Remember Brad? Of course you don’t. Let me refresh your memory.
Back when I was online dating in 2012-2014, I went on a stranger-than-fiction date with Brad, putting myself in a situation where I could easily have been raped, but luckily that wasn’t Brad’s particular fetish (for the entire saga, click this link). I’ve wisened up a lot since then.
Brad, however, is a persistent dude. Every 9-12 months he resurfaces, sending me an email asking how I am doing. Most recently, today.
Where are you???
Happy New Year!
Y’all. Our date was in May 2013. Almost 5 years ago. Why? Why is he still trying, albeit not very hard? He takes the whole “Minimum Possible Investment” notion to a whole new level!
No, I’ve never emailed him back since our date. And no, this is definitely not how I anticipated my first blog post of 2018 to be.
Back in 2013-2014 I did a lot of online dating. Here’s a list of the most memorable disasters. I’ve seen and done it all: OkCupid, POF, Tinder, Match.com, eHarmony… (Incidentally, POF is WAY sketchier than Tinder.) Online dating does NOT work for me.
In May 2013, I struck up a convo with Brad on POF. He did martial arts, was a good-looking Texan, recently moved to Mtl. (I’ve since learned that is a red flag: they are catfishing. Trying to play on the girl’s sympathy “oooh poor baby, you must be lonely, why don’t you put your penis inside me?”) He was articulate, witty, taller than me, responsive. Foundations for a marriage, really. After a few days of excellent banter, I agreed to meet up. That is when the weird started.
We agreed to meet up at a given restaurant for a late supper, around 9:30pm on a Friday night. The day of, he switched the plans: he wanted to meet at his hotel (seeing as he had recently moved to Mtl). He then proposed that instead of going to the restaurant, we could enjoy the hotel jacuzzi. I told him that I didn’t typically go for that kind of activity on the first date. He pressured. Summoning all of my assertiveness, I explained that I prefer meeting strange men in public areas, for safety reasons. He apologized. Of course, we could meet in the lobby, and go to the restaurant – he just hoped the restaurant wouldn’t be too noisy.
I showed up at the hotel 5 minutes late – on time, really. The lobby was empty. I messaged Brad “I’m here!” He told me to come up to his room. I playfully responded: no. He issued an ultimatum: if I didn’t have the bravery to come up to his room, I wasn’t the kind of girl he wanted to date.
Disclaimer: I’m very aware that I should have just bailed. I’m pretty sure that if the same thing were to happen to me today, I’d walk out, not even bothering to write back. But at the time I was naive and bemused by the turn of events, and couldn’t resist seeing how fucked-up the night would turn out.
As I took the elevator up to his room, I wondered if I was about to get raped or murdered. I figured that as we were in a pretty upscale hotel, he couldn’t be too messy – because, of course, a rapist would refrain from raping someone for the sake of keeping a fancy hotel room clean. He opened the door: a little taller than me, with a slight build – just big enough that he could probably overpower me. He smiled charmingly and asked for a hug. Too confused by what was happening, I gave him one, and then took a chair while he sat on the bed. He wanted to know why I wouldn’t sit with him on the bed. I told him the view was too lovely to resist. He wanted to know why I was so reserved. I waspishly explained that intimacy must be earned, not forced. He lectured me about psychology (because of course, he was an expert in psychology. That is another red flag in the online dating world: guys love to pretend they are psychologists, specializing in sex therapy. Often they just happen to be personal trainers. They share unsolicited stories about how their married, sexy, scantily-clad female clients moan with pleasure at the perfect amount of pressure being applied on their bodies during stretching sessions, and before they know it, these women just beg for rough sex. Yup this is a thing. Must have come across 20 different guys who shared this same story with me.) He asked me again to lie down on the bed with him. At this point, I’d assessed him to be a pathetic guy without any violent tendencies who got off on making women uncomfortable, so to shut him up, and move the story along, I got on the bed.
Honestly, I am amazed I made it this far in life without getting raped.
We talked a bit more, till I reminded him I was starving, and it was time to eat. He seemed disappointed our tête-à-tête was ending, I pretended not to notice, because nothing gets in the way of me and food.
