For those of you that like your colons cleaned out, buckle up. Shit's getting real.
Cuz today on The Doozy Chronicles, we are looking at some of the highlight reels of messages I've received in the last couple weeks from my online dating travels through weirdspace. And just you wait peoples - this is just the beginning. TALES FROM THE CRYPT - PT.1 Let me preface this by saying that most of these I don't answer. There's really no point, since I feel like 99.5% of men (and probably women too, but I'm not dating the wimmenz) are like this about online dating:
See ball (women) Get really excited about ball Jump in a big pile of leaves looking for ball Or another ball Any ball Or your balls It's a toss up So, I'll start you out small, with the easiest ones, and we'll work our way up, shall we?
Now. Here's Louis13B. He was nice looking, in my age range, really okay. Except for one - major - glaring - issue. HE LIVED SIX STATES AWAY.
For shit sakes, what do guys do? Just set their search parameters for "somewhere in this solar system" and see who bites? DOES THIS GET THEM CHICKS?
Okay. "Oh My" could be taken several different ways without any context. "Oh My, I think you're beautiful." "Oh My, what the fuck is wrong with your hair?" "Oh My, I just ran over my neighbor lady's cat." "Oh My, I'm not wearing any pants and sitting in bathtub full of banana pudding. Please pet my pee pee." So. Yeah. I'm not going answer some rando dude on the internets who just says "Oh My."
Who does this? Well, besides Aman? Who just bolts out of the gate, no info, no introduction and is all "OH-MY-GOD-I-WANNA-MEET-YOU-FOR-DRINKS.LET'S-GO-MEET-FOR-SOME-DRINKS.YOU'RE-PRETTY.PET-MY-PEE-PEE."
Granted, that's not necessarily what's going on here, but in my sorted dating history, usually when a guy is lifting his leg in his best "HE'S GOT A LITTLE CAPTAIN IN HIM" stance so that his testicles are best showed off - metaphorically speaking; and just asks me out for a drink, without at least chatting me up a bit? The dude wants some snatch. OKAY PEOPLES. Now we're getting to the semi-coherent lunatic portion of our show.
So, I have to preface that at this point all my fucks have been used up. And a few of these I've responded to in a purely trolling fashion. BECAUSE. THAT'S WHY. HERE WE GO
First off, I hate, hate HATE the endearment "Dear". It just feels patronizing and condescending. So, strike one for Am Leonard there. But also, who starts a convo with that? That would be like me going up to a guy in a bar and saying: "Hi Big-Dicked Rick. Buy me a drink?" Okay, maybe a bad example, because most guys would probably LOVE that, BUT STILL...
I. Um. Uh. Tap dancing Christ on a cracker.
This next one falls into the:
Category.
For the record, Junior here is 28. BLERGHSLSKDFJ. That's 10 years older than my son. BLARCHERSLDFLJS Okay. I'm better now. I'm all cleaned up.
I'M PRETTY SURE THESE FUCKWIDGETS AREN'T READING MY PROFILE
And now a special, moronic level of weird. And not a good kind of weird. Like when you end up on your neighbor's lawn on a Sunday morning with an unidentified tricycle wearing a cow costume. No. This. Is. Special
WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK. IS. GOING. ON. HERE. I.I....I don't even. What's up with.all.the.periods? Did 4707 have some sort of existential meltdown in the middle of writing that message? Was he suddenly channeling James T. Kirk, circa 1966? And the text speak. Listen up people. Cell phones have been around for a really fucking long time. ALL of them have autocorrect and ALL of them have predictive text now. YOU DON'T HAVE TO WRITE LIKE SOME ILLITERATE WOMBAT. Actually, that's mean to wombats. I'm betting they have a higher IQ than 4707. Or, maybe he was baked as shit, after huffing the fumes from an old can of Pam cooking spray in his pantry. It's a toss up.
And finally, we have Lance. Oh Lance, you sneaky Devil, you. I actually responded to Lance, as you'll see below. We had a nice chat.
