This new adventure that I have found myself on has let me in on a few little secrets I’ve been keeping from myself. The first being that deep in the cockles of my heart, I’m a shallow mean girl. I had no idea that I had anything in common with the plastics of our society. Below are a few examples:
Meet “Ted”. Ted is 40, works in a restaurant and does lawn work on the side. Ted also uses phrases like cupcake and sugarbaby when texting me. Ted, I’m sorry but its hard to take a man seriously when he uses childish endearments and works at entry level establishments. Seriously, who uses the term sugarbaby?
Meet “John” – John is a 30 year old socially awkward male who happens to have a complex where he believes the world is inferior to him. Now John has a decent job, but not something that would earn him the title king of the universe. John also thought it was a great idea to send me cock pictures. I sent him back advertisements for penis enhancement drugs and a toy ‘guaranteed’ to make it grow.
Now, meet my personal favorite. Meet “Alex’. Alex is an attractive male, good job, pays his child support AND does community service. (Not even because he’s court ordered, he volunteers!). Sounds good right? Alex is the epitome of sexist asshat. He actually told me that women would enjoy life better if we let our men take the lead in our lives. I told him I’m pretty sure Hitler said the same thing to the Jews.
Now, I readily admit to my imperfections. I’m 34, neurotic, demanding, bossy, and generally like to have things my own way. Seriously though, when did it become okay to be an asshole? It would never occur to me to send random naked pictures, give people I don’t even know overtly affectionate monikers, or tell them basically they are too stupid to run their own lives.
I’m going to continue this neurotic little quest for first dates that end badly because it amuses me. If nothing else this has gotten me writing again, which is always a good thing. I’ve missed it.
So in a nutshell, I’m a shallow bitch swimming in a world of douchbags. Ah, dating in my thirties is indeed interesting.