Tinder James, The boy who would not go quietly.

Let me preface this by saying that I loathe being ghosted. I think ignoring someone is WORSE than being rude. I prefer my LEAST favorite emoji, to silence.

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and I hate that shrugging man.

I also hate hurting people’s feelings. … …. so ghosting is a convenient way to deal with the unsavory Tinder dudes without having to tell them why.

Is it really ghosting them if you haven’t even met them yet?

Yeah… it is. It’s rude to go from answering someone to not, regardless of the reason. I didn’t think I had any other choice with Tinder James once he started calling me honey… So I set him to silent and fell in love with the little moon beside his name that gave me my peace back.

Or so I thought.

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What part of my not responding for a week, gives the slightest suggestion that I may still be interested? I honestly want to know, because I feel worse with each message from him that I ignore, and he’s not slowing down. Then he started calling. Ugh. No. It’s a very rare occasion that I take a phone call. So I asked Little Red for help. She told me to send him the little ghost emoji. My coworker disagreed and told me to keep quiet… but I always listen to Red.

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He didn’t get it. Ugh. I already felt like an asshole… and now I have to explain my insult. Fun.

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My coworker says “don’t be too mean” and it resonates because I have a son, and I hate that men have to stick their necks out so far in order to impress a girl. We put all the same pressures on them AND they have to be the one to ask. It’s not easy being a man and I never want to damage a good one.

For the record, gentlemen… when she really likes you… nothing is anything short of perfect. Perfect bodies are a perfect nightmare, because having a man want you naked, regardless of your imperfections, will burn your fucking house down, sexually. Not giving a shit about perfect, frees you up to have scorched earth sex. Get some, you’ll thank me.

Because the rest is just cringing and ghosting until you decide to be honest and tell someone why you’re running scared instead of smiling when his messages roll in.

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Who wants to bet he doesn’t handle it well?

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I did not need to take bets on who knew I would respond. It goes with the territory. Every basic man in the world knows that women are most insecure about their weight and appearance. Fat and ugly would have crushed me in my 20’s, but now I just feel like clarifying that I only swiped right because he was in high-vis and I was at a weak point in missing someone far more attractive. Don’t come for me unless I send for you, Tinder James.

Because I have teenagers.

Teenagers that know stuff. I was talking to Red and she stopped me.

LR- MOM. Stop saying emails. They’re DM’s.

J- Jeeez…

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Sorry, Stalkerpants…. you’ve been thrown to the wolves. I apologize for whatever fun adventures they leave you waiting on, but hopefully you learn how to speak to a woman as a result. It’s ok for someone to not want you, and when you’ve shown your ass and woken them up in the middle of the night AND first thing in the morning on their day off…. you kind of .. sort of…. need to just apologize and fuck off. There’s really no other solution.

Well… other than learning the hard way….


No Mas Tinder James

I’m so patient, I need an intervention because the amount of time I can quietly wait is more liability than life skill. I’ve been buried up to my eyeballs in stress, trying to finalize a new hire at work AND getting my ass LITERALLY handed to me via Insanity with Shaun T, every morning. I’m wearing thin and see a snap on the horizon.

The Tinder boys are a sad reminder of the state of the male population these days. Tinder Scott wants a selfie constantly. I am not that girl. I’m not interested enough to pretend I am.

Tinder James is in a league all his own. I don’t know what to say. Read for yourself. PS. We have not had a first date…. (nor will we).

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I can’t even deal with this guy. The sheer amount of text messages, drives me nuts. Yawn factor aside, let’s stop and address the dismembered heads in his freezer AND his decision to send them to me out of context. I realize I’m being an asshole, and should say something… but where would I even begin? What purpose would it serve?

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It happens to the best of us, James.


Good Morning, Gorgeous.

Huh.

This is new.

I’ve been single for a loooooooong time (approximately 5 years) and way back then, nobody sent good morning text messages.

Now it’s a thing… and it starts early.

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It’s already too much work, if I’m going to be honest. I haven’t had a date with James yet and Ike is solid gold eye candy and not much else. Pretty boys are fun to look at, but that’s usually as far as it goes. He’s 6’4″ and probably 300 lbs. CUTE as hell, but equally as wholesome. We had lunch last weekend and he licked his lips when I met him. Don’t get me wrong… I’m a full fledged heathen in the right circumstances, but first impressions are everything and I quit dating fuckboys in my thirties.

