Ghosting Mr. Heeeeeeyyyyyy

Heeeeyyyyyyyyy! I'm back. If you're just tuning in, start from the beginning: Part 1

Having activated Ghost plans on the Saturday, I was able to move through Sunday, uneventfully.

Then Monday came. F*king Mondays.

I get this text:

Heyy how are you feeling

No answer. Ghosts don't answer texts. Tuesday:

Heyyy

I think he might be concerned, because the Y's are increasing. So, against my better judgment, I asked some of my friends what I should do. Keeping in mind that the majority of them have not been on a date in years. Several of them said I should send him a really nice, "I'm dumping you," message. Yes, because those worked out so well for me with The Hobbit. Others, suggested that I continue strong with the Ghost strategy and one very useless friend (she knows who she is) suggested that I tell him, "I like horses." I don't know if it's bad that my problem with the excuse wasn't that it was ridiculous; it was the fear that he might see me in the street one day and tell everyone within earshot that I was the girl who preferred bestiality to men... and that I might be stoned.

I joked with a friend that the more annoyed/concerned he got, the more Y's there would be in his heyyyyyyy. Probably gonna be 4 Y's tomorrow. Wednesday:

Heyyyy

I decided that ghosting wasn't working and that I needed to put an end to this before I got a text that was just Y's across the entire screen. It might have taken a month, but I think it would have gotten to that point. So, after a long conversation with myself, I decided that... I was pregnant.

I didn't wanna tell the guy that, since his bathroom selfie, I had come to find him unpalatable. I'm not cold-hearted like that. Besides, I had already laid the groundwork for this story with the vomiting the weekend before, so it wouldn't be that hard of a sell. I found a private spot and crafted the text. I'm lying, someone else did it. I don't do fluff texts very well. They did an alright job:

Hey, sorry I've been MIA for the last couple days. The sick feeling got worse and I was hospitalized for a while. They did some tests on me and found out that I was sick and exhausted because I'm pregnant. I think I need to take some time to focus on myself and my situation, and let the father know. I enjoyed getting to know you, but I don't think I can handle trying to start something new when I have just received this news, it wouldn't be fair to you. I'm really sorry and I wish the best in your search.

Not bad, eh?  I would never have written this much, but it also probably wouldn't have come off very believable either. It would have just been something like, "I'm pregnant and the baby daddy says I can't talk to you no more." Or, even better yet, "New phone. Who dis?" Nah. Still kind of coldblooded. Check out what the man said:

It's ok

To bad I would a met you even if u r pregnant

Not with that grammar, you wouldn't. Can't raise my fictional baby around grammar like that.

I told him that he was sweet. And he was... or just really f*cking thirsty. Not sure yet, because a piece of pregnant ass is still a piece of ass. Amirite?

No further responses to that text. Profile blocked on POF, where I found him. Moving on. Mission accomplished... or not.

Would you believe this dehydrated fool created a new profile and found me again, on POF, a month later? I hadn't been online in a while, thankfully. Because what newly pregnant woman is checking her online dating messages. I happened to go online and look at who had viewed me (a little reverse creeping), and I noticed a picture that looked familiar. And my stupid-ass touched it.

In case you're unaware, and you shouldn't be, based on how I got myself to this point; POF will notify the user when someone views their profile as soon as you look at it. You can pay to not have this feature, but who has money for that? Now he knew that I looked at his new profile with my supposedly fat, pregnant finger.

So, I promptly deleted my entire POF profile.

Long story, short, I need new username for my new POF profile.

Cool 90's Up-in-the-Front Hair

Yes, it's been awhile. Not because I didn't have anything to write about, but because adulting, that's why.

We left off with the fellow that I've come to know as Cool-90's-Up-in-the-Front-Hair dude; because that's the hairstyle that he had in his profile pictures. For those of my readers who are too young to know the hairstyle I'm referring to:

It becomes a pivotal point later in the story. I'll just call him Mr. Heeeeeeyyyyyyy, for short.

When I last posted, it was the weekend and I was in the throes of a very, very.... mild cold. It was seriously weak, people. It could have been confused for allergies. Mr. Heeeeeeyyyyyy wanted to know what I was up to... like all the time. I'll be honest, I wasn't really feeling the guy at this point, at least not at that moment, so I told him that I was near death with this cold. Here is a transcript of said convo:

4:34PM

Heyy

Hey

Whatcha up to hun

Sleeping all day :(

Lucky you

Not really.

