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3.5 out of 4 women agree that I’m undatable

March 22, 2010

In the past few months, I’ve gone out on first dates with four women. Of those four, one vanished into the ether, and two implicitly instructed me never to contact them again. And one, who has since reunited with her true love, has remained in touch with me via the interweb, but I haven’t laid eyes on her since January. Probably because she was recently almost stabbed on the T at Copley Station, and I left an unsympathetic comment on her blog comparing myself to her blade-wielding attacker and mocking her pee-in-pants-worthy ordeal. As if she needed yet another reason to be wary of me.

Without further ado, here’s a closer look in chronological order at my losing streak:

1. THE LAWYER

Location: 1369 coffeehouse in Central Square.

Last words: When I logged into my e-mail the next day, she sent me this message: “I’m sorry if this is overly honest and I really don’t want to be mean. I think you’re pretty cool, just something is telling me no right now.”

Lesson: Although over the course of more than two hours she drank two pots of tea, I learned that thirst cannot be equated with interest. She simply was severely dehydrated. And I heroically and selflessly saved her. You’re welcome, lawyer.

2. WAFFLE WOMAN

Location: Newtowne Grille in Porter Square.

Last words: None. I sent her a follow-up e-mail wishing her a happy New Year. She never responded, then promptly blocked me from Gchat.

Lesson: Someone may send you a (G-rated) picture of herself posing with breakfast food, but a love connection it does not guarantee. Although it should. Because, obviously, breakfast food is awesome.

She loves me not, she *really* loves me not ...

3. THE POET

Location: Burdick in Harvard Square.

Last words: Non-applicable. We’ve kept in close contact. She tells me the nitty-gritty about the “animal sex” she’s having with her boyfriend, who sent her an orchid the day before she and I met and came back to her by way of Brazil and Calcutta, and I started a blog to impress her. I’m counting her as a fraction of a rejection. As if she were black, circa 1787. But instead of three-fifths of a person, she’s one-half. Because although we’ve made strides in post-racial America, we still have a long way to go. Also, I’m bad at math. Also, I should probably clarify, she’s not black. Please don’t send me hate mail. I’m secure enough in my whiteness to support blacks being counted as 100 percent of a person. You can quote me on that.

Lesson: I didn’t care for orchids when my ultra-masculine brother started tending to them in his tween years, and I extremely dislike them now. Also, I’m not a racist. Unless you’re referring to my unfounded and irrational bias against Asians. And, of course, orchids thrive throughout tropical Asia. Thanks a lot, Asia.

4. THE FARMER

Location: The organic farm where she works and lives.

Last words: After not hearing from her for more than a month, she sent me an e-mail the other day telling me she has reinjured her back. “I think that I have to take a raincheck on any future plans for the next few months,” she wrote. “I hope to touch base with you sometime in the future! But, for now, it was great to meet you, and I hope that your spring is a lovely one.”

Lesson: It’s not the season for love. In addition, try not to let on during a first meeting that you enjoy spine-snapping screwing. That’s more of a second-date discussion. Because when weak-backed laypeople learn of your bedroom acrobatics, they fear they can’t compete with your sexual superiority.

Well, that’s that. It’s unclear at this juncture who will be my unlucky No. 5, but I’m now accepting invitations. Plus, my co-worker Bob just adopted a dog from a lady legal-eagle in Medford, and he shared with me his sneaking suspicion she’s into girls because she “dresses like a homeless person.” Indeed, observant Bob, that is a sure sign of harboring Sapphic desires. And to that I say: bring her on – unless she bears a resemblance to my ex-Filipino friend who was mean to me in high school and turned me against an entire continent, its inhabitants and now, apparently, its flora, too.

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11 Comments leave one →
  1. March 22, 2010 12:18 PM

    ok.
    1. dont be a hater.
    2. if i was the inspiration for this blog then it is on the verge of frankensteining.
    3. i object to the quotation marks around “animal sex”. no such words were used. at least not in that order. that i recall.

    • March 22, 2010 12:49 PM

      You’re right. The term you used was “BABY animal sex,” but I didn’t want to paint you as a pedophile. OF BABY ANIMALS. Sigh. Now look what you’ve made me do.

  2. March 22, 2010 12:37 PM

    is there a community blog for bad dates, like the fail blog but for awkward interactions over coffee and disastrous first kisses? faildate? loldate?

  3. D 2 permalink
    March 22, 2010 7:52 PM

    Maybe you need to brush up on your dog chase cat…or in your case…cat chase cat games. Also you are at a disadvantage by not having your first date include at least one party being intoxicated. That often results in a second date so both can really figure out who they were with the night before.

  4. redg_rl permalink
    March 23, 2010 7:27 PM

    dating is bullsh*t. so is marriage. relationships of any kind are bullsh*t. don’t go patting yrself on the back now if yr involved in one or more of these messy arrangements, just acknowledge that it’s a cycle of insanity & you are a participant.. & infinitely crazy. knowing is half the battle.

    • March 30, 2010 11:19 AM

      Last night, my husband rolled over to me and started bouncing his ass on the bed claiming it was time for “boogey butts”. We bounced for ten goddamn minutes.

      So yes, I am patting myself on the back for being married. It’s not as bullshit when you find somebody with all your quirks.

  5. MirtoP permalink
    March 23, 2010 10:47 PM

    There are always exceptions, but fundamentally redg_rl is right on. Cynical, yes, but right on nonetheless.

  6. March 30, 2010 11:16 AM

    I could hook you up with a couple girls. They’re all closeted though, so I don’t know if you’d be interested. I don’t know why, but it seems like every closeted lesbian in the state ends up coming to me to help them find secret girlfriends. It’s like somebody announced on the news that I’m part of the gay black market.

  7. lacey permalink
    April 6, 2010 3:41 AM

    hey! i just found your blog and you’re amusing and i’ll date you. i’m a 29-year-old-girl-dating-girl too. and i’m single and awesome. and i am totally in love with the bloggess, so we have that in common. and, you know, my love for her won’t interfere in our (yours and my, not the bloggess’s and my) relationship, because of victor and everything. so it’s pretty much perfect. i’m in portland, though. i don’t think you’re in portland ’cause i didn’t recognize any of those bourgeois-sounding Stations or Squares. sigh.

  8. Zoe permalink
    October 22, 2010 2:04 PM

    I don’t know *how* to block someone on gchat, so that must have been an accident. A mutual friend suggested I read your blog, and there is no doubt, dating is horrible, I agree! I think the non-reply is atrocious, and I apologize. I figured I was not your type, I guess. It’s not because I think I’m all that. I’m not and I don’t. Rest assured that I am undateable too! But. A friend of mine is trying to start some kind of gay girls’ social club. Maybe you should join. Premier event this Sunday evening. Feel free to email me for details. Even if I acted like a creep, I am not one, and I also have a conscience, curse me!

  9. October 22, 2010 7:05 PM

    If you started being datable, would you stop writing this blog? Because if you would, I would no longer be willing to help you get hooked up.

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