...you open up your purse the next morning and find a note from your friend that reads:
"I don't want my labia to be able to engulf a small Japanese town."
Man, that was a lot of wine.
January 30, 2012
November 25, 2011
Worst date ever. No, really.
I had a few reservations about meeting Pipe Fitter Dude. Our online
conversations started well (zombie apocalypse and global pandemics!),
though they took an odd turn when we got into a huge debate on adoption.
He asked me if I wanted kids and I said I wasn't sure; I didn't think I wanted to have my own biological children, but the idea of adoption appealed to me. He said that only infertile people should be allowed to adopt. I thought he was full of it and ripped all his arguments apart until he shut up. He still texted me the next day, so I took it as a good sign that he wasn't one of those dudes who had issues with a woman having opinions and expressing them.
We texted for about two weeks without meeting. We hadn't been able to make plans because his schedule was so crazy. He worked 10-hour days, six to seven days a week. And then, there was his insane work-out schedule. He went to the gym every day and then ran five kilometres after that. He was always talking about how he needed to lose weight, though he looked fine in his photos. I began to wonder if he was an exercise bulimic, or a manorexic. This was reinforced when I asked him to go to an event with me on a Thursday night, and he turned me down because he had to go to the gym after work ("gotta keep to my regimen") and then, it was "wing night" with his coworkers.
Any dude who would pick obsessive exercise and wing night over meeting a hot chick was someone I didn't have much time for. Not to mention the disconnect between freaking out about losing weight and then going for wings.
Another bad sign was when he asked me what I was doing one weekend, and I said I was going out with a friend in order to convince him to stop dating psychos already. Manorexic started asking me all kinds of questions about my friendship with the guy, fishing around to see if it was a date or whether I was interested in my friend. Which was none of his fucking business, considering Manorexic and I hadn't even met yet.
A week later, he texted me to say that he finally had some time off and we should go for coffee on the weekend. I said my weekend was open. He didn't set a specific date or time, though, and my schedule filled up. On Friday night at 9 p.m., he texted to ask if I still wanted to go for coffee. I said I had time on Sunday evening and he freaked.
Manorexic: Just a few days ago, you said your weekend was totally open.
Savia: A few days ago, my weekend was totally open. I can't help it that I'm popular.
Manorexic: Well, I just think it's weird that we haven't met yet. I think it's better to meet sooner rather than later and it's just weird that we haven't met.
Savia: Dude, you're the one with the crazy schedule who has no time to get together.
I was pissed. He expected that I should keep my entire weekend open, just waiting for him to make plans with me? Savia don't play that. I decided I wasn't interested in meeting him at all. Controlling freak.
But then, something happened. I went on an amazing date with someone I thought was an amazing guy. And then, he totally blew me off. I was upset. So, when Manorexic texted me the next Friday and asked if I wanted to do tea that night, I said yes because I just wanted to get out of the house.
Note to self: never make dates when you’re upset about other guys. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be a great time, but I had no idea what was in store.
First off, he refused to go anywhere except places near his house because he had to get up early the next morning. Only he didn’t know the city and had no idea where any coffee shops were in the area. And he wouldn’t look into it because he had to work out before the date, so I was left to research options. His part of the city is as far away from my house as possible, and I miscalculated the amount of time it would take for me to get there. He texted when he got to the coffee shop and I texted back that I would be there in five minutes.
When I arrived, he wasn’t there. Weird. I texted to ask if he had left and he answered that he had decided to run out and do his grocery shopping for the week while he was waiting for me.
What?
So, I sat and waited. And waited. And waited some more. He showed up 20 minutes later. Apparently, you can’t do your grocery shopping for the entire week in five minutes. Who knew?
I decided to give him a hug, mostly because I was curious to see what he would do. It’s a good litmus test on a guy’s personality. Manorexic practically jumped out of his skin as though I were assaulting him. And then I kind of wanted to assault him.
As we were standing in line for our drinks, all he did was groan and complain about how tired he was and how hard a week it had been. It was clear he didn’t want to be there, so why the hell was he there? Another great sign was when he didn’t sit in the comfy couch chair beside me, but slumped in the one across from me, which was far enough that I had to lean in to hear him complain about how tired he was.
