You Are Here ———>X

Today has been filled with much fuckery. I agreed to a first date, at a park, with an eight year old child in tow because if he’s bringing his daughter, then I know he’s viewing my self-promotional ad as intended and not trying to jump my bones after a couple beers. I wasn’t dressed properly for the park because I came straight from class. The sweaty, smudged eyeliner countenance probably isn’t my best look, but to be quite frank, I don’t even care. I wanted to bolt within two minutes. By fifteen minutes, I was plastering the fakest smile possible on my sweating, red face. The conversation went a little something like this:

“No, in Conewago, we just recently built up enough neighbors for trash collection. So I have different colored bins for different trash types. Mostly, I burn it. But I do save the good stuff for kindling for my wood stove. I hate putting trash out for the garbage men because people are so rude and put twenty pounds of trash in a bag designed to only hold ten, and what do you do when it busts open? I would hate to be the one picking that up. But I was thinking, you know, about your math. I’m not sure why it’s so difficult for you, in Trigonometry, I realized that as long as you have certain basics down, you’re golden. Just wait until you’re dealing with equilateral triangles and Pythagorean identities blah blah blah.”

I’m sure he’s a lovely man. A lovely, boring, left-brained man, bless his heart.

So I claim I must work on my homework and exit as delicately as possible. And as soon as I get into my car and turn on my phone, I realize the screen isn’t working. Not one bit. Which means my GPS won’t work because I can’t program it or anything. And I’m in Emigsville. I’ve never in my life before today been to Emigsville. I’m geographically challenged. I cannot survive effectively without a GPS. So I drove around trying to find my way back to York without a GPS and couldn’t remember if I took a right or left onto Carlisle, and was that Church Road or Greenbrier that I turned left on? And shit, shit, shit, where the hell am I, I hate you technology, why must you do this to me?

Forty-five minutes later, I found York. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus!

And as suddenly as my phone stopped functioning, a friend texted, and it worked right as rain again. I’m thinking Mr. Trigonometry had temporarily bored it to death, but the further away we got, the more revived it became. Seems legit.

I suppose you’re wondering about all these men contacting me and the level of catastrophe that more than one has claimed. So I suppose you’ll like to see this week’s List of Losers.

First, we have Napoleon. He sent me a message that practically called me a whore, accused me of being fat, and demanded a picture. Mind you, he was responding to MY AD. Not the other way around. I sent him a scathing email back. I have now received three messages since then, one of which came in as I sat in my friend Ashley’s living room not thirty seconds after she asked if I had heard back from him after my reproachful comeback. I had included pictures as asked in that email to show him what he would never have a chance at. The final email today:

I almost wrote him back since he seemed to enjoy referencing my harshness.

Of course, there are those who still send pee pee pics and completely disregard everything I’ve put in my ad. Like this fine fellow. How could the girls resist?

Ashley and I had to google DDF because neither of us knew what that meant. He’s a filthy pervert who plays too much online, that’s what it means.

But they’re not all losers. And they’re not all incompetent when it comes to the English language and their comprehension of it. There’s this guy who I’ve responded to. He sounds promising. I’ve always wanted to go kayaking. AND! He totally proves that my ad is very clear considering his description of it. It’s not my fault these morons can’t get a grasp on it. However, the return name on the email is that of a female. Maybe I’m being Catfished.

I’m also having some pretty far out, fantastical, highly entertaining text and email sessions with a truly hilarious and intelligent man. Of course, he’s extremely complimentary, so I am a bit more guarded. I mean, they all start out throwing me up on a pedestal. But I’m tired of getting my ass bruised when I fall off.

He’s right, though. Our conversations are head and shoulders above most anything else you come by in this part of Pennsylvania. That’s nothin’ to shake a stick at.

So here I am, plowing through this world of men and pseudo-men and lots and lots of pictures involving dicks and the penises attached to them. Yay me!

And now I’m off to date number two with someone. I HAVE MADE IT TO A SECOND DATE!!!! Read that. Absorb it. Feel how hard it makes your nipples, and question it if it doesn’t. This is groundbreaking stuff, folks!

Perhaps this dating thing isn’t as downright awful as it seems as long as you know each experience leaves you with a story. And, boy, don’t I love sharing my stories…

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