5:46PM

What u doing tonight

Still sleeping. Feeling really tired.

Sorry

Don't be. 

Why is he sorry? No idea. Probably the Canadian in him. Lol. Honestly, if I was too sick to deal with whatever thirsty plan you had for the weekend at 4:30, I'm not sure why I wouldn't be an hour later. Buddy is starting to annoy me now. And then all of the shit hit all of the fans, when he decides to send me a picture of him with a "fresh shave"; as if to blow the sickness away with his bathroom selfie skills. It did not work. I looked at the picture and I nearly tripped over my own feet on the way to the kitchen.

The man looked like either one of two things happened: either he took those pictures a loooong time ago, or they were taken not too long ago and time hadn't been very kind to him. Compared to his profile pics, the man looked haggard and his hairline looked like it had sounded a full retreat back to the base... of the neck. I've come to the conclusion that those pictures were probably taken in the 90's. This fully explained the dated hairstyles throughout his profile.

I know that we all don't like everything about ourselves, but you can't start out your relationships with a lie because of that. So you're losing your hair. Own it and learn how to love yourself as you are. Or, get one of those new man-weaves that I've been seeing online. Me, I wouldn't prefer to date a guy with a man-weave. I can be picky about that because I don't wear weaves. I think it's only fair that if I don't wear weaves, my man shouldn't either. Weaves are expensive and you can't run your fingers through them.

Real talk, you also can't just pick the era where you felt you looked your best and use those photos as your profile pictures. If that was the case, our profiles would all have high school/college photos in them. Personally, I'd choose college.

While I realize that this isn't as bad as fully catfishing someone, it was still pretty far off from what I was expecting. I should get all of the brownie points though, because I was nice to him in my response; knowing full well that the thoughts of ghosting, had become full plans.

The plans were forced into motion right after I received the next text:

6:21PM

So whatcha doin tonight

Jesus Christ, someone get this man a cup of something, because he is SO THIRSTY! It's the same day, fam! I'm done, at this point, in case that wasn't clear. Ghost plan, activated.

Gonna go back to sleep. Not a good day for me.

R u ok

Been throwing up all day, along with the cold.

Ouch :(

Note: Barf is a surefire way to stop a guy from feeling frisky and the threat of being vomited on is enough to flatten many a man's thirsty ambitions. I received no further texts from him...

..That day.

Le sigh.

Cuddling Holding Hands Kissing Massaging Etc.

Sensitivity, amirite? Can't live with it, can't live without it. 

A new applicant sends me a message on POF and he's aight. I'm not completely repulsed, nor do I feel as though he's prettier than me. So, I send him a message back and I get a response immediately.

Let's be real, while I hate the games that are played in texting, like not responding too eagerly so that it seems like you're a busy person; when we all know that you're eating cereal out of a cup, while binge watching the latest Netflix release. But I feel like it's reached the point where everyone either does it, or expects it. I'm the type of person who will match the behavior of the other party; if you habitually take and hour to respond from me, we will finish a 9 part text message by the time I finish my work day... only because one of those texts was a 2 part response... "Lol"... "k".

That being said, the fact that this guy was back on it within a minute, was a little unnerving. What was worse was the response included the words "kool" and "awsome".  *twitch* I will have you know that the word "kool" appeared several more times throughout his messages; to the point that I was unsure if he was doing it to be cute.... or he just really didn't know! 

I calmed my twitches and told myself that he might be a really nice guy anyway; a nice, grammatically idiotic guy. He gave me his number so we could text... and.. I ... gave... him... mine. Smh.

What I found particularly vexing was the way he would start all of his text conversations with, 

"Heyy"

Like, why the extra Y. I only do that when I'm trying to indicate a certain level of sassiness. But even then it would be, "Heeeeeyyyyyyyyy" and I wouldn't start every text conversation with it. At least not as a grown woman.

I now know that this man is a very sensitive being and he didn't quite get my sort of humor. It seemed like I hurt his feelings a few times. Example: (I'm twitching while transposing this)

U r to good to be true

So I ask what's the catch.

I'm an axe murderer. Lol

No serious I'm afraid our first time hangingout is gonna be so good I don't want it to end.

You're gonna kidnap me? 

