online dating

the guy who knew exactly what he wanted.

by forloveandwhiskey

His words were like poetry and anything he typed seemed like something out of a sappy publication. We had gotten to the point in our conversations where he wanted to know what my tastes were.

“What kind of guy are you looking for?”

I pondered this a moment, and decided to give him the simple answer.

“A guy with a good heart, strong convictions, and knowledge of what he wants in life.”

Somewhat cliche, I know. But I also hate answering this question because the guy should let me decide if he’s even the right type of guy for me, rather than having me recite the things that I want and just hope that he fits the mold. Anyway, I wanted to be polite so I asked him right back what he wants in a girl.

He sent me a three-page PDF. Enjoy.

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When he didn’t hear a reply from me for a few days, he wrote to me and said, “Guess you didn’t make the cut.”

BRAVO, SIR. DOUCHEBAG OF THE YEAR.

mother is the ultimate cockblock.

by forloveandwhiskey
My date and I were sitting in his car outside of my apartment, talking about serious things. Usually if you’re inside of a parked (and turned off) vehicle with a date, that can only mean that the both of you just want to suck face. However, on this particular occasion, we were talking about our relationship and discussing adult things. I remember staring at the dude sitting next to me, wondering when he would shut the hell up and kiss me already. Honestly, I hate when the “relationship talk” comes up unnaturally and it seems like it’s being forced through a tiny hole where no one knows the outcome nor are they ready for it. If two people are on the same page, it becomes an unspoken agreement that doesn’t need a verbal analysis.

Anyway, we’re talking. There’s a lot of emotion in the air. Suddenly, my phone blares obtrusively and I see that it’s my mother. I silence it. She calls again. I silence it yet again. I turn all of my attention to the guy when suddenly, his eyes widen and he squints over my shoulder.

“Uh. Is that your mom?”

I whip my head around and in the distance, I see a stout silhouette of a woman standing on the 2nd floor. Her arms are crossed and even in the dark, I can feel my mother’s terrifying gaze.

I simply mutter, “Gotta go,” and leave our conversation unfinished. It was middle school all over again, and I was admonished all night for being loose and flaunting my goods to boys who only wanted my boobs and not my heart (her words, not mine). Damnit mother, you truly are the ultimate cockblock of the century.

I love the lady and I don’t mind her living in my apartment while she figures her business out, but man. I seriously don’t get any action anymore, and the gentleman callers are down to ZERO.

The worst of it was when I was on a date with a guy who had driven over an hour and a half to get to me, and we ended up having a fantastic date. It was nearly 2AM when we walked over to his car, and I mentioned that I would have loved to have him over if not for my mother. The melody to “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” raged inside of my head as we spent the next four hours in his car, and although it was one of the most glorious make out sessions I ever had with a guy, my muscles paid for it later and I was walking awkwardly for the following two weeks. I had an unforgiving black bruise on my back from the gear shift alone, and had to give a blubbering explanation about its origin when my mother walked in on me (very intentionally) while I was in the bathroom.

Let’s just say that when the Mrs. finally moves out, it is freaking ON.

the guy who hid his baggage (and not well).

by forloveandwhiskey

You would think that for a girl who goes on a ton of dates, love is an even bigger possibility. This is not the case for me, and it’s more common for me to go on a date with a guy who has clear issues than not. I went on my first GOOD date in months a couple nights ago, and I have been over the moon about it ever since. ONE GOOD DATE. IN MONTHS. Anyway, one thing that happens often is that the guy ends up lying to me about something. But it’s not a small white lie like, “Oh I only lied to you about that phone call because it was actually the restaurant confirming our amazingly beautiful date where I rented out the whole place and the floor would be covered in angel dust and rose petals.” It’s more like, “Oh I know I might have said that I have never been married, but I actually have and I’m divorced. And I have two sons who I pay child support for.”

By the way, that shit actually happened. But this is ANOTHER guy who lied about being divorced.

I had gone on a few dates with this guy who had the whole package: he was tall, he had a great job that he loved, he didn’t have mommy issues, and he was surrounded with family and friends who he had seemingly great relationships with. He seemed transparent with me, and by the third date, we were strolling over a romantically lit bridge with our fingers tangled together. It had been nearly a month since our first date, and I was ready to move forward.

Now, I had decided to do a little experiment and told myself that I would not Google-stalk this guy. No matter how tempting, I would keep from typing in his name and scrolling through page after page of little fragments of his life (if he actually had that much of an interesting life). I remember I was trying to fall asleep after that third date, but I simply couldn’t. My heart was heavy and there was this deep feeling in my gut that made me super uncomfortable (and this time, it was NOT gas).

