Oh Yeah, THAT Happened...

HOLY SHITBALLS BATMAN.
I can't believe I forgot to tell y'all that THIS happened.
And this Doozy happened, like ages ago...well...in Doozy time. See, Doozytime is like dog years, in the dating sense. Like, for instance, I've been on and off the dating sites for about 5 years or so now. But in Doozy-time, that's the equivalent of twelve years. So I'm in Doozy-time, I've already started menopause, and my vagina has become a shriveled, dusty, unused carpetbag.
HOW'S THAT FOR SOME IMAGERY, HUH?

You're welcome.
Moving on

So yeah. THIS.

THE GHOST OF THAD, YOU KNOW THAT GUY...

Awhile back, I wrote about Thad, Walter White's Legit Cousin. And of course, at the time I was all boo-hoo, wah wah because he turned out to be just looking for 
P
U
S
S
Y

Story of my life, right?
Why yes.
Yes, indeed.

Well now. Being the strong and resilient (albeit slightly cynical and jaded by now) Doozy that I am, I quickly told perky Thad to "FUCK OFF" in my head and quickly forgot about him.
HO HO! You say, Not so fast girl!
You're Goddamn right.

Because it was shortly after the Triton debacle back at the end of August, that THIS popped up on my phone, from a number that I didn't recognize.

WHY THAD.  YOU SAUCY LITTLE MINX.
I could also add
DELUSIONAL
IDIOTIC
FUCKWIT
To the mix.
But I don't want to come off as an incredible bitch.

WAIT.

On second thought:

So, to recap;
Thad contacted me TWICE over the course of three years on the dating sites. We we went on three dates.  He stood me up once, and blew me off once (maybe twice - tough call on that one), then has the elephant balls to come looking for humpty humpty after all that shit went down?

Really.
Seriously.
Uh-huh.

Way back when I first started dating and this sort of thing would happen to me, I admit I was a little flattered.
BECAUSE I WAS A FUCKING IDIOT BACK THEN.
AND I MADE BAD DECISIONS.
Anyhoozles, back then when some dude who had blown me off or otherwise treated me like shit texted me out of the blue, my first reaction used to be along the lines of:

I had much lower self esteem back in the day. And it took me quite awhile to realize that these men were USING me and that they were assholes of the first order. See, years back I my thinking was more along the lines of:
"Wow, maybe he misses me."
OR
"He must have changed his mind and realized how neat I am!"
I
WAS
SUCH
A
NAIVE
BUFFOON

And I did, and still do occasionally have rando dudes text me up to A YEAR after we went out a date. A YEAR LATER.
What the fresh hell?

Question: Why do men do that? I get that cell phones are the modern equivalent of "the little black book" now; however, if you only texted each other, maybe went out on a date with each other and nothing significant ever happened; why would you keep a girl's number? 
FOR YEARS? Especially if you never saw the girl naked? Or even if you saw her naked and it was only a hookup situation - like, there were no feels involved?
It was a "Okay-now-put-your-pants-on-and-go.No,-shower-at-your-own-place-get-the-hell-out." kinda deal. Why keep her number for infinity times pi?

Perhaps I'm way hardcore now or something, but once a dude shows me his true dickwaffle colors, he's gone.
Deleted.
All traces of him are erased from my life.
That includes his fucking phone number.
I don't keep that shit hanging around in my phone like some menagerie of notches in my cell phone plan.



So yeah, when I get some call or text from a weird phone number Now?
HA
HAHA
HA HA HAHAHA

See, all that Thad was doing; besides making an ass of himself, was adding more credence to my working hypothesis; which is this:
Generally speaking, men in the dating world see me as,

GOOD ENOUGH TO FUCK
BUT NOT GOOD ENOUGH TO DATE

And coming off the emotionally unavailable, attention whoring Triton deal? 
Huh.
YEAH.
No bueno bro.
Needless to say, all my fucks had dried up and blown away on the soft, gentle winds of assertive femininity.

Look, I get it. Men want to get laid. Shit. I want to get laid. Who doesn't want to get laid?
The critical difference here is, I made it extremely clear in my profile that sex isn't all I'm looking for.
Shit, I talked at length about my desire for a serious relationship on the three dates Thad and I went out on.

I'M DONE FUCKING AROUND HERE.

 
Therefore, it makes a girl wonder just what is going on in Thad's gray matter that his thinks the above tactic would work.
I mean really.

Clearly the little head was working harder than the big head.

So.
That 
Happened....

Remember. I can't make this shit up.

On the other hand, here's a pug losing it's shit.

Tales From The Crypt Pt. II

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Tales From The Crypt

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.