I’m like “hey, what’s up, hello”
– Fetty Wap
So, dating is… interesting.
I’ve never really dated before. I went from my high school boyfriend to my early-adulthood boyfriend. I knew both of them prior to starting our romantic relationships. Not to mention, I knew most of their past. Our transition was easy. It was natural. It wasn’t scary, or weird, or odd, or digital.
Now, it’s a free-for-all.
I’m in a totally different city, in a totally different state, on the other side of the country, and I know no one. I don’t know anyone who “knows a guy” they can hook me up with. I don’t have a family member, with a co-worker, who has a hot doctor-lawyer-CEO son type looking for a stay-at-home wife type. Hell, I don’t even have a whole lot of prospects at work to maybe consider pursuing (… that’s if I were even willing to go down that rabbit hole again).
Enterrrrr online dating…
It’s what the elusive “they” are doing these days.
“They” are swiping, and chatting, and super-liking their way into the hearts of the opposite (or same) sex by the millions.
And now, I am too.
When I meet a guy for drinks, I don’t know his story. I don’t know his past, all his ex-girlfriends, what group of guys he hangs out with, or which high school he went to. I’m not sure how many siblings he has, where he works, or what his arrest record looks like. Every bit of the individual sitting in front of me is a mystery. And although it can be fun… it’s pretty fucking sketchy too.
Actually, dating is so goddamn sketchy, Auntie Crystal made me put this special tracking app on my phone so she could find me in the event I turned up missing.
At first, I thought she was just being over-protective, but then, I realized it was probably a good idea. Besides, she told me she does this for one of her old employees too and it works out great.
Well, except for that time she checked on Candace and the app showed her in the middle of the ocean…
Auntie Crystal said, “I texted her immediately. ‘Hey, is everything going okay?’ Candace responded with, ‘Yeah! Everything is good!’ But I’ve seen enough CSI to know the killer could have sent that text to throw me off. So, I said, ‘What’s my husband’s name?’ ‘Uhh Jeffrey. Or Mr. Jeff.’ ‘What’s the little black dog’s name?’ ‘Jake.’ ‘Ok! Have fun!’ Turns out they were at Isle of Palms.”
Anywho, since I’ve been in the game for a few months, I felt it high time for me to provide some feedback. I hope you enjoy.
** Note: No suitor was harmed during the crafting of this blog. (Although, I did have to see, hear, and deal with shit I will probably never be able to recover from or forget.) I will admit, I did keep some of the conversations below going just to see how far these dickbags would take it (see Number 3) and to have even more juicer content for this post. BUT don’t lose sight of what’s really important – a dickbag, is a dickbag, is a dickbag. So, who’s really the bag guy here? Can I get an amen? Carry on.**
1. Pick up your goddamn phone.
Don’t open up a messaging app, take the time to actually message someone, and then go kick your phone off a cliff.
E (9:08 p.m.): Hi
MC (9:12 p.m.): Hello
MC (9:24 p.m.): Such a man of many words
E (10:57 p.m.): *hello
E (10:57 p.m.): Oh wait… that’s still one word…just slightly longer
MC (10:58 p.m.): But it’s made Adele a shit ton of money…
E (11:30 p.m.): Hahhaaha
E (11:30 p.m.): Someone’s clever
MC (11:32 p.m.): Just call it like I see it
MC (11:33 p.m.): Adele + Hello = a bajillion dollars. Adele + Hi… meh.
E (12:54 a.m.): Hahhahhahah
E (12:54 a.m.): Too funny
E (12:54 a.m.): Do u sing?
MC (7:50 a.m.): On a scale from 1-10? I could probably sell out a shower.
MC (7:51 a.m.): Though I did have solos in middle school 😉
E (2:13 p.m.): Hahhaha
E (2:13 p.m.): Well worded
2. Use your words.
How you gonna be all bad ass – meet bitches on apps and shit – but then come at me with the bare minimum. I just don’t get why these fools choose to waste the data. Why do they refuse to put forth any effort? Or at the very least – proofread. For the love of Mary, Jesus, and Joseph… learn to proofread!
(Over a 13-day time period.)
D: You are beautiful…
MC: You’re sweet! Thank you!
D: In serious! What r u doing this wekeend
MC: Mostly just dog sitting while my best friend is out of town. You?
