Bugs crawling into my ears at night. Getting pregnant with triplets. Being forced to drink Pabst Blue Ribbon. There is only one thing scarier than all of those things, and it’s internet dating.
It should come as no surprise that I’m not the best at dating. I can certainly hike up my breasts until they’re at cruising altitude, and I always refrain from using my shirt collar as a napkin until we’re in the “I accidentally farted on you” stage of our relationship. The thing I don’t have on my side is the ability to pretend I like stupid people who waste my time.
Internet dating has its benefits, but the relative anonymity of it coupled with the ease of access to thousands of potential mates has created a problem for those interested in a serious relationship. Gone are the days of daters trying to pretend they’re halfway normal, and in are the days of suitors asking if you’d like a dick picture after you tell them you work in marketing.
Don’t believe me? Let’s take a look at some of the gems I’ve met online.
The guy who isn’t letting his marriage get in the way of his dating life
Hello, Hooked on Tonics.
What an amazingly catchy intro that was! I’ve been sitting on that gem all these months while I’ve been away. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I see a major book deal in my future.
I’ve received thousands hundreds a few questions during my absence from WordPress about where I’ve been, how my battle with body hair is going, and which browser I chose in the Bing it On challenge. I’m using this post as a means of addressing all ten of my readers at the same time because I believe in efficiency, and want to use my saved time to watch reruns of Cop Rock on Netflix. Continue reading
I think I may be the neighbor from hell. I don’t throw raucous parties, or drive like one of those douchebag Audi owners through the parking lot. I pick up other people’s trash, and have even been known to say hi when I’m not daydreaming about almond croissants.
Despite my best efforts to be a decent member of society, some apologies to current and former neighbors are definitely in order.
To the neighbor who saw me topless:
Your expression really said it all. It was a mixture of pity, lust and confusion. Coincidentally, that was the same look I once gave to my reflection after eating an entire Little Caesar’s pizza by myself. I’m sure you had no idea that breasts could double as suspenders, or have so many stretch marks that it looks like there’s a freeway system tattooed on them. The truth is, puberty was not kind to me, and my breasts are now registered weapons in nine states. I guess I should’ve rushed to cover myself up, but I was pretty sure it was the last opportunity I’d ever have to show my chesticles to a man, and I had to soak it up. I’m sorry if this has stirred up a weird fetish, and your future wife finds you searching for “low-hanging tits” on the internet one day.
There are few things that make me happier than jeans that don’t give me camel toe, Golden Girls marathons, or Slurpees. Celebrating my friends’ birthdays happens to be one of those things.
Today is the birthday of a woman who manages to turn me on and scare me at the same time. When people tell me they aren’t familiar with her blog I automatically assume they are a Communist. She has an impressive middle finger, and may be the only person whose mouth is as salty as mine. Continue reading
There is this little blogger named Le Clown, and he runs a small operation here on WordPress called A Clown on Fire. If you don’t know of his blog I’m going to assume that this is your first day on the internet. He recently approached me to participate in a guessing game on his blog. The conversation went like this:
Le Clown: “You are the most magnificent™ writer on the planet, and my blog needs you.”
Starting today, he will be posting five holiday posts (one each day) from five different bloggers who will remain anonymous. Your job is to guess who the author of each post is. The participants are (in alphabetical order): Continue reading
Well, I did it. I survived NaBloPoMo 2013. I honestly can’t believe that this is the last post because it seems like yesterday I was only a week in, and telling my roommate that I couldn’t imagine lasting three more weeks.
This is how I feel on the inside right now:
Winner winner chicken dinner
Would I do it again? To answer that I’ll need to do a recap.