Wherein I realize I have standards: A horror story of single life

My particular walk of life has left me in a situation where I don't get many chances to meet girls. As such, I take what I get and use whatever resources I have available to me. For every intent and purpose, my standards aren't exactly high. I also don't get too many opportunities to meet girls that I can actually ask out. My life revolves around work and  being an anti-social shut-in that spends too much time writing for a blog that has a whole one follower. My problem, as mentioned before, is that I don't really know how to ask a girl out even if I met one I liked.

So, there was a period of time when I resorted to a certain, unnamed dating website that I have decided to devote this random poem to.

Only for the desperate

Kind of makes you want to die

Causes a deep-seated hatred for humanity

Um.

Phuck, I didn't plan this out very well.

I don't care though. I'm making a point.

Don't judge me, dammit!

Ahem.

You meet interesting people on-line. However, there are multiple kinds of "interesting" and they're not all good.

In fact, the overlap between "interesting and from the internet" and "interesting in a manner that I like" looks something like, I dunno, this:

And so I fall into predictable graph jokes

So, where does a girl on a dating website fall? If I'm talking to them on a dating website, then that would suggest she's in the blue, right? But she's from the internet, so she'd technically be in the red. Red and blue don't mix.

As I have learned, you probably shouldn't meet people from the internet. The exceptions happen once in 500,000 users and those usually end only in regrets anyway.

Today's story is about one of those that don't fall under "Exception." Unfortunately, this is just one of many.

I had just gotten out of a relationship (re: broken up with) and wasn't, um. Stable is a good word, I suppose. I'm not the type to get "unstable" as in "Hoho, I'm coming for you!" as much as I get unstable in the "Hoho, I'm going to meet a stranger from the internet!" sort of way. Which is exactly what I did. There's really no covering this up and making me look good. It's not going to happen. So, here's what went down.

Never trust a big butt and a smile

Okay, a lot more went into the conversation than that. She also challenged my manliness. Also, she said I looked like a This instead of a That. Homey don't play that. Having been challenged and being charged up just enough by Testosterone, I went and met up with the girl.

"But, Mr. Sandwichman!" nobody protests, "What if she turned out to be crazy? Please tell me you met her in a public place so that if she turned out to be a serial-rapist-castratist-murderer you would at least have some witnesses!"

Right, of course I did. I'm not that foolish. I met her at a library and we proceeded to drive around town in my car. Alone. While I realized she may not be a serial-rapist-castratist-murderer, but she was indeed crazy. From the very start, I knew something was slightly off about her. For one, she looked nothing like her profile picture.

What I Expected:

What I Got:

My MSpaint skills never cease to amaze

Next thing I noticed is that she smelled bad. I won't deny the fact that I'm not always the best smelling person. I spend a lot of time in a state of social anxiety about whether or not I'm offensive to the olfactory sense. I don't expect girls to smell like daisies, cinnamon rolls and unicorn farts all the time. However, having B.O. that is worse than a men's locker room after a rousing round of forcing each other into awkward positions is just a bit of a problem.

Oh, yeah, and then there was the fact that she told me about her abortion. On the first day we met in person.

"Wait, what?!" Yeah. That's pretty much what my reaction was too. I didn't even ask for that information. That's not the kind of thing I want to know right away. If I had asked or said anything that even possibly related to the topic of abortion, then I could maybe see her coming forth with this information. That is somewhat reasonable. But, if you've read the previous two posts on this blog, then you'll probably figure that nothing in my life is ever fucking reasonable.

I believe the best way to convey this story is with interpretive dance. However, I don't have a camera to film that with. Nor do I have the patience to draw the entire thing on MSpaint. Just go ahead and feel slightly more sophisticated if not slightly more uncomfortable for having watched a magnificent dance about abortion. It's okay to feel awkward, though, because that's how normal people feel abortion is taken so lightly.

So, instead of a terrible dance that would make people feel terrible, have a dramatic, slightly exaggerated script of what went down instead.

(Mr. Sandwichman and Abortion Girl [A.G.] sit down in a chicken-eating establishment, neither feeling terribly comfortable about the greasy food or each other)

A.G.: So. What do you like to do in your free time?

MS: Well. I, uh. I like to read and write a lot. I haven't been doing much writing lately, though. No inspiration.

(AG gets a look on her face of "I could be your inspiration if you know what I mean, wink wink nudge nudge saynomoar saynomoar)

MS: I'm a huge movie buff. Uh. I play video games if I'm really bored.

