. I needed an excuse.

The excuse came. I decided I would politely end the date after the movie.

She told me I must be gay. I ignored her.

I scrolled through her messages that night. I found a message I missed. “Let’s go to the movies, since movies are dark, and we can kiss inside maybe.”

That must have been her era of kink. I guessed she like to boss dudes around, and then get naughty when the lights were out. In the moment, I had no idea what she was up to.

 I still felt content not to go for it. She was a horrible person. I am glad I didn’t accept that. Words I never would have said at 25, or even 37. I am 38.

Conclusion

After a blog post, many people ask afterwards if I am ok. They ask with sincerity.

Many people feel pity.

Many people feel shock.

Accept shock. Don’t feel pity.

With a perfect childhood, I might not have never left my bar stool at my favorite watering hole in Nazareth, PA.

I might not have ever heard a crowd of 1000 Taiwanese children chanting my name, “Joshie, Joshie, Joshie.”

With a perfect childhood, I might have been a banker.

I might not have ever went on a Tinder date with WTF Bitch 27.

With a perfect childhood, I might not have ever taken any chances.

I might not have ever made anybody laugh.

Without taking chances, I might not have ever lived.

With a perfect childhood, I might not have ever written.

My life is a gift.