Our time at the restaurant was unremarkable. Conversation was ok, until he asked me to go back to the hotel with him. I refused. “We don’t have to have sex.” Yeah, right. “No, its about getting to know each other.” Again, yeah right. “I’m serious. If you aren’t willing to show that you are committed to us getting to know each other, what is the point of dating?” Buddy, I can get to know you over a few weeks, it’s ok. “No! Best do it as fast as possible, so that if we realize we aren’t compatible, I’ve wasted the least number of days on you, and I can find someone else.” Wow, ok. For an expert in psychology, you seem to have a very bizarre approach to getting to know people.
I asked for the cheque, and while I paid my share, he asked me one last time, “Are you SURE you won’t come back with me? I think you are making a mistake.” Yes. SO SURE.
3 years have gone by since I did not get raped by Brad.
HE STILL EMAILS ME. Every 3-6 months, replying to the same Gmail thread. Sometimes I answer, mostly I don’t. Sometimes he sends me news articles and asks for my opinion. Other times, like today, he merely asks, “what’s up stranger?”
So, it’s time for me to get back into the dating game. Not sure what I am looking for – summertime really isn’t the best time to slide into a relationship, with all the hot eye candy, and parties, and flirting that has to be done – but at a minimum, this should generate some blog content, yeah? #thethingsIdoformyreaders #selfless
Omen of trainwrecks to come
The Universe seems to agree with me. On Monday night, I got a Facebook message from the dude I lost my virginity to, 13 years ago. I haven’t spoken to this guy since then, and we have no friends in common. How he tracked me down… I dunno. But then again, that is the whole purpose of Facebook, right? Stalking 101.
After a few short minutes spent small-talking via Messenger, Virginator asked me if I’d be interested in a no-holds barred night of hooking up, so that “we could do everything we were too shy to do when we were young.”
Ummmmm, no?
Was I sure? Yup, very sure.
It would be fun! Bro, I still remember our few times together. I highly doubt it would be fun. My rather limited experience since then has confirmed what I suspected then: the sex we had was not very good.
But why not? Really? I have to justify myself? Because I don’t want to.
But, seriously, why don’t you want to? Because, seriously, Virginator, you are not my type. Before you ask, my type is athletic (NOT skinny, those are NOT the same thing, I like some meat on my bones), tall, charming, preferably Black or Arab, and good dick. You are none of those things, Virginator. Especially not charming.
Too bad. Have fun Googling. Hmmmm? Ok. Fine. I’ll bite the bait.
I was SO SURE he’d turn out to be a small time amateur porn star, possibly the model used to show-case sex toys on websites. Yet when I Googled him, and I spent more than 2 minutes trying to find him, all I got was a very reasonable LinkedIn profile, a mention in his granny’s obituary and other boring typical links. Virginator is a nothing-special guy.
What a disappointing end to this story. I had such high hopes.
Still, now I know that I can use “Have fun Googling!” as a sassy repartee whenever I want to make a lasting impression.
On Saturday morning, I waltzed into a brunch spot I’d never been to, near my home. I was excited to see friends that I hadn’t seen in months. And bacon. I was excited for bacon.
Soon after I sat down, I spotted Lawyer walking into the restaurant. I was surprised, which really, I shouldn’t have been, since the restaurant is almost next door to his home. It was the first time I’d run into him since I wrote this snarky post about him, which caused him to unfriend me on Facebook.
At first I panicked. What if he noticed me? What if it was awkward? I excel at being awkward. It’s kinda my thing.
Then my friends all showed up, and there was a brouhaha of hellos and hugs and noisy lovey-dovey moments. Lawyer glanced over to our group and noticed me. He gave me one of these smiles:
I did a quick run-down of the situation.
Me:
Wearing clean clothes AND mascara AND non-hobo hair (very unusual for a Saturday morning)
Surrounded by my gorgeous friends who were all clearly delighted to see each other
Generally looking fabulous and happy
Him:
Sitting alone at the diner’s counter
Sporting the slightly pasty look of someone working ridiculous hours in a sunless office
I was quite satisfied with the situation.
Part of me acknowledged I was being petty. But most of me gleefully enjoyed the moment.