Lol

Nooooo. Don't make fun. :(

Now, I haven't figured out the end game for this guy, but I feel like someone told him to "kill the ladies with sensitive shit and you won't be able to keep them off the jock." That, is not true. Not all women prefer to have super sensitive guys. We all don't wanna be with the guy who cries after sex. Or at least the guy that makes you believe that he will cry after sex. I say this because, this came right after that string of texts:

Don't u want our first time hangingout to be cuddling holding hands kissing massaging etc.

No, sir. I'd rather it involve some coffee, in a very public setting and some COMMAS!! Jesus, man! What you just wrote implies that I will be cuddling some clasped hands, that are somehow making-out and massaging. Nope, not my idea of a night out.

The man would ask if I wanted to come "cuddle" at all kinds of hours on a school night! Suffice it to say, he came off as a very thirsty gentleman. Parched, even. Severely dehydrated.

This started on a Monday. I was legitimately sick by Thursday with a cold. Good excuse to postpone any arrangements for a date. Give him some more time to woo me. Because up until that point the man had made very little effort to actually get to know me. And not that I'm in search of compliments but the most he had said in that regard was, "Ur good looking and all".  I think you can come up with some more sensitive shit than that. By the time Friday came around, I was ready to fade to black. Just ghost. 

As this is an ongoing story, happening in real-time, you'll have to stay tuned. Part 2 

Part 3 - The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

If you haven't been keeping up, you're so late and you need to go back and catch up with part one and part two.

So, I'm trying my best not to get swept up in the snow tornado that is making it's way across a frozen lake. If you've ever been by the lake in anything but the summertime, you will know that it is significantly colder next to the lake that it is.... well, anywhere else. The wind is cutting through my pants like they were pantyhose and I am ready to go. Romance be damned.

The wind is too strong for me to walk into it, so I have to turn around and walk backwards. Would you believe that this ill-prepared little man decided to use me as a windshield. He pulled right inline behind me and was able to shield his entire body with mine. I mean, I know he wasn't wearing nearly as many layers as I was, but come on. Chivalry! This was your stupid idea to begin with!

After about five minutes of back-pedaling, I give up and start sprinting down the boardwalk. I recognize his building and make a mad dash for the door. My face hurts, my nose is running like there was a fire drill in my nostrils and all of the snots were trying to exit the building. I can feel the flu virus mounting it's comeback against my obliterated immune system, which is furiously trying to keep my body from hypothermia.

I sit down to try and collect some warmth before making my way to my car and this is when I finally get a glimpse of this guy's master plan. He tells me that I should come up and get warm... with a BEER! He must have thought, "I guarantee she'll want to come up stairs and jump in my nice warm bed, if I freeze her to death on the walk home" The man froze the holy shit out of me and then invited me up for a BEER. Have you been listening to single word that I've said all night? To be honest, even if he had invited me up for the best hot chocolate I had ever had in my life, I wouldn't have gone. I felt horrible and my snotcicles were still defrosting.

I told him that I wasn't felling well. He told about how much better he could make me feel. I asked how I could get back to my car. He offered to walk me to my car. Ugh. *sigh* Fine.

I get to my car, get ready to part with a hug. Nope, he goes in for the kiss. A kiss that consisted of him SUCKING on my tongue. Not like, a french kiss tongue sucking. Like... my tongue is that piece of spaghetti that you're trying to suck up. Like... my tongue is a baby's pacifier. Like... my tongue is the only thing that will get you the last bit of sweet, sweet grape drink in the bottom of the juice box. It was just, wrong. What was worse, is that this was probably him pulling out the best move in his arsenal to get me to stay. He pulled out the big guns... and shot me dead! That date could not have be resuscitated by Jesus himself.

I told him goodnight and bundled into my car. He leans in and goes for one more shot with the big guns. I'm sitting there in shock with my hands in the air, because I'm not sure of whether this is going to stop on it's own, or if I need to smack him over the head. And then, just as soon as it had started, it was over; probably an indication of what would have happened if I had decided to "warm" myself upstairs.

I leave as quickly as legally possible. Ten minutes later I get a text that says, "You should have come upstairs, it's so warm up here." I can't even.

By the time I woke up the next morning, I was hoarse and I couldn't get out of bed and I was secretly hoping that he had caught my cold. I had already decided that I was going to break up with him using my standard fall off the face of the earth approach. My co-workers, however, thought that I should let him down nicely. We, and I say we because there were 3 of us, crafted the most elaborate and compassionate text to the guy.  It went something along the lines of:

You're a really nice guy and I enjoyed the evening with you but I'm not looking for a relationship right now and I wish you all the best of the luck in the future... blah, blah, blah. Lies, fluff, more lies, well wishes and more sensitive fluff.