D: What r u doing tonighy
MC: Hey there! Sorry, I did nothing last night…
D: I’d love to meet u sometime
D: Text me ***-***-****
MC: Well good morning
D: How r u sexy
MC: So ready for this work day to be over with… how are you?
D: I had a wierd shift so I’m done. Where do u work/live near?
MC: I work in Little Italy and live in East Village. We’ve been having system issues all week so the days have seemed really long! How about you? What do you do?
D: I’m in the navy! On Coronado. It’s beautiful here I have been here for seven months
MC: It is! I love it! Where are you originally from?
D: South Aftica but moved to northern va when I was a ked
MC: Nice! I’m from North Carolina 🙂
D: Do u have a cute accent
MC: People out here think I do… I say y’all. What about you?
D: That’s so hot! You should text me we need to hang out
3. Welcome to the D Show.
As you have probably started to gather from the conversation above… things start to get pretty uncomfortable fairly quickly. However, a select few come out the gate colors blazing. Take C, for example. C’s profile described him as: “Strong, intelligent, determine, calloused hands, nerd, athlete, PhD, sarcastic, looking for something meaningful and lasting.” Sure, there were a few typos but nothing I couldn’t over-look for a cute, hard-working, intelligent boy, right?
C: Come over and straddle my face
MC: Well. That’s one way to say hi…
C: Oh hi 🙂
MC: What percentage of the time does that line actually work? Like, is your face covered in vagina all the time or just some of it?
C: Just some.
C: Did it work on you?
C: Not even the slightest?
MC: Well, it did get me thinking, “Wonder if that was from his ‘meaningful and lasting’ collection or the ‘calloused hands’ volume?”
MC: For sure picked it up somewhere in doctoral school though…
C: What can I say, I’m a multi-faceted man
MC: Obviously. Many would kill to have a PHD in face straddling. Way to beat the odds on that one.
C: Clearly I’ve offended you. That was not the point. It was merely a question. A simple no thank you would have sufficed.
** ASIDE: Let’s take a moment here and talk about how. the. fuck. this shit stick managed to turn this whollllle thing around on me. Just how did I become the asshole here? Homeboy didn’t come at me with some cheesy line he heard on a Two and a Half Men rerun. He asked me to come straddle his face. Just how the eff would we have told our kids we met? A pony ride? What a dickbag. **
MC: Oh. My b. I’ll be more concise next time.
Kid you not, he came back an hour later and asked me if I had changed my mind. I told him that even though I could appreciate his persistence – no thank you.
4. Too much. Too soon.
Guys always bitch about how we are the ones diving in head first. They claim we – women – go too hard, too quick, and too much. And apparently we scare them off with our crazy, over-the-top, all-encompassing, love-at-first-sight bullshit. But I’m here to beg to differ.
I started chatting with this guy, M, one Sunday afternoon. Within the first few messages he says something like, “Where do you see yourself in five years? Married with kids? Or is that totally out of the question?”
Oh. Wow. No – “What’s your fave color?” “So, uhh, you into Game of Thrones?” “Boxers or briefs?” “Any mental illness in the family?” – just straight to the five-year plan, huh?
I don’t even know what kind of goddamn Pop-Tart I’m feelin’ at the moment, so, just how the hell am I supposed to tell if I’ll be willing to give up my uterus in 60 months? And what if I get knocked up before then, you know, by some guy I only half know (sorry, Ma)? Or what if I decided to quit my life again? I mean, shit, if the last year has taught me anything it’s – you absolutely do. not. make. a fucking five year plan, people.
I kept my answer vague.
Shortly thereafter, M asked me if we would ever meet up in person. To sell me further on a meet ‘n greet, he mentioned the fact that he had not only just right-swiped me but he had “Super Liked” me as well.
So, naturally, I agreed to let him buy me stuff.
We made plans to grab a drink after work on Tuesday. Buuuuut on Monday (the very day after making said plans) he sends me this message, “After sleeping on it for the night… I’ve decided to stop this nightmare online dating thing. It’s just not for me. Gonna have to cancel on Tuesday. Good luck with the Tinder thing.”
M deleted his profile right after sending that message.
