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I would make this a bullet point post, but knowing me, the bullets would probably end up really long, and well, what’s the fucking point of a bullet post if each bullet is several (fun-filled!) paragraphs long? There’s no point, that’s what.
Just like those last two sentences.
Remember a couple weeks ago I got that text from Glen that said “I want to lick u from head to toe“?
Well, I neglected to mention my response to said text. I didn’t recognize the number, so I responded:
Who dis?
I like to get ghetto from time to time. I’m so ‘hood it hurts.
After his text confirming his identity, I responded with this:
You better be glad my baby daddy dint see dis
You know, to keep the ghetto vibe going. And also to ease the tension of the fact that, hello, you have a girlfriend and you texted me at 9:30 on a Sunday morning that you want to drag your tongue all over my body. And also because, hell to the no.
He sent about two apology texts, and that was the end of that.
Until yesterday.
When Glen called me at work.
He told me that he’d been driving and when he passed my neck of the woods, he decided to call me.
To ask me if I was pregnant.
Because I’d said something about a “baby daddy” in that last text.
These are the kind of people that roam the streets of my hometown. The people that vote in elections, bear children, and run for local office.
They’re all fucking idiots.
I assured him that no, there would be no mini LRC coming into the world anytime soon, and that’s when Glen told me that—WHAT DO YOU KNOW!— he, in fact, WAS expecting a mini-Glen in the future. He’d knocked up Amy and they were now engaged.
THEY’RE REPRODUCING!
She of I Like To Scream At Other Women In Bars And Snort Coke Off The Back Of The Toilet In The Ladies Room fame, and he of I Like To Text Women Other Than My Girlfriend At Strange Hours And Tell Them That I Want My Saliva All Over Them fame.
If you’ll excuse me, I have to go cry in a corner now, because the apocalypse is near. It’s only a matter of time before my town is overrun by worthless parasites, suckling at the teat of society. Snorting my tax dollars up their noses and puking all over the sidewalks.
In less depressing news, I really am warming up to The Lawyer. In an e-mail exchange with Narm last month, I even used this sentence to describe what I want out of a potential suitor:
Right now, I kinda just want someone who will play Mario Kart with me, rub my bum shoulder, and tell me how awesome I am.
- I have already played Mario Kart with The Lawyer, and I kicked his ass. Then he kicked mine right back.
- He has not given me a shoulder massage yet, but has alluded to it.
- This is part of our conversation last night:
The Lawyer: “Have I told you how awesome you were today?”
LRC: “No.”
The Lawyer: “You’re awesome. *smooch*”
FYI — he didn’t say smooch. He, uh, smooched me.
I’d say that’s pretty effin close right there.
You know what else I’ve discovered?
There are men out there who like to make plans.
Sometimes days in advance!
Holy fucking shit!
Also? I’ve learned that it’s okay to leave my phone in the other room and not check it every five seconds because OMG What if he texts? WHAT IF HE CALLS? WHAT IF IT CAN’T WAIT? because you know what? It is possible to know someone is into you. Without wondering. Without worrying. Without fear.
And that is a pretty great feeling.
Also, phone calls > texting. And he agrees with me on this:
“I mostly only text when I’m drunk. Which is why I usually text you from work.”
(He’s funny.)
I accepted his invitation to the beach. And I’m really, really looking forward to it.
I told him last night, “I guess there really are men out there who give a shit.”
I found one!
Happy weekend, y’all.
Not even two weeks into the online dating thing, I have concluded that this is the breakdown of types of photos my “matches” choose to post on their profiles:
Also, I have been the recipient of such creative gems in my inbox:
Hey how are you?
Hay how are you?
hi!!!
hello—how r u?
Even on the internet, I am underwhelmed by the effort men put forth.
As mentioned before, I managed to weed out about three prospects. The first one, Really Tall Guy, just wasn’t doing it for me so I stopped responding to his e-mails before he even found out my last name. I haven’t received any hate mail yet, so I suppose there won’t be any decaying animal corpses on my doorstep. Rotting squirrel carcasses rarely bode well for the future.
Except that one time.
But I digress.
The second guy, the Athletic Trainer (whom apparently you all hate based on his profession alone), and I have talked once (on the dating site’s lame IM interface) since I last posted. We really enjoyed our conversation and decided to take the plunge and become Facebook friends. He invited me to go bowling with him and his friends that night (he was supposed to meet them at 9, this was at 8:45. I live about 40 minutes away from this particular bowling alley and I was wearing sweatpants. I declined). He then agreed that yes, that was probably not the best venue for our first meeting as I wouldn’t know any of his friends, and it would be loud, so we wouldn’t really be able to talk much.
Also, it was 9:00 p.m. on a freaking weeknight. Bitch gotta get her beauty rest!
Just sayin’.
We agreed we would plan something for another time, and I urged him to run along and meet his friends and we would be in touch. After looking over his Facebook profile, I’m feeling sort of “meh” about him. I can’t really explain it. He’s nice enough, and if he does contact me I will probably go out with him and at least give him a chance, but I’m not exactly checking my inbox every fifteen seconds.
Which brings me to the third guy, Smartass Engineer (or SaE for short, I suppose)—the gorgeous Asian man who shares my penchant for sarcasm, karaoke, and inappropriateness. We got flirty over e-mail and eventually exchanged phone numbers. He called me Tuesday night during American Idol and I didn’t answer (ALLISON WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF HER SONG, WHAT?), but I texted him to let him know I’d call him back in a bit. When I called, he gave me straight hell (in a joking way) about avoiding him for American Idol, but I was like, “WAIT DUDE, YOU JUST SAID YOU WERE WATCHING DANCING WITH THE STARS. WHO IS LAMER?”
I think we tied.
We talked for several minutes, and laughed the entire time. He wanted to make sure I wasn’t easily offended because he can be a bit crass sometimes.
Me? Easily offended? This dude should read my blog. I talk about eye farts and squirrels with rigor mortis.
He should be OK.
Then he invited me to go out for sushi this Friday (tonight) because I had previously mentioned wanting to eat some.
I have a date tonight! Woot!
Not only is this my first Online Dating Experience, it is also my first Interracial Dating Experience.
Two birds, one stone.
Also, I’m glad he’s not offended I wanted to eat sushi. You know, since he’s Asian and all.
Yellow man, white girl FTW!
If our phone conversation is any indicator, we should get along swimmingly. As long as he doesn’t try to rape me, kill me, or show me his collection of human skin, I will consider the date a success.