Things just got worse from there. So much worse that I began to wonder if I were on some kind of hidden camera show.
We began to talk about current events and the conversation turned to the Israel/Palestine conflict, which led to him going on a rant about how evil Israel is. Which then led to a long diatribe on his part about how the Holocaust never happened.
Um…huh?
I was on a date with an honest-to-god Holocaust denier.
I got to hear all about how the six million number was made up, and it was more like 600,000 Jews that died. The camps weren’t death camps, they were just work camps. The prisoners were skeletal when they were liberated not because the Nazis starved them, but because the Allies cut off the food supplies. Some of the people who claimed to be survivors of the Holocaust don’t even have tattoos and their stories are really far-fetched. And why did no one talk about these supposed atrocities until decades after it happened, when, suddenly, there were all these movies about it? Well, it’s because the Jews own Hollywood, of course! Further evidence of the world-wide conspiracy was the fact that if you even question that it happened or not, you get carted off to jail.
When I told people about it later, their first questions were, “Did you tell him off and leave? Or did you get into a big fight with him?” Strangely, the answer was no. I just sat there, in shock. My brain was doing gymnastics, trying to understand what was going on. He couldn’t possibly be saying what it seemed like he was saying, so it must be something else that I just wasn’t getting.
The thing is, I consider myself to be a Holocaust scholar. I’ve connected with it since I was in elementary school. I felt compelled to find out what happened and why. I’ve watched countless movies and documentaries (including all eight hours of Shoah), read reams of books and articles and taken a number of university classes. In fact, the last class I took for my MA in English was on Holocaust literature. It is something sacred to me.
And yet, I was speechless. It didn’t help that he didn’t ask me a single question the entire time, or that he wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise. I interjected a couple of times, trying to change the subject or to explain why, for instance, people get upset when you question the existence of a significant genocide, only to be cut off so he could return to his rant. There wasn’t much to say, anyway. How do you try to convince someone that a major historical event did, in fact, occur?
“It’s so good to be able to have someone to talk to about this. If I try to talk to other people, they won’t let me,” he said. One of my friends asked later, “Savia, were you being polite to the Holocaust denier?” I answered, “Um…yes?”
After an hour and a half, I was relieved when the barista started shutting off the lights as a hint that the coffee shop was closing. We walked out the door, said goodbye and went our separate ways. I didn’t give him a hug this time.
It’s pretty sad that I am considering adding, “Must believe in the Holocaust” to my dating profile.
I swear this shit only happens to me.
He asked me if I wanted kids and I said I wasn't sure; I didn't think I wanted to have my own biological children, but the idea of adoption appealed to me. He said that only infertile people should be allowed to adopt. I thought he was full of it and ripped all his arguments apart until he shut up. He still texted me the next day, so I took it as a good sign that he wasn't one of those dudes who had issues with a woman having opinions and expressing them.
We texted for about two weeks without meeting. We hadn't been able to make plans because his schedule was so crazy. He worked 10-hour days, six to seven days a week. And then, there was his insane work-out schedule. He went to the gym every day and then ran five kilometres after that. He was always talking about how he needed to lose weight, though he looked fine in his photos. I began to wonder if he was an exercise bulimic, or a manorexic. This was reinforced when I asked him to go to an event with me on a Thursday night, and he turned me down because he had to go to the gym after work ("gotta keep to my regimen") and then, it was "wing night" with his coworkers.
Any dude who would pick obsessive exercise and wing night over meeting a hot chick was someone I didn't have much time for. Not to mention the disconnect between freaking out about losing weight and then going for wings.
Another bad sign was when he asked me what I was doing one weekend, and I said I was going out with a friend in order to convince him to stop dating psychos already. Manorexic started asking me all kinds of questions about my friendship with the guy, fishing around to see if it was a date or whether I was interested in my friend. Which was none of his fucking business, considering Manorexic and I hadn't even met yet.