My no-love/hate relationship with online dating apps has been extensively documented on this blog. But just in case, here is a refresher of some of the top incidents:
To summarize, my experience with online dating has been overwhelmingly negative: a dehumanizing experience, where guys and girls treat each other as commodities, and basic manners are non-existent. Long before Beaut came into the picture, I’d disactivated all my profiles online except for Tinder, which I kept as a source of entertainment and blog material: my guy friends loved impersonating me and trying their luck during booze-fuelled evenings. During the holidays, I deleted Tinder, to free up space on my phone. Haven’t missed it one bit.
I miss it even less having read this article, which states that Tinder has added a health section to its app, including a function that allows users to identify the nearest STD clinic to their location. Now THAT really sets the tone for romantic sexy times.
(…) Medical experts warned the surge in popularity of dating and casual sex apps was fueling a rise in sexually transmitted infections.
Dr Peter Greenhouse, of the British Association for Sexual Health and HIV, said the apps could trigger an ‘explosion’ of HIV in heterosexual people. (…) he said: ‘You are able to turn over partners more quickly with a dating app and the quicker you change partners, the more likely you are to get infections. What really worries me is that we are just at a tipping point for HIV. If enough people change partners quickly, and they’ve got other untreated sexually transmitted infections, it might just start an explosion of HIV in the heterosexual population. Apps could do that’.
Experts also warned that apps such as Tinder have made casual sex as available as ordering takeout.
Yummy.
I’m NEVER online dating again. Being treated as a commodity AND putting my health at risk? No thanks. I’ll go the old-fashioned route of meeting people in real life, depending on friends and serendipity.
I first became aware of Lawyer 3 years ago, via an online dating site. He seemed interesting and interested and then he disappeared for 5 months. Next!
Lawyer resurfaced, full of apologies and no explanations. None were required – I figured he’d met someone more interesting, had his fun while it lasted, and was once again available for mingling. I didn’t feel inclined to meet him after his disappearing stunt, but his banter was solid and we became Fbk friends.
For the next 6-8 months, he would periodically message me suggesting a meeting, or better yet, a night of wild sex. During our exchanges, it became quite clear that he was sexually confident and prolific, as well as intelligent and blessed with an excellent sense of humor. I was intrigued. [Disclaimer: for all my Vanilla-ness, I do like my sex physical and steamy. Shocking, I know. Almost incompatible, apparently, with my prudish personality. When my little sexting drama happened this summer, Coach was skeptical, “Are you sure it was sexting? “Oh baby, I can imagine you placing your hand on my elbow and it gives me the feels!” does not count as a real sext, you know.” Yes, I know, Coach, thanks.]
After months of messaging, I was well aware of what his ultimate goal was, and was open to the idea, as long as we met several times first, to give me time to calm my Vanilla nerves and decide if our online chemistry translated into offline chemistry. We did exactly that. Those were some of the best dates I’ve ever been on. He was funny, unpredictable and extremely smart. A heady combo. There was undeniably a spark, which led to a fun tumble between the sheets. Or so I thought. He never pushed to repeat the exercise. Slightly daunting feedback for me.
He remained in the picture, sporadically. We met up a couple of times, even went to a ballet together (since he is one of the few people I know whose love for ballet equals or exceeds mine). He explained some lawyerly concepts to me, to help me on one of my files, and I put in contact with some useful people for his network. I cherished hopes that, despite the benefits part of friends with benefits not working out, we could remain friendly acquaintances. I did so enjoy his personality!
He once said that I would be the perfect girlfriend, how sad that he wasn’t looking for a relationship. I mentioned that, at the time, I wasn’t looking for a relationship either, so why not just enjoy spending the odd moment together? He dropped off the planet soon after that. Resurfaced to surprise me by sending me a naughty and hilarious Christmas card. Disappeared again. Resurfaced occasionally to discuss some personal difficulties he was going through, and to lend an ear when I hit a few rough patches of my own. He reads my blog regularly, both the funny stuff and the uncomfortable bits too.
So far in 2015, we’ve made plans to meet at least 5 times, and they have all come to nothing. I flaked once, but he flaked all the other times. Last minute, usually because he isn’t “feeling well”. He doesn’t reschedule. It irks, it does, to make plans with him assuming they will fall apart. Having my low expectations confirmed is rather unsatisfying.
