Archive for the 'Dating stinks' Category


Bowing out gracefully

If there’s one thing that about the dating world that baffles me, it’s the stories about the people who don’t handle rejection well. A recent Date Wrecks entry is exactly what I’m talking about (and is the inspiration for this post).


Usually in the online dating world, silence is your rejection. It’s rare to have someone write you back to say “Thanks, but no thanks” and give a reason as to why you’ve been declined. And really, what are they supposed to say? “I’m sorry, the third eye and hunchback really don’t do it for me. Kthxbai.” I mean, recently I had a woman mail me who had the writing and spelling ability of a third-grader. What was I supposed to say? “I’m sorry, but while you are cute, I can’t deal with your inability to write a complete, coherent sentence as it causes me ridiculous amounts of pain. Good luck! :)” Sometimes it’s something just that stupid. It could be a vibe, a personal preference (because while love may be blind, rejection isn’t) or a lengthy stint in federal prison for mass murder that sends you down rejection road. If you have trouble thinking of a reason why you were rejected, sometimes it helps to think of those couples that you simply don’t get — you know what I’m talking about — that whole Billy Joel-Christie Brinkley thing, except you know them and they aren’t divorced.

Similar to love, sometimes there is no legitimate rhyme or reason for being shown the door.  So, in an effort to help my fellow peeps, here’s my tips on how to bow out gracefully:

  1. Suck it up, Buttercup: You’ve gotten the “thanks but no thanks” mail. Shrug your shoulders, say “Your loss!”, delete the person from your “favorites” list and move on. By far the simplest thing to do.
  2. Respectfully respond: The person thought enough of you to say “thanks but no thanks,” and you want to acknowledge that with your own “Thanks for not being a tool about it” response. A nice way to go about it is to say something along the lines of “No worries. I had to satisfy my curiosity and take a shot — but hey, good luck out there and I’ll catch you on the flip side!” By doing something like this, you come across as confident and mature (though some may take it as a little creepy as you can’t seem to let it go), and leave the door open to further contact (which isn’t likely to happen, no matter how much you expect it to).
  3. Pursuit (not recommended): Some folks don’t like to take no as an answer (I’m lookin’ at you, Ben R.), and certainly we’ve all heard the stories of guys who got the girl after a lengthy chase and multiple denials (I’m lookin’ at you, Ben R.). Unfortunately, that exists mostly in chick flicks (and crime scenes, Ben R.), and for every 1% of the time that it works, the other 99% result in restraining orders or arrests. To do it right (ie, no restraining order or arrests) involves a tremendous amount of wooing and romantic gestures (and no, flipping them off is not considered a romantic gesture), which most folks simply don’t have the time or desire to engage in. For these reasons, I don’t recommend this route — but if you insist, the important thing to remember is not to insult the person. Insulting the other person is akin to ending a job interview that went poorly by saying “Your bitch-ass company wouldn’t know a good [insert job position] if it was right in front of you, which it is, you stupid bitches,” and still expecting to get hired. I have yet to hear of that couple that’s been together for 50 years say, “Well, I turned him down at first, but then he told me not to be a stupid, stuck up bitch and pass him up — and I thought to myself, ‘You know, sometimes I am a stupid, stuck up bitch,’ and I changed my mind. We’ve been together ever since!” The bottom line: Pursuing someone with insults isn’t the same as wooing someone.
  4. It is inevitable.

    Have fun with it: Look, not all of us are mature, responsible adults. Lord knows I’m not. So, if you’re in public and you get rejected, why not take that sting and make it into a joke? For example, a common one among my friends was pretending you were a Japanese dive bomber that had been shot down, complete with friends acting like pom-pom guns. Believe it or not, this can go further than what you think. Since this is a public move, and she’ll likely see your response, it leaves several burning questions in her mind — and hopefully one of them will be “What’s he got going on that he can just laugh it off?” If you managed to pique her curiosity, you’ll be far more likely to talking to her again — with her initiating the conversation.

There. Now is that really so hard? A little civility and a sense of humor can take you far. Any and all of these tips are far better than the lashing-back technique, which is guaranteed to get you nothing in return (except for maybe a submission to a Web site or a blog, with pictures of you and story outlining what a complete and utter troll you are to go along with them).


Familiar faces

"Hey, did you do something to your hair?"

I’m not good with names. I readily admit this. Unless I’ve known you for 20-some odd years or deal with you daily, chances are I will flub when it comes to an introduction, or speaking to you or about you. Yesterday was a perfect example. A coworker came looking for PPJ, who wasn’t at her desk. To make a long story short, I had a noticed that said coworker had dyed her hair, and we had a short, pleasant conversation about it. She left, and when PPJ came back, I said, “Hey, What’s-her-face is looking for you.” One of the other guys who heard the whole exchange busted out laughing, saying “Wait, you just had that whole conversation with her, and you can’t even remember her name?”

