Someone Date This Dude

I received the absolute sweetest message from a fella a couple days ago.  That's not even a joke.  It was just that damn nice.  While I have been accused of having the emotional range of, say, Grumpy Cat, in the past, I had to actually keep the floodgates in check this time.  I'm not sure whether it's my current mindset and dating woes, or simply the fact that massive amounts of estrogen hormones are coursing through my body and causing me to devour the cheese and chocolate-related contents of my fridge.  You know that moment when you can actually feel The Crazy take over?  Ooh, I have felt it my friends.  Get ready to ride the week-long emotional rollercoaster all the way to Psychoville (Pop. 1)!  (Sorry dudes, my sistahs know what's up.  Stay strong girlfriends.)

Anyway, for those of you wondering how to tackle the most horribly awkward question ever ("Why are you still single?") and come out unscathed, please note the following passage.  My first tip is to never, ever, ever phrase the question in those exact words.  You're asking for it.  "It" being either a terse response, a nasty quip, or, you know, a swift kick in the balls.  These are all viable options at the disposal of those of us with limited patience. I, for one, choose to breathe fire like a fucking dragon.   That's not even a joke.  I would torch your face.   But, to each his own, really.

I can't believe a woman like yourself is not tied down.  I know I don't know your past and probably speaking out of context but you are beautiful.  Whoever you were with before is not a man in my eyes because no man I know would not try their best to keep a gorgeous girl like you in their life. :) Just saying!  Haha

Ok, so maybe you could have skipped the self-effacing bit at the end with the added "I'm clearly trying to lighten the mood" fake laughter, but if you don't think that's sweet, you best conjure yourself a soul right quick.

Yet for every dude who sends me a message that gives me hope that the human race will avoid Idiocracy-level of stupidity, I receive five like this:

I thought your screen name was a drug reference.
As you can see LA is full of crazy drugged out snobs.  Run.

 Dear Sir, I really don't know what to do with your message.  First of all, I've been here, like, eight years.  I think the statute of limitations on running away from Crazytown expires at maaaaybe six months.  Secondly, and probably more important, it seems like you're actually referencing yourself as a "crazy drugged out snob," in which case, thanks for doing the hard work of weeding yourself out as a crazy cokehead for me!  Whew!  That saved me major time and effort.

The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.

Oh, and here's one for the Stalker Files...

How dare you check me out and not even say hello! that's just rude... Now make your mom proud and say hi the proper way ;)

Really, guy?  Was that how your mother taught you to say hello?  Mmm, didn't think so.  Somewhere that woman is sighing to herself and thinking, "How did I raise such a douche?"  Well, maybe not those exact words.

I chose to ignore his message, despite my desire to respond with the explanation that my mother is actually the kind woman that would be proud of me for saying "Hi, I didn't contact you for a reason."  Seriously, guys, don't go fishing for a response.  If you "rate" me or something, I'm taking it as your passive-agressive way of saying you're interested, but only "kinda."  Call me old fashioned, but an actual note will catch my eye where the star system will not.


- N

Lighten the Mood, Bitch

Have no fear, friends.  In my hiatus post angst-ridden confessional, I have been diligently gathering fresh material from everyone's least favorite system of random encounters with the opposite sex.  I bring some gems to you now in all their gore- err, glory.

In the past few weeks, I have been contacted by extraterrestrials...

You seem fun. I've decided to take you to Mars with me. You wanna drive or navigate? =)

Apologies, E.T., but Mars is dreadful this time of year, how about I sit this one out?

I've also been contacted about participating in some weird, voyeuristic Mickey Mouse-tackling fetish...

Hey Dorothy(If you leftOz, but kept Toto, who does that make you?)[note: I'm pretty sure it still would make me Dorothy, dude] Do you want to go to Disneyland and tackle Mickey Mouse into the ground with me? It will be fun.

Just think how many people are going to be there taking a video of us and uploading it to YouTube. We could become internet stars. [bitchplz, I'm already an Internet sensash! Okay, Stupid what, whaaaat?]