A week later, he texted me to say that he finally had some time off and we should go for coffee on the weekend. I said my weekend was open. He didn't set a specific date or time, though, and my schedule filled up. On Friday night at 9 p.m., he texted to ask if I still wanted to go for coffee. I said I had time on Sunday evening and he freaked.
Manorexic: Just a few days ago, you said your weekend was totally open.
Savia: A few days ago, my weekend was totally open. I can't help it that I'm popular.
Manorexic: Well, I just think it's weird that we haven't met yet. I think it's better to meet sooner rather than later and it's just weird that we haven't met.
Savia: Dude, you're the one with the crazy schedule who has no time to get together.
I was pissed. He expected that I should keep my entire weekend open, just waiting for him to make plans with me? Savia don't play that. I decided I wasn't interested in meeting him at all. Controlling freak.
But then, something happened. I went on an amazing date with someone I thought was an amazing guy. And then, he totally blew me off. I was upset. So, when Manorexic texted me the next Friday and asked if I wanted to do tea that night, I said yes because I just wanted to get out of the house.
Note to self: never make dates when you’re upset about other guys. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be a great time, but I had no idea what was in store.
First off, he refused to go anywhere except places near his house because he had to get up early the next morning. Only he didn’t know the city and had no idea where any coffee shops were in the area. And he wouldn’t look into it because he had to work out before the date, so I was left to research options. His part of the city is as far away from my house as possible, and I miscalculated the amount of time it would take for me to get there. He texted when he got to the coffee shop and I texted back that I would be there in five minutes.
When I arrived, he wasn’t there. Weird. I texted to ask if he had left and he answered that he had decided to run out and do his grocery shopping for the week while he was waiting for me.
What?
So, I sat and waited. And waited. And waited some more. He showed up 20 minutes later. Apparently, you can’t do your grocery shopping for the entire week in five minutes. Who knew?
I decided to give him a hug, mostly because I was curious to see what he would do. It’s a good litmus test on a guy’s personality. Manorexic practically jumped out of his skin as though I were assaulting him. And then I kind of wanted to assault him.
As we were standing in line for our drinks, all he did was groan and complain about how tired he was and how hard a week it had been. It was clear he didn’t want to be there, so why the hell was he there? Another great sign was when he didn’t sit in the comfy couch chair beside me, but slumped in the one across from me, which was far enough that I had to lean in to hear him complain about how tired he was.
Things just got worse from there. So much worse that I began to wonder if I were on some kind of hidden camera show.
We began to talk about current events and the conversation turned to the Israel/Palestine conflict, which led to him going on a rant about how evil Israel is. Which then led to a long diatribe on his part about how the Holocaust never happened.
Um…huh?
I was on a date with an honest-to-god Holocaust denier.
I got to hear all about how the six million number was made up, and it was more like 600,000 Jews that died. The camps weren’t death camps, they were just work camps. The prisoners were skeletal when they were liberated not because the Nazis starved them, but because the Allies cut off the food supplies. Some of the people who claimed to be survivors of the Holocaust don’t even have tattoos and their stories are really far-fetched. And why did no one talk about these supposed atrocities until decades after it happened, when, suddenly, there were all these movies about it? Well, it’s because the Jews own Hollywood, of course! Further evidence of the world-wide conspiracy was the fact that if you even question that it happened or not, you get carted off to jail.
When I told people about it later, their first questions were, “Did you tell him off and leave? Or did you get into a big fight with him?” Strangely, the answer was no. I just sat there, in shock. My brain was doing gymnastics, trying to understand what was going on. He couldn’t possibly be saying what it seemed like he was saying, so it must be something else that I just wasn’t getting.
The thing is, I consider myself to be a Holocaust scholar. I’ve connected with it since I was in elementary school. I felt compelled to find out what happened and why. I’ve watched countless movies and documentaries (including all eight hours of Shoah), read reams of books and articles and taken a number of university classes. In fact, the last class I took for my MA in English was on Holocaust literature. It is something sacred to me.
And yet, I was speechless. It didn’t help that he didn’t ask me a single question the entire time, or that he wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise. I interjected a couple of times, trying to change the subject or to explain why, for instance, people get upset when you question the existence of a significant genocide, only to be cut off so he could return to his rant. There wasn’t much to say, anyway. How do you try to convince someone that a major historical event did, in fact, occur?