A few weeks ago, I made plans to go see a ballet with Coach’s girlfriend this past Friday. The day after I bought our tickets, she realized she’d forgotten a prior engagement for that same night. No worries, I’d find a sub for her ticket. On a whim, I asked Lawyer – we’d been talking for weeks about finally meeting up, what better way than at the ballet? He accepted.
On Wednesday, I double checked with him to see if he could still make it on Friday. I told him NBD if he couldn’t make it, but to let me know ASAP to give me time to find a backup sub, as I really didn’t want the ticket to go to waste. He confirmed. I was pleasantly surprised.
Friday when getting ready for work, I slipped on my sexiest lace undies – best be prepared, just in case. Wishful thinking never hurt anyone. By the time I got to work, he texted me he was sick, very regretfully asking me whether or not I could find a sub, but gallantly offering to show up, sniffles and all, in the event I couldn’t fill his seat.
The fact that I wasn’t surprised at his bailing on me made me even more irritated than I would’ve been otherwise. All this time, I’d thought I was being cool and laid-back. It was humiliating to realize I’d let myself so obviously be his bottom-of-the-list distraction for the odd moments when all other distractions were unavailable. A distraction that required zero input from him. I had satisfied myself with occasional Facebook banter and evidence that he enjoyed my blog. Talk about low standards.
3 years of interaction with Lawyer ended with my reply: “K.” Not “OK“. Not “K“. No, I added that period to make it clear that I couldn’t be bothered to type out an entire word for him, on purpose. THAT SURE SHOWED HIM. #assertivepunctuation
I found a replacement for him within minutes. My girlfriend and I made a full night of it: we went for supper and ranted about how much we hated men, tried and failed to take selfies, giggled uncontrollably, and drank wine and microbrewery beer like the bougie girls we were for the night. Best date night I’ve had in months! #girlsdoitbest
Lesson learned.
Y’all should check out the excerpt from the last piece we saw last night. Chroma, by Wayne McGregor. Mind blown.
Let’s play a game. Which of the following 3 scenarios was actually conducted by me on Tinder? One of these matches/convos was done by me, one of these was done by Dynamo and one was done by GTC (short for “Good Taste in Clothes”, a close friend of Brown Socks and Dynamo. He was also present at Brown Socks’ bachelor party, and was the guy responsible for buying the nice shirt that Brown Socks had to ruin with ladies’ signatures).
Case study 1
That is the extent of that convo, to this day.
Case study 2
This pick up line should not be confused with the highly successful, “Excuse me, pardon my insolence, but I just had to tell you that you have a beautiful forehead. The transition from your eyebrows to your hairline is enviable!” **
** Apparently, I need to be honest and give credit for this masterful pickup line to my friend Bballer. Consider it henceforth copyrighted. Use it at your own risk.
Case study 3
Translation (I recommend noticing the timeline and degree of punctuation of this convo.)
Matthew: Hey how’s it going
Matthew: Hey
“Vanilla”: Hi!
Matthew: How’s it going
“Vanilla”: Fine, however I’m not particularly excited by this convo. A slow-mover, are you? Trying to not scare me away by being over-eager, right?
Conclusion
Using this sample to form a reasonable conclusion, I extrapolate that everyone, even normal girls and guys like Dynamo, GTC and me, everyone miserably fails at Tinder.
I’ve previously mentioned that as a 31yr-old perpetually single lady, I regularly combat the pervasive doubt that my single state is in great part my own fault. My strategies to keep this fear at bay includes wine, chocolate and sexy shoes. Sometimes with all 3, at once. #fancy! Some of my kind readers have kindly suggested that everyone has baggage, and since I am aware of mine, and upfront about it, I have effectively addressed this weakness in my quest for domestic bliss, and it cannot therefore be the cause of my singledom. That’s a cute theory. And a false one, as this story will demonstrate.
What not to do on a date
This past winter, I had a Tinder date that I was actually quite excited about. I found him funny and rather gentlemanlike, online. He’d given me access to his Fbk profile too, to calm any pre-date jitters and to confirm he was not a catfishing murderer (his words, paraphrased). I liked what I saw. Consequently, I was incredibly nervous. So much so, I not only put on a clean and flattering outfit, but I also put on lipstick and mascara. #overachiever
He was as good-looking as his pics. He put on a show, as though he was doing his best impression of the ideal funny date. The lack of authenticity made me more nervous; but then I felt like a hypocrite, since I was attempting a similar impression, faking an urban charm I was far from feeling, to try mask my anxiety. I slipped on my persona of a touchy-feely giggly flirt, and felt myself becoming ditzier by the second. He didn’t seem to mind. I noticed his humor had an edge to it, was excessively self-deprecating, which I didn’t find funny, but who was I to judge? I assumed his nerves were at fault.
