Now I realize that even with my freak-outs over moving to small town Vermont, the prospect of uprooting your reality to live that Baby Boom Life™, a reality where you wear LL Bean duck boots with flannel and free-base maple syrup on the regular, still sounds really appealing to some of you. As it should - because its GORGEOUS here. Truly. It's so lovely and quaint and as I'm typing this from my local pub's window seat its snowing outside. SNOWING! Plus, they put maple syrup in fucking everything. It's delicious, man. This place can feel very magical...but like with all magic, there's a dark side lurking just beneath the surface. Reader, if you're considering following my lead, I need to ask you a very serious and personal question:

Do you want to, either in the near or distant future, engage in sexual intercourse with a human that you find even mildly attractive?

If you answered, "YES" - then in the immortal words of Whoopi, YOU IN DANGER, GIRL!!! I do not say this as a joke, if you are a single person who is looking to bone down at any point, it is IMPERATIVE that you look at the potential suitors in your area. And if you moved to a small state like me, cast that net wide and check out every dick within a 50 mile radius. You'll thank me later.

I truly wish someone had given me this advice, because I did not do that. I just up and fucking moved, riding that Nancy Meyers high and assuming that I'd find some handsome, Patagonia clad fuck-daddy, who could bang me back into the land of living....aaaaaand that is not the reality.

When I moved here and actually started, ya know, looking around, what I saw left me in shock and awe. Almost every man in the state of Vermont between the ages of 40 - 70 looks exactly like the father from Family Ties, Michael Gross. They're sensible men, with gray hair, who tuck in their sensible LL Bean button downs into their olive chinos, and drive sensible Subaru Forresters. Sensible.

Artists rendering of esteemed actor and sensible man, Michael Gross.

Yes, I realize this could be worse. I realize that a sensible man who always knows when it's time to put on the winter tires, who is on top of his bills and enjoys the farmers market because it not only has delicious produce but also supports local business, is what a lot of sensible women want. Nay crave. However, I am not a sensible woman. As witnessed by the fact I up and moved to Vermont. I want to be attracted to someone and not act out whatever daddy-issues I've had bubbling under the surface for the past 37 years, ya know? Call me crazy, but I don't think Michael Gross is going to be able to fulfill me in the ways I need.

So, after realizing that the majority of the men I've so far encountered in this lovely state look like they've sired Alex P Keaton, I did what people in 2017 do, I joined Tinder. I'm not sure I've ever regretted anything more and I'm the girl who got a tramp stamp the first day I moved to LA because I assumed it would force me to one day make enough money to have it removed. So I feel like you should take my word on this.

Full disclosure, I've had only one other encounter with Tinder and that was in Brooklyn while I was working for a producer who is now in the news for terrible things. I decided I needed to try and have some semblance of a life and figured that would be the easiest way to meet people, since my venturing out into the real world was very, very rare. What I am about to tell you is a 100% a true story and can be corroborated by many colleagues and friends. The only man I went out with on Tinder was handsome, successful, engaging and funny. At one point during dinner I thought I was stroking-out because it was going so well. The conversation flowed. He said things that were interesting. He wanted to order desert. And even though he wasn't drinking, he wanted to continue the date and suggested a bar around the corner. Now friends, this is where shit gets a little iffy. The problem started with me - I know, right? - but because I tend to enjoy bizarre topics, I can allow things to get away from me. We had been talking about architecture in New York and how, due to the fact the apartments are cobbled together with other apartments, weird quirks will arise. Something I call, "murder spaces". My apartment in Brooklyn was the top floor of a row house - it was huge and had amazing light, but due to the fact that it had been modified to be a single, they had created a bathroom where one never existed. Which meant it had no windows. It was a dark little box with a creepy mirror and shower. It was a murder bathroom. Well, my date perked up when he heard that and the topic turned to straight murder. Let me preface this by saying this was before murder shows and podcasts were en vogue. We were just two horned up people super jazzed to discuss cold-blooded murder. So, when we walked in to the bar and ELO/Olivia Newton John's "Xanadu" was blasting and he turned to me and asked if I wanted to be murdered to the song, I *should* have been like FUCKING HELP ME, KEITH MORRISON!!! Instead, I was like - what an amazing question! And I said, while I of course love ELO, I think I'd rather be murdered to Van Morrison's "INTO THE MYSTIC". Something to calmly usher me into the netherworld. I stand by this song choice, by the way. Well, once the murder valve was opened we couldn't stop the damn thing. Just murder, murder, murder, baby. We talked about if getting murdered to your favorite song would be comforting (Me: Yes), If you'd rather get murdered in your home or an unknown place (Me: home) and then he started googling photos of Ted Bundy once I told him he was a very handsome serial killer. Friends, it was at this point I started to worry. It felt as if he was asking if I wanted to me murdered and I was answering, "sure", with every turn. But then he kept talking about how I wanted to die. And I realized, I don't want to die! I mean, I should have realized that much, much, much sooner in my life. But things happen the way they do and it was then, with a handsome man asking if strangulation sounded better than stabbing, that I realized, yeah, no, I'm good. I'd like to live. The date ended shortly after. He gave me a kiss goodby and I sprinted, SPRINTED, home. But because I'm totally insane, I emailed him saying I had a good time. He responded by saying he went home to watch a Harvard talk about the "Morality of Murder". I narrowly escaped either true love or a DATELINE special edition. Not sure which bums me out more.