Okay. So, perhaps I didn't handle that in the best way? NO. FUCK IT. What kind of douchebarge goes onto a girl's dating profile to give her flack about preferences she specifically put into her profile; namely THIS DIRECT QUOTE FROM MY PROFILE: "if you're a racist, sexist, homophobic, bible thumping/ conservative guy, I'm not the girl for you and I wish you the best of luck on your search" and expect to get anywhere? Why do that? Because he's an asshole, that's why. Thus, proving the whole goddamn point of why I put the preference in there in the fucking first place. Plus, the dude was from fucking COLORADO. What? Did they run out of women in the Rocky Mountain state?
Seriously. FOR FUCK SAKES. That would be like me going onto the 2 million dating profiles of men who now run triathlons and arguing with them about it, because I don't do that. It would just be me being an asshole. NO BUENO. It's all cool though. It's all good. At this point, all I can do is shake my head and let it roll. It's like I tell my girlfriends. I may not be dateable, but it makes for good comedy.
Oh for fuck sakes people. It isn't supposed to be this hard.
So, I figured it be best to jump back into the scene after the Triton fiasco. I spruced up my OKStupid profile, took a gorgeous new profile picture (really, it's uncharacteristically good) and stuck my shit back out there. Okay, so my profils is just kinda sitting there percolating - cuz zero fucks. But , man - I've gotten some..um...interesting messages thus far. THAT shit is for another Doozy. JESUS HORATIO CHRIST ON A CRACKER. Anyways Moving on... But this is the tale of a Doozy of a date. THE TALE OF HIPPY DIPPY DON'T Yeah. So. Maybe my first mistake was looking for a man that had the good characteristics of Triton, minus the emotionally unavailability, over the top extroversion and go from there. Yep. That was my mistake. AGAIN. WHAT THE FUCK WITH THESE ROOKIE MISTAKES DOOZE?
Clearly, my year away from dating before the Triton Files not only rusted my lady bits, but also my skillz. LOCK THAT SHIT DOWN GIRL. Okay. So, yeah. I need to pay better attention going forward. So. Hippy Dippy. HOLY FUCKNARDS PEOPLE. Hippy Dippy's profile seemed perfectly normal. Decent enough looking guy. Had a couple dogs. Talked a lot about emotional compatibility and the need for a deeper connection. Okay, yeah - I can dig that. Hippy Dippy went on and on about looking for a strong relationship, and a deep love - yeah, okay - me too. I can work towards that. Plus, when Hippy Dippy messaged me, he didn't just say that he liked my tits. Not that I show my tits or anything. BUT THAT DOESN'T MATTER ON DATING SITES. BECAUSE MEN ARE DRAWN TO TITS LIKE FLIES TO HONEY. OR THE IDEA OF TITS.
Hey, I like dick as much as the next girl, maybe more. But I don't want to see random schlong whipped out all the time. And I certainly don't ask to see cock when I meet a dude. Granted, that would probably be most guys wet dream. "Hi, I'm Doozy. It's nice to meet you. And I'd also like to meet your wang. So...let's see it. Yeah, on the table boys." Men have a thing with their dicks. I don't get it. But I digress. Moving on...
Yeah. Hippy Dippy seemed normal. Seemed, being the imperative word here. So we set up a normal coffee date. I got there first, so instead of awkwardly standing by the door with my thumb up my ass, I ordered my coffee. Little did I know that Hippy Dippy had come in and was standing right behind me. Okay. Here's the thing about Hippy Dippy in person versus his profile picture. His profile picture was really good, he had a nice smile. In person? He looked like a thinner version of THIS guy, except with no hair...
Yup. Foo man stache and all. Erm. Uh.
TITS... We introduced ourselves, gave the standard hug (a little too close) and he ordered his drink. Okay, I'm going to go out here and be that judgemental prick for a minute. I think you can tell a lot about a person by how they do three things in life: 1. Treat wait staff at restaurants 2. Treat their pets, plants or other living things 3. How they order their food/ drinks The first goes to how they treat people that serve them. Are they complete assholes to them? If so - they think they are better than people who wait on them and are assholes in general. RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN. The second goes to how they treat things that they have to care for and are probably irresponsible/ abusive/ neglectful/ narcissistic or just assholes in general. If they are mean or neglectful to their pets - well, first call the fucking Human Society, then RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN. And the third goes to how much of an OCD, pain in the ass this person would be if you got together with them. Seriously. Think about it for a second. When you go out to eat with this person, is their food order a 5 minute list of precisely how everything needs to be done? I'm not talking a legit food allergy that could kill them kind of thing. I'm talking: "Oh no, I want the salad instead of the potatoes, but no cucumbers. I HATE CUCUMBERS. And I want the vinaigrette on the side, but not if the vinaigrette is made with red wine vinegar, I HATE RED WINE VINEGAR. Then I'll have the Blue Cheese, but not with a bunch of the blue cheese chunks in it. I HATE BLUE CHEESE CHUNKS. Oh and is your chicken free range? I only eat free range chicken..." WHAT A FUCKING NIGHTMARE. Just think of how critical and nit picky that person likely is in the rest of their life. RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN.