“It’s so good to be able to have someone to talk to about this. If I try to talk to other people, they won’t let me,” he said. One of my friends asked later, “Savia, were you being polite to the Holocaust denier?” I answered, “Um…yes?”
After an hour and a half, I was relieved when the barista started shutting off the lights as a hint that the coffee shop was closing. We walked out the door, said goodbye and went our separate ways. I didn’t give him a hug this time.
It’s pretty sad that I am considering adding, “Must believe in the Holocaust” to my dating profile.
I swear this shit only happens to me.
October 21, 2011
October 20, 2011
No big loss: I don't date plagiarists, anyway
I ran across a profile on the dating site that knocked my socks off. It was clever and witty and completely over the top. I didn't contact the guy for a few weeks, because I was so intimidated (and it's pretty damn rare for me to be intimidated by a smart guy, particularly because they're so rare around here!) I shouldn't have been intimidated, because it turns out that he ripped off the style and a few of the points from this well-known essay (thanks to levendis for bringing that to my attention.) Before I knew that, however, I sent the following:
October 19, 2011
How not to date online, part 3
I noticed an artsy type guy on the dating site and sent him a message saying, hey I'm involved in the arts, too! As an example, I gave the following:
No response.
Come on, if dancing in drag as a douche who enjoys groping his manhood isn't a turn on, what is?
Maybe he's worried my bulge is bigger than his?
No response.
Come on, if dancing in drag as a douche who enjoys groping his manhood isn't a turn on, what is?
Maybe he's worried my bulge is bigger than his?
October 2, 2011
It's funny because it's true
...at least, I assume it's true; I'd never let an illiterate man into my bed. Up against the wall, however, is another story altogether.
September 26, 2011
Spelling matters
Okay, dude, in your online dating profile where you call yourself a "raper/writer," I'm thinking that you meant to say "rapper." Unless you didn't, in which case, on behalf of women everywhere, thanks for the honesty.
Love,
Savia
Love,
Savia
September 24, 2011
Message of the day
This is at once the sweetest, creepiest and most ironic message I have received on the dating site thus far:
September 22, 2011
Plenty of nuts
The first guy I met on the dating site seemed alright. He was kinda cute, got my sense of humour and didn't mind that I mocked him relentlessly. There was a potential for chemistry there, but there were also a few alarm bells that I wasn't sure whether to heed. Were they just fire drills or the real deal? What exactly were my deal-breakers?
Alarm Bell #1 - French kissing fascists
For those of you non-Canucks, Stephen Harper is our Prime Minister and, aside from a few choice serial murderers, is the most hated man in Canada. (I could get into the intricacies of Canadian politics for you, but I'd rather talk about bad dating stories. If you're interested in some of Harper's greatest hits, check out ShitHarperDid.com. It's pretty sweet.)
I had a hard time getting my head around the Harper love, because this guy (let's call him Fishy) is not right-wing. He believes poverty is the root of crime and that people should not be locked up for minor offenses such as marijuana possession; he believes in women's rights and access to abortion; and he is an active trade union member. And Harper directly threatens each and every one of these values. I kept asking Fishy, "Why do you love him so much, exactly?" because I just couldn't understand where this idol-worship was coming from. And it really was idol worship. He even has a Stephen Harper bobblehead (which his friends keep kidnapping and torturing, appropriately.)
This is what psychologists refer to as a cognitive disconnect. Socialist wants to French kiss the fascist. I guess even the best of us love a bad boy, but still. Does not compute.
My leftie friends said that this was a deal-breaker. I wasn't so sure. If only I could understand the rationale, I could maybe accept it. The only real answer I got from him is that Harper had served him a hot dog at a barbecue once, and he thought the Harpster was super rad and had loved him ever since.
Um, okay then.
Alarm Bell #2 - Take it all off - only $250!