Yup, and welcome to my world.

See, between all the various circles of friends and places of employment from here to Florida and back, I have a hard time with names. This is why if someone friend requests me on Facebook, if I don’t see the face, chances are I have no idea of who it is. The name might be one I recognize, but chances are, quite honestly, I won’t.

So, I was on OKStupid mucking around as I often do. Now, I recognize a lot of faces there … friends, people who doing the “dating circuit” of web sites, etc. It’s really nothing new to see a face I recognize. Except for one that had been eating at my brain since I saw her.

Now, because of computer algorithm, this woman’s face continually appears when I browse. And I know I knew her, but I couldn’t place from where or why. I wanted to e-mail her to see why the heck I recognized her, but I just simply couldn’t pull the trigger to do so. Like there was something deep down in my gut that said, quite sternly, “don’t do it.”

However, this conundrum is the type of thing that will get stuck in my brain and drive me nuts.

Then as I read through her info one last time, it hit me: She was the person who I had the proverbial “Worst Date Ever” with almost 10 years ago.

Now, technically, it wasn’t the worst date I’ve ever been on. Nor does it compare to some of my friends’ worst first date stories (like Corey’s infamous “bowling date,” any one of Kelly’s, or even my friend Paul who has some of the biggest freak magnet stories I’ve ever heard). Heck, I doubt it ranks among the stories on DateWrecks. But for me, it was just brutal. So, obviously, I have to tell the tale.

"Don't worry, I'm hot."

"Don't worry, I'm hot."

I was freshly moved back to PA and living at mom’s — not because I wanted to — but because it allowed me to save up some cash for a new car that I knew I would need since my truck was 2WD. I had just started working. Things were good.

We met online. Said woman e-mailed me — no picture on her profile. That’s always an immediate red flag, but I’m a daredevil. We chatted. We seemed to have a lot in common. She was from out west, here for school. She was very into dancing (I believe she said she taught belly dancing or something along those lines). Articulate. Obviously very bright. When it came down to her physical looks, she said, “Don’t worry, I’m hot.” Red hair. A little on the taller side. I have to admit, I was curious. So for our first meeting, we agreed to meet at The Elbow Room in Shadyside.

I get there early, and have a beer at the bar. About 5 minutes later, she strolls in, and my first thought is — and I remember this distinctly — “Wow, you so aren’t hot.”

"I'm not hot, I'm just drawn that way."

Now, that may seem cruel, but let me phrase it this way: We all have different definitions of hot, and mine is pretty high. In my mind, if you’re going around saying “Don’t worry, I’m hot,” you better be looking like Jessica Rabbit personified — because if she were real, she’d be really freakin’ hot. If the date would have said “Don’t worry, I’m cute,” or “Don’t worry, I don’t have 3 eyes and hunchback,”  hey, cool. Heck, I’d even accept “Don’t worry, I’m hawt,” and expect someone who looks normal. With her, she was attractive … but she wasn’t my type, and definitely was not among the “I’m hot!” category.

But, even though there wasn’t that physical spark, I figured we were here, so let’s make the best of it and see if there’s any kind of mental connection. Sounds good, right? Right.

Over dinner, the pain really begins. She hoses me for living at home, but later reveals that her parents are paying for her apartment. I tell well-tested, interesting tales — which she promptly talks over. She lambasts me for not knowing what OEM was (since this was my “pre-building my own computers” stage). I believe she also tore into my food choice (a steak salad) because she was a vegetarian. So, it becomes really evident that despite us liking a lot of the same things, this just plain wasn’t going to work.

My waitress during this fiasco, however, was a goddess. She could sense my pain and brought me beer at an alarmingly quick rate — mainly because I was downing them really quickly. It was because of that waitress that I didn’t follow through on my fantasy of smashing a beer bottle off the end of the table and jabbing her in the throat just to shut her up. I know, lots of rage there — but seriously, these situations can be awkward enough as is, so even if things aren’t going well, at the very least be cordial, you know? It’s not hard.

So, dinner is over and I ask for the check. I pay. I leave a generous tip because:

  1. The waitress saved us both from a terrible fate (Her: death. Me: 20 years in the hole for murder).
  2. Generally speaking, good servers can do a job I can’t. They’re smart, awesome people with great people skills who generally don’t make squat unless they work in a fantastic establishment. So, if they’re really good, I tip well.

