This is My Life.

BOY. GIRL. TEXTING. RESPONDING. PLANNING. (read: effort, giving a fuck, trying, etc.)

Yeah. Just never the right  ones.

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?

OF COURSE I DID.

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."

Me: "I SWEAR I DON'T FUCKING BELIEVE A WORD."

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.

He’d talk about OTHER GIRLS CONSTANTLY.

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.”

Vomit.

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*

*faints*

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.

*applauds*

SO DONE.

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.

Best Thing I Never Had

It’s been over two weeks and I am still dumbfounded, looking for answers and justifications that I probably will never find. I’ve stipulated and have also probably exhausted a shitload of possible scenarios as to WHAT might have (caused this to) happen(ed). […]

To backtrack a bit: over a month ago, I jokingly signed up for an online dating site. No big deal; I really had absolutely ZERO expectations and my overall attitude was “I really just don’t give a fuck.” I mean, come on. Seriously. What the Internet has been able to do in terms of “dating” is open up a virtual portal for all freaks to pass themselves as being NORMAL. It totally served as a mild distraction/curiosity.

No more than two days in, I start messaging with a handsome dude from NYC. OK, very handsome dude from NYC (at least in my opinion, but I’m pretty sure in many others’ too). So I’d be a terrible liar to say that it wasn’t the picture of his gorgeous smile and chiseled face that got my attention. But anyway, it was really his profile that seriously intrigued me – aside from the pretty impeccable spelling/grammar, he sounded extremely honest and straight up, with a little bit of a “dick” attitude, but that’s how “extreme honesty” can come across, so I can dig it. I’d rather read that than an endless, boring enumeration of all amazing qualities and adjectives that most guys use to describe themselves – it’s like, really? If you’re SUCH a great catch, then why are on here? Nothing but a bunch of tools.

Getting back to Mr. Wonderful. I will call him Texas – the perfect pseudo-online boyfriend-name ever. (He was originally from Texas, where everything "is much more genuine than in the Northeast." Really, shitface?) So we start to message each other back and forth pretty heavily on the site, which was totally cool (mind you, I am totally NEW to this whole fucking online dating crap thing). Maybe one-two days in, having reached a decent level of “comfort,” if you may, his message reads something along the lines of:

Listen, I’ll be honest with you – on Saturday, I’m leaving to California for work for 3 weeks to a month – if you want, we can exchange phone numbers and what not, but if not that’s cool, if we’re still both available when I get back, I’d love to meet for drinks or something, if you’d want.

Of course, who am I to NOT want to cop digits because I am gangsta like that and, to make a really long and TERRIBLE story short, what ensues for the next FIVE weeks is what I call a full-blown insane textathon. No joke, I did a search on my Blackberry – close to 8000 (yes, eight thousand) incoming and outgoing text messages were exchanged (including picture messages), basically just covering an entire fucking array of topics of conversation, from sports, to food, to love, to family, to cars, to careers, to relationships, to… yup, LOTS of SEX talk.

Needless to say, we NEVER did meet. Yup, Texas disappeared (read: conveniently stopped answering my texts about 4 hours before out scheduled meeting) off the face of the earth. So, where am I today? Today, as I have been for the past two weeks, am left wondering just how this human being was able to waste my time (AND HIS) in such a way. I’m also left wondering how the fuck did I allow for THIS to happen.

I guess by “this” I am referring to some strange type of little emotional investment that I did have in this? The type of emotional investment I’d rather be trampled on my elephants on fire than admit to having. Sure, I can sit here and calmly claim that I invested only thumb muscle power (read: texting), but I’d be lying. Yup, yup, yup. I totally would be.

(Side note: I wish I had the time/energy or he'd be worth the effort of me typing out the random shit we'd talk about and ALL the stuff that I know about him; it's quite amusing just how much of HIS own time he wasted, but that really doesn't even fucking matter.)