AG: Ooooh, I play video games too! What's your favorite one?

MS: ...uh. Th-the one... with the magic.. and.. stuff?

AG: Kingdom Hearts?

MS: Sure.

(Allow AG to improvise at this point, going on a massive spiel about how certain characters in the game are probably having sex even though nothing in the damn game even hints toward that)

MS: ....

(Other patrons in the eating establishment start looking at the two oddly. MS feels all sorts of shame and decides to get back into the privacy of his car. AG hasn't stopped about various assortments of pixels "mashing buttons" if y'know what I mean)

MS: Right, so uh. Have you met any other guys on that site?

AG: Oh, yeah! You know when you have an abortion or a miscarriage you're supposed to be on bedrest for two weeks? Well, the last guy I met from {name removed} wanted kids and when I didn't have his he broke up with me.

Okay. Pause. I thought "Shake it but don't Break it" was bad. I thought that was something you simply couldn't recover from. How do you respond to "Shake it but don't Break it?" You can't! BUT! That's not nearly, nearly as bad as being told that your previous boyfriend left you because you had an abortion. On the first "date" and I really struggle to call it a "date" because it lasted the entirety of an hour and a half, most of which was me driving to meet her and then driving to drop her off. Seriously, WHAT

THE

FUCK

Moving right along.

This actually happened before my DON'T BREAK YOUR DICK 

incident, so I really had no idea what to do in that situation. Fortunately enough, at that very moment when things couldn't possibly get any worse (Well, y'know. Short of being post-partum aborted.) a friend called! His car had broken down and he needed a ride to the shop! Salvation! And it was the truth, not something insane like me texting that very friend earlier when I realized things were going down the toilet telling him to call me immediately and bail me out! Because that would be a douchebag thing to do.

And that's why I'm still single.

Mr. Sandwichman's Horror Stories of Single-life

Most people can talk about a bad dating experience. Unless you have a body odor problem and turn women off from you entirely. In that case, take a shower or become a hippie. You're probably halfway to becoming a hippie, but you'll run the risk of not being liked by anyone. Not that you'll be liked by anyone anyway, even if you take a couple of showers. It's because you're gross, is what I'm saying. But! That's neither here nor there. Today we have one of many tales of my awful single life.


Now, this story is completely true. It isn't exaggerated. It isn't in any way fictionalized because, quite honestly, I'm not creative enough to come up with something this... I don't even know how to describe it. Just... Just read and see for yourself.


I work for a bank. As such, I must look very professional. What's more professional than wearing a suit?

Professional!

Now, wearing a nice suit like that tends to make people who ordinarily look average and blend into the crowd (read: me) look much better than normal. So, at night I am an ordinary looking..Uh. I have no idea what the hell that is. Anyway, I'm an ordinary That who has a secret job of being an assassin because nobody can recognize me. But! During the day, I put on a suit and become a super attractive That!

Except that sort of attractive isn't the good kind of attractive. It doesn't attract the girls that I would like for it to attract. Girls like, say, I dunno... This:

Instead, I attract. Erm. This.

Professional Artist's Rendering

As you can see, there's a bit of a discrepancy. Today, I had the latter come into the bank I'm on loan to. And start hitting on me. In a very dirty, very inappropriate manner.

She looked at me with a gleam in her eyes that I didn't really notice. I am, after all, a halfway decent worker sometimes and was trying to keep myself somewhat busy. I was not the teller helping her. During her transaction, my coworker kept trying to talk to her as a good teller should. Rather than continue the conversation with my female coworker about girly things that I'm far too manly to bother with, she looked at me and gave a simple compliment. "Oh, and how's this handsome fella doing?"

Haha, those silly old grandmas and their trying to make everyone smile. I smiled at her and said, "I'm doing pretty well, thanks for asking."

My coworker steered the conversation back to woman things. Like marriage. And the floodgates opened. Once again, the elderly woman focused her attention on me and asked, "Surely a good looking man like you are married?"

"Um. No. Not yet." I replied, suddenly feeling kind of awkward. Everyone around me at this branch has a significant other and I'm there. Alone. By myself.

"A pretty girlfriend?"

"Ah. No." By now, my self confidence was taking a dive so I wasn't prepared for what came next.