Don’t date a real woman until you’re a grown man. We know instantly. Men are like ice cream, after a while, you recognize a few flavors.

  • That one tastes like hurt feelings. He’s instantly sexual with you, asks you to come to him AND will only make you feel bad about yourself in the long run. He’ll benefit from this, not you. I swear to God if I ever taste this one again, I’m joining a convent. Sorry Ike. 
  • This one tastes like I’m going to have to change my phone number and hang up some NO TRESPASSING signs. James, pump your breaks dude. I’ve had to silence him on my phone after he wished me a good morning at 5:30 on Saturday morning. Those are emergency ONLY hours, right? He sent me 37 text messages yesterday. I sent him 4. I was home by 5 but told him I was working late so that he’d stop blowing up my phone. His last text was at 11 at night, asking how my day was. Gah.
  • Mmmm… that one tastes like East Coast disinterest. I sure don’t mind being called “Doll” and his minimal text messages are enough to get me to agree to a date. Scott’s educated, and successfully self-employed with a bunch of cool toys. He wears a tie every day, which still does it for me. He’s also a narcissistic asshole, which sadly… also does it for me. I’m going to spare myself the eventual headache and not date Scott.

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  • Eeek…… This one tastes like a criminal. Trayvonne is lovely to look at, but can’t leave the state. Hard pass, pretty boy. I already learned that lesson. Nobody is so attractive that you should join them in their legal mire. Good relationships begin with healthy, available people. No habla ankle monitor. 

Dating is rough, and absolutely no fun at all when your heart isn’t in it. I’m past comparing my dates to the man I wish were sitting across from me, but there’s a certain sadness that’s sunk in as a result.

I hate to ghost them all, but that’s looking like what’s going to happen. Sorry, not sorry. There are different rules for Tinder boys and I’m more annoyed by their presence than pacified by it.

I don’t want a babysitter, I don’t want a good morning text message, I want a man across the dinner table from me and in my sheets, otherwise what’s the point? I’m over it.

No more swiping left or right. No more texting. Either he’s sitting at the table or he’s not. My patience for these virtual boyfriends has run out.

Because I have a favorite flavor. I want the one that tastes sweet, makes me laugh and leaves me wanting more. The one who’s physically, mentally and emotionally available.

…and won’t text me at 5 in the damn morning on Saturday. 


Proclivities

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I’m a fantastic woman. I’ve worked hard at it. I’m funny, sexy, smart and every sort of nice guys dream come true. If only I liked nice guys…

If I’ve learned anything about myself and who I’m generally attracted to? It’s that they’re all grade A Daddy-Issues-typical-Jenni-habit. Five years of celibacy helped, but my preferences haven’t changed much.

Dating your Daddy issues only lands you in one very unpleasant place. Reliving the pain you watched your Mommy suffer through when you were a child. I loved my Dad, but he was a Grade A douchebag when it came to the women who loved him. Never invested, never present, never available. Completely fantastic if you were standing right in front of him…but out of sight, out of mind.

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Remind you of anyone?

Pretty disappointing when you consider that not only was he a terrible, unavailable parent, but he also managed to saddle me with a type that guaranteed my long-term suffering. Thanks a lot, Dad. It makes me feel a lot better about the 12 page truth sandwich I sent him before he died. I hope it stung as much as eternally wanting what I can’t have, does.

Miss Lovely recently gave in and met Mr. Charming; whom we’ve been dying to set her up with for years AND IT WORKED!!!! They’re having a delightful time and have reminded us all that our friends know us better than we know yourselves. Perhaps that’s the key? Life has a way of breaking even the most beautiful hearts and our friends aren’t looking through rose colored glasses when they set us up with other people they adore.

Internet dating has gone from bad to fucking lunacy. I can’t even. Between the instant dick pics or access to the real one… I’m bored. When I consider the choice between the 25 year old I should feel guilty for, or the 60 year old who should be dating women his own age, I’m left asking the one glaring question I’ve asked for the past 15 years.

Why?