I was honest, open, raw with my emotions, meaning I was in stupid high spirits and would genuinely smile and become so extremely happy to hear from him – to the point where it was just a crazy definite that we would meet and just hit it off in person as well as we did through texts. Not more than a few hours in a day would pass by that we wouldn’t be in contact. Major plans (baseball games, movies, dinner, taking me to Texas to see where he's from, even Vegas - yes, VEGAS, didn't believe it for a second and guess what? I ended up going to Vegas anyway with my girlfriends, and other blah blah blah ridiculous bullshit) were made (ALL initiated by HIM, mind you) that just built upon the excitement. There was a definite perfect blend of sarcasm, playfulness and seriousness. And stupid ex-girlfriend drama, of course. (I ended up receiving a “fake” message on the dating site from her, telling me “watch out” for him, that he is a nice buy, but just bad news. Should have listened? Ha! Seriously, I can’t think of anything more lame than that.)

He made my head spin, to be honest. In a good way, and in my eyes, he made himself seem like Mr. Perfect, yet he didn’t even know that he did. There were a few “offs” that I had picked up on, MAJOR offs I want to say, so perhaps I dodged a huge bullet, after all. Not for nothing, but he also wasn’t all shy talking about NOT being Mr. Perfect and about having a few character flaws: temper, double-standards, cockiness (but he swore he was just confident, and only a bit big-headed because of all he had accomplished and where he came from.) Hmmm, I think I’ll add a few more: a drunk (I swear, he went out and got drunk almost every night while in Cali – hence the drunken texts), a bit of a misogynist, a bit of a racist (yes, you're from Texas, I get it... NOT REALLY!) a bit of a complainer, a bona fide “EX” bad boy. Puh-lease.

Wait, wait. I think I’ll add some more: A coward COCKBAG who felt he was better than anyone else, whose stupid lines I believed and whose dick I hope will fall off from an unimaginable mix of chlymedia and gonorrhea caught from the next whore he fucks. (I’m so classy when I’m mad.) I hate his guts.

To give a taste of his originality, wisdom, wit, charm and overall douchbagginess, I’m posting one the longer messages we’d exchanged every so often:

Texas:

“i'm bored and i hate facebook and i'm texting you and i have nothing to do and i wanna sleep and i don't wanna be sitting here... correction, i wish i was sleeping with you. ok correction, i wish i was getting it on with you. i know you appreciate my honesty so i figured i'd just go ahead and say it. and i have no idea why i'm writing this to you, i just have absolutely nothing better to do with my time. i wish you had an iphone so we could play words with friends, it's like scrabble, and so i could dominate you and plow your ass into the group because i'm awesome. (just so we don't get the wishes confused, i'd rather be getting it on than playing a scrabble-like game. so just incase a greater power decides to grant me a wish within the next 5 minutes, please take the one i prefer)......... not that i belive that would happen, i just had to be a smartass about it. anyway i'm still not sure why i'm writing this to you. it's 1:02 right now, i've decided that i'm going to get a mountain dew and vending machine cupcakes at 1:15 so you get to listen to me ramble until 1:15. which, i'll be surprised if you read all of this. actually who am i kidding, i know you will. and oh look you just texted me. apparently my degree sounds fancy? you're such a damn goofball, but eventually you're gonna be my goofball. ok, wait, i'll put it in perspective: i have to take you to dinner multiple times, have you make me dinner multiple times, have sex multiple times, and hope we click in person as well, then you'll be mine. phew, sounds like a tedious process..... just kidding, i can't wait. now it's 1:05. 10 minutes left of this ridiculous shit, where i don't even know what i'm saying or why i'm saying it. i can be kinda random sometimes. i really want a drink of that mountain dew right now. and my gum in my mouth is really dull. is it gross that i'll take your gum out of your mouth and chew it? actually idc if you think it's gross, i seriously do that... you just texted me again, interruption annoys me. so watch, i'm gonna be a dick purposely. it stands for master of science in integrated marketing communications. i feel bad right now for being mean for no reason but it's kinda funny, i'm just teasing i promise :) now it's 1:08 and i didn't accomplish shit in those 3 minutes, damn. ok, fuck 1:09. i promise i'll make the last 6 minutes great. especially because i want them to fly by, the anticipation of the mountain dew is making my mouth uh... hard? by 1:15 it'll be an orgasm in my mouth, can't wait. anyway enough of this random shit that i'm pulling out of my ass, i can't wait to see you, kiss you, carry you over my shoulder like a piece of nothin', and throw you up in the air and onto my bed, alright seriously i'll make sure you almost hit the ceiling before you come tumbling down, it'll probably scare you the first couple of times then you'll get used to it. kinda weird how i'm so crazy about a girl i've never met, better yet, i'm rarely ever crazy about girls, i have a hard time giving a fuck because most girls are just mental clusterfucks but i swear something about you makes me tick for you, i guess it can only get better in person huh? it's 1:12 now, text me back, i wonder you're sitting there like why the HELL is he so goddamn mad.... and you're probably reading this NOW thinking "i'm stupid, he was never mad" i told you i'm rude when i'm mad, but i'm not really being mean to you, i guess you should take notes for this so you can separate sincerity from jokes. 2 MINUTES UNTIL IT'S MOUNTAIN DEW TIME, you know the most fucked up part about this? i could go get a mountain dew and shit right now, but i just decided i was gonna write until 1:15, i like to stick to things. anyway you're cute, beautiful, and a lot of things that make me happy but it just turned 1:15 and i'm going to get my mountain dew. LATER BABE!”