I'm pretty easy at a coffee place. I need my coffee jacked to the goddamn sky with crap. Because I drink coffee for the caffeine, not the taste. So I order some caramel mochachino hot fudge sundae latte delite with whip off the board. The most I'll do is ask if it's possible to do it half caf because my doc said I need to stop fucking spazzing on caffeine. I KNOW. I KNOW. ALL THE SADZ PEOPLES. PLEASE MOURN WITH ME. So, when Hippy Dippy started listing off some random iced (NOT BLENDED!) soy mocha with four shots of espresso (NOT THREE!) with whip and half chocolate, half caramel drizzle, my spidey senses started rumbling. TITS... Then while we were waiting for our stuff, Hippy Dippy wanted another hug. "Oooh, that felt gooood, didn't it?! I felt a zing. Didn't you feel a zing?" He crooned. "Uh..." I met you 2 minutes ago dude. Okay, okay. I grant you that science says that usually within 2 minutes of meeting someone, you've formed an opinion of them. And clearly I had - his coffee drink skillz were hardcore and he looked like Hulk Hogan. Two strikes. I uncomfortably side hugged him again and we waited for our drinks. When our drinks were done, we scoped a table in the corner and sat down. This was a small shop and, as it the case nowadays, we were the only people there to actually drink coffee and talk. Everyone else there was using the place for their personal offices and had their laptops set up - so the shop was dead quiet.
And just like that Hippy Dippy was off. I swear to Odin, maybe the guy was high or something, but Hippy Dippy didn't stop talking for over an hour. Nonstop. didn't even drink his iced NOT BLENDED coffee. He talked about his childhood. He talked about his brother in prison for killing his wife. He talked about his gay sister. He talked about his dogs. He talked about his emotionally neglectful parents. He talked about what a great catch he was. He talked about how much money and stocks he had in the bank. He talked about how great was at relationships. He talked more about his shitty childhood. He talked alllll about why I should be with him - flat out said he was trying to seduce me. But the one thing Hippy Dippy didn't do was ask me even ask one single thing about myself. NOT ONE THING. Oh ho ho... but Hippy Dippy was sure to insert plenty of sexual innuendos when needed, including these gems: Like, for instance, when he was talking about the size of his cell phone (it was massive - it had to have been the iPhone 6 Plus) "Oh, I'm sure you won't have any problems with the size of what else is in my shorts" OR "And I deliver again and again and again" when we were talking about general integrity. AND When I finally got a word in and was mentioning how much I like bbq ribs, Hippy Dippy slithered back "Next time, I wonder what would happen if I wear bbq sauce instead of cologne. Would you eat me?"
I CAN'T EVEN NEXT TIME? IN YOUR FUCKING DREAMS DOUCHESICLE. Listen.It's one thing for me to listen to Hippy Dippy go on about how he was adopted, and his horrible childhood and his crazy parents on a first date. WHAT THE DAMN EVERLOVING FUCK WAS WRONG WITH HIM? First date rule number one, DON'T OVERSHARE. Sure, I listened to how Hippy became a Shaman of something-something-something and I looked at pictures of his "spirit animal" and his visionquest location. Look, I respect whatever people go through for their faith to make themselves feel better and bring them peace in their lives. BUT YOU DON'T BRING THAT SHIT UP ON A FIRST DATE.
Here's the thing. We all know by now that I'm used to men just looking for sex. That's a big reason why this blog exists. A lot of men just suck. And not in the good way. So, as sad as it is, I wasn't even that offended by Hippy Dippy's sexual innuendo's, just more bored by it. It was more of a: "Yeah, I'd give it a 2 our of 10. You missed the landing."