She sees the bill (not that I showed her or anything, she actively looked) and what I’m tipping, and says a quote that forever burned itself into my brain:

Overtipping is no excuse for poor math skills.

Did I just hear that? Really?

I’m generally not a person who is left speechless by obnoxious behavior — in fact, I’m usually the one instigating it. But, after that, I was done. I tried to explain my rationale — “Hey, I know a lot of servers and it’s a tough gig — and she was awesome — so she’s getting a big tip,” but I believe her response was something along the lines of “Oh, you’re just trying to impress me.” At this point, I had reached the breaking point and said, “Listen, if a couple extra bucks is what makes or breaks me, chances are I’m not going to begin with.” And that ended that.

As we walked out, she said she was parked down the street. I said, “Oh! Well, I’m down the other way. So, I’ll catch you later. Bye.” No hug, no kiss, no handshake, no cordial good-bye, no nothing. I waved, and it was with more of a “Peace, sucka!” kind of attitude. I turned my back, walked away and hoped I’d never see her again.

That was the first — and only — time that I haven’t walked a woman that I was meeting for a date back to her car.

Once I got to my truck, I did the only sensible thing I could: I let out a primal scream, started laughing hysterically, drove down to Bar 11 and drank my face off so I could erase her face from my mind.

Luckily for me, I wasn’t entirely successful.


Back to the front

For the past few months, I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking, wondering and hemming and hawing about the inevitable: The return to the wonderful world of dating.

See, Cali is going to be doing her residency back in California. It’s an opportunity that she would be silly to pass up, as it’s a great program AND she’ll be back with her family, who she adores. So, obviously that means we’ve parted ways in the romantic sense. She’s still a near and dear friend. I would have no problems going out to visit her and have her show me the sights out in LA (as a friend). Heck, if I needed advice or just felt like chatting, no sweat giving her a call.

But she’s also leaving me with a greater sense of what I want in a relationship. For the first time in a long, long time, I have better idea of what I want, and they type of person I want to share it with. I’m actually entering into this next phase with more optimism than I have in the past.

So, I recently felt it was time to throw myself out there again, and rejoined the Internet dating world. I think my last bout with it was 2 or 3 years ago, and it just left me feeling disgusted. I think at that point, I just said “to hell with it,” removed all the profiles and opted to just do things the old fashioned way — you know, get drunk and meet people. Technically, I don’t think I’ve ever dated anyone I’ve met online for longer than a few months — but I can’t help but think there’s folks out there that I would click with that I’m just missing because of my craptastic work schedule. So, I opted to give it a try … again.

POF users agree: "You wrote your profile like a fag."

This time, thanks to Date Wrecks, I decided to give “OK Cupid” a try. My rationale was this: I don’t feel like paying to meet people, so that rules out a couple of sites. Plenty of Fish, while free, seems to be more like “Plenty of Mouthbreathers” (even though I have a profile there, trust me, my use of language and grammar means I get treated like Luke Wilson’s character in “Idiocracy”), and I wanted to something … I don’t know … different. And Craigslist? No, sorry. I haven’t ventured there, and don’t think I ever would. That place frightens me.

OKC actually seemed a little different. A billion and one questions to answer to “determine your personality.” Boxes that you could opt to fill out or not. Cool. So, the other morning, I typed in a half-assed profile, threw up a couple pics and started searching.

And then a first happened: In the profile’s main picture, I saw myself in it. I wasn’t mad or anything, just a little … confused? stunned? something? Then I realized who the person was and burst out laughing. It was a friend of mine who I hadn’t seen in awhile. In fact, as I perused, I saw several friends using this site, which made me feel a little more comfortable.

After I searched and played around, getting things set up — a little here, a little there, almost entirely off-the-cuff and half-assed –I went about my day. When I logged back on, to my surprise, I had responses. Oh, cool. Puzzling, but whatever.

But they weren’t responses like an actual e-mail. First was apparently a 25 year old from Texas, who mailed me a “Hi” (yes, that was it, “Hi.”) and then tried to IM me. That got deleted, and IMs got turned off. First, I hate IMs. Secondly, I figured it was a spambot.

Next was a “wink.” You know, the equivalent of being told that so-and-so likes you in the cafeteria by her best friend, and now it’s up to you to capitalize on it. For me, the only time a “wink” actually works appropriately in the real world is if it’s done in a totally cheeseball, over-the-top fashion. Online, it gives me the impression of zero confidence. But hey, maybe she wasn’t as extroverted as I am — and she seemed interesting — so I e-mailed her and we’re chatting.

