One of the interesting features of online dating is you can see who has looked at your profile. Bonus for me. Not so much for the men who's profiles I've viewed.
And it's not because I'm a psycho stalker who sits in front of Captain America's profile everyday in my pj's with a box of Kix. When I'm replying to a message, I like to click on their profile, remember where they're from, what they do, if they're cute (aka reply-worthy).
Unfortunately, this feature does empower some men to message me and say things like, "Hey saw you were checking my profile, don't be shy" when I clearly didn't feel the need to say hello upon realizing their education is "N/A" and their career is "Professional."
So this morning I sign on, and click Viewed Me to see the photos of the most recent 20 drop-in's. Okay, cute, cute, ehhh, no, no, could be...no, meh...
And then, I see it. And gasp in horror loud enough for my coworker to ask if I'm ok.
Mister Saigon is now online dating.
Showing posts with label Mister Saigon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mister Saigon. Show all posts
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Mister Saigon
For the first 22 years of my life, I think it's safe to say I had a thing for the "bad boys" as my Mother will tell you. I basically broke into hives anytime a nice guy whispered my name. But, over the past few years I've realized I'm actually more interested in gentlemen who are less...abrasive.
However. My most recent date made me realize that there's such a thing as too nice. Sure, he was chivalrous, which I like. And when we walk to the car you may open my door; but you don't have to break into a sprint every time we park so you can open my door again. And he would hold my elbow everywhere we walked, like I was made of porcelain. I felt more like an 80-year-old on an outing from the home with her nurse than a girl being taken out on the town. I want to be attracted to you, not ask you for a fresh Depends.
He took me to a quaint and delicious Vietnamese place near my apartment. But I spent most of the night watching him stuff his face with Coconut and Mango Beef, spilling everywhere, and talk about how his parents' house was the "go-to party palace" in high school and his personal relationship with his hometown mayor.
So finally he drops me off, and since it's snowing out I have my coat hood on. I hop out of the car before he rounds the bumper, and thank him for the evening. Then, in what might be the most awkward 20 seconds of my life, he hugs me and kisses my hood. And just when I think I'm safe, I look up and he grabs my face like I'm that Coconut Beef and plants a wet one. I've never pulled away from someone faster in my life, and teetered away hoping no one saw that.
Not even the squirrels.
However. My most recent date made me realize that there's such a thing as too nice. Sure, he was chivalrous, which I like. And when we walk to the car you may open my door; but you don't have to break into a sprint every time we park so you can open my door again. And he would hold my elbow everywhere we walked, like I was made of porcelain. I felt more like an 80-year-old on an outing from the home with her nurse than a girl being taken out on the town. I want to be attracted to you, not ask you for a fresh Depends.
He took me to a quaint and delicious Vietnamese place near my apartment. But I spent most of the night watching him stuff his face with Coconut and Mango Beef, spilling everywhere, and talk about how his parents' house was the "go-to party palace" in high school and his personal relationship with his hometown mayor.
So finally he drops me off, and since it's snowing out I have my coat hood on. I hop out of the car before he rounds the bumper, and thank him for the evening. Then, in what might be the most awkward 20 seconds of my life, he hugs me and kisses my hood. And just when I think I'm safe, I look up and he grabs my face like I'm that Coconut Beef and plants a wet one. I've never pulled away from someone faster in my life, and teetered away hoping no one saw that.
Not even the squirrels.
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