AIN'T MY FIRST TIME AT THE RODEO, PAL. GOD, I SHUDDER TO THINK OF WHAT HOT CHICKS HAVE TO GO THROUGH. FUCK THAT SISTAS.
TITS... No, what pissed me off the most was that Hippy Dippy talked the entire time about himself (something that actually Triton did there towards the end) and didn't ask one single fucking thing about me, yet still was rambling on about how we were going to end up together: "I have a good feeling about you." "But you don't know anything about me" I replied, somewhat caustically, my face a blank canvas. "I think that you can tell a lot about a person's spirit and light when you first meet them. I could tell that about you when I held you in my arms the first time."
OH JUST FUCK RIGHT OFF STUPID There is absolutely no way that Hippy Dippy could have known a single thing about me by a nanosecond of bodily contact, EXCEPT that he wanted to bump uglies with me. THAT'S IT. END OF STORY. THAT WAS HIS DICK TALKING. Hippy Dippy didn't know that I wasn't a con artist or a massive douchette. He didn't know that I don't have a criminal record or that I'm not a total bitch. He didn't know anything about my past or what issues, insecurities, hopes and dreams I have. Hippy Dippy didn't know anything about me and he didn't care to. He was just looking at the package, the shell. Hippy Dippy didn't give a shit about ME, he really just gave a shit about my TITS after all. TYPICAL. SO FUCKING...TYPICAL. I sat back in my chair, crossed my arms and looked blankly at him. Frankly, I didn't quite know what to say to that. THAT was a new one to me. I had just sat through an hour and a half of the most non-stop boring as shit monologue blah blah, yadda yadda, from Hippy Dippy and he honestly expected me to fall for that? "Okay." I said, as I slowly pushed back the heavy, scarred wooden chair and picked up my purse. "Well now. This was....enlightening. It was...nice to... meet you." I couldn't even thank him for buying the coffee, since I bought my own, and that was an hour and half of my time that I wouldn't get back. There were many things that I wanted to say to him.
Dunno. Maybe I'm still smarting over the Triton deal. Not that I'm not "over" it, but it's clearly still rolling around in my head. I'm an introspective girl, and it's plain to me that Triton's emotional unavailability stung me more than it should, probably because it surprised me and he disappointed me so much. IT'S JUST SO FUCKING...TYPICAL. YA KNOW? So, I'm analyzing the Triton Files and figuring out the lessons I can take away from my time with that boy. Point being, it was very, very hard for me to be nice to Hippy Dippy - a man that was obviously a raving lunatic and a stupid one at that. It's not Hippy Dippy's fault that I'm an intense In-Her-Head-Doozy right now. Even if he's a sex-crazed, self-absorbed douchenozzle. I DIDN'T GIVE HIPPY DIPPY A HUG. I SHOOK HIS HAND.
Buckle up people. I really thought it was going to work out this time. I really did. All the signs pointed to a happy ending. I thought I had finally met a version of myself - but with a penis. A guy with "feelings". Extroverted. Sensitive. In touch with himself and knowing what he wanted out of a relationship - and willing to work for it. A man who had worked through his shit and come out the other side whole. But Alas, here I am. Again.
The Tale of King Triton Spoiler alert: There will likely be little snark and humor in this post. Frankly, I'm a heartbroken Doozy. So sad. Tired. Beyond disappointed.
See, here's the thing, Triton isn't like the other guys - he's not an epic douche. He's...nice, sweet. Funny and goofy. Boy, we started off with a bang. Or should I say Triton started off with a bang; and maybe that was our downfall. Three months ago, he came on very strong - not in a sexual sense, but in an emotional sense from the get go. In fact, I haven't had a man seem that interested in me in a long, long time. To say I was a deer in headlights is an understatement.
