Wednesday, July 20, 2011

OD (Online Dating) ROI (Return On Investment)

"Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts." - A. Einsten

I want to start off by stating that I’m so ready to kick myself in the ass for even thinking of attempting to write about this topic. No. A kick in the ass is not the right punishment. I should really just chew off my fingers and rip my eyeballs out right now. Maybe cut my tongue out also, and kill all of my brain cells entirely and immediately. That way, I won’t be able to type/talk/think about this toxic-ass ridiculousness.

(I should also apologize about how lengthy this toxic-ass ridiculousness will be, so MY BAD! Alas, I need to detoxify immediately.)

I am referring to none other than Mr. Texas, an “online flame” (more like a fucking disastrous fire) that has plagued and brain-fucked me for the last 3 months or so.

Did I mention that we texted 99324928347923487294827712 times over the course of a month while he was 3475639475327485645 miles away on business?

Of course I did.

Did I mention how we never did actually meet because he turned out to be scumbag, douchebag, lying, flaky bastard?


Reading Elle’s latest post on SATS made me realize the following:

GIIIIIIRL, did you set yourself up for this shit!

Yup, I SURE did. And I sort of knew it, too.

From his impeccable spelling/grammar, to his boyish good looks (think tall—swoon, 6’3, blonde-ish—though really not my cup of tea, dark eyes and a smile that could seriously fucking melt the iceberg Titanic hit. I have to admit—I’m such a silly sucker for smiles. I can’t resist a sexy smile that houses some nice pearly whites. I just CAAAAAAN’T!) to his overall personality, I could just TEEEEEEELL (*rolls eyes*) this boy was trouble.

In REAL fucking LIFE, I would NOT go for him, and he would NOT go for me. Call it self-preservation, but he was the type of guy I’d want to just shred to fucking pieces: annoying good looks, a brain AND personality, a good JOB, a good sense of humor (read: funny as shit, sarcasm at its finest, somewhere between crass vulgarity and crude hilarity), throw into the blend some wit and charm and you’ve got the recipe for disaster. Why? Because SOMETHING HAS TO BE WRONG WITH HIM, duh!

Phew. OK, I feel better now. (Not really.)

But… somehow, I lost myself. I let myself be completely fucking delusional. I mean, really. I let myself believe his stupid words on my stupid phone screen. I let myself interpret his stupid words on my stupid phone screen as grand affirmations instead of viewing them as mere word-charades. I’d throw my head back in laughter as he’d vomit all these promises and declare all these ridiculous things to me, things that otherwise would make me run for the steepest, highest hills. But… somehow, I lost myself. I let myself be delusional. Completely fucking delusional.

I said to myself, “OK, fuck all this ridiculous shit he says to me (OK, I didn’t reeeeally say that, but I did say what ensues) I just want to meet him. That’s all I fucking want. God, please give me that and I will be set. Just to make sure that he’s really the Mr. Texas I’m imaging him to be. (And maybe have my way with him a few times. OKOKOK, just ONCE will do.) Then I can shred him to fucking little pieces. Thank you.”

However, while I was legitimately thinking this way, I was also (foolishly) feeling/acting on the following:

1. Time Difference.

He was, as mentioned, 3475639475327485645 miles away on business. (3475639475327485645 = California; I’m an East Coast chick, so you do the math) Mr. Texas was always 3 hours BEHIND. So while he’d prance, frolicking around Californian bars and clubs virtually EVERY fucking NIGHT of the FUCKING WEEK of the FUCKING MONTH (alcoholic, much? Why, yes, of course!), he wouldn’t think twice about texting me. Which was AWWW, SUPER SWEET, right? He’d think of me while out—he’d definitely not be banging talking to other girls. Oh, no. RIGHT.

Not only would he text me at convenient/decent/reasonable hours for him (12AM - 1AM for HIM, 3AM - 4AM for ME) – his texts were often always so fucking retardedly incoherent due to his intoxication that half the time, my only, half-asleep responses would be, “what?” “huh?” “uhhuh…” “haha” and “yes, I know, babe” (*cringe* at “babe” and I had NO idea what the fucking I was agreeing to.) Fucking asshole.

So I basically would stupidly entertain/amuse his sorry, drunken ass at all sorts of ungodly hours of the night, while I had work the next day at 9AM. (Just in case you are wondering, most days, he’d have to go into work by 11AM-12PM the earliest.) Fucking, fucking selfish asshole. (Fucking, fucking stupid girl.)

2. Drama

Three weeks into it, I get a message on the dating site from a cute little blonde who had “endorsed him.” (She was on the site herself.) The message read some ridiculous shit, along the lines of him being a nice, fun guy and all, but bad, bad news and how she “had known him for 3 years and watched him rip 2 girl’s worlds’ apart,” so I should “be careful” if I “feel my feelings getting intense.” (Oh, this was just “a friendly heads-up” and she of course, asked me not to mention anything to him, by the way.)