I sat up and grabbed my phone. Without pause, I Googled him. The first couple pages were normal; the usual social media pages, his company’s bio page, his name on his alma mater’s Dean’s List page. Real basic shit that made him seem like a saint. Then I saw it. A photographer’s website featuring my date and his WIFE. Mouth agape, I flipped through all the photos and their smiling faces became a blur when I saw that there was a link to their actual wedding day, which the same photographer shot. Now the burning question remained as I squinted out the window to see the sun rising. Was this motherfucker married?

I decided to wait until a humane hour to text him. But before I did, I scanned through our old texts and his profile. He had made it very clear that he had never been married, and he was single. We had even joked about wedding rings before, and I said that diamond rings were outlandish and boring, and I wouldn’t mind a tattoo around my finger. He responded that he didn’t get why people bought those rings either, and if he ever got engaged, he would consider the tattoo idea too.

I collected my thoughts, then finally texted him.

“Hey there. Can you talk real quick?”

He said yes and I called him. I asked him casually, “You don’t have a twin, do you?” He laughed and said no, then asked why I was asking. I told him calmly what I had found and just needed him to tell me if he was lying to me this whole time. There was a deafening silence after I was done, and he quietly stammered, “I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

Then the confession came flooding out like a tidal wave of vomit. He was STILL married, but separated. They had decided to separate a MONTH before he first messaged me. He didn’t love her, it was over a long time ago, blah blah blah. I interrupted him severely and asked him why he had to lie to me though.

“I don’t know. I like you a lot and it just seemed like the right thing to do.”

I said goodbye to him right then and there, and later came to this realization: If a guy likes me, that is a wonderful thing. But in liking me, if I am any part of the reason why he turns into a liar and a coward, there is something horribly wrong and he needs to stay the hell away from me. I can only hope that I’ll bring out the best in my partner, and he’ll trust me enough to even confess his very worst.

the guy who was his mother’s son.

by forloveandwhiskey

From photos that I saw of him, he looked like a nice, harmless guy. I thought, “Hm, why not take a break from the craziness and give normalcy a chance?” If only the future Caroline can go right up to the Caroline of that moment and just LOL right at her face. When I met him in person, normalcy jumped through a glass window and plummeted to the ground below.

He wasn’t fit nor did he have a body to gaggle over, yet he talked about sports like he had years of experience with it. Which he did… either on the bench or through fantasy leagues. As a side note, superfans (those who breathe and would DIE for sports, and even more specifically, those who would defend and love Kobe like they would their own mothers) annoy the shit out of me. I won’t get into it though, this story isn’t supposed to be that long. Anyway, he loved the Lakers and straight up told me in jest, “If you don’t like the Lakers, get out of my face right now!” Then he laughed, leading me to believe he was joking, but I knew in my heart that he actually meant that by the nasty glint in his eyes. I simply shrugged and laughed along, but I wanted to slap him across the face. He also served as a volunteer in the middle school ministry at church for 12 years, and were awfully close to his students. In fact, he had them on speed dial and hung out with them a few times a week, which honestly is overkill. A man in his late thirties should NOT be spending that much time with kids if it’s not his full-time calling. BOUNDARIES, DUDE. Lastly, he talked about his mother a LOT. Trust me, when guys talk about their mothers, it can be endearing. A family-oriented man who wants to take care of his own is a great sign, but this guy took it to a whole new level by starting sentences with, “Actually, my mom wouldn’t let me…” or “My mom loves this drink!” or “My mom says that I’m…”

By the end of the first hour, I had consumed four whiskey sours and I was done. I was finally able to have a moment to myself when his phone started to ring, and I may have blurted out too excitedly, “Oh you should get that!” He picked up, said some words while giggling and looked straight at me, mouthing the words, “It’s my mom!”

JESUS.

the guy who stood me up.

by forloveandwhiskey

I wrote this in a private blog a few months ago and it was worth re-blogging for you all.

—

I was in such a rage today that I couldn’t even manipulate my tongue to form any words.

All I could do was make extremely unflattering guttural sounds while jerking my arms in the air like a marionette in a tornado.

I got stood up for the first time today. And it didn’t feel good at all.

It was my second date with a guy who wasn’t doing a very great job in trying to impress me or to win my favor, but I decided to give him a shot anyway when he contacted me and asked me out to brunch. We were supposed to meet at his apartment, and I had a whole hot outfit chosen and mentally prepared to wow him like I usually do with people. Come on.

I had texted to tell him I was running late, because my roof decided to pour remaining rain water into my kitchen. The maintenance guy took forever to examine the crack in my ceiling, but how fucking long does it take to look at the ceiling and notice the crack in the ceiling? Why do you need a flashlight to look at it, sir? Why do you need to peel back the paint to further investigate? JUST GO TO THE DAMN ROOF AND FIND THE CULPRIT LEAK POINT. AM I BEING COMPLETELY IRRATIONAL HERE?