We went on three dates in a week and a half, and Triton was very clear from the beginning - even though he had two other women on the hook as well at that time, he had the best feeling about me, and he wanted us to only see each other. So, he broke it off with them and we started dating exclusively after our third date - two weeks in. Almost unheard of in today's modern world. Triton told corny jokes, listened to 80's music and called me silly, made up names, like Biscuits. We had a lot of fun, laughed a lot. He wrote me gushy poems and brought me back a shell mobile from his dive trip to Hawaii. Triton told me time and time again that he was unlike any man that I had ever met, that I needed to get used to being treated well from now on. And man, did I feel we were compatible on the feelings scale. More compatible than any other man I'd ever met. I mean shit, our Meyers-Briggs types were compatible, our Love Languages were compatible; we even both liked the X-Files. Triton was a man that I actually didn't have qualms telling my feelings to for a change, and our communication and chemistry was off the charts. I actually felt...accepted. IMAGINE THAT.
And, boy, I was THIS close to falling so completely in love him. Probably the closest I have been since Hipster Pinocchio. Oh, I could have fallen in a heartbeat if I had let my guard down completely. I was staring at that ledge. But here's the rub. Triton just wasn't falling in love with me. Just wasn't going to happen. And he didn't know why, even though we were so compatible on so many levels.
Oh for sweet fuck sakes. Here we go again. I knew it was there. I could feel it. The gushiness stopped two months in. The sweet poems and over-the-top protestations of wanting to be with me stopped. All talk of the future stopped. When I would say sweet, mushy things to him, he was non-committal, or he would respond with an emoji A FUCKING EMOJI FOR SHIT SAKES. In fact, I went from feeling like an A #1 priority, to the bottom of the barrel. Triton's Friday Night Fuck Girl..in the course of a few weeks. And I couldn't figure out what the change was. He'd bought a new house and was pretty obsessed with it. So, I was patient and supportive - I mean moving is one of the top five most stressful things that can happen in life. Shit gets real, yo! But can that really keep someone from falling in love? Did I say something? Do something? Scare him off? Did he meet someone else? Fuck if I know. Triton wasn't really telling me what he was feeling, even though he was supposed to be a "feelings guy". In fact, for a "feelings guy", he really sucked at the feelings part.
So. In the end, when Triton finally told me that he was "into" me, that I pushed all the buttons on his relationship-o-meter, but he just wasn't falling in love with me... I let him go. Walked away. Adios. Sayonara. I do have my dignity for shit sakes. And, as I've said many times before:
I DON'T WASTE MY TIME ON PEOPLE WHO DON'T LOVE ME.
No matter how much it hurt this time, and no matter how much I wanted to stay.
Honestly, I don't have the patience, time or inclination to try and make someone fall in love with me, when it's just not going to happen - for whatever reason, when it wasn't my fault. I'm too tired of trying to convince men of how lovable and what a catch I am. Fuck. I've done that my whole goddamn life - try to convince men to love me, and we can see where it's gotten me. I'm well aware of how lovable I am. Even if men aren't. FUCK THAT NOISE.
And the truly ironic part, the most ironicy, ironic part of ALL of this, is that because of this, me, us; Triton said at the end that he's going to go see his therapist for a while to figure out what's going on in his head. He thought that maybe it was a "fear of commitment" thing, but he just wasn't sure, and he felt bad about it. AWESOME.
No, really. I'm a big fan of therapy. Lord knows it helped me get my shit straightened out in the past. I just wish Triton had done that BEFORE HE STARTED DATING ME, NOT AFTER IT WAS ALL OVER. This really does us no good now, does it? See, here's the thing. We were dating for three months, not a hugely long time - I grant you that, but that seems like a long enough time for Triton to have figured out that he was fucked up and start seeing his therapist before shit went down with me. Before I walked away without looking back and took my considerable heart with me. IF OUR RELATIONSHIP HAD MATTERED ENOUGH TO HIM. IF I HAD MATTERED TO HIM. Which, clearly, I didn't. Shelley and Tricia tell me that there's a chance that Triton will come back once he gets his head straightened out. But come on people. This blog wouldn't exist if men were smarter than that. We know how this shit goes down in Doozyland. Men have no problems leaving me. It's why I have no problems walking away. THEY DON'T COME BACK.
