Since I moved to the DC area, I've been doing things that I previously would roll my eyes at. I guess it has something to do with my desire to step outside of my proverbial box and experience new things. One of these things I've tried is online dating. I know some of you are saying "So what LBN? People have been doing this forever, it's not new". For me this is all kinds of new, because I used to think that people who resorted to online dating were the kind who talk to little kids in chatrooms. But I haven't really met any so-called quality men (read: employed and do not throw wack-ass pickup lines my way) while out with my girlfriends, and I seem to spend so much time at work or in transit to said job that I don't really get the opportunity to meet new men.
So I made profiles at a few sites and started checking out profiles. I came across a few decent people, and we've established some decent online and/or phone friendship. However, no one that I've gotten the desire to date and get to know on a less visceral level.
Enter crazyman. He decides to message me, and we chat online a few times. His profile picture is attractive--nothing to drool over--but attractive nonetheless. We exchange phone numbers and all is going well. Well, on day three this man comes out with, "I love you, I want you to be my wife, and I want to see you barefoot and pregnant!"
Me: What. The. Fuck.??? Stop playin, that isn't funny at all
Him: Nah, really. You're my soulmate, it's fate that's brought us together
Me: Uhhhhhh, well you know I'm not looking to be tied down right now
Him: No one said tied down, I said be together
Me: *thinking to myself: ohshit ohshit ohshit, I've got a loose cannon on my hands* We're going to have to talk about this another time ok
The next day he sends me an email saying some mess like well you know I looove you my snooglebottom. Hold on, what the hell is a snooglebottom, and more importantly how did I get this title? Last time I checked, talking to someone intermittently for a few days didn't equate to marriage proposals. And I sho nuff didn't say that I'm leasing space in my uterus for his kids. Anyways, I respond as nicely and as eloquently as possible and tell him that I'm really not interested in playing wifey right now (I wouldn't mind, but not with him) and I really am not feeling that kind of connection. As a matter of fact, before his revelation, conversation with him had gotten about as tedious as cutting a 4 acre lawn with scissors.
Well what does he do but email me back saying that he's going to wear me down and make me see just how good of a man he is. This sounds like some shit Steve Urkel would say to Laura. But at the bottom of his message, he writes "I want you to see the REAL me". There's a picture attached to the email. I open it, and... Cough! Hack! Spit! Barf!.... I'm not sure I've ever seen a human being so putrid. Now, I'm no supermodel, and I'm okay with that and I know it's not nice to comment on people's ugliness, but sometimes *shaking my head* a Hell Naw is in order.
I'm about ready to cough up a hairball as I write another email back and more forcefully tell him I'm not interested. No response for a day--no email, no phone call, no nothing. I really thought I was free! Give us freeeeeee! NO. I get another email from him, this time much shorter. "Maybe this will change your mind". Another email attached. It's a dick pic. Ok, I've seen dicks before. They are not good looking, but I appreciate their presence and they are very useful for bumpin uglies (no pun intended). But this, no.
An ashy dick??? Foul on the play! 15 yard penalty! No first down!! This thing looked like it was covered in flour. An ashy vienna sausage? *tilts head to the side and says what. the. holy. hell.*
I already wasn't interested, but this just sealed it for me. I fire off another email, "Please, for the love of God understand that I do not now, nor ever want to be with you. Your voice sounds like rusty nails rubbing together. Coversing with a newborn would be easier than talking to you, and at least most newborns are cute. And the dick pic did not make the kitty moist. The kitty is now drier than roasted kitty litter."
Feeling confident that I'd lost this mofo forever, I went on with my online dating--successfully might I add--met some great brothas. Time lapse: 5 days. I get a phonecall from crazyman and he's asking if I missed him and going on about how sometimes you don't know a good thing until it's gone and that he's the good thing. I end the conversation immediately, but he calls back. I stop answering his calls, and now he's mad. I get an email from him which says that you should never shun your soulmate.
Soulmate? Nigga, the only way my soul will ever ever mate with you is if the sole of my shoe mates with your forehead when I hit you upside the head with it.
Bring on the stalkerliciousness. In six days I got 97 phonecalls, 33 emails, and 24 text messages. I let it go for six days because I knew I would need proof of stalker tendencies to bring to the police. On day six however, I realized that calling the cops would do no good, because he'd probably still find a way to contact me. So I decided to beat him at his game.
My final email to crazyman: I'm sorry, I was wrong. I do believe that we really are meant to be together. I love you and would love to be your wife. However, I want you to see the REAL me as well...
(disclaimer: this is Miss J from America's Next top Model, the most fabulous
man on the block)
I haven't heard from him since.