What Was I Thinking?

As the year comes to a close, I took a look at some of my old posts. After 30 minutes of cringing, I decided to pull some pieces so we can all reminisce and ask the same question. Seriously, WHAT was I thinking?

Exhibit A:

Out of Bounds

Everyone has their deal breakers. He's not funny, he's unemployed, he sits cross-legged on the couch, he only asks you out via text message.

Whatever the reason, the more superficial it is, the less interested you already were before discovering this tidbit about him. You can't be that into a guy if he *gasp* ties his sweater around his waist and you immediately feel like you're 13 and going to the movies with your parents; your eyes constantly darting around the theater hoping your crush isn't sitting two rows back with Becky, that slut who just got her braces off and grew into her training bra overnight.

Anyway, a big no-no for me is when a guy has no idea of boundaries. I think when you're first getting to know someone, you should be aware of boundaries and want to make the other person feel comfortable. Especially if you're a guy. 

Which is why I didn't even reply to Ricky Martin when he invited me to his condo for our FIRST meeting, to cook me dinner and have some wine on his rooftop. Easy Ted Bundy. We haven't even met yet and you want me in your home?

Well, apparently everyone's living la vida loca, because when I asked the 28-year-old salesman/swimmer what he wanted to do on our first date, he said "Hopcat and hot tub." Hopcat being his favorite bar, hot tub being the one in his hotel where he was staying during a recent business trip. Ew. Ew ew ew ew ew.

So I asked our Traveling Salesman if he was kidding, to which he replied, "I was.....but I would if you wanted to."

I politely stopped replying to his emails, and moved on to greener, less sleazy pastures.

Just Beat It

What started as a seemingly normal Thursday ended with a trainwreck Internet chat with Electric Youth. Not only is he a talker, but this guy is seriously mental. And totally fine with the fact that since our date, I haven't replied to any of his texts, which all include the same photo of him at the firing range, and lines such as, "we will shoot."

No, WE won't shoot anything anywhere at any time. Anyway, I'm on Gmail when a window pops up from Mr. Personality. Crap, I forgot he had my Gmail address.

Just as I'm about to say "TTYN," he says he has a question for me. He starts rambling about how he just turned 31 and therefore is all about efficiency. He finally says, "I really enjoyed meeting you, I'd really like to see you again, but if you don't feel the same that's totally cool."

Maybe he should shelve the efficiency thing and work on not asking girls out on Gchat. I realize everyone has a different approach to courtship, like the city bus driver who was on my route to work used to honk and wave at me in the morning when I was waiting at my stop. Everyone at the stop would give me the side eye as my salt-and-pepper-haired boyfriend wearing fingerless leather gloves cruised by in his giant bus. Try as I might to avoid eye contact when I'd get on the bus, he never missed a chance to wink. I finally decided to re-route my commute when I got on the bus one Friday morning with a suitcase, and that following Monday he asked how my trip was.

So I tell Electric Youth I enjoyed meeting him as well, but I see us just being friends. And even though we're not in person, I'm down to my last ounce of comfort. He takes care of that by saying he's been feeling fat, and asks if I think he looked fat on our date. To be honest, he was lean, except he had a belly. A reallll gut. And there was no hiding it in that fitted olive long-sleeve waffle-knit shirt with some dragon/snake abomination printed over the shoulder.

But I lied and said he didn't look fat, but if he felt that way, he should go for a jog and drink lots of water. He tells me he drinks water like traders snort coke. Alright then.

The cherry on this Gchat sundae, he tells me he wants to get my brother a job at his company (they're in the same line of work), because of the "bounty" he'd get, which is $5,000 after 6 months. Seriously? This isn't some bad movie where the villain uses everyone as pawns to strike it rich.

I block him on Gmail and pray Lord Farquaad is out of my life.

Do They Sell Man Muzzles?

I finally meet Electric Youth for drinks. Contrary to his plea to go bowling, I simply couldn't risk committing to more than an hour, should he be as crazy as my gut was screaming he was.

Well, hats off to my instinct. Because EY's mentally insane. Imagine taking a hyperactive person, caging them for 48 hours in a dark room, and then meeting them for drinks. And he asked me so many questions, I felt like I was on 60 Minutes. It wasn't even in a conversation-style. He'd ask, I'd answer, then he'd totally ignore my reply and ramble on about his personal view, and then ask the next question. Mind you, he'd say the last word or two of each sentence reeeeaaalllyyyy sllloooowwwllyyy.

"Do you believe Johnnn Edwaaards? No, not the senator, the psychic medium on TeeeVeee."

"What's your opinion on reeliigionn?"

"What's your favorite Depeche Mode sonnng?"

"How do you feel about dating an aaaaaaathiest?"

After my second beer, I gave him a Catholic hug (butt out so our hips don't touch) and went in search of complete and total siiilennnce.

About a Boy...and Then Some

By now I've chatted with Electric Youth on a few occasions. And I've drawn one big fat conclusion: boy can TALK. After two online chats and two phone convos, I now know the following: he's REALLY into electronic music, makes some of his own, lives alone, has a dog, has medium brown hair, usually only dates Asian girls and thinks it's because of their hair color, believes it's his Dutch heritage that makes him a firecracker, thinks Borat is amazing as a show but refuses to see the movie, has a "man crush" on the lead singer of Depeche Mode, which drugs he's tried, the details of his first sexual encounter...I can go on if you'd like.

What does he know about me? Um...my name, where I'm from, maybe that I have two eyes, a nose and a mouth? I can't remember exactly, because of the 3 hours of phone time we've had I've talked for about 10 minutes. The rest of the time I'm watching TV and inserting the occasional laugh or "yeah."

Still, in the name of research, I'm meeting him for drinks next week.

You've Got Male

And we're off! Check my email this afternoon, and I have 7 "messages" on the site. There's a great element of suspense not knowing what 7 potential dates look like. I head over to Daters Annonymous, click Messages, and hold my breath. (please don't be gross...please don't be gross...please dont be gross....)


Let's break down the pack in numbers:
         3: the number of guys rocking wife beaters (I don't know what else to call them--tank tops?)
         2: the number of guys accessorizing said beaters with puka shell necklaces         
         5: guys who called me Cutie, Sweetie or Baby. gross.
         1: number of guys I find attractive, hold full-time jobs and went to college


So the guy I'm replying to is a computer programmer, has his MBA, and stresses 3 times in his profile that he is really into electronic and techno music. Okay, so maybe he thinks it's still 1999 and loves raves, but in order for this experiment to work, I need to give the guys I find attractive a chance, right? I write Electric Youth a quick reply and hit send.


And now we wait.