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I’ve been pretty open about being at the bottom of an ice cold well of feelings these last couple of days. I’m adding PMS to the mix and now I’m a flood of human emotion mixed with full-body aches.
If I tell one more person, as a response to the question “How are you?”, that “My whole life hurts”, I’m sure someone will call a qualified healthcare professional and have them cart me off to a residential location with padded walls and no sharp objects.
All these feels got me like:
Going through a breakup, even the most amicable (which I guess this one sort of was?), hurts like a bitch–especially for extra feisty people like me that consider emotions to be for the weak:
Mean Me: Hey, me! Cry us a river, build a sustainably-built-eco-friendly bridge, and get over it!
Sad Me: Since when did we care so much about the environment? Also: sadness, sadness, rejection, loneliness, sadness.
Mean Me: Just kidding about the crying. You better not cry over this!
Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs | SONY
But that inner-monologue tennis match gets old: there’s only so much time I’m willing to dedicate to staring at the undulating shadow of the ceiling fan, lying sprawled on my bed, pondering what I could have done differently to not have ended up here, in this pitiful state.
And because I had already dedicated the weekend immediately post-breakup to alcohol therapy, I decided that this past weekend, I would dedicate to online dating.
Somehow, in my mood fogged, discombobulated brain, I thought that physically seeing the other fish in the sea would cheer me up and make me feel less like the dejected quarter-life hag that I keep seeing in the mirror every morning.
And this is where I propose that grown adults should have “internet babysitters” to keep them from making crappy decisions when they’re emotionally unstable. Because in my hurry to check out dating options, I forgot what a mixed bag of people online dating sites contain. And by “mixed bag” I mean a few examples of Prince Charming ranging all the way to Creepy McCreeperson, with the majority of men falling toward the latter end of the spectrum.
Most of the horribly egregious messages, I’ve just been straight deleting, but tonight, I was inspired to keep the rest and share them with the world.
Originally, I thought I would sign on and just browse, not answering any messages (because it would be unfair to start a relationship when one is not emotionally available AT LEAST THAT’S WHAT KIND PEOPLE DO, RIGHT?). And I haven’t made much of an effort but since I am a generous blogger, I’m going to share a few selections of messages I’ve received with you now–
I signed on last week, and I’ve already received upwards of 80 messages.
THAT’S NOT A BRAG–it just goes to show how many dudes are trolling this site, participating in a numbers game by messaging everyone labeled “woman”. Most of the time, they haven’t actually read your profile, and they’re copy-pasting like you won’t figure that method out.
A small handful of dudes make real efforts at making conversation, based on the information that I have written in my profile, which is AMAZING and I won’t be profiling them here–I’ll never sneer at someone making a true effort.
But most messages look like this:
He’s got that comma, but forgot to write the rest of his message.
Bonus points if he calls you “gorgeous” because that’s the most overused greeting on these sites. The first time you see it, you may feel great because maybe you’ve been starved for romantic attention, but then it just gets old:
See what I mean? You could say, “Oh, they’re giving you a compliment!” but maybe you could compliment me on one of the many things I took the time to write in my damn profile and not just look at my photo and pass judgement on my appearance! Also, without identifying factors in the message, it’s most likely a copy-paste and that’s just lazy.
Oh, sorry, I was being presumptuous, thinking you may be interested in my intellect and not just my photos. Next time I WILL LEAVE EVERYTHING ELSE BLANK.
Also, the state of Iowa finds me beautiful, y’all, don’t get jealous.
Just “pretty” cute? No, let me fix that for you: I’m “gorgeous”.
A “dusk sunrise”…hmmm…dusk and sunrise are opposite astronomical occurrences. Is he saying I’m an enigma wrapped in a paradox? That’s deep. Also the answers to your questions are written in my profile.
At least this next guy read my profile, supposedly more in-depth than any other dude so far:
Sad that I’ll never know what.
And speaking of interesting conversation openers:
And this one:
No, no, I don’t think that I am.
And then there are those that have openers that leave you scratching your head just a little:
If my future ex-husband had spent more time reading my profile instead of telling me about his medical prowess while neglecting his patients, he would have realized that EVERY SINGLE QUESTION he asked me was answered in my profile. His copy-paste game is strong.
How do you know I like to travel and why are you making plans for my future-self without consulting my present-self, first?! And it’s a trend, apparently:
Then there’s this guy, who isn’t short on confidence, but neglects to ask a leading question to get me to respond:
Maybe he’s expecting, “This all sounds super. Sign me up!”
One of my personal faves, this guy who thinks it’s sexy to accuse me of being a phony “To Catch a Predator” profile:
And this guy who does not have 4 hours’ worth of patience (although, he probably shouldn’t hold his breath):
And the pièce de résistance:
Now y’all know I was rip, roaring, and ready to answer this guy and take him up on his blessing me with his sexual abilities. Note that he does not guarantee my climax–it only happens if there’s a connection between us–so take the free sex on the off-chance that it could be enjoyable.
I posted this final missive of undying love for some of my internet pals to swoon over when one of the more attentive friends pointed out that this is, verbatim, actually a huge scam by some casanova that assures men that this pick-up-paragraph will guarantee they see action from total strangers on the internet.
Talk about insulted! I couldn’t even inspire this future-ex-husband to write a more original love sonnet to me!
Oh well–guess I better stay logged in and wait for the next offer of anonymous sex.