The story turned out to be that that girl was BFF with his ex-girlfriend of 100000 years, and she (the ex) found out that he (Texas) is “seriously” talking to “some girl” (me) on this dating site, back in NY (where he currently lives, and I hope my fucking city is giving him hell.) The obsessed ex-girlfriend currently lives somewhere in the midwest, where she followed him after college, from Texas, to live with him and be with him and be his bitch. How fucking sweet, boo-fucking-hoo.

Are you fucking kidding me? Looking back, that would have SOOOO been enough. Who does that? How do I allow myself to deal with STUPID, POINTLESS, IMMATURE EX-GIRLFRIEND DRAMA before I even meet this fool? Uuuuuuuuuuuunbelievable.

So I laughed at the message and of course I told him about it. He assured me she was just jealous and a bit of a psycho and she was the only ex who lingered around and he didn’t like it. OKKKKKK. Whatever, that’s really interesting. What the fuck did it have to do with me, I have no clue. Oh, he also made me SWEAR that I didn't believe the chick.

Him: "Swear you don't believe her, unless you're one of those weirdos who doesn't swear."
Me: "Uhm... yea, sure."
Him: "Don't be a douche."

Holy shit. HOOOOOOOOOLY shit.

He then proceeded to DELETE/deactivate his online profile.

Me: “Did you delete your profile?”
Him: “Why do I need it? Lol. I have you and if not, I deem that site worthless.”

I must have just responded with a smiley fucking face or just an “OK.” I wasn’t shocked, just more like, in a WTF-is-going-on-here-exactly kind of state. I then proceeded (like the idiot that I am/was) to DELETE my profile, too.

Yes. I am a COMPLETE moron. Whooooo does that? Me, apparently. WHY does one DO THAT? Seriously, I must have just completely forgotten during that time that I actually have a fully-functioning brain and a thing called "pride."

3. (On top of the ex-drama) GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS.

Now, I understand and can respect that fact that ex’s come up here and there in conversations. In fact, I find it weird if the guy doesn’t want to talk about ex’s—it tells me that something is off: he never had an ex, murdered her, or just isn’t over her (worst case scenario.) Well, Texas would go on and on and give ample and detailed examples about his ex (prior to the message incident—after, when he went back home to visit, after California and before getting back to NY, he told me how he “ripped her apart emotionally;” of course, she just happened to “visit” at the same time, too.)

Other women included fucking a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader, an ex (different ex) whose debt he paid off, cheating stories (“stupid college days”), one night stands/fuck buddies, MILFs, and etc.

Hmmmmmmmmm. How lovely.

4. TEMPER. (I’m cringing again.)

A few times, granted during his ridiculous drunken texts, I would make out what seemed to resemble the B-word.
Now, I fully embrace the term “bitch.” I really do. It’s empowering and it bears no abrasive disposition. I like to refer to it as my “Steel Magnolia” description. It’s the kind of term Sherry Argov describes it in her national bestseller, “Why Men Love Bitches.” (ladies, I recommend this 100% for a good fucking laugh and an even better eye-opener.)
However, I don’t give a fuck if you’re spending the week in fucking Amsterdam and you are drunk and high off your asshole, the B-word is NOT appreciated coming from a fucking man in such respect. It is rude and dis-fucking-respectful. Go swallow a knife. (Oh, and I wouldn't have batted an eyelash about telling him off to his pretty little gorgeous Texan face.)
Two sober nasty altercations ensued soon after—one over a simple comment I made at the fact that he had lost his tongue ring after a nice night of excessive drinking. (uhm, seriously?)
Him: “So I woke up this morning and I realized my tongue ring was missing. I have no idea what happened to it.”
Me: “Oh… I have an idea.”
Him: “What idea is that, sweetie?”
Me: “Oh, you knoooooow…”
Him: “You’re so fucking annoying when you say shit like that. You’re just obnoxious. […] If I were to put my tongue in God-knows-what place, on God-knows-what girl, why the fuck would I waste my time talking to you every single fucking day of my life? Why would I tell you that I’m leaving and talk with you every day? Trust me, I wouldn’t give a fuck, I’d just holla when I’d be back in NY and smash.”

"Holla" and "smash." My eyes were having a blast rolling in the back of my fucking head in amusement, disgust and disbelief.

Uhm, defensive much? OKKKKKK. Jesus Christ. All I said was, “Oh, you know.” That’s.just.three.words. WOW.

I tried to appease the weird encounter by stating the following:

Me: "Would you like me to buy you a new tongue ring?"
Him: "LMAO, noooo."
Him: "Awww, I'm sorry baby, you're cute and funny, I'm sorry that I got so mad, I just didn't like how you said that and I don't know... I took it the wrong way, I guess."