Actual photo I took of said date googling "TED BUNDY" at the bar.

So, I'm just really not into the idea of Tinder in general. Or even online dating. It's all based on first impressions and let me tell you something about the first impressions I got from Vermont Tinder...they sent a fucking CHILL down my spine. There's a difference between slim pickings and GRIIIIIM. And from my experience, it is GRIM AS FUCK OUT HERE. Let me also put this out there - I do not think I'm some sort of bodacious babe who deserves to get the cream of the crop. Not even close, bud. I'm willing to take whatever scraps I can get. I'm also open minded when it comes to age/physicality/etc - what I am NOT opened minded about is BULLSHIT. And there are two types of men in Vermont based on my scientific research - The Michael Grosses or the BULLSHIT. And I do not want EITHER!!! In regards to the Michael Gross types, as I've mentioned earlier....they're just so fucking sensible. And they probably have very soft hands, which creep me out in a man. Just not my thing. At all.

As far as the "Bullshit" goes - well that runs the gamut. So you know, I put my age range from 27-45 (because baby boys need love too and also when you hit 35 you become VERY horny. It's just a fact of life. Deal with it) and I cast the net wide. I'm looking from Lake Champlain to fucking New Hampshire, baby. I'm happy to drive for true love/ass. Because I'm a modern woman. So, its not like I'm looking in a very small, specific region. I'm trying, I really am! But Holy Lord the Bullshit. Here are a list of issues I have found in, at least 95% of Vermont Tinder:

Men 40 & Under who enjoy winter sports: they use the phrases "Sick Nuggs" and "Shredding Pow", and basically only love snowboarding, microbrews made in remote Vermont, and brag about tapping ass in a way that says to me, "Maybe you're better at moguls than vaginas?"
The Lonely Men: This is sadly a very, very common occurrence. Look I get it - this place is remote and sparsely populated. But I have seen at least 20 men post variations of: "Just a lonely man living in a cabin looking for a woman". As witnessed by my serial killer date, I am not one to shy away from danger. In fact, I'm kinda into it. What I'm not into is a sad sack hill dweller who is over 40 and just real, real lonely and probably plays a lot of video games....which brings me to:
Gamers: I know, I know - the winters are long and dark and boring. But nothing grosses me out more than people who play video games all day. They are the men with the soft hands. There are A LOT of gamers in Vermont who also fancy themselves real jokesters. A lot of, "I love to play video games AND I'm super funny and sarcastic". If you have to say you're funny and sarcastic, you ain't. Go back to Zelda or whatever the fuck you're into, bro. Also these men are also all inexplicably in a Polyamorous situation...which, no fucking way. The only relationship you're in is with your right hand and that xbox controller.
Grooming Optional: This is a BIG contingent of Vermont Tinder. There's a man I saw who had eyebrows that grew up into his hairline. It has honestly scared me in ways that I can't fully process. Many, many men are just throwing grooming into the abyss and letting that hair grow however Satan intended. And when they DO groom its horrible. It's braided long billy goat beards with metal skull beads woven in....I'm not making this up. One dude posted his main photo of him with pink eye. PINK EYE!!! Just a watery, weepy peeper. What the fuck is wrong with people?? Also, dude, I went to college in Oregon, I understand the hippie aesthetic. I do. But Jesus Christ, man. Do you know what will cause my vagina to seize up and lock like a vault at Gringots? A man with a goatee that has metal skull beads in it and who is barefoot wearing a wool sweater. I HAVE SEEN THIS WITH MY OWN TWO, NON PINK, EYES!!
Hunters/Gun Enthusiasts: I am from Texas and I am shook over the lax gun laws here in Vermont. I saw a man walking down main-street in hunting garb carrying a rifle. IN BROAD DAYLIGHT. And the men here want to talk about four-wheelers, Moose antlers, their guns and also beer. There's a reason I don't live in Texas...and its because I don't want Bambi's head hanging above a bed where I'm trying to go down on a dude. Call me crazy, but carnage just really kills the mood.

Look, I'm sure that there are many, many women out here who are into any and all of the above. And I'm the asshole who is having a hard time with this. But the thing is, and this is the important part if you're even thinking about following my lead, before you move somewhere, make sure you have something in common with the people who live there. Sure, I went straight Baby Boom and hilarity has ensued, but at the end of the day, there's not going to be a handsome, broad-shoulderered vet who sweeps me off my feet. I'm a fish out of water and I'm going to have to choose from the sorts of people that live here - and that means either Michael Gross or a man who may or may not have conjunctivitis and eyebrows that look like antlers. Which means I will never, ever have sex again. And that is a big time bummer. You know why? Because the only good thing about being a woman on the dark side of 30 is that you're coming into your sexual peak. I'm ready to objectify men and reenact scenes from Sliver, like I've wanted to do since I was in 6th grade. Now is the time for my sexual freak flag to fly - the time to embrace all my lady-bits and go full throttle on dick. Instead, I'm holed up in the quaintest little house in Vermont writing dime store erotica and watching White Palace on repeat. This is some nonsense. I'm one winter away from changing my Tinder profile to say, "Lonely woman in cabin looking for a man"...and if that happened, I'll seek out that handsome murderer from Brooklyn. And I'll choose being slaughtered to ELO over getting a drink with a man who has bare feet that look like hooves and a braided rat rail. Life is a cruel mistress.