The man-child wrote back, "Oh, that's cool, I wasn't really looking for a relationship either. I was just looking for someone to keep me warm during my slow season."

Hold up, what!?! Here comes my woman's intuition waving her, "I told you so!" flag. This, THIS is why I don't bother with the letdown text. Firstly, because I can tell that it's bullshit and fluff, which means anyone with any form of intelligence can tell it's bullshit. Like saying fast-food workers at Subway are sandwich artists. You're just trying to make them feel better about a crap job. No matter what I write, it's a rejection. They know it. You know it. We're not fooling anyone. Second, I know 9 times out of 10, you're probably going to have a nasty, petty, immature response. My intuition normally doesn't let me down and it's only when I disregard it that I end up on dates like this.

What have I learned from this outing? If I walk up to the meeting location and he's wearing a Led Zepplin t-shirt and he's several inches shorter than his profile said he was, keep walking.

The Hobbit: And His Vast Fortune

If you're just tuning in, you're late, go back and read part one. I'm not doing a "previously on" section.

I was recovering from the flu. It's integral to the next part of this date; the best part of this date; the end of it.

I reluctantly set out from his lobby, into the frozen tundra because the bar is in "walking distance". So, let's just clarify somethings. For those of you who might not be aware, the actual distance of "walking distance" differs depending on the season. What was walking distance on a nice summer day is no longer walking distance in the winter. While walking distance in the summer can be a long meandering stroll that takes like 10 minutes. Walking distance in the winter is the length of a large parking lot. On this particular day, and in this particular outfit, it was the distance from the driver's side of my car to the passenger's side of the car in the next parking spot.

This bar was not even in regular, winter walking distance.

But again, I'm Canadian and I was wearing my good winter coat, scarf and gloves. He, was not. Buddy didn't even have on a hat. Good luck with that.

I don't like beer. Never have. Probably never will, but people keep thinking that the beer they like is going to be THEE one for me. Much like the people they try to set me up with, it doesn't work out that way. I've mentioned this much to the Hobbit in our conversations, but of course he has THEE beer at this pub that I have to like because it taste like dark chocolate... which I am equally not fond of.

We get into the pub and it's empty, because hell has frozen over outside. I walk in looking to the 9s with a fellow who is dressed as my sloppy assistant. We garner some quizzical looks on our way to a table and order some drinks. He gets his chocolate fantastic beer, me: vodka cranberry aka sweet juice with booze.

Long story, slightly short, the beer tasted like beer and I still don't like beer. You probably think you can change my mind, just gonna leave this here.

Back on track. We start to talk about the work week and well, ya know, life, and somehow the conversation regresses into a discussion about how much money he makes. It branches off into regular date talk and then diverts back to his earning power. On multiple occasions I was reminded of his six-figure salary, the fact that he drives some kind of fancy car, works from home and... how much taxes he paid last year (wtf?!?). Like, who shares that kind of stuff, not just on a first date but in life, as a whole. I don't even know how much my bestfriend paid in taxes, ever. At one point, he even deigned to ask me how much I made! Which I admitted was not as much as him, and left it at that. But he didn't like golddiggers! Don't be mistaken, he did everything in his power to attract them, but he didn't want them. Maybe that's why he dressed so shabbily; because he was using his attire as golddigger repellent. Like all of those rom-coms, where the rich prince wants to find the girl-next-door, so he throws off all of his princely belongings for a Led Zepplin t-shirt and some "pants". Like, Coming to America! I don't think the Hobbit got the gist of the movie, because Prince Akeem doesn't walk around NYC telling the girls about the size of his castle back in Zamunda.

I know his intention was probably to over-compensate for something, can't quite put my finger on it... maybe if I kneel down, it might be easier to reach. Low blow, I know. But it just made me feel like I wasn't accomplishing anything with my life. He was 3 years younger than me and I didn't have a six-figure salary, or even a semi-nice car. My car was a 10 year old Civic, that I still drive now. So, a word to the fellas that may happen across this blog: Bragging will normally produce the opposite effect of what you're aiming for; unless you're aiming to make the person feel bad about themselves, which would make you a douche and I can't help you with that.

With that being said though, he still rented his apartment, for a whopping $2000/month!! Which led me to believe his money, was new money. Paying $2000 in rent, when you could have a $1500 mortgage, just seems ridiculous to me.

