As far as Vance is concerned, he’s still Vance—an arrogant prick who thinks he’s better than everybody. He has now dedicated himself to showing all of us in the office just how much of a player he is, in a lame attempt to make me jealous. Three weeks ago, he had a new girlfriend he was convinced he was in love with. This week, he has an even newer girlfriend he’s convinced he’s in love with. Vance has somehow become the office frat boy, constantly bragging about the women he’s sleeping with in his spare time, and while I usually don’t listen to men give off such small dick energy, I think Vance is telling the truth. His reputation as the most popular sports columnist in the state certainly hasn’t declined, and there’s no shortage of women who are interested in hooking up with a man of his who’s popular, even if it’s only in his head. He’s just taking more of an advantage of it now that he’s trying to get back at me for being brutally honest with him at the fashion show a couple months back. That’s all well and good for him. He can fuck as many random groupie girls as he wants—fuck them until his dick falls off for all I care, because he’s not the only one who’s back on the dating scene.

I decided to get on Tinder a little over a month ago. It took two weeks for me to swipe right on anybody, and another two to actually talk to any of the people I’d matched with. From the very first interaction, my Tinder experience has been terrible. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with guys, but there is something seriously wrong. There are so many profiles with men holding fish while wearing forest camo I could yell in frustration, and I get more notifications about people who have liked my profile than any person should, because the app is flooded with seemingly desperate men. I understand it partially, because part of me needs attention too, but these boys are frantic, which is why I still haven’t been on an actual Tinder date.