Conversation shifted to our hobbies. As I’d gathered from his Fbk profile, he is an amateur stand-up comedian. Ballsy! We compared how stand-up comedy and fighting a boxing match can have similarities (they both involve a certain mastery of nerves, the ability to read the audience/opponent and then adapt, and the acceptance of the possibility of failure – no guarantees in either setting). Because we were talking about our respective interests, we both dropped some of our affectations and the conversation’s dynamic improved. Until he made an offhand comment that all humor is a variation of sarcasm. Say what?! I took immediate exception to that statement. I proudly refrained from pointing out that if he truly believed that, he must be a terrible comic. Yay, social skills! However, I was so opposed to his opinion that I had no choice but to engage in some gentle debate. So gentle that I busted out my iPhone, looked up the definition of sarcasm, which I waved in his face, as well as the Google search results for “types of humour”. Types. As in plural. BOOYAH!
Then I had an out-of-body experience and realized that my helpful discussion about his incorrect opinion could maybe possibly slightly be accurately interpreted as a criticism of his comedic skills. Which would likely be offensive to him, and defeat my objective of creating a favorable impression. My brain helpfully made me simper, “but you’re the stand-up comedian afterall. I’ll defer to your expertise.”
At that point, I accepted my brain hated me and wanted me to die a cat-less cat-lady. I facepalmed myself, chugged my beer and waited for the date to implode.
Suspicious behavior
My date surprisingly did not walk out on me after I had spent 20 minutes deconstructing his lack of understanding of the art of humour. This made me even MORE nervous. Clearly, he just wanted to sleep with me, since there was no way he could like me for my personality after what I had just done. As the date wrapped up, my ditzy persona firmly in place, I said goodbye and prepared to walk the short distance home. He offered to drive me home.
I considered this carefully. He was gentlemanly enough for me to suspect that my conviction that he wanted to jump in my pants rightthisinstant was probably an exaggeration, caused by my anxiety-laden mind. Also it was freezing. I accepted his offer.
The short drive home, I psyched myself up for the inevitable goodbye kiss. It was going to happen. I owed it to him, after my ridiculous behavior. I was ready. Let’s do this. He double parked. We resaid polite noises and our goodbyes. He paused momentarily, as if to check that a goodbye kiss would be welcome – see? I told y’all he was a gentleman.
In that instant, I knew I did NOT want to kiss him. But did I react? Did I say something, or move out of the way? NO, THAT WOULD BE TOO EASY. I stayed frozen, with a polite smile on my face . Time slowed down painfully, giving me ample time to watch his gradual approach to my mouth. Slow-motion, slowed down till the motion part barely was noticeable.
It was only as his lips touched mine that I snapped out of my paralysis, and pushed him gently away. “Yeah, no, this ain’t happening. Sorry. I don’t kiss on the first date.” He stared at me, taken aback. I shrugged and exited the car.
Mes amis! I’m delighted to bring you the 2nd installment of my blog series Tinderpersonations, where my guy friends impersonate me on Tinder. This edition is brought to you by Dynamo.
Dynamo saw the profile pic below (the back view of a naked dude), and despite my protests that I did NOT want to be matched with a sexual deviant, swiped right. Insta-match. My Vanilla reputation precedes me, apparently. Dynamo immediately sent the first 2 messages in blue, below.
The remainder of the exchange is me, all me. Now that’s an example of solid team-work, right there.
Presto! My afternoon entertainment. It’s the simple things in life that make all the difference.
As a belated one-year anniversary present to my blog, I’ve created a Facebook page for this blog, in a desire to grow readership through the mysterious world of social networking. Please follow me!
P.S. I don’t actually know what I am doing with this Facebook blog page. So if y’all have any advice of what to do or not do, please PLEASE pass it along!!
Discovering ratchet 