The Human Trafficker

4 Jun

The Human Trafficker and I never dated…but his emails were atrocious and funny.

Let’s call him…John.

I’ve never met a nice, good John. They’ve all been assholes. My ex, this guy, The Crapper (another word for John)…The Chemist…

I, of course, came across his profile while browsing through online profiles…his screen name was Hedgeman23. It totally gives this blog the backdrop it needs to set the storyline.

John’s first opening paragraph was this: 002 [Magazine] has voted me the elite of Houston. I get out of bed in the morning just to greet my playmates. I hold nothing back and am always ready to go all in for the right person – however have not encountered this person in the US. I crash half a million dollar sail boats because I like the splash. I crave a high IQ and if you are ready to trade wits – I will meet you half way. 

I find that a lot of guys write like this on their profiles to seem upwardly witty, but not John. I assume this is what John is like 24/7. When I saw his profile in 2011 (it’s been that long), he had pictures of himself (of course), pictures of himself in front of the bathroom mirror, pictures of himself and friends, in prestigious bars with bottles in hand, and pictures of himself with (obviously) lucky bleach-blonde ladies with fake boobs. And don’t forget…the picture of himself standing next to a lamborghini, pointing at it with a mischievous grin.

I liked his car. I’m a car person. So I wrote to him in my usual way when I’m not interested in the guy, but want to say something.

Me: “I don’t think we’d match up well romantically, but I wanted to comment on your car. It’s pretty sweet! Interesting color choice.  I like the 20″ rims. What’s the horsepower on it? Is it yours?”

Not a great email to send to an egotistical guy who thinks his shit doesn’t stink.

Him: “Ok. a) I don’t know you. b) It’s my lamborghini – when you spend $180k on a car – you can pick the color and all that Asian bull-crap to put on it. c) I picked that color for a reason. Thanks for talking mess. -John”

2013 Update: I have since learned to control my mouth and temper, but in 2011, I did not. I wasn’t trying to pick a fight with him. I paid him a compliment. Yes, a pea- and gold-colored car is an interesting color choice…I didn’t say it was fucking ugly, I said it was interesting. But, I of course had to write him back.

But, before I could write him back, he sent me d) “Let me know when you can afford 12 grand for tires! So sad…”

WTF! Dude, I feel sorry for YOU. YOU have to spend $12 grand on tires!!!!

So I of course wrote him and told him he was an asshole and took my statement out of context. I explained that I didn’t mean to piss him off and that I was a car person and just wanted to know about his car.

Here’s what he wrote back:

“I’m an asshole… Well that’s the first thing you’ve gotten correct today so congrats! You wanna talk shit to me but can’t take it when I get serious… Let me guess your a liberal? What do you drive princess? Your just barking up the wrong tree – your a socialist piece if garbage and socially retarted. You couldn’t stand on your feet for five seconds in my profession and you know it. But then again, since you may know it and are liberal at the same time – people like me have to pay your way in life. Your a nothing to me – and your humor reveals your insecurities. Still think your smart – well I did read your profile and your so over confident and bitter that you should be on a lesbian seeking out softball players. Cause all guys know that your bitter and have an attitude. Yeah – you can’t do shit and your a nobody. Get a life!”

Well that went extremely well, didn’t it?

I’m retarded, but I can spell “you’re” and “retarded” correctly. Hmm.

He then wrote me another email just within a few minutes of the previous one, with: “p.s. you must be a fucking idiot.”

So, then I fueled the fire even more and told him he was awesome. No, seriously. I told him he was awesome. It looked exactly like this:

Dear John, You are awesome.

He then sent me the following message, which is why I called him, and this blog The Human Trafficker. Kind of makes you wonder what exactly he does for a living. Then again, maybe that’s why he can afford those $12 grand tires.

Him: “So that’s what’s awesome huh? Want to know what’s awesome – I buy and sell people like you all the time. Let’s see if you really have any wits???? Feel free to call me so we can sort this out in person. 832.XXX.XXX. I’m waiting with bated breathe – let me tell you….”