It was a day or so before our second date when I saw in my news feed that Fishy had added two new female friends on Facebook. I was curious to see if they were other people from the dating site, which would be fine, as I was still chatting with a variety of other guys. Sometimes, you just need to know the lay of the land. So, I clicked on one of their names and no surprises there. However, when I clicked on the other name, the profile picture was of a woman in pink lingerie, kneeling on a bed with her legs spread.
Ummm...not sure what to make of that. Perhaps she's from the dating site and he's been messaging her for "intimate encounters"? I decided I'd ask him at some point, but since I wasn't sure if I was interested in a relationship with him or not, I'd leave it for now. The Stephen Harper thing was still pretty weird. Couldn't decide if that was weirder than the half-naked Facebook friends.
The day after our second date, where he kissed me on the cheek and made it very clear that he was interested in more, I saw in my news feed that he had added two more female "friends" to his page. The first was a regular gal, and the second was topless except for a pair of suspenders, one over each nipple. She had a number of other photos visible, all body shots in lingerie.
Okay, this was getting a unsettling. Since I knew that he was going to be making some moves on the third date, I thought it was probably time to ask what the deal was. So, I texted him:
Savia: Who's your new FB friend in the lingerie?
Fishy: I have a bunch of strippers on my fb to liven up my friends list
Savia: Do you know them in person?
Fishy: Nope. Are you stalking my fb?
Savia: No - I just noticed you were adding new friends and clicked. Then my retinas were burned and now I'm blind. Thanks a lot.
Fishy: They usual post some interesting photos
Savia: I dunno - seems kind of sleezy to have "friends" on FB like that.
Fishy: Ya it is. Well I added one to check out her pics so it kinda snowballed after that. There is only one that I have chatted with a bit. They charge 250 for 30 min justvto strip
Savia: Sorry, man, but that's just not cool in my world.
Fishy: I see
So, not only does this guy seek out Internet strippers on Facebook and add them to his friends list, but he also knows how much they charge and has their pictures conveniently delivered to him in his news feed all day. Isn't that lovely. That's the kind of guy that I want to take home to my uber religious mom (actually, that would be kind of fun...)
I mean, I like half-naked ladies as much as the next guy (I really, really do), but there's a time and place. For a 40-year-old guy with a young daughter to be "livening up" his friends list with strippers in a public forum like Facebook (which is even less private with the new changes that have been rolled out) just rubbed me the wrong way. And I like my dates to rub me the right way. If they don't, I might as well just stay home with the Rock Chick.
So, this is what a deal-breaker feels like, hey? In the past, I've let things like this nag at me in my belly. I act as though they don't bother me, but inside, I want to scream, "Grow the fuck up, Fishy frat boy!"
Once I got his text explanation (textplanation?), I decided I was done with him. And I figured he was probably done with me, too, because after his "I see" response, he didn't text back. "Well, that was easy," I thought.
The next day, however, he sent me a "How's Savia doing today?" message on Facebook. I didn't respond because I wasn't interested in conversing with him. At the same time, I didn't care enough to delete him from my friends list. It's not as though I was angry, just disappointed and as turned-off as a gal can get. Especially if you add in the Stephen Harper worship.
Wait a sec! Maybe he was trying to get the strippers to lure Stephen Harper into some kind of crazy orgy so it would be less gay for him to hump the Harpie? That would make a lot more sense than the other explanations he had given me. I would be far more forgiving of this one, particularly because it would give me and the other pinko socialists good ammunition to take down our dictator overlord. Just hide in the closet with a camera. Done and done!
Later that week, I was getting ready for my date with Cute Lawyer Dude and I saw in my news feed that Fishy had added another four females to his friends list. I didn't bother clicking on them. I just thought, "Why am I even "friends" with this guy? He certainly isn't "livening up" my friends list any." So, I pressed the "delete" key and skipped off to my hawt date. Onward and upward!
Two days later, I got this text:
Fishy: What happened too ya on my fb?
(I thought about not responding. But then I decided it was better for me to express myself. After all, this was my deal-breaker with him, so he should at least know why. Plus, he used "too" instead of "to." All bets were off.)
Savia: I removed you. The stripper thing really bothered me and I don't want to be friends with someone who thinks it's cool to do that.
Fishy: Wow
And that was that. Except for a final bell...
