I, like so many others these days, tried out online dating. I signed up for a site, set up my profile, and waited to see if anyone seemed interested. Well, shortly thereafter I got a few messages, one of them from a fifty-something man that lived several states away. I was 24, so too old for me. Ok, no big deal, but then I read the message.
Essentially he was just looking for sex and he was quite explicit about what he wanted. He sent me a couple messages like this, I never replied, but this did not seem to put him off. He ended each message with “Have dick, will travel.”
I was so skeeved out that I deleted my profile and never looked back. Nasty old man.
Backstory. I decided to give OkCupid a try a couple months ago because, well, why not? I’m thinking 23 is pretty much the best I’m going to look naked and I hate trying to charm my way into drinks at bars. Plus some of the cooler lesbians I know found cool ladiez on there. I was curious to see if that translated to heterosexual lovin. Anyway, during the OkCupid trial, I ended up on dates with mid-level drug dealers, unemployed 30 year olds, and accidental racists. Also, with Keith.
Keith texted me one night asking what I was up to. I told him that I was going to a trivia night at a local bar with my roommates. He said “Cool, I DJ there sometimes.” I said nothing because, well, I really don’t give a shit about DJing.
About an hour later, I am in the ZONE at trivia night and punching the air with excitement. Suddenly, I get a text from Keith that says “Man, you’re really excited about that answer, huh?”
KEITH IS WATCHING ME.
I fire back something delightfully witty like “What are you, watching me from the rafters?” to which he replies “Haha. Yes.” and then doesn’t text me again for the next hour.
I’m getting nervous. 1) I don’t remotely remember what Keith looks like because I just assume that everyone on OkCupid is lying, so everyone around me is a potential Keith. 2) Keith seems to be in the zone while watching me from, which years of watching Law & Order has taught me can only result in my body being found in a parking garage
I eventually identify Keith and say hello at the bar, so that the bartender will be able to identify him as a potential suspect in my murder. He is dressed like a TGIFriday’s manager. He also has a shiny black full-length trenchcoat. I am now officially scurred. I escape under the careful watch of my roommate and go home to deadbolt everything in my apartment.
Keith, however, is just warming up. The next day he asks me for my Facebook name, because he “has to show me something hilarious.” I concede, but add him to the privacy list I usually reserve for parents of my friends (and potential serial killers.) This proves to be a mistake. From that moment forward, Keith begins writing on my wall once a week. He’d share links from CollegeHumor (RELAX DUDE, I’VE SEEN THEM), invite me to his DJing gigs and then send me YT videos of himself when I didn’t go. I have been invited to every party/outing/bowling/club trip he’s spearheaded on facebook in the last 3 months.
And let’s not forget the texts. “I need something fun to do tonight? Anything I should know about?” “Hey, going to a party on ludlow tonight, you down?” and perhaps the most confusing text of all:
“Are you still pissed cause I pooped in your cereal? Cause I didn’t know it was yours, AND it was grape nuts anyway…I probably improved the taste.”
There is more I could tell you, but it would identify him too easily. And I’m 90% sure he’s already reading this.
And if so, I’d like to take this time to say thank you Keith, for forever putting me off online dating. Now no one shall see me naked. I hope you’re happy.
My boss gives the best dating advice.
Thanks for the tip, Steph.
One dark stormy night in NYC, a short, dark, and mildly attractive man approached me. He also was significantly older, which I had previously entertained the idea of, but never fulfilled. As a female in finance who is used to having borderline creepy crushes on my older male coworkers, this has long been a consideration. And as I learned this guy’s stats, I decided this might be the one for me.
Fast forward to our first date. He makes a reservation for after a happy hour with some clients. No big deal. Show up, looking resplendent if I do say so myself, in a short but elegant black dress, snakeskin heels, and more false eyelashes than should fit on two eyelids. I look around, and notice that “mildly attractive” has been replaced by “sweating, dazed, and visibly drunk”. I order a glass of champagne, thinking, no WAY can someone show up drunk to a first date, and the bartender gives me a warning look. Uh oh. Halfway through dinner, I feign sickness and go home. This is getting too embarrassing for words.
Next day, he texts me and apologizes profusely and offers to take me to lunch Saturday to make it up. I accept lunch, we eat, and he offers to take me to Bloomingdales. “No, I’m soooo broke,” I say. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. DING DING DING DING. We have hit the jackpot ladies and gentleman.
So we hung out a couple more times, and in that time I realize what an unbelievable, astonishing, unprecedented DOUCHE-TOOL he is. Like flexes his muscles in front of me while winking. Talks incessantly about his 15-years-in-the-rearview-mirror lacrosse career. Dropped the Harvard-bomb three times during one dinner. And once literally, non-ironically finger-gunned someone. UGH. I had to get out of there. So the next night, I after one too many douchebag comments, I broke up with him, mid-dinner. “What are you going to do with the clothes I bought you?” he said. “Um, I don’t know. I’ve already worn everything, it’s not like you can return them.” He pleaded a bit, then I left. So embarrassing.
Next day: “I want the clothes back. All of them. If you think you are going to scam me like this, you are fucking insane.” Holy shit, ok fine. The last thing I need is a crazy person on my hands. But really. REALLY? Ok fine, take my already worn, unwashed stuff and never talk to me again. Nevermind that it was all your idea. I just want to be DONE. He ended with, “Give it some time. It’s going to be a long winter, u’ll be back.” Gross.
So now approximately once a week, I’ll get a random text from him. “Hey, I’ve been working out, u should check out my bod”. Or “how about I take u and some girlfriends out on my speedboat.” And as materialistic as I am, and as much as I miss that perfect little creme dress or that gorgeous leather skirt, and as much as I love speedboats, I can’t bring myself to spend a second with him. I do have my limits you know. And gentleman, if a girl is willing to give up all these things just to not spend a single second with you, guess what. She’s Just Not That Into You.
I once left a first date that was going exceptionally well because I didn’t want miss my college’s Midnight Breakfast, a free buffet with unlimited waffles.
The gentleman patiently offered that he’d find waffles if I really wanted them, but I knew it wouldn’t be the same.
Waffles > Making Out
April Fools Day seems like as good a time as ever to call your exes and tell them that you still desperately want to be with them.
Because I mean on one hand, they’ll be like “Is this the dumbest prank ever?”
And on the other hand they’ll be all “I’m pretty sure this is violating the restraining order.”