No. Just no. Triton will go do his work, work on his "white knight syndrome" - see, I think that's a BIG part of what's going on here. ALL the previous women he's seriously dated and fallen in love with, even his ex-wife, were FUCKED UP; anger issues, unresolved abuse issues, raging insecurities - you name it. And Triton seemed drawn to those women. Women that he could "fix" or "save" or "take care of". Maybe he thrives in the dysfunction. I'M NOT THAT WOMAN. I FIXED MYSELF A LONG TIME AGO. And maybe it's as simple as that for Triton. Maybe he needs a fucked up chick who will treat him like shit, but will make him feel needed/loved because he's always having to save them, or counsel them, or fix their shit; and he's scared to be in a fully functional, emotionally healthy relationship with a confident, loving woman would would give him 100% of herself, even with her occasional minor insecurities (and we know what they are). Lord knows, I was good to him, and I would have blown his mind if we'd fallen in love, but Triton certainly didn't need to fix me. DUNNO. I COULD BE WRONG THAT'S MY ARMCHAIR PSYCH TAKE. Or, maybe Trition's still hung up on his ex, or his best girl-friend, or maybe he's just not that into me. Bottom line, it isn't my issue, it's Triton's. Whatever emotional unavailability he has going on right now - and that's what this is; none of that has to do with me. BITCH, I'M FABULOUS.
So, Triton will go do his thing, get his head on straight but do you honestly think he will come back to me? HONESTLY? PLEASE... Same odds as winning the lottery. Listen, I've been on over 100 dates in the last 5 years, talked to many, many men about how they view women in general (icky). Men, overall don't do that (there are, of course, the outliers). They don't go back. Men usually go onto greener pastures, looking for the next best score, no matter how fantastic the score they're leaving is. Cruise one more profile. Just another girl. Maybe the next one will be better: Smarter Funnier Hotter Not a fucking psycho And this doesn't in any way make Triton a douche, he's not. It just makes him like every other man in the modern online dating world. It's why Triton saves the profiles of all the women he's talked to/ gone on dates with on his computer. It's easy to lose track when you have that many options to choose from. He should start a spreadsheet. I bet it's easier. Still. Once again, as a woman who has figured her shit out and knows where she is emotionally and knows what she wants; I'm once again, just the collateral damage in someone else's psychological maelstrom.
In the end, though; I can't find the snark. It just makes me too sad, too exasperated and generally bummed out. It's like Greg Berhrendt , author of the most excellent book "He's Just Not That Into You" says:
"A man who wants to make a relationship work will move mountains to keep the woman he loves."
So yeah.
Here I am.
Tired Disappointed Hurt And to be honest, kinda pissed at myself that I listened to and believed Triton's flowery, gushy, "I'm not like other men" bullshit ROOKIE MISTAKE. WISHFUL THINKING. I KNOW BETTER BY NOW. GODDAMMIT DOOZY. YOU FUCKING ETERNAL OPTIMIST.
Sigh. So, once again I'm working on putting the "what could have beens" away in a little box deep inside me, where I keep the Pinochhio's and the Wesley's and the Berengarius's and all the other men who I've spent too much time and emotion on and in the end, received nothing but heartache in return. The "letting go's" and the "moving on's" that I'm known for. THE SHIT NO ONE SEES.
I sometimes wonder if all these Doozy's; not the one date, douche Doozy's but these ones, like Triton...the ones that meant something - if I ever pop into their heads. Like when they are at Target looking for socks or toothpaste. Does some random memory of me just zip into their noggins, make them stop and go: "Damn...." Probably not, cuz = clueless. But still. I do wonder if these guys ever stop to think of the other person and the carnage their issues left behind. Doubtful. So doubtful. WHATEVER. I DESERVE MUCH BETTER THAN THIS.
UPDATE! UPDATE! UPDATE! So, I wrote this on Friday, 8/28/15 - the night of our breakup. And WOW! what a big ol' bucket of angstysauce THAT was . WHEEEEWWWWWW..... HOLY SHITBALLS BATMAN.
One thing about Doozy, I don't let a man keep me down for long anymore. Yeah, that little box I was talking about up top? Shit's on lockdown. Turns out, it didn't take me long to process the downfall of Triton at all. HIS ISSUES. NOT MINE. HIS LOSS. Clearly, I'm doing fine now, and y'all can look forward to the snark and fail of upcoming Doozyland - once I figure out what the fuck I want to do. But to make it up to you, here's a GIF of Justin Beiber wiping out in a mall.
You'll notice the kid walking by is all... NAH, BITCH.