Alarm Bell #3 - Passive aggressive profile changes!
I was scrolling through my matches on the site a few days later and noticed that Fishy had changed his tagline from something innocuous like, "Looking for a gf" to "No nuts please."
I thought, "Awwww...I made an impression."
So, dear readers, what kind of a nut am I? I was thinking hazelnut, given that they grow on my Nonna's farm in Italy, but then I thought maybe I should go with chestnuts. Gotta play up the assets when you're in the dating pool, after all.
Alarm Bell #1 - French kissing fascists
For those of you non-Canucks, Stephen Harper is our Prime Minister and, aside from a few choice serial murderers, is the most hated man in Canada. (I could get into the intricacies of Canadian politics for you, but I'd rather talk about bad dating stories. If you're interested in some of Harper's greatest hits, check out ShitHarperDid.com. It's pretty sweet.)
I had a hard time getting my head around the Harper love, because this guy (let's call him Fishy) is not right-wing. He believes poverty is the root of crime and that people should not be locked up for minor offenses such as marijuana possession; he believes in women's rights and access to abortion; and he is an active trade union member. And Harper directly threatens each and every one of these values. I kept asking Fishy, "Why do you love him so much, exactly?" because I just couldn't understand where this idol-worship was coming from. And it really was idol worship. He even has a Stephen Harper bobblehead (which his friends keep kidnapping and torturing, appropriately.)
This is what psychologists refer to as a cognitive disconnect. Socialist wants to French kiss the fascist. I guess even the best of us love a bad boy, but still. Does not compute.
My leftie friends said that this was a deal-breaker. I wasn't so sure. If only I could understand the rationale, I could maybe accept it. The only real answer I got from him is that Harper had served him a hot dog at a barbecue once, and he thought the Harpster was super rad and had loved him ever since.
Um, okay then.
Alarm Bell #2 - Take it all off - only $250!
It was a day or so before our second date when I saw in my news feed that Fishy had added two new female friends on Facebook. I was curious to see if they were other people from the dating site, which would be fine, as I was still chatting with a variety of other guys. Sometimes, you just need to know the lay of the land. So, I clicked on one of their names and no surprises there. However, when I clicked on the other name, the profile picture was of a woman in pink lingerie, kneeling on a bed with her legs spread.
Ummm...not sure what to make of that. Perhaps she's from the dating site and he's been messaging her for "intimate encounters"? I decided I'd ask him at some point, but since I wasn't sure if I was interested in a relationship with him or not, I'd leave it for now. The Stephen Harper thing was still pretty weird. Couldn't decide if that was weirder than the half-naked Facebook friends.
The day after our second date, where he kissed me on the cheek and made it very clear that he was interested in more, I saw in my news feed that he had added two more female "friends" to his page. The first was a regular gal, and the second was topless except for a pair of suspenders, one over each nipple. She had a number of other photos visible, all body shots in lingerie.
Okay, this was getting a unsettling. Since I knew that he was going to be making some moves on the third date, I thought it was probably time to ask what the deal was. So, I texted him:
Savia: Who's your new FB friend in the lingerie?
Fishy: I have a bunch of strippers on my fb to liven up my friends list
Savia: Do you know them in person?
Fishy: Nope. Are you stalking my fb?
Savia: No - I just noticed you were adding new friends and clicked. Then my retinas were burned and now I'm blind. Thanks a lot.
Fishy: They usual post some interesting photos
Savia: I dunno - seems kind of sleezy to have "friends" on FB like that.
Fishy: Ya it is. Well I added one to check out her pics so it kinda snowballed after that. There is only one that I have chatted with a bit. They charge 250 for 30 min justvto strip
Savia: Sorry, man, but that's just not cool in my world.
Fishy: I see
So, not only does this guy seek out Internet strippers on Facebook and add them to his friends list, but he also knows how much they charge and has their pictures conveniently delivered to him in his news feed all day. Isn't that lovely. That's the kind of guy that I want to take home to my uber religious mom (actually, that would be kind of fun...)