"Hohoho, if only I was younger!" How does one respond to a statement like that? She is clearly interested in me. Y'know. Sexually. I'm saying she wanted to have sexual intercourse with me, evidence to be presented down the page a little. Now tell me, imaginary-reader-because-I'm-not-great-enough-yet, how can you possibly say anything to this without either coming off creepy-as-fuck to your coworkers or as a complete asshole to this lonely woman? I'll tell you!

"Hahaha, yeah!" And at that point, you turn back to your work and start hoping that she'll go away soon. Now, if you're sharp, but you're not because you're imaginary, you'll probably be able to tell that I did NOT use the correct answer. You see, by responding with "Hahaha, yeah" you are suggesting that maybe if she WAS younger you'd be interested. That, in turn, invites a comment something along the lines of this:

"Well, you need to find someone to shake it with. But, be careful not to break it!"

Read that a couple more times. Take it in. Think of every possible meaning lies in those two sentences. When you're done, keep reading.

You're done? Haha, no you're not because nobody's sanity can survive through that. In case you decided to not ponder that phrase like I ordered you to, let me sum up what this "kind" old lady just said to me. In public. With her voice. That other people could hear.

"Find someone to shake it with. But be careful not to break it"

Shake it but don't break it.

Shake it but don't break it.

SHAKE IT BUT DON'T BREAK IT.

In more blunt terms, "Go have lots of sex but try not to break your dick"

Now to make sure your imaginary boss sees what kind of smut you're reading, have this:

DON'T BREAK YOUR DICK

At that point, my coworker had finished the transaction and sat there staring in complete shock, bewilderment and embarrassment. I felt that to the HRRGGGLEBLRRRRRRth power. (That would be the sound of a That's soul crumpling in upon itself)

Our fair maid went about her merry way, allowing for me to be informed of her history with the men of this particular branch.

We had a manager far before my time that she seemed to have the hots for. She would kiss his hands and hug him, all that jazz. Really touch-feely-friendly-sexual harassment type, right? Nothing out of the ordinary and nothing that might make someone want to go and hide, right?

Wrong. So, so wrong.

Well, one particular day, she hugged this manager and decided to show her affection in the best, non-creepiest way possible! How's that, you ask? By licking his ear, of course! That's completely sane and appropriate! That's how I attract all the people I want to date and slash or have genital mashing contests with!

And that is why I'm still single.

I don't know how to talk to girls.

Girls are a fascinating bunch. Being a young, adult male, I often find myself thinking about those wonderful creatures. I've had girlfriends in the past, so I know how amazing it is to be touched by them. As such, I live in a constant state of "I want to be her boyfriend" with just about every girl I see. Except for that one, but that's because I actually know her somewhat and she's weird.


For a person like me, single, intimidatingly handsome and with enough attractive qualities to draw the attention of dogs, there's only a few steps I need to take to move from "I want to be her boyfriend" to "her boyfriend." The first of these? Talking to her.


I can't get past this stage.




...


All right, I can't even get to this stage. "What's that, Mr. Sandwichman? You, an internet nerd with a blog can't talk to girls in real life? What a surprise!" Yeah, well... You're absolutely right. Here's a quick rundown of my thought process when I see a pretty girl in public.


"Oh, wow, she's very cute. I should go talk to her, shouldn't I? She's looking my way! Shit! I'm staring! Uh, uh, what do I do? Quick, act all aloof and uninterested! Girls like that, right?" And so I start acting all brooding, mysterious, and too cool for her. She turns away, I immediately go back to watching her. Because I'm a creep, apparently. And my thoughts resume, "Ugh, just go talk to her! I bet you she'd say yes if you just asked her out. No, that's stupid. A pretty girl like that has to have a boyfriend already. Hell, she probably has 5."


As you can see, I'm not exactly the suave type. I can predict exactly how a real life conversation with a girl would go.


Me: Why hello, there!
Her: Um. Hi?
Me: Hey. So, uh. I just saw you walking down the aisles and thought you were really cute so I decided to talk to you.
Her: Thanks...?
Me: Yep. I had a five aisle argument with myself about whether or not I should, though. I eventually decided that you probably didn't actually have guys ask you out very often and should definitely take a chance.
Her: Excuse me?
Me:..... That came out wrong. What I meant to say is, your appearance makes guys not want to talk to you.
Her: WHAT?
Me: No! Shit! That's not what I meant. Um.
Her: *slap!*


So, at the end of the day, I choose to stay quiet and keep my dignity. And, y'know. Loneliness.
Which is part of why I started a blog.