Judging Tommy

If this text conversation gives you a headache, then join the club. These are screenshots from a “get to know you” introductory conversation my single friend had with another great person named Tommy. Is it an undocumented rule that all of us have to have at least one bad experience with someone of this name?! As if it is not completely obvious, her messages are in green (and make sense) and his are in gray, and are mostly misspelled.

(screenshots from text convo)

Let’s repeat one of his best lines: “Why do girls feel the need to ask about a source of income i couldn’t tell ya.”

1. She literally asked “what he does” most likely to learn a bit about him, and what he spends his time doing.
2. She doesn’t represent all “girls” and what they “ask.”
3. Please note that his first question to her is if she has children or wants them – as though that is not personal or intrusive at all.
4. Why can’t he spell anything? Did he really win the lotto? Do all people who declare how much they earn per hour claim that their work is personal business?
5. Since when do people at law firms have “power”? Are we talking about super powers?
6. Why does he type “lol” so many times? Is it because he knows what the “opposite of a problem” is?

Net-net: It seems as though this conversation went south in about 5 minutes. After combing through it for context clues, I decided that “Tommy” has an obsession with Judge Judy and wishes he worked for her, at a real legal office, not one that he made up. He also wants to discuss fertility and reproduction, as his “safe” and “non-personal” topic.

Way to go, Tommy. Making the online dating game better with each misspelled and angry text.

Judge Judy GIF - Find & Share on GIPHY


Visual Temptation

I would like to take a second to thank some of you fine men out there for posting some truly attractive photos for us to judge and enjoy…

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Dirty Ass…bigsausage76…you fellas are truly in a class all your own. The respect and heartwarming message you have given your viewers, with just a name and photo is uplifting and dare I say, sexy.

I also really enjoyed the following guy’s two photos extensively. The chair that doesn’t seem to live on a planet with gravitational pull that he casually sits on, with one bare foot in the air while tweaking his (assumed) expensive sunglasses is impressive. So is his torso placement on a dark couch while modeling what must be a power suit with spacious pockets. But check out that Tinder intro! Not only is he healthy and a Skype user, but he also “trades stock market”! Further, he’s “IN TO SEX.” Jackpot! The foot in the air, the modeling on odd furniture, the claim that my happiness is “his duty” (when he’s not foot / furniture modeling) and my sneaking suspicion that he is either a prostitute or looking for one really sets this guy apart for me. Please…take it all in and try to absorb the goodness:

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No Voice

John was a cool guy. Regardless of the way in which I spin our experience together in my head, I can’t really say that there was anything majorly screwed up about him. I can’t say that once we met, I felt too much chemistry either. So why would I even bring him up? Well…a few odd things happened on our date and I think they need to be scribed for posterity.

John and I had spoken on the phone early during the week and made arrangements to meet up for a drink that upcoming Friday. It was the beginning of summer and not only had I felt some sort of sniffle coming on, I had spent a decent portion of the day spraying the perimeter of my apartment with very strong bug spray to alleviate a small spider issue. The spray was meant for both the outdoors and indoors, and I probably would have benefitted from opening my windows just a tad more after spraying, so I didn’t swallow most of the vapors. My bad.

About 6 hours later, I stood outside of a really cute bar (his choice) waiting to meet John for Happy Hour. It was early evening at the beginning of the summer and the sun was pretty much blinding me as I stood by the bar entrance, casually turning my head to and fro, to see if he was making his way toward our meeting spot.

Suddenly, a guy in a black t-shirt and dark-framed glasses walked swiftly past me and into the bar. I could have sworn it was John, and as it turned out it was.

run to bathroom

“Did you just rush into the bar by any chance?” I texted him.

Two minutes later, he replied, “Yeah, I really needed to go to the bathroom.”

Fair enough. I suppose.

So I walked into the bar and we greeted one another, got some cocktails and sat at a little table. Our conversation went pretty well. I have nothing against glasses, but didn’t really expect him to be wearing them, since he wasn’t wearing them in any of his photos – which is why it kind of threw me off when a be-spectacled version of him ran past me towards the loo. To be honest, I didn’t find him as attractive in person as I thought he was in his photos but he was a good guy with a warm personality so I thought chemistry could possibly develop.

We were talking about traveling a little bit, and I mentioned a recent work trip. John asked who I went with on the trip and when I told him “my boss,” he asked me if my boss was male or female. There were a few more questions after this from him, which basically turned into John claiming that there was something besides work going on between myself and my male boss. You know, because every workplace is a setting for a porn movie. Oh and EW! So that was a little awkward, but we moved on to another topic.


John was eventually on his third beer and once we were past the accusations of the affair I was having at work, he brought up the innocent topic of a friend’s upcoming wedding. He was one of the groomsmen and was really excited about it, as it would be a vacation for him and some friends across the country. We were discussing some of the details about it and my voice basically dwindled down to a whisper. I couldn’t get any sound out above some scratches and squeaks, despite multiple attempts at clearing my throat. I was not only sick, but I was instantaneously hit with laryngitis.


I believe it was right around the time when my voice disappeared that a large portion of John’s sanity went with it. First he said, “I would love for you to be my date for the wedding but you know, we just met.” Well, yeah…that’s true John. Then he asked me at least 3 times during the next 10 minutes why I didn’t seem like I was into him. I smiled and tried to talk as much as possible, swearing (in a scratchy whisper) that I was enjoying myself and everything was fine. It was almost as if he was accusing me of not liking him…very early on in our “relationship.” He wasn’t the least bit concerned that I couldn’t speak…only that I didn’t seem interested enough. So at that point, I was uncomfortable with both my date and my state of health. It was time to go.

