So when last we were feeling sorry for the lameness of our hero she was FINALLY saying “screw you, I’m gone” to some guy who fell off the face of the planet once they’d met. I’m sure you’re thinking just what she was thinking: so much for the hero having potential.
Except she – by which I mean I – wasn’t actually thinking that! Why? Mr. Potential.
You see, while I was allowing myself to be stupidly strung along by Mr. Distraction I was at least smart enough to know where things were probably heading and I started to ask myself “how ELSE could I maybe find a new person who could think I have potential?” I peeked at Match.com but they wanted me to give them money and I don’t believe in prostitution. But then over and over the universe kept throwing the words “Craigs List” in my path. So I checked out the wonderfully free and tremendously bizarre Craigs List personals.
I was going to do a little paragraph here about Craigs List personals. But frankly there are way too many words for just one paragraph about that topic. Oh the words… No, there is an entire blog post coming just about CL personals. You’re just going to have to wait for that one.
This particular personal caught my attention because it was in the “Dude searching for dudette for some kind of actual relationship” section, but it was wonderfully honest – frank even – about this guy’s sexual proclivities. For many folks I’m sure that would be super-creepy. But I got where this guy was coming from, and I’ll even paraphrase an email he sent me on the subject: if you meet someone out in the world and do all the gradual “getting to know you” things and surface conversations and take weeks to get to the point where you’re comfortable enough to bring up the idea of sex, only then to find out that this person is waiting until they’re married or can only do missionary position and only on every other Thursday or is INCREDIBLY turned on by sex with phallic fruits and vegetables (carrots, zucchini, bananas…)
That’s a lot of time wasted on someone who is very much not going to turn your crank, my friend.
I know what I’m looking for in a sexual partner and here was someone who seemed like a very possible match there. Someone also looking for somebody in the world. Someone with potential. Needless to say I replied.
This is how, as things were reaching their eventual lame ending with Mr. Distraction, I wasn’t too sad, because I was starting to get to know Mr. Potential. We emailed about once a day each direction. The emails were pretty dang long, and we agreed on a sort of format: each email we’d send to the other person would have a couple of questions in them for the other person. This was good because we really covered a lot of areas – hobbies, traveling, work, pets, tv, movies, etc… We also covered some sexy-times areas. After all, if your initial introduction to someone including sexy-times stuff you’re certainly going to cover it more as things evolve, right?
So there was this one week where there were many, many emails. Some were actually pretty hot, I’ll say. I had to pull out the old thesaurus to find some new naughty adjectives here and there. And all this was fun!
For about a week.
I’m not even going to write the “turns out you’re a jerk” email to this one. After all, I need to set some sort of boundaries on how these things will work. If we never get beyond emailing before you vanish without even the dramatic flair of a puff of smoke then I just check the box by your name that says “douchebag. Sigh.” And move on with my life. If we go from emailing to chatting or even the ever-exciting video-chat and THEN you evaporate like gasoline on the top of a running lawnmower on a hot, summer day I’ll check the checkbox and draw a line through the name. With a sharpie marker, btw. If we actually meet and then you become invisible like a guy who was a mad scientist who took your own mad scientist chemical concoction that was supposed to make you something awesome but instead just makes you invisible then you get the checkbox, the sharpie line and the complimentary email who’s sole purpose, really, is to inform you that I’m aware that you suck. Because let’s face it: the guys never know that they suck. And so they certainly can’t explain to me why they do so much…
Apologies to any women in the audience who thought that I’d have the answer at the end of all of this. At this rate I’m pretty sure I’ll be the very last one of us on the planet to get that memo. But I’ll keep doing the research!