Sorry. Back to the story. I tell him I’m running late. No response. Fine.

I get to the apartment, text him again. No response.

It’s getting cold (by Southern California standards, this means the low 60s), so I walk over to my car and sit inside. This is when that feeling of embarrassment starts taking over. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? Why the hell did I waste my time coming here? Why did I have to look so damn cute for NOBODY?

No. Words.

I waited twenty minutes and heard nothing. I peeled out of there, absolutely mortified.

The thing is, when I didn’t hear from him at all that night or even the next morning, I became concerned. As I mentally scrolled through the different tragedies that could have occurred to that boy, I remember jokingly telling myself, “He probably got trashed.”

LO AND BEHOLD, AT 5PM THE NEXT DAY:

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I had to practice a lot of restraint not to lose my shit. I simply texted that he needed to call me and apologize, so he did and then explained about the wild drunken night he had with his homies. What upset me the most was that for someone who already knows about the effects of alcohol and how horribly difficult the next morning can be, he still made the decision to drink his ass off. It seemed super irresponsible and I didn’t feel like he put any value into our pending date. And then he TEXTED to apologize with that pathetic two-liner. I was too disappointed to give him another chance, which he asked for.

Cool story bro, but get out of my life.

the guy who sent me this.

by forloveandwhiskey

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This upsets me for a number of reasons.

1. Why is he wearing sunglasses? It’s clear to see that it’s sometime in the evening, according to the harsh brightness of his lamp. I mean, just look at the shadows and observe the spot of piercing light on those shades. He’s squinting like he’s looking directly into sunlight, but he’s indoors anyway so why in God’s name is he wearing sunglasses?

2. He didn’t even introduce himself or properly say hi. All he said was, “I hope u like what u see.” NO SIR, NO. I DON’T LIKE WHAT YOU’VE SCARRED MY EYES AND SOUL WITH.

3. This pose. Definitely tried this pose through an in-home Pilates program a couple years ago. It’s not easy, and I’m sure his balls hurt from doing it so robustly. And how did he manage to place his chin so delicately on the other hand? It’s like he channeled all of his strength to gripping that hair-riddled leg and the rest of him is a ballerina.

4. Okay it just occurred to me that he’s not wearing pants. I am going to flag your ass as inappropriate, mister!

5. It’s like staring at a kitten playing Patty Cake with another kitten. I can’t stop.

the guy who I recycled.

by forloveandwhiskey

I feel like a lesson that I learn over and over again is that I really need to trust my gut instincts. 

I had started talking to this guy named James for several weeks, and we seemed to get along quite splendidly. He made jokes, I giggled like a freaking idiot, and then I made hilarious quips back to which he replied with his boyish “hehe’s” and “LMAO’s.” But for some reason, I frequently would get a weird sense of heebie-jeebies that I couldn’t quite explain. Nonetheless, I brushed off the feeling as soon as it arrived, and proceeded to get to know this guy.

I have this tendency to cyber-stalk every potential date, and I’m pretty damn good at finding the most random shit on a guy. That’s a whole different blog post though, I’m afraid. Anyway, back to this story. I was looking through an old Flickr account that James had when suddenly, a chill ran down my spine and I uttered out loud, “Oh NO.”

The prickly sensation was back, and I knew why. Major deja vu alert. I had stalked this guy before. It was all coming back to me now, full force Celine Dion style, and I was mortified. I recalled the first time that I had talked to this guy and WHY I had stopped talking to him, which was that he was FUCKING CRAZY. This was the guy who told me that he had a list of marriage requirements, and then actually took the marriage requirements list out to read to me aloud. This was the guy who had completely bashed Christian culture and called Jesus the “devil in disguise” while laughing bitterly into my ear. This was the guy who I had an hour-long argument with about domestic violence (which by the way, he was totally in support of). This was the guy who after exactly three days of chatting and two phone conversations, I did everything in my power to delete from my life. This. Fucking. Guy.

Yet here I was, speaking in a baby voice and acting the complete fool over him. To further explain, the last I talked to James was nearly a year ago, and he had actually lost some weight. The beefy football player looked more like a lanky librarian, and his name on his profile used to be “Jim” (I seriously hate these stupid ass nicknames that aren’t similar to the original names… Robert/Bob, William/Bill, Richard/Dick, UGH). I don’t know if I should have given him a second chance, but the first impression he left on me was too deeply embedded. What shocked me the most was that out of millions of single guys out there and the tons of messages I either reject or accept every week, I had to recycle him. Was the universe telling me something? Was I running out of single guys to talk to? Did I need to move to a new city with a fresh batch of men? I remember feeling sick in my stomach and not touching any of my dating apps for a couple weeks.

I’ll never doubt you ever again, squishy gut.