Please commiserate with me as you read what I just got in my inbox:
Subject: What's up BBW!
Hey, you have a beautiful smile. I just couldn't resist emailing you. We a little about me. I'm a male model for Ralph Lauren. When I'm not traveling the world posing for magazines I volunteer for Doctors Without Borders. Yes I'm a pediatrician, but I don't like to brag. I'm a very strong man, but very sensitive. I'm not afraid to cry. I'm also still a virgin and I'm saving myself for the love of my life, you may be the one. Please don't let my love be all in vain....
Let's say it together. "Ewwwwwwwwwwwww!"
Yes, I reported him. This is, like, the third person I have reported.
Shall I list the turn-offs? Sure. Why not?
1. He called me a BBW. No, thank you. One of my bar friends can tell you I shot him down when he called me "Ruben-esque." I also immediately shoot down guys who say, "I don't usually go for the big girls, but..." I don't care if you mean well, I really don't want attention drawn to the fact I am too sore and fatigued to exercise, but I eat veggies and gain weight.
2. "We" instead of "well." Typo, I know, but he called me a BBW and that means war! ;)
3. Those last sentences about male modeling, being a doctor and being sensitive? I don't fall for that crap. I could care less what you do, as long as it isn't offensive.
4. The virgin part? Again, I don't care.
5. The final part about love being in vain? First, WTF? And, second, you don't know me, so you don't love me. Don't even try to say you do.
I think the dude is bullshitting me. Don't y'all?
I am so over dating.
Showing posts with label Dating Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dating Stories. Show all posts
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Dating Deja Vu
Have I mentioned how much I hate dating?
I don't do dating.
I do, however, go for randomly meeting, talking all night, only leaving each others side to go to work, school, and the bathroom, falling in love within a couple of weeks, and living happily ever after.
That works for me.
Okay, I guess it's not fair to say I hate dating when I've never really dated.
I hate the process of looking for dates. Ugh!
As I was showing a curious friend my online dating account, showing her the guys on there (i.e. how about only half of them can spell ... not that I'm perfect, but my errors are typos, not blatant, incessant, misspellings), I happened upon this profile that keeps popping up. The website really wants us to get together.
Do y'all know where this is going?
I look at it. I think, "Well, he's kind of cute. He can spell. He seems pretty cool. Oh, and he rescues cats! And loves God. Alright, we'll see what happens." So, I start emailing him. I hate this part, where I have to be the one to initiate whatever. Guys out there: please don't be shy. You're supposed to do the pursuing. I'm just Southern like that.
I get towards the end of my email. Then ... do you know where this is going?
You do if you guess I start having dating flashbacks from a little over nine years ago. I had just turned eighteen. Some guy started chatting with me on AOL. He seemed pretty cool, so I went along with it. He wasn't a perv or anything, and we chatted for a while before he asked for my number. He even knew a classmate of mine, so it wasn't totally creepy. We eventually talked on the phone and he asked me out. This would have been my first date date.
Would have being the operative words.
He canceled on me. I don't know if it was my suggesting if there were still tornadoes in the area by the time for our date, I would rather cancel. I don't know if it was the age difference then (there's a big difference between 18 and 23 or whatever age he was then, not so much between 27 and 30-something). I don't know if he just decided he didn't like me. I never heard from him again.
No big deal. I don't care what his reasons were then. I don't really care if he emails me back, but I would like him to so I can confirm if I have actually experienced dating deja vu. So, yes, I do care if he emails me back. I HAVE to know if it's the same person. (Even though I am 90% convinced it is.)
I took a really close look at his profile. He was about the right age. Some of the things on his profile matched what I knew about him back then. (Gotta love my inner-Bones!) And as I looked through the pictures, in which there were LOTS, I became fairly certain he was the same person.
And, yes, in the email I brought up the possibility he was the same guy from years ago. It was kind of hard not giving away too much information in case he wasn't and still giving enough information to jog his memory if he was.
I'm a very forgiving person. It was also a long time ago. I'm all grown up now. Same nice person, but much more mature. (Not that I wasn't mature then, I just understand the world a little better now. That's the nice way of saying I'm cynical and jaded.) Let me be honest: I was a MESS back then. As in Cold Mountain when Ruby Thewes tells Aida Monroe of her being a catastrophe back in her school days. Yes, I was a near catastrophe. And I didn't get to be near normal until I got this thing called a boyfriend. I don't know how much, or little, it had to do with having a boyfriend, but I recall things settling down a good bit when The ex-Boyfriend came around.
I don't do dating.
I do, however, go for randomly meeting, talking all night, only leaving each others side to go to work, school, and the bathroom, falling in love within a couple of weeks, and living happily ever after.
That works for me.
Okay, I guess it's not fair to say I hate dating when I've never really dated.
I hate the process of looking for dates. Ugh!
As I was showing a curious friend my online dating account, showing her the guys on there (i.e. how about only half of them can spell ... not that I'm perfect, but my errors are typos, not blatant, incessant, misspellings), I happened upon this profile that keeps popping up. The website really wants us to get together.
Do y'all know where this is going?
I look at it. I think, "Well, he's kind of cute. He can spell. He seems pretty cool. Oh, and he rescues cats! And loves God. Alright, we'll see what happens." So, I start emailing him. I hate this part, where I have to be the one to initiate whatever. Guys out there: please don't be shy. You're supposed to do the pursuing. I'm just Southern like that.