I think John walked me to the train station from the bar and basically waved me away.

I ended up not being able to speak for two weeks. While I wasn’t challenged to explain to anyone else that I, indeed, did like them or that they had just sprinted past me toward a urinal, it was extremely frustrating.

Damn spider spray.

Persistence is Key…to Confirm That You’re a Lunatic

I received the following message through Match.com. As usual, the fact that I received an e-mail got my attention, and once I clicked over to view the sender’s full profile, it all made sense. Imagine, if you will, someone who auditioned to play the part of a Street Fighter character, complete with a fitted faux-leather jacket and a barbed facial expression. It seems to be an attempt to look masculine, but it really just looks like he is about to sneeze. That’s what “ILuvToLaugh” looks like in his profile.

My suitor would be the one on the right, with the gun.

Let’s drift away together into his delightful prose, shall we?

Subject: Uh. No Way


You know, my friends say that it’s not good to show your hand too quickly (especially online), but after coming across your profile, I had to send you a message to concede that I am a sucker for feminine girls with polarity. I’m not ashamed to admit it!

I mean, don’t get me wrong — it’s NOT like I am some sort of mythical knight out on a quest to find the girliest girl of legends or some frat dude drooling over valley girls who look like they’re straight from the set of Clueless; it’s like that happy medium between a girl being really comfortable with her femininity and balancing the confidence to show it. And it seems like to me, that you fall into that happy medium! (there is a reason why it’s called a happy medium instead of a sad or mediocre medium right?)

Anyway, where are my manners? My name’s Tim, and if smart, funny, stylish, cute, and overall just frankly awesome guys are your thing, then don’t send me a message. Oh wait, I messed up. I mean DO send me a message. I get confused sometimes 🙂

I’m not going to lie. Once I saw the Street Fighter picture, I was kind of confused. The e-mail had me a bit more baffled. But, being the “feminine girl with polarity” that I am, I concluded that this is a canned e-mail and “Tim” doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. I certainly don’t. But there’s more!

One Month Later…

Subject: You were burglarized…?



So I was checking my account today in utter disbelief that I didn’t hear back from you yet, and then I just realized what must have happened to you–

You must have been burglarized, and the only thing that horrible and wretched thief must have stole was your keyboard. I feel bad now you poor, poor soul… you must have been so traumatized just sitting there staring at my profile on the screen, clicking away futilely and slamming your mouse down in frustration multiple times while cursing the heavens that this had to happen to you today and that there’s no way for you respond to me.

Like I said… luckily for you, I’m an exceptionally perceptive guy. I mean how many other guys would know that is EXACTLY what happened to you with the limited information you gave me 🙂 And since I’m also in the business of solving problems, here’s some solutions to help you get in contact with me:

1. Get some matches, grab 3 garbage cans, and arrange them in a triangle formation to set them all on fire simultaneously. This will create an accurate smoke triangulation signal so I can come over and find you. I’m like a modern-day knight in shining armor.

2. Use your trusty phone to text me at 646-943-3%*$ so we can continue the conversation

Hmmm… well his first message said he certainly wasn’t a knight, so which is it? Am I dealing with a knight-like Street Fighter character or what?!? And, if I really was burglarized, why would I ever want to commit arson right after that? Would this guy really want to date both a victim and a criminal?

My point is, if you attempt to go the creative and humorous route, you should have the intelligence to back it up. Taking the time to create not one, but two canned e-mails that are sent to anyone you deem to have a heartbeat should also include some logic. Not only am I now having visions of video game characters creating online dating profiles, but I am pretty sure that “ILuvToLaugh” (aka: “Tim”) assumes that I am MacGuyver.

Me, preparing for a date.

I just can’t deal with that sort of pressure.

No First Date for T

Back in 2006, I tried Match.com for the first time. I liked the idea that I could simply “wink” at guys who seemed appealing, and didn’t have to spend too much energy in actually crafting a witty e-mail. I don’t recall his real name or Match pseudonym, but none of those labels are important. What really stands out about this particular fellow is that I’m pretty sure he was a terrorist. Thus, I will call him “T” for the purpose of this anecdote.

As I learned earlier, T’s whole family had emigrated from another country* several years earlier and as the oldest of six siblings, he often acted as a make-shift parent for his brothers and sisters. So, when he was not at school studying sociology, he was picking up one of his brothers or shopping with another family member. We clearly lived different lives, but that didn’t mean that we weren’t compatible.

After a few light and friendly e-mails, T and I exchanged phone numbers. We must have had a few short phone conversations, but the one that really stands out in my memory is when he asked me why I had a job at a big company where I sat at a desk and worked on a computer. He seemed to think that was a deplorable quality for someone to have. His tone irked me after I explained that I like to get a paycheck in a structured environment, and wanted to actually make a career for myself in my field. Crazy talk, obviously. He laughed for a good 30 seconds and spat the word “capitalist!” in between another giggle.

“What’s your problem!?” I demanded into my cell phone while standing on a crowded bus headed to my apartment. I remember this specifically because several people on the bus turned around quickly to see if I was yelling at them.

T then went into a diatribe about how Americans are pigs and don’t understand how “the system works” or what really counts as “work.” He alluded to the evils of the economy, and how people who work within it are essentially brainless. I interrupted him to growl my dissent and quickly hung up.

I looked down at my phone a few seconds later to see a text that read, “I bet you’re really hot when you’re angry. What are you wearing?”

That text and the handful that he sent for a few days asking when we were going out were left unanswered.

No date for T.

*When I told a friend of mine about T, she didn’t even skip a beat and said, “Stay far away from him. He will definitely kill you and your entire family.” That put me at ease.