Fucking FREAK.

I have really no energy or desire to get into the second time he got nasty with me (something about his ex), apparently his panties must have been on too tight for him, but I just wanted to show how he definitely had some major anger issues, and never did he even try to hide this fact from me.

“By far, my anger is my biggest flaw. But at least I’m honest about it, and I am working on it.”

Vomit. And congratu-fucking-lations, dickhead.

5. Doing Ridiculous Shit.

I am not Betty Fucking Crocker and I hate Rachael Ray with the passion of a thousand suns. Albeit, I CAN be a bit domestic, but in this guy’s mind, I was already LIVING at his place – cooking and cleaning and doing his fucking laundry. Oh, how I WISH I were kidding. This got to be slightly annoying. Men – I get it. You need to eat. You like to eat. Women should feed you – sure. SMACK to the KITCHEN? – I don’t fucking think so. Yes, I’ve prepared elaborate meals for boyfriends in the past, but I honestly don’t just cook for anyone. That is almost something intimate to me; it has to be earned by the person who's getting this treatment. (Yes, I AM THAT GOOD.) I don’t know why I see it in such a way, but I just do.

Him: “So what would you cook for me, baby?” (Keyword: WOULD)
Me: “Uhmm…Italian?”

(Insert endless Italian food commentary here)

Me: “Listen, if I WERE to do that, I wouldn’t try to impress you. Honestly, I’m not exactly Betty Crocker and I don’t like very much the idea of spending endless hours in a fucking hot ass kitchen. I know what I can make, it’s easy, quick, and delicious and you’d love it.”

Him: “You wouldn’t have to impress me, baby. You blow my mind already and I’m sure I’d love anything you’d make.”


6. Overall Uber Shadiness.

The last (and pretty sure the biggest) factor I chose to stupidly overlook/pretend I don’t mind/not care too much about/not stand up to was the fact that Texas claimed from DAY ONE (OK, like day 3) that he had a “fancy iPhone” (he worked for Apple, Inc.—now you know why I hate all Apple products, but I just picked up my iPhone last week) whose speaker was busted, hence we couldn’t talk on the phone.

(You WORK for Apple, are away on work-related BUSINESS, and your fancy technological instrument from your work establishment is NOT working properly. RIGHT. FU. I was indeed born yesterday.)

OKKKKK. What was I supposed to say to that? How the hell was I supposed to find out if that was a lie or not? So texting up the ass is what we did. Day-in, day-out, night-in, night-out. After he disappeared, I tried to call him just ONCE (used my friend’s phone and blocked her number, too, of course.) I got his voicemail. I figured maybe he got ran over by a cab or something. He then resurrected from the dead a month later! AND STILL, ‘TILL THIS DAY, THIS MOTHERFUCKING CHARACTER NEVER CALLED ME.

He'd send me funny (read: retarded) videos of himself and his buddies in messages ON THE DATING SITE. (He asked me for my email the first night, claimed he sent a video there, but it "must have not gone through" because I never got shit from him.)

He also had "5000+" Facebook friends or some number in that ballpark, and apparently, Mark Zuckerberg was not allowing his popular ass to add anymore "friends" unless he KNEW them. In person. And since, well, we hadn't MET YET, he couldn't add me just yet. (Are there like, Facebook Laws now? Seriously? WTF, fucking bullshit)

Because his phone speaker was "busted," he suggested Skype. OKKKKKK. One night, we had a scheduled a "Skype date" (I was alone in a hotel room, in Fort Lauderdale, FL for a conference, while he... ended up going out and getting trashed that night. Oh, he also would send me pictures of himself with GIRLS. Girls he'd meet randomly, I'm assuming. "What uppppp girl, I'm tiiiiiioopsssyyy" When I told him I'd start sending him pictures with dudes, he got offended. Fucktard.)

So, let's recap: NO email. NO Facebook. NO Skype. NO phone calls.

What in the fuckity fuck was I doing/thinking? Someone please, I really am about to just punch myself in the fucking face.

*punches face*


Now, onto the shady resurrection:

Him: (a month after disappearance) “Wow, phew, lol finally got your number back… If you want an explanation, add me on Skype (insert lame Skype name here) and we’ll talk later tonight or whenever you have time. If not, uh, take care and I’m sorry."
Me: (like, a day later) “If you have an explanation, call."
Him: (like, a minute later) “I’d rather Skype, or meet in person, unless you’re planning on killing me."

Fuck you very much.

(Insert minimal annoyed sarcastic banter here)
Him: “Miss you."
Me: “Sure you do.”
I think he’s really just an Asian midget. Or a pervy 65 year old from Nebraska.
Everything was just a lie and a great show was put on.

