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The cattiness continues when Donna accuses Kelly Ann of wearing perfume, which means she must be into Reg.

Remember, body odor is a consistent issue with the crew. Cut to Shelli, who’s so anxious over the impending arrival of her judgmental, Soul Cycling sister in the audience, not to mention the fact that Sean isn’t showing up, and thus, she isn’t getting laid tonight (guess again!

I never craved intimacy, or romance, for that matter, but now, after living in New York City for three years, I wonder if I’m somewhat ill-equipped for it, incapable of shedding this digital armor of, “they just stop responding.” I tell him I’ve done precisely that to others and have had it done to me; after all, despite the millions of users on Grindr, there’s a procedural universality to the way it’sagain.” This is the most appealing feature of Grindr, its hedonistic, no-nonsense culture; from its impishly forthright profiles to the compulsory exchange of dirty photos, its style of candid, prurient correspondence can make bar small talk seem impossibly profound.

My Grindr profile is nameless, largely unidentifiable.

Looks like both Christopher Bill are going to have to face the ghosts of their romantic pasts.

As if Bill didn’t have enough on his plate, he still has his forever-quest to find an opener for Staton-House. Milo’s band Black Atlas can TOTALLY DO IT, but he’s really chill about it.

Maybe he’s been pulled into a top-secret Taylor Swift / Kimye Snapchat recon meeting that has taken him away from his phone, or maybe Sean is just the worst. Something mystical is in the air — there’s going to be a supermoon tonight and Puna has warned the crew about looming darkness that might hit the band.

Shelli is in a deep dry spell that no amount of phone sex (or lack thereof) can fix. It doesn’t seem to matter, though: Shelli leaves pleading messages on Sean’s voicemail that make me sad.

After all, you can’t exactly have hot, steamy phone sex with your husband when he’s…ya know…on Taylor Swift’s tour in . She wants to see him, but he hasn’t returned any of her calls.

But what does it mean that my friends and I are sitting together, silently perusing a grid of Mapplethorpian thumbnails of actual human beings instead of going out and enjoying the city, a sort of metropolitan refuge we yearned for just a few years “I just think it’s silly sometimes to give up so much to be in New York City just to sit on your phone in bed looking for the D,” says Hunter. I thought I’d bebar.” While the gay-bar scene is still bustling in Hell’s Kitchen, among other places, a scroll through Grindr is simply easier than staying out late drinking cocktails, hoping not to run out of cash before you get laid, and then figuring out how to get home.

It provides an alternative on a medium that’s second nature to us, a time-wasting tonic that we return to compulsively just as we do Twitter, Snapchat, and Instagram.

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