But then I got this cryptic mail. It’s all “One of these 9 people rated you a 4/5 in QuickMatch!” Apparently, QuickMatch is some goofy little game in which people rate you, you rate them and if both ratings are high, then it tells you who rated you. Here’s how this whole thing played out in my mind:

Someone gave me a high rating! Zowy! Who? Is she smart? Hot? Saucy? … What? I have to rate these 9 people to see who did it, and it will tell me only if I give her a high rating? Seriously? Well fuck that.

Sorry Ed McMahon, “You may already be a winner” is the kind of horseshit that I don’t do. In fact, to whomever the rater was … see that little “message” button on my profile?  Click it. Type in a quick message. Click send. Christ on a pony, this shit ain’t hard. But to rate me in hopes that I’ll rate you highly is supremely weak. Take a chance. Worse thing that could happen is you could fail. Pfffft. Whatev.

And then there’s this “quiver” feature that I don’t really get. “See that whole play on Cupid … oh, he’s loadin’ up some treats for you! Ha HA!” Yeah, I get the pun. What I don’t get is what that feature is supposed to do. You’re options are to look at the profile or reject it. That’s it. But what’s funny is my search parameters are already stricter than the ones used for that search, so it’s “introducing” me to a whole lot of folks that I’ve already essentially ruled out. Thanks OKC! I love redundancy!

Well, let’s hope that I can figure out a way to disable half of these “features,” and that limits all the game playing that I’ll have to endure. In the meantime, I’m sure you will see my “Dating Stinks” category grow in an amusing, and hopefully non-bunny boiling, kind of way.


How not to impress your date

Last night I had a chance to hang out with my friend Pirogi Queen. You’ll remember her from the Epic Fail “here is your reward” dating story that’s lingering on the old blog. (I would link to it, but will have to correct it later on. See why I have the itchy trigger finger and want to just move all the old stuff over?)

Well, she had another dating mishap, though not nearly as tragic as the previous story.

She had met a new beau online, who apparently was doing fine. No major trauma, they were having fun, things were looking positive. But now PQ apparently has some kind of “5 date” rule, meaning she’s gonna hold off judgment until after 5 dates, because she feels you can learn a lot about a person by then.

So, as date No. 5 is nearing, she gets a call from the beau. Apparently, the conversation went something like this:

BEAU: Hey, just wanted to let you know that I’ll be running late.
PQ: That’s not a problem. Anything going on?
BEAU: Well, yeah … I gotta take a steaming shit.
PQ: …
PQ: I’m sorry, we’re done. *click*

So, Rule No. 537 — no matter how comfortable you feel with someone, there are some things that you just don’t need to share.


What not to say…

And yet another dating story from one of my friends. This is one from my friend, who I will call “Ninja,” who writes about her online dating experiences in Facebook’s notepad. (Hopefully I’ve convinced her to start her own blog, and if so, expect a link.) She included the guy’s name and photo, but I won’t, because that’s not how I roll. However, this story is too good not to share:

If a woman doesn’t respond to your personal ad the first time, writing this won’t help…especially if you look like a psycho in your profile photo.

” I hope this doesn’t offend you but I feel I have nothing to lose by being honest, I haven’t ever talked to you and it feel secure on here to say.

My c?ck twitches and swells when I see your pictures; I avoid looking at your profile because it makes me feel bad that this could offend you.

My honest feelings on the table, I can’t imagine if we met, there would be undoubted energy”

Saying how I want to projectile vomit after reading this just doesn’t seem expressive enough.

There would be energy indeed…expended when my foot met his groin. PERV!

Now, if this wasn’t bad enough, when I was asking Ninja for permission to use her story, she shared another little bit of information:

Hey, this story just got even better/more twisted. My sister saw the blog and pic last night, and said it looked a lot like her ex-boyfriend’s neighbor. Well, she confirmed with the ex-b/f (who she’s still friendly with) that it IS him, and he is married with kids. This scumbag also claims to have served in Iraq. Well, he was never in Iraq, but he was incarcerated for awhile. What a piece of work!

Wow. You know, I’ve dated a lot of crazies, but I think this person goes above and beyond …


A video is worth 10 million words

And you thought internet dating was bad …


Oral skills

Sorry, I dont do heathens.

Sorry, I don't do heathens.

As I perused the Facebook listings of my friends today, I came upon yet another dating disaster story. I haven’t yet asked “Rockstar” if I could use the entire story — but I’m not sure I want to use the entire thing — because the lead off quote said it all:

“I had visions of your cock in my mouth all night until you said you don’t believe in god”

Yup, what caused this dating disaster was his non-belief in God, who I’m sure would really be impressed by her oral skills. You know, that he gave her.

Who knew God could be such a cockblocker?

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