Done, done, done.
I sent one last TEXT to him, and I said that it was needed to be done, for myself. My "closure text." I remained calm and collected, though I thoroughly also expressed my annoyance and slight aggravation in a moderate-to-high bitchy tone.

Never heard shit back. Gee, what a surprise.

Lesson to be learned: investment prior to actually meeting the guy in person. That investment should equal to ZERO. Niente, nada, zilch, kaput, NOTHING.

Therefore, the ROI will also be ZERO. I might have only gotten a B in Finance, but I do know that Investment > ROI = you're a fucking moron.
Congratulations, you fail at life.
(Did I really have to go through such a fucking – granted mildly stimulating and entertaining – charade to see and learn this??)
Sad, end/side note: I was NOT talking to any other guys at the same time, of course. Like, at all. NOT ONE. Lame.

Edit: I just wanted to also add that I never do this shit. The reason why I'm so disappointed is because as I said, I "went with it" and just didn't want to be skeptical/negative about shit. This is how I now know that it's just way better and a lot smarter to be skeptical/negative.


  1. I have my own harem of attractive online guys. Well, not so much "attractive" but "stupid and willing to help me with my school work."

    And I'm sorry that didn't work out. It's sad how the stereotype that pathetic assholes turn to online dating when no one accepts them. ):

  2. I'm sorry you had to learn this lesson at the expense of your feelings. I hope you can give yourself a break're human (and he definitely was not). We all do stupid stuff in the name of finding love. Believe me, the stories I could tell....and then someone knocks on your door and shows you the love you always knew you had in you.

  3. You should check out the film Catfish. Reading this post, it was all that I could think about.

  4. I totally forgot the title of this post until you brought it up at the end. That's fucking awesome.

    And I'm sorry you had to go through that. It sucks dirty jizz balls. You should fuck that dude up. Like beat him with a stick or something.

  5. I swear you were talking to my ex. He must have moved to Texas since the last time I heard from him.

  6. wow dude, i dont blame you one bit for feeling that way.

  7. Smiles are totally my kryptonite. That's what does me in and makes my panties drop automatically to the floor.

    I swear we are the same person. Assholes are so oddly addicting! I don't let guy's get away with shit, unless of course they treat me like shit... and then for god knows what reason, I let them feed my addiction.

    I guarantee if this guy hadn't had the temper, flakiness, and overall vagrant nature he would not have gotten under your skin. You would have been bored with him after two weeks.

    High five to being totally fucked up. At least it makes for a good story.

    And yah. He is a TOTAL door knob! Ugh, let me at him!

  8. @LDML - I wish I had a harem of attractive online guys. They'd at least make for a good distraction. And he was a totally pathetic asshole, but I'm pretty sure he was a 65 year old bold pathetic asshole, who murdered the Texan prince I was so immersed in. Oh well.

    @Stephanie - Of course you do, doll...

    @Stephanie D. - well, it wasn't so much about my "feelings" (I cringe at the word a little) but to be honest, as I said, I was just "open" to it and set myself up for vulnerability. That's what happens - expectations make you open and vulnerable, and a bit crazy, but mostly just stupid. I certainly don't expect anyone to magically show up at my door to show me any type of love, but I mean, it would be nice to just meet someone who will "do it" for me. Like I was foolishly imagining he would, somehow. My only expectation was to just MEET him after all the time spent talking (read: waste of fucking time). Thanks for the kind words though! :)

    @freckledk - hahaha, I just checked it out on IMDB. I'm a bit terrified, yet intrigued at the same time now, to check it out. Maybe I will, it will reinforce in me what a freak he really must have been! ha.

    @Maxwell - Thanks, and I would totally fuck him up, FYI. If I ever met him on the street, I mean, I seriously would kick him in his hairy bean bag so hard that he'd never be able to have little Texases running around. EVER.

    @Whiskey Girl - Well, I just HOPE you're not the crazy, psycho ex. Maybe you're just another (less crazy, psycho ex) but for both of our sakes, pretty sure it's NOT him. (although that would be pretty fucking funny though.)

    @Pork Star - Eh, it's whatever. It made for a fucking story, that's for sure. I just really wanted to bang him. Kidding, kidding. (Sort of)

    @Elle - Yeah, my cyber panties definitely dropped for him when I saw his smile. And I'm pretty sure we are just a fragmented version of one another.

    The funny thing is that I liked all his flaws because he didn't try to really cover them up. I mean, sure he turned out to be a flaky bastard (that's not why I was feeling him) but the fact that he was straight up about shit. Of course he made my head spin, and I was only willing to put up with his shit because he was bangin' hot. Sure, that makes me a superficial cunt who deserved it all along. Sure, I am fucked up, but that's OK.

    *high five*
    We'll eventually get it right!