Seriously? I sorta feel like my 10-year relationship was less dramatic than that 18-hour debacle with M. A huge piece of me wanted to message him back, “Good luck with the real-life thing, brah…”
5. This is not America’s Next Top Photographer. No more goddamn sunset pics.
Yeah. That’s right. I fucking said it. You are supposed to be selling yourself, dipshit, not your goddamn surfboard. Or, hell, maybe you are. Fuck, I don’t know. But get that shit on Craig’s List, dumbass, and outta my fucking face. I also don’t care about your fucking dog, your grandma, your fucking sister’s baby, or the goddamn burrito you ate six weeks ago. Stop with the gang signs, and middle fingers, and silly faces, and mustaches. This isn’t your stupid high school scrapbook. And speaking of fucking scrapbooks, if I’ve got to play “Find the Matching Man” in all of the group photos on your profile to figure out which one you are – NOPE! You get five spaces for pictures. Use them wisely. Have at least one full-body photo and one face photo. Oh and smile, ’cause I’m gonna need to see if your teeth are fucked up. Thanks.
6. Size really does matter.
And you would be lying if you said it didn’t matter to you too…
So, let’s just skip the awkward guessing crap.
You know you want to.
Just put your effing height in your GD bio, for shit’s sake.
7. Inappropriate emoji use.
Under zero circumstances should the tongue, raindrop, and peach emojis ever be used in sequence to proposition a woman.
Just to play it safe. Let’s not proposition women via emoji until, like, date 48. Capisce?
8. Have I mentioned babies freak us out too?
Uhh, yeah. We know what you’re trying to do there. You’re kissing babies in your pictures, or holding them, or tickling them to seem sweet. You’re consciously trying to hit us below the belt. And I get it, you think you’re smart by tugging on our fallopian tubes. You think we like that shit. That just because we have wombs, and ticking clocks, and whatever-the-fucks that we’re going to see these photos and automatically swipe right.
Little do you know – once we see a pic with a kid – we rarely even take the time to read your bio. You know, the short little paragraph where you makes smartass comments about how you can put together IKEA furniture, and then quickly explain that the little chap in Picture 3 is your nephew, or your god-daughter, or just some rando off the street you’re only using to cock-boast your Tinder profile. Why? Because we’ve already done what you would have done if you had caught us snuggled up to a tiny human in one of our photos…
We swiped left.
9. 420 Friendly.
I bet you are.
And I bet your mom still does your laundry too.
If you are in your thirties and are 1. Still dabbling with recreational drug use. and 2. Advertising that shit on a public forum… Grow the fuck up.
Oh, and also, word to the wise: If you are a self-professed ADD-er… probably shouldn’t “try” coke. Much like “two wrongs don’t make a right” – two uppers won’t calm your crazy ass down.
** True story: I was out with a guy once who told me he was “super ADD”. And then, was all, “I’ve tried cocaine a few times.” I looked at him and said, “What kind of dumbass has ADD and does cocaine?” I never heard from him again. **
** Another true story: I have never done drugs before in my life. No, not even smoked weed. So, yeah, I may be a little more intolerant than your average woman. And sure, there are chicks out there that do dig men who smoke, and snort, and shoot up, and so on. However, most of us – don’t. And most of us – even the ones who have experimented – are over it by now. **
10. Other Un-Dateables…
- No job? No date.
- If you invite me over, and then preface the tour of your home with, “It’s a typical bachelor pad.” Oh really? Well, take a fucking hike. There is no excuse for a grown ass man to be living in a filthy, furniture-less apartment. Dude, seriously. Buy a can of Febreze and work that shit out.
- How many times are we gonna go out before I realize you only own grey v-necks? If the answer is less than three, it’s time to pencil in a trip to Target.
- You name drop, and gloat, and sound entitled. Frankly, I don’t care who you know going to Harvard, or how big your buddy’s house is, or how much your roommate paid for his couch. You sound like a douche canoe. But thanks for the pancakes.
- It’s our second date. We’re at a bar. There’s a game on. You’re watching it over my head and “Huh?”-ing everything I say. Sorry, brah, that’s date 202 behavior. Roll on, loser!
- Don’t ask me for pictures. And don’t send me pictures either. Unless we are validating each others authenticity – there is no need for photo correspondence. Stop being creepy.
- I will offer up my card when the check comes. It’s a test. Allow me to pay for my portion of the date you asked me out on… it’ll be the last one we have.