I'm just messing with you. I would never do that, I love Mickey. [That fucker Goofy though...] I read your profile and I want to know more about you, specially[sic] if you're really a girl or just an empty account the website created to get guys to upgrade to "A-list" membership to message you once your inbox if full. How's your week going? Also, I can't pat my head and rub my stomach while hopping on one foot and reciting the alphabet backward, but I messaged anyway, because you can't control me. You're not my Mom. [Really? I hadn't noticed. Also, what's up with the sudden hostility?!]

Write back soon. I have more questions I want to ask [dear Jesus, no.]. If you don't write back, I know what that means. I'll probably look at your profile once more in a couple of days to hide you from my searches, no hard feelings here. ['...But fuck you for not talking to me!'] Good luck with your search.

Take care!

--- I Wanna Wear You As A Skin Suit While Having Acid Flashbacks*

*not his real name

You people need to stop contacting me after the drugs begin to take effect.  Points for excellent grammar (for the most part) though!  

...I bet you're a serial killer.

 

am not (in my twenties) ;\,, is that mean i cant msj you?

Maybe drunk messaging isn't the best bet, either.  No, bro, I'm pretty sure you can't "msj" me because there is no "j" in the word "message."

I've also come across the downright cringe-worthy: 

 

Anyone else wanna say "YOU DON'T EVEN GO HERE?!" (Thank you, Mean Girls)

Really, though, that just makes me recoil. Why are you on this site then, Eeyore? Jesus, take your damn raincloud elsewhere.

I guess if this is the kind of thing I can look forward to this summer, I better invest in some decent quality alcohol.  Buckle up, kiddos, it's gonna be one helluva few months.

Sleazebag of the Week: Thanksgiving Edition

No contest.  I present to you, ladies & gentlemen, our winner... Or "weiner" as the case may be.

I rest my case.

My favorite part of the entire thing is "No, it doesn't make me feel good!"  Well.  To be fair, I did warn him.

It also would appear "SickPuppy" has the same understanding of female reproductive system as many male members of the GOP.  If I met this person, I would want to gently clasp his arm, look deeply into his eyes with concern, and say, "You know that's not anatomically possible... Right?"  Dear God, is there any hope for the future? These are the things that keep me awake at night

Final thought:  Last time I checked, being Jewish did not suddenly absolve you of being a complete fucking moron.  Thanks for playing, though.

On a related note, I will most likely be off PlentyofFish soon.

-----

You know how I can tell right away you don't have game?  You use the tactics in one of the books in the following article: 6 best-selling books with bad dating advice

Do yourself (and me) a favor - just be you!  Then you won't need this ridiculous and illogical drivel.  For instance, if you used a "neg," I would probably think you're an asshole and walk away.  It's much more interesting to have a connection with a person that has an actual personality rather than a set of tactics they deploy at will.  Eventually, she's going to learn you have nothing else to offer and ditch your ass anyway.  So... yeah, just be yourself.  Please?

"Boy, That Escalated Quickly. I Mean, That Really Got Out of Hand Fast"

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One Line Only

The Okay, Stupid Gods didst smile down upon me this most glorious day of our Ermehgeeerd,  October 2nd, 2012.  And it was good.

 It began with a simple and understated:

"Thunda down unda"

Stop.  Clarification necessary: What is, uh, this sentence referring to, my good man?  Do I give you the 'thunda down unda [sic]?' Or might you be suggesting I have the 'thunda down unda...?'  Do you need to seek professional treatment from a practicing physician for said 'thunda?'  In this case, might I suggest your local Planned Parenthood?  They are knowledgeable, discreet, and will shower you with oodles of contraception methods to prevent you from contracting 'Thunda' again in the future.  Ok, ok, how about this: three words. Five syllables. First syllable sounds like....

Frankly, I'm just confused.

My favorite one-liner that day goes to the gentleman who said this:

 "Soo.. Where should we go on our road trip?  I'm thinking Bora Bora :)"

Refresh my memory, please, but when did I agree to road trip with you?  Listen, pal, I hardly ever agree to road trip with close friends, let alone complete strangers.  Slow your roll, son.  More importantly, who failed you in geography?  (This travesty brought to you by the public education system of 'Merica.)  Most painful.

Thanks, WaitingforSuperman, but if I need to get to Bora Bora anytime soon, it will be by plane; not submersible James Bond car.  However, if you did perchance own said submersible James Bond car, I might take this journey under more careful consideration.  Only, you would have to let me drive.

- N