Tuesday, January 17, 2012
For a Good Time, Text...
Apparently, word got out on Plenty of Fish that I am fabulous. Okay, that might be a stretch. Something, somewhere happened and between Christmas Eve and the day after Christmas, my profile exploded like an over-baked plum pudding. In that three-day time period, I received rapid fire communication from an abnormally amount of normal men. None of which said anything inappropriate (off the bat... we'll get to that) or made any other references that would trigger one's creep-o-meter. I was flattered... highly. So, I started communicating with them and did a pretty good job of balancing the texting and emailing cha-cha that happens so often in online dating. At least for me.
In a future post, I'll talk to you about the flat out proposition that I received, the text messages that really got my blood pumping and the 19-year-old that not only makes me feel very old, but slightly cracks me up with his "game." Tonight, I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Teddy Bear. Mostly because his lifespan in the romance novel of my life is over and the rest of them still kind of exist. In middle earth, of course.
I received an email from Mr. Teddy Bear on Saturday. As in four days ago. Keep that in mind. I was out of town for the weekend and killing some time in between family festivities and decided to respond. I was also inspired by what seemed like a very normal, but very sweet email full of compliments on my profile pictures. It's been a while since I received a compliment from a man other than my father, so being the polite Southern belle that I sometimes pride myself in being, I accepted his compliment and graciously thanked him. He replied with another seemingly harmless exchange and asked for my phone number because he wasn't going to be online for a while and wanted to continue communicating. Just like a victim, I gave it to him.
Throughout the course of the day, I received dozens of texts, most of which I responded to, some of which really should have thrown up some red flags for me. Within one hour of initiating communication with me, he had sent me a photo with a caption describing how ugly he is. Again, my Julia Sugarbaker kicked in and I replied with something along the lines of "I'm sure you do yourself a disservice!" He went on and on about how beautiful I am and how ugly he is, which really made no sense to me. I appreciate the compliment, but what does his self-bashing do other than make me see that he has no self-esteem or that he's fishing for a compliment from me? I don't know, maybe I just don't get it. Anyway... the texts continued and by mid-day Saturday he was ending each one with "baby."
Now, as you all are aware, I'm not a huge fan of this particular term of endearment. Add the fact that we've literally known of each other's existence on the planet for less than the time it takes to watch the average feature film and it kind of aggravates me. But, I thought 'Melanie, you haven't had a date in over a year. You couldn't even be successful at a silly little New Year's Resolution about landing a real date; don't be so quick to judge.' Urgh. So, I kept responding. He started telling me how long it had been since he was happy and how that's really all he wanted. I told him I thought we were looking for the same things and he responded with "You might be the one."
At this point, imagine me sipping a rum and coke and spitting it halfway across the living room. Because that's what happened. The one?!? As in capital 'o,' The One?! Okay, at this point, this man has read my online dating profile, which quite honestly is good, but it can't be that good. He's read maybe thirty texts from me. And I'm The One. Well, I'll give him credit. He said I might be The One. Once the reality of the situation sunk in, my creep-o-meter started rising. But something in me just wouldn't let it go. I ignored this particular text and literally within minutes, he was off on another topic. Whenever there was a delay in my response, he'd say something like "I know you're probably busy with your great life. I'll just sit here and think about you until you come back." Shivers up my spine. And not the good kind.
Only to wake up to find a virtual influx of additional messages through the night and into the morning. Greeting me, telling me again how much he was looking forward to meeting me and two messages that had photos attached. I very apprehensively opened the first one to find a message stating that since I hadn't sent him a picture earlier (I don't get into all that self-portrait-on-your-phone silliness), he had decided to use the one he'd attached as my caller ID icon. It was a brown teddy bear covering up his eyes. Yeah, I'm covering up my eyes all right. The second one included a caption that says "I got these for you" and was a photograph of a dozen roses. Done.
My creep-o-meter went off the charts at this point and my immediate reaction was to shut the whole operation down. All communication from me stopped at that second. I continued to receive messages throughout the day, most of which were simple "hello, baby" messages. My poor phone received an onslaught through the evening and into the morning today, and I got an email from the original scene of the crime before lunch.
Part of me thinks that I should explain my disappearance, but the other part of me thinks that I don't owe this guy anything. All I know about him is the city where he lives, that he's miserable at his job and that he really, really wants a girlfriend. Fast. All he knows about me is what is on my profile (significantly more than he was willing to share on his) and the city that I live in. Do I really owe him an explanation?
Thoughts, please, Singletons and Marrieds! Do you think I should tell him that he alerted all of my internal red flags?