ANYWAYS. My closure text can also be read below. It was my (second to last) attempt a few days later to reach him. I never did call him (his “phone speaker was busted”) and mind you, he worked for Apple Inc. And had a “jailbroken” (read: fancy) iPhone. (in his defense – I don’t know why – he did tell me this from the very beginning). Still. What kind of SHIT is that? Totally shady shit, if you ask me.

“So, this isn't a pathetic attempt to reach out to you because right now I truly feel you aren't worth my time, and while you might sit there on your big Texan king throne thinking how you're the shit because I have allowed someone who I never even MET get to me, I just wanna say fucked up shit because...well, I just feel like it and because I can and because I'm feeling extra bitchy today. To be real with you, I'm fucking honest even with my anger, which makes me laugh in a way, although my pride makes me wanna play my anger off cool and hide it? I honestly don't care how this makes me look, I don't care what you'll think, I honestly just don't give a fuck. You were almost too good to be true, so a big THANK YOU for instilling that in me--if something seems to be too good to be true, it probably is. You were like a good distraction and that's about it; I don't regret a thing and I'd fucking do it again in a second, I'd want to feel that excitement and that genuine feeling of happiness again and again because that's just ME--I'm fucking RAW and I don't give a fuck. I listened to ALL THE SHIT you had to say to me and it was all a fucking game, and yeah, I took it in and felt you genuine, and if hadn't done that, then what? I would have been in a better place? Whatever. Talk is cheap at the end of the day; that's what your words have been to me. So while this will sound like one hell of a cliche, I know that this was unfortunate how you played it out, you shady shot caller, and it's totally YOUR LOSS. So indirectly, another big THANK YOU--cuz I can't fucking wait to meet someone who'll have all your (fake?) positives and none of your fucked up shortcomings.”

Oh, the joys of ONLINE dating. Shit is really hilarious, I swear. And oh yeah, people are shady. Lesson learned!

On another note, these seem to be the trends I’ve picked up from online dating: (I’m currently using a different site; Texas and I both “deleted” our profiles on a good note we were, claiming that “we have each other” – vomit.)

- No one looks like his or her pictures.
- People you are interested in are usually not interested in you.
- People are too lazy to spell out full words, or no one can really spell/use proper grammar.
- If you’re excited about meeting someone, expect him or her to cancel last minute. (Or better yet, to just disappear.)
- If you’re not interested in someone, expect him or her to continue emailing you asking why you're not replying.
- Seems like everyone likes to take pictures of themselves in the bathroom, I hate self-taken shots anyways!
- wHy Do PeOpLe tYpE lIkE ThIs, OR IN ALL CAPS????

Things I don’t trust:

- People with only one photo posted.
- People with only self-taken pictures. What, no friends?
- Pictures from whacky angles or from 500ft away.
- The “Where's Waldo” pictures, where every picture is of the guy and 7 of his friends… Need I say more?
- Fake profiles! I can spot them from a mile away. That’s a whole new level of sad – congrats, assholes!