After an hour or so of feeling bad for myself, I was ready to go. The high point of the date had been watching some drunk girl on her way home from the club, try to make her way across the Queensway. She fell, repeatedly, almost got hit by a car and some pervy-looking man tried "help her" by getting her to go "somewhere" with him. I'm guessing he was trying to get her into an early grave. But I'm paranoid and jaded, so I made close note of the man's description, in case I had to be the lead witness in her murder trial. Thankfully, she was still sober enough to know that wasn't a good idea, but not sober enough to know that she couldn't make it over that snowbank and across 6 lanes of traffic without falling out of her stilettos.

He decides to walk me back, because I wasn't sure of how we got to the bar, as my face was buried in my jacket, so that my nose wouldn't get frost-bitten and my eyeball juices wouldn't freeze. He says we're going to take a different route, "don't worry, you're going to like it. It will be romantic." My mind flashes back to the drunk girl that I found so comical an hour ago, warm and cozy in her early grave. But then I remember that he can't even really reach my face with the ether soaked rag, so I could probably take him.

Just in case you were worried that the date had already reached it's lowest point, fear not. The "romantic" detour that he took me on was next to... the lake. The lake that was presently FROZEN as far as my eye could see. What I did see out on that lake was straight out of some north-of-the-wall scene from Game of Thrones. A snow tornado blew across the ice. Literally.

I knew the general coordinates of where I was, but I was not completely sure of which one of the many buildings was his. This was not the route that we had taken from his lobby. So... I was at his mercy to get me to my car...

Tomorrow people. Tomorrow.

The Long Awaited Tale of The Hobbit... Without a Ring

This unfortunate series of events is brought you in part by the good folks at OkCupid.

So this story is way past due, seeing as it happened in Feb 2014. In all fairness, it was delayed because it was pretty bad and I left all traces of dating for more than a year after that.

The beginning of this starts with the customary messages back and forth online an then moves towards texting. Nothing stuck out about the messages that set off alarms bells or my women's intuition; the intuition that is firmly rooted in the town of I-Told-You-So.

We decided to meet up at a bar/pub on a Saturday night for drinks. I went shopping with some co-workers and spent the better half of 2 hours trying to put together a nice outfit for the evening. He tells me that he loves a girl in heels. I begrudgingly remove my flat boots in the car and but on a LOW-heeled boot.  Relationships are about compromise, right?

Check my determination out. This Saturday happened to be one of the coldest nights of the year, and well ever. No hyperbole! Don't believe me? Click here. It was -25C without the windchill, -40c with on Feb 15th.

A little about my date for the evening. His profile says he's a Caucasian male, 5'8" (make note of this for later) and he's laid back, down to earth, blah blah blah.... same stuff you find on ALL of the profiles. Legit, they all say the same two things; they're laid back and down to earth. I've decided that if I find the profile where the guy says he's uptight and out in space, I'll get on my Carly Rae Jepson flex and just send him my number. Straight out of the gate. No small talk, just, "Hey, I never met you, and this is crazy..." Off topic, sorry. He lives downtown near the lake, in a condo and he tells me to park at his building, the bar is close by.

I'm running a bit late, because it's snowing out, but I'm Canadian and I will not shy away from a snow storm. So, I park at his building and tell him that I'm in the lobby. Bruh, what met me in that lobby... *twitch*

Disclaimer: I know that people come in all shapes and SIZES, but be real with yourself. I know that I'm, at best, 5'4", might even fudge it to 5'4 1/2". I would not put that I was 5'9" on my profile. Because if you, as a person with your own personal preferences, do not prefer people of my short stature, you will probably not message me/respond to me. Right? Right.

This man was never, 5'8" at any point in time in his life. He was 5'3" at best. In the heels, that he asked me to wear, I could see the top of his head. I could also see that he looked like he just rolled off his couch and put on a coat. He had on a leather jacket, with a Led Zepplin t-shirt and some jeans that had passed their best before date by a year or two.

Men, listen, as a woman, there is nothing more frustrating than going all out on your outfit and make-up, only to find that the best your date could do was put on some semblance of a pair of pants; not because he wanted to, but because the law requires it.... and pantslessness (not a word, made it up just for this) is frowned upon in dining establishments.

His shape and size, so sorely reminded me of Sam, from the Lord of the Rings; including the way that he walked. But he had a cute face and nice smile, so! This is how I began my date with... The Hobbit. Stay tuned, part 2 tomorrow.