I get towards the end of my email. Then ... do you know where this is going?
You do if you guess I start having dating flashbacks from a little over nine years ago. I had just turned eighteen. Some guy started chatting with me on AOL. He seemed pretty cool, so I went along with it. He wasn't a perv or anything, and we chatted for a while before he asked for my number. He even knew a classmate of mine, so it wasn't totally creepy. We eventually talked on the phone and he asked me out. This would have been my first date date.
Would have being the operative words.
He canceled on me. I don't know if it was my suggesting if there were still tornadoes in the area by the time for our date, I would rather cancel. I don't know if it was the age difference then (there's a big difference between 18 and 23 or whatever age he was then, not so much between 27 and 30-something). I don't know if he just decided he didn't like me. I never heard from him again.
No big deal. I don't care what his reasons were then. I don't really care if he emails me back, but I would like him to so I can confirm if I have actually experienced dating deja vu. So, yes, I do care if he emails me back. I HAVE to know if it's the same person. (Even though I am 90% convinced it is.)
I took a really close look at his profile. He was about the right age. Some of the things on his profile matched what I knew about him back then. (Gotta love my inner-Bones!) And as I looked through the pictures, in which there were LOTS, I became fairly certain he was the same person.
And, yes, in the email I brought up the possibility he was the same guy from years ago. It was kind of hard not giving away too much information in case he wasn't and still giving enough information to jog his memory if he was.
I'm a very forgiving person. It was also a long time ago. I'm all grown up now. Same nice person, but much more mature. (Not that I wasn't mature then, I just understand the world a little better now. That's the nice way of saying I'm cynical and jaded.) Let me be honest: I was a MESS back then. As in Cold Mountain when Ruby Thewes tells Aida Monroe of her being a catastrophe back in her school days. Yes, I was a near catastrophe. And I didn't get to be near normal until I got this thing called a boyfriend. I don't know how much, or little, it had to do with having a boyfriend, but I recall things settling down a good bit when The ex-Boyfriend came around.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Another reason I have been hesitant to date guys my own age
All this blogging has triggered my memories.
One of my neighbors was a party girl and she always had lots of people at her place. Since she lived below me, it was really convenient for her parties to spill outside, and up the stairs, to outside my place.
There was this one guy that came over to her apartment a lot, and he took a liking to me.
He would watch Georgia games on my TV.
He would call his friends (and not leave messages) from my phone. His friends would then call me at 7:00 AM on Sunday mornings during football season wanting to know who called and why. The Julia Sugarbaker in me came out and they sincerely apologized.
He would ask for me to make him a Scarlett O'Hara - in a big cup - and only drink a few sips.
He would knock on my door, wanting to know if I had any of that "Rocky beer."
It got to the point I started hiding my liquor and beer when he came around. And I kept the big, thick, complicated books lying around as a constant excuse not to hang out. (According to him, it would only take me, like, 15 minutes to read The Prince.)
And he always asked me when I was going to let him take me out.
I finally had to say something to my neighbor when I had to cash in some change to buy ANOTHER bottle of Southern Comfort.
"I'm tired of wasting my alcohol on this guy and he's annoying me," I told her one evening.
"Aww. Why?"
"Well, see, I don't mind sharing my alcohol with him, it's just that he never drinks it. And then Rolling Rock is expensive."
"I think he has a crush on you."
"And that's another thing. He keeps asking when I will let him take me out."
"So? Are you?"
"No."
"Why?"
"He's a bum. I would end up driving us to the drive through at Wendy's and I would have to pay. That's not him taking me out."
"I get your point. And it's probably true."
Dude quit coming around soon after that, and my Scarlett O'Hara habit was back in full force.
One of my neighbors was a party girl and she always had lots of people at her place. Since she lived below me, it was really convenient for her parties to spill outside, and up the stairs, to outside my place.
There was this one guy that came over to her apartment a lot, and he took a liking to me.
He would watch Georgia games on my TV.
He would call his friends (and not leave messages) from my phone. His friends would then call me at 7:00 AM on Sunday mornings during football season wanting to know who called and why. The Julia Sugarbaker in me came out and they sincerely apologized.
He would ask for me to make him a Scarlett O'Hara - in a big cup - and only drink a few sips.
He would knock on my door, wanting to know if I had any of that "Rocky beer."
It got to the point I started hiding my liquor and beer when he came around. And I kept the big, thick, complicated books lying around as a constant excuse not to hang out. (According to him, it would only take me, like, 15 minutes to read The Prince.)
And he always asked me when I was going to let him take me out.
I finally had to say something to my neighbor when I had to cash in some change to buy ANOTHER bottle of Southern Comfort.
"I'm tired of wasting my alcohol on this guy and he's annoying me," I told her one evening.
"Aww. Why?"
"Well, see, I don't mind sharing my alcohol with him, it's just that he never drinks it. And then Rolling Rock is expensive."
"I think he has a crush on you."
"And that's another thing. He keeps asking when I will let him take me out."
"So? Are you?"
"No."
"Why?"
"He's a bum. I would end up driving us to the drive through at Wendy's and I would have to pay. That's not him taking me out."
"I get your point. And it's probably true."
Dude quit coming around soon after that, and my Scarlett O'Hara habit was back in full force.
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