Don’t say that #35

I know that some people, unlike me, may not view their online dating as a full-fledged marketing campaign. It’s possible that they don’t even recruit a professional editor and a semi-professional dater (yes, LDB, I’m talking about you) to conduct a pre-publication review of their promotional materials profile. But a guy who emailed me recently stood out for his remarkable lack of salesmanship.

He wrote, “I wish I had something creative or witty to say but I do not…I know this is a waste of time cause you will read this and look at my profile and decide I am not up to par like majority of the women on here.”

Being the overthinker that I am, I assumed that this was some tricky reverse psychology. So I wrote back and asked if he was always so negative or only when trying to pick up girls. (Clever, right? My focus group thought so.)

He responded, “Well being positive does not help. That only works for guys who dress like some douchebag with their hair gel back wearing a Ed Hardy/Tapout shirt.”

Even my nationwide telephone survey couldn’t come up with a perky answer to that one.

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Word problems

Last week, I compared online dating to Netflix. This week has been more like Craigslist– all you want to do is set up a meeting to determine whether you and the other party want to do business (ahem), yet everyone you hear from turns out to be too crazy or flaky to make that happen.

My week started with Professor Thoughtful. His name makes him sound like a promising candidate, right? But no, he was thinking entirely too much. Over the course of two days, he sent me five emails, a total of ONE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND THIRTY-NINE words, only to conclude, “I think it is probably a good idea to not meet.” Oh, and the kicker:  “it tends to be infrequent that I am interested in women my age or older.”

After that, it was kind of a relief when The Headless Doctor contacted me. His entire profile only had 26 words, including my dear departed grandma’s three favorite: “I’m a doctor.” He also had posted only one photo, which as you’ve perhaps guessed by now, did not include his head. But if I had abs as fine as his, I probably wouldn’t bother showing my face either. His introductory email was even more concise: “Coffee?”

Liking his style, I agreed, and we made a plan to meet, using close to the minimum number of words. So far, things were going great. Then, on the day of– after I’d spent the whole day waltzing around my office in heels and an inappropriately short skirt– THD canceled by text. Or rescheduled, actually.

So along comes Date Day #2. I’m all cuted up again (I had even gotten to the point in my dress-up routine of stabbing myself in the eye with a mascara brush) and I decide to text him to confirm and figure out how we’ll meet.  I was unfamiliar with not only his head, but also his name, so I’m suddenly picturing myself wandering around Starbucks asking guys, “Are you a doctor? Could you take your shirt off please?”

His response: “Who is this?”

Me: “The girl you’re meeting in an hour?”

Him: “Omg ai sent a txt thisa morning aboautA resachaedulingaab”

Um, what? Had he not been using more words because he didn’t know how? You know I couldn’t let that–or those incredibly ripped abs–go. But since this is breaking dating news, and this post has already gone on far too long, you’ll have to tune in next week for the finale. Are SDG and THD meant to be? Or will their relationship dissolve into alphabet soup?

Your money or…

A friend recently passed along the following amazing story. At first, you’re probably going to wonder what it has to do with dating. But when you’re single, everything relates to dating! No, seriously, I’m not just talking about Speed Dating Girl’s philosophy of life. You’ll see.

“I turned to shut the door behind me and he was in the doorway of the building. He mumbled and I didn’t understand. I said, ‘I’m sorry I
didn’t hear what you said.’ Then he said, ‘Give me your money.’ I said, ‘No.’ He asked if I had any money. And I said, ‘No.’ Then he said he
smelled alcohol and asked if I was drunk. I said, ‘No’ and asked if he was drunk.

“He laughed and said, ‘I like you.’ He put up his fist for me to pound, and we pounded fists. Then he said, ‘Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll take you out sometime.’ I said no, I would not give him my number. Then he said some dirty things. And I said ‘I’m sorry, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’ And he did. And he closed the door behind himself.”

Don’t say that #46

Just because celebrities are doing it doesn’t mean you should.

I’m guessing this guy, who my friend recently tried to stop dating, must have been inspired by the recent rash of movies about friends with benefits. But he needs to work on his game a little more if he wants to be the next Ashton Kutcher. My friend had spent three dates (and one quick kiss) with him, decided it wasn’t working out, and politely emailed him to tell him that. His response:

“If you find yourself looking for a firm once over from a guy friend without all the traditional relationship who-ha and expectations and stuff… Being that I am single, I would be game for that…”

A firm once over? Who-ha? This weirdo may have been trying for Ashton, but he came off more like DeNiro.

Lucky line

At last it’s time to announce the winner of the latest SDG contest. Our anonymous submitter didn’t explain whether or not the guy who used this line got lucky but it made her lucky enough to win the fabulous t-shirt displayed below. Her submission:

I was already in this guy’s apartment, when he asked me: “Do you want to see my comic book collection?” I followed him to the bedroom, and then he confessed that he didn’t have a comic book collection but just really wanted to make out with me. Classy moves!

This story is awesome for two reasons. First, he already had her inside, so the fact that he needed a line to get things going is pretty funny.* Second, he could have made up any excuse on Earth to get her into the bedroom, but he went with the absolutely nerdiest possible one.

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*Of course this depends on her reason for being in the apartment. Once I was hanging around the apartment of the guy I was sort-of seeing when his couchsurfing friend apparently decided that my presence counted as foreplay. “So, you wanna fuck?” he asked. Now that’s a classy line.

Two winners!

I’ve selected a winner of the Lucky Line contest, whose hilarious story will be posted next week. But Little Dating Brother, who was technically ineligible for the contest based on his status both as a regular SDG contributor and my brother (I already have to give him one present this month!), also had a great story.  I’ll let him report it in his own words. Note that he gets extra props for telling this embarrassing anecdote on himself.

I was visiting a friend in Boston for a blues cruise. I was introduced to one of her friends and we hit it off. We made out on the boat some (which went about as well as you would expect two drunk people making out on a swaying boat would go), and then in a bar we headed to afterward.

After a polite hint from another friend in the bar that it was time for us to go somewhere more appropriate, I realized I was in the awkward situation of having to invite myself back to her place. Having decided that there was no really suave way to pull that off, I went with the direct: “I’m staying on somebody’s couch, so if this is going anywhere, we need to go back to your place.” And indeed it worked.

Unfortunately, or possibly fortunately but not very classily, when we arrived at her apartment I realized I didn’t have enough money to pay for the cab, so I had to ask her to chip in. Hey, all’s well that ends well, right?

This week’s life lesson from LDB: when aiming for a sleepover, pack not only protection and a toothbrush, but also a big wad of cash.

 

DIY speed dating

Before leaving on a trip to Canada, I looked into the possibility of speed dating there. I didn’t find any likely options, which I now know is because they don’t need officials to organize their speed dates– Canucks do it on their own.

I was walking down Yonge Street in Toronto when a display in a t-shirt store window caught my eye. The t-shirt said “No, ma’am” and had a circle-slash over the female sign. I had stopped to try to interpret it (“Call me miss” or “I don’t like women”?) when I overheard the strangest conversation start up behind me. I feigned even more interest than I had in the mystery t-shirt so I could eavesdrop.

It started when a young man stopped a punk-looking girl walking in the opposite direction. “Who are you?” he asked, adding “You’re too cute for me not to know you.” She answered a few questions about her education and her job. Then the guy invited her to rob a McDonald’s with him. (It’s not quite as out of context as it sounds; they had been commiserating on how their careers didn’t pay much.) He offered her some gum, and then they went their separate ways.

A failure for the guy, but a narrow escape for Big Mac-eating Canadians.