And that my friends…is what I deal with in the dating world. Fun times. Fun times.



The Racist

3 Jun

The Racist…

Brandon and I met at a party and he was this tall, good lookin’, blonde-haired, blue-eyed charmer. He was former Navy and a liberal.

Now there’s a combination you don’t see often: military and liberal.

Brandon was sweet. We had our first date at a pub in downtown Denton and bonded over fish and chips, mussels, oysters and sweet kisses, when no one was looking.

We had politics, religion, food, life views and everything else under the sun in common. We’d talk for hours on the phone and on our dates, and when we’d part ways, he’d text me that he couldn’t wait to talk to me until next time.

Another interesting combination: a man that likes to talk and listen.

His unfortunate racist tendencies reared its ugly head on our fifth date. We were hanging out on his living room floor, with my head in his lap and watching old black and white movies, when he asked me the question that made me sit upright, argue, tear up and walk out of his house.
I noticed a hint of weirdness on our fourth date, but didn’t think anything of it and continued on with our day. He had come over to my house in McKinney as we had planned to explore the city and countryside. I was giving him the grande tour of my house, when he stopped to look at a picture on the wall of my second floor.

Him: “Who is that guy?”
Me: “What guy?”
Him: “The black guy you’ve got your arm around.”
Me: “Oh, that’s my friend D. He’s married to one of my close friends.”
Him: “Did y’all date?”
Me: “No! He’s like my brother. We’re just really good friends.”
Him: “Oh! Cool. Well, let’s go make our lunch.”

To be honest, I thought his questioning felt weird. But, his actions didn’t seem any different. He was still as attentive, PDAish and sweet, as he had always been.

We hung out the entire day, shared sweet kisses and hugs and made plans to see each other again in two days. Our fifth date.

As he brushed his fingers through my hair that day, also bending over to kiss the tip of my nose, my cheek, and my ears–our next dating encounter sent me chills. In the back of my mind, I was thinking, “I could get used to this.”

And then he asked me the last question that he’d ever ask me again.

“Have you ever been with a black guy?”

I immediately sat up and turned around to face him. I could feel my anger level rising just by looking at his face. He had this mean look of disgust, this look of “get off me,” if I dared say yes.

And, I did.

“Yes. I’ve been with a black guy,” I said.

I’m what my good friend Beverly, likes to call an ‘equal opportunity dater.’

He looked at me like I had the plague and pushed himself back from me. “I don’t think I can date you,” he said.

I’ll never forget that moment. A big tear welled up in my right eye and plunged down my cheek. My lips pouted and I felt completely blind-sided and sad. “Why not? What does me being with a black guy in my past, have anything to do with you and me, right now,” I asked him.

“Everything,” he said. “Black men don’t treat white women with the respect they deserve and it makes me sick that you’ve stooped that low and dated someone of color.”

Of color.

Who uses that terminology anymore? Seriously?

Where did he learn that? Who taught him to be like that?”

I picked up my things and told him I felt sorry for him and left.

Unfortunately, this is not the first racist encounter I’ve had in my lifetime. Unfortunately, there’s still stupid people out there…

Have you ever had a racist encounter when dating? Tell me about it.

Old Dates, Old Stories

2 Jun

If you, my readers, are wondering why I’m talking about old dates and old stories…by request, I’m writing about these old stories before putting my dating life and quite possibly, this dating blog, to rest.

I’m tired of all the cheats, the liars, the idiots…The Chemist did it in for me, and now there’s The Last Guy, and he’s truly a sweet one…but I’ve just become so cynical and I fear I’m starting to turn into one, insensitive bitch.

I don’t WANT to be that person, and I dislike that I’m become this person. But, all of these guys have turned me into that woman. And that doesn’t make for a good dating story.

So bear with me.

Like A Boss

2 Jun

Ever heard the skit/song from The Lonely Island, “Like a Boss?”

No? Then listen to it here.

The reason why you should listen to the video before reading this blog, is because, well…I dated ‘that’ guy. The guy who constantly tells you he’s a boss.