Doesn’t it have to add to my life? I have my own home, the princess bed of my dreams and an egyptian cotton habit I don’t have to justify to anyone. If I feel like making Thanksgiving in July… we’re eating mashed potatoes and turkey. If I want to get up at 4:30 and run, I’m running. The little Dumpling can occupy the other side of my bed as often as she likes and I can do the dishes in panties if I so desire. My life is… mine.

I do miss the silly, insignificant accessories that accompany a boyfriend. Big flannel shirts that smell like sawdust and masculinity. Dirty boots. Cologne sitting next to my perfume. Absentmindedly putting his favorite beer in the shopping cart. The things you take for granted and end up missing the most. I can admit that.

I can also fix that.

I threw on my own favorite big sweatshirt, some perfume and my tennis shoes. A run to my favorite playlist, an uninterrupted long, hot shower, followed by a snuggle with the Dumpling in my favorite bamboo sheets.  Relishing how much I actually love being single.

I don’t want to wade through weirdos in a quest to risk this bliss I created.

No thank you, very much. ♥

Isn’t it supposed to be fun?


Thank U, Next.

I haven’t always been so careless about the men I love.

My first serious boyfriend Mike got my name tattooed ala tramp stamp. He spelled my name wrong and was less than thrilled when I told him that Jenny meant female donkey. My Grandpa had passed that bit of logic along in hopes that I’d remain a Jennifer. I simply changed the Y to a I. Mike wasn’t so lucky. I still wonder if he’s married and named his firstborn Jenny, just to save face…Or ass?

My first love… Eddie. Sigh. Some crushes never die, and when his wife sent him out one-night-stand shopping a few years ago, I had the misfortune of being the unwitting target. Bless his beautiful heart, I hope he divorces her and makes a more honest attempt someday.  I don’t share my toys… and if I’m going to be really honest- we only share what we don’t want anymore.

My taste in men is my most self-destructive trait. I adore being hunted and thoroughly enjoy the thrill of swimming with a shark. I don’t worry about teeth, biting is kind of my thing. I’m intrigued when I see one I want, get all sorts of wordy when I touch one, and have to change the rating on my blog if I want to unwrap him again. When I’m silent and stuck… it’s because I’m not getting laid and I hate that more than anything. How completely basic could I possibly be.

I was in the midst of my third run of the day, contemplating ankle weights and that god-awful baby shark ab workout that had me feeling like a battered blowfish for three days… when Big Dick Tom reappeared. The unfortunate truth to holding a man’s attention these days, is to blow them off and forget they’re alive. Don’t text him. Don’t answer his calls. He’ll be hounding you in no time. I guarantee. I’ve ghosted this poor penis with legs, three times. I’m never available, don’t return his calls and can’t make an hour to meet him for a beer after he’s driven 45 minutes to “conveniently happen to be in my town for the night”. If I don’t want you? All the dick in the world can’t help you.

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And they say romance is dead. Bye Tom.

Bye, boys in general. I am so disappointed in the current state of the manfolk. Did I miss the memo on aiming low? What happened to caring about the quality of person you are? I certainly have my less than stellar moments, but for the most part… I’m trying really hard to be an incredible woman.

I mean what I say. I’m funny. I cook, clean and fuck like good girls aren’t supposed to. I’m a good friend, working hard to have an incredible ass and make a perfect dirty martini. I can grow his dinner, blow his mind and knit the blanket he falls asleep under.

Just sayin…

I’m beyond a fuckboy and it takes so much more to interest me than a giant dick. GTFOH Tom and friends.

Mr. Perfection taught me that I still have to be careful when I’m falling in love with my best friends because even the longest friendship wont stand in the way of him breaking your heart. He taught me that some men take their respect for you off, along with their clothes. I learned some incredibly painful lessons that I probably should have learned a long time ago.  Ultimately I lost him over some particularly bad sex, and he created a need where my previously dormant sex drive had been.

I’m not dating anymore. It’s just too depressing to have awful conversations with bland, unattractive men. I would honestly rather do anything else. After my week on OKCupid and the bottom feeder that is Big Dick Tom, I’m really quite content to put my fine ass back on the shelf until I have a good reason not to stay there.

Being single doesn’t suck. I’m fun to hang out with, dinner is always amazing and I can have as many orgasms as I’m willing to put the work in for. I like me,  I think it’s going to work out. 🙂