I mean, I like half-naked ladies as much as the next guy (I really, really do), but there's a time and place. For a 40-year-old guy with a young daughter to be "livening up" his friends list with strippers in a public forum like Facebook (which is even less private with the new changes that have been rolled out) just rubbed me the wrong way. And I like my dates to rub me the right way. If they don't, I might as well just stay home with the Rock Chick.
So, this is what a deal-breaker feels like, hey? In the past, I've let things like this nag at me in my belly. I act as though they don't bother me, but inside, I want to scream, "Grow the fuck up, Fishy frat boy!"
Once I got his text explanation (textplanation?), I decided I was done with him. And I figured he was probably done with me, too, because after his "I see" response, he didn't text back. "Well, that was easy," I thought.
The next day, however, he sent me a "How's Savia doing today?" message on Facebook. I didn't respond because I wasn't interested in conversing with him. At the same time, I didn't care enough to delete him from my friends list. It's not as though I was angry, just disappointed and as turned-off as a gal can get. Especially if you add in the Stephen Harper worship.
Wait a sec! Maybe he was trying to get the strippers to lure Stephen Harper into some kind of crazy orgy so it would be less gay for him to hump the Harpie? That would make a lot more sense than the other explanations he had given me. I would be far more forgiving of this one, particularly because it would give me and the other pinko socialists good ammunition to take down our dictator overlord. Just hide in the closet with a camera. Done and done!
Later that week, I was getting ready for my date with Cute Lawyer Dude and I saw in my news feed that Fishy had added another four females to his friends list. I didn't bother clicking on them. I just thought, "Why am I even "friends" with this guy? He certainly isn't "livening up" my friends list any." So, I pressed the "delete" key and skipped off to my hawt date. Onward and upward!
Two days later, I got this text:
Fishy: What happened too ya on my fb?
(I thought about not responding. But then I decided it was better for me to express myself. After all, this was my deal-breaker with him, so he should at least know why. Plus, he used "too" instead of "to." All bets were off.)
Savia: I removed you. The stripper thing really bothered me and I don't want to be friends with someone who thinks it's cool to do that.
Fishy: Wow
And that was that. Except for a final bell...
Alarm Bell #3 - Passive aggressive profile changes!
I was scrolling through my matches on the site a few days later and noticed that Fishy had changed his tagline from something innocuous like, "Looking for a gf" to "No nuts please."
I thought, "Awwww...I made an impression."
So, dear readers, what kind of a nut am I? I was thinking hazelnut, given that they grow on my Nonna's farm in Italy, but then I thought maybe I should go with chestnuts. Gotta play up the assets when you're in the dating pool, after all.
September 19, 2011
Gimme a break
Savia is on the best date ever. Just one reason it gets that moniker:
Cute Lawyer Dude: Why should smokers get breaks at work to smoke? Why not other habits? Like binge-eating breaks or masturbation breaks?
Savia: I absolutely support masturbation breaks at work.
Cute Lawyer Dude: All the non-smokers should get masturbation breaks!
Savia: Don't think I haven't already taken them.
Cute Lawyer Dude: You have to put this on your blog. Your readers should know about masturbation breaks. I'm giving you blog gold here.
So, not only did we talk about masturbation on a first date (including me explaining to him how the Rock Chick works - hey, he asked, and it actually wasn't at all weird), but he insisted that I write a blog post about it. That's a dating first.
So, what do you think about the masturbation break idea? I need some comments to report back, hopefully on a second date...
Cute Lawyer Dude: Why should smokers get breaks at work to smoke? Why not other habits? Like binge-eating breaks or masturbation breaks?
Savia: I absolutely support masturbation breaks at work.
Cute Lawyer Dude: All the non-smokers should get masturbation breaks!
Savia: Don't think I haven't already taken them.
Cute Lawyer Dude: You have to put this on your blog. Your readers should know about masturbation breaks. I'm giving you blog gold here.
So, not only did we talk about masturbation on a first date (including me explaining to him how the Rock Chick works - hey, he asked, and it actually wasn't at all weird), but he insisted that I write a blog post about it. That's a dating first.
So, what do you think about the masturbation break idea? I need some comments to report back, hopefully on a second date...
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