This particular date was back when I lived in Dallas. I had met this guy online and under his profession, when most people tell you what their title is, he had just put “management.”

I could have cared less whether he was at the bottom of the totem pole or really, in management. We had a lot in common and we liked the same activities. He seemed like he would be fun to hang out with.

When we first started talking on the phone, I once asked him what he did and he totally replied with, “I’m a boss.” That. Was. The. Statement. Out. Of. His. Mouth. Every. Conversation. Every. Word.

Yet I still decided to go out with him. What the fuck was I thinking? Totally my fucking bad…

Anyhoo…we decided on a few bowling matches at Main Event one night and when we actually sat down to talk (after I of course, beat him [COLLEGE BOWLING LEAGUE, WHAT, WHAT]), I finally figured out what “boss” meant.

Me: “So, what company do you work for?”
Him: “I work at Tom Thumb/Randall’s. I’m a boss.”
Me: “Cool! What area?”
Him: “Well I work at the district main office location in Dallas.”
Me: “I didn’t know Tom Thumb had a main office in Dallas. Interesting.”
Him: “Well, I actually work at the grocery store, but Dallas’ top store.”
Me: “Cool. Well, what department are you in?”
Him: “I’m in the deli area. And, I’m a supervisor.”
Me: “How long have you been there?”
Him: “I’ve been a boss for three years.”
Me: “Did you start there after college?”
Him: “I’m technically still in school. I’m actually in training for the lead supervisory position. I’ve been working there for three years.”
Me: [slightly confused that his answers have changed] “Oh. Well, what do you do day to day?”
Him: “I slice the meat, make sure customers are happy, figure out what deals to honor, I only supervise one person in the department now, but if I finish school and this training program, I’ll get to be the boss for this store, in this department.”

1) Never go bowling on a date. Unless you’re with other people. It was hard to talk in between games.
2) If you work, be proud that you have a job. I, at the time of the date, was unemployed. Oh, the joys of freelancing after being laid off. Again, if you work, be proud that you have a job. If you are a boss, great! If you slice deli meat, then fucking own up to it. Don’t lie and say that you’re in management when you slice ham for a living. I had a bunch of crap jobs to get where I am today. We all do. Own up to it!
3) I don’t want it to seem like I was badgering him the entire time, asking him about what he did; we also talked about me and what I did/used to do/what I was looking for. If he really worked at a corporate location, I wanted to know about opportunities, too.

The reason it didn’t work out? A woman’s intuition is serious. I have become FUCKING AWESOME at being able to tell when someone is lying to me. And once you do…like a sneaky friend…I will continue to be your friend (at a distance), let you talk, let you lie, whatever…but I will ultimately lose respect for you deep down and I won’t trust you. I won’t trust a word out of your mouth.

I would have respected him more, if he had just owned up to his job. If you’re embarrassed by what you do, change it. If you don’t like what you’re doing. Change it. Change jobs. I disliked the fact that he was willing to let some 10-letter word (management) change his story.

Liars suck!

Comfort Zone? What’s That?

18 Apr

Whoa! It’s been awhile since I last wrote. There are no awesome excuses as to why I haven’t written. I just didn’t want to. Plain and simple. I took a break from dating, so I took a break from my blog.

But, I’m back. And, with news.

No, I’m not getting married.

Actually, I’m stepping out of my comfort zone today and going on a date with a guy I’ve been talking to online for about a week.

Just a couple of months ago, I revisited OKCupid after deleting my profile some 9 months ago. I got back on because I was bored. I immediately went on some crazy dates (of course), but also met a really kick ass guy–with whom I’ve become really good friends with and now, Andrew.

Why is this out of my comfort zone, you ask? Well, because he’s 5’9″ and I don’t usually date guys shorter than 5’11”.

I’m a little freaked out by it…but even if we didn’t hit it off romantically, he might have tall friends and he’s got a fuckin’ awesome personality. And, that would be awful if we didn’t at least explore the idea of friendship.

So, I will let you all know how it goes.

Wish me luck!

P.S. Stacy…this is for you.

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