The Lewd, The Crude and The Ugly

good, bad, uglyThis is the second installment of my “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched” series. If you missed the first installment, this series is about my adventures on the Match.com dating website. Here is the next group of colorful, uncouth guys for your reading pleasure.

First up is my banter with Bachelor #6. His profession wasn’t listed. This 43-year old managed to pass the email phase, so we decided to talk on the phone.
In a strong voice, he said, “I’d like to meet you in person.”
“Okay. What day is good for you?”
“Well, I coach my son’s baseball team. We have practices or games every day.”
“I see.”
“You could come watch me coach the double-header this Saturday, and then I could come to your house, and you can make me dinner.”
Is he kidding? “You want me to watch you coach all day, and then make you dinner? Did I get that right?”
“Yeah. I’d make you dinner, but I’m living with a buddy until I get back on my feet.”
“I’m sorry, but that doesn’t work for me.”
With indignation in his voice, he asked, “Just because I don’t have my own place?”
“No. It’s everything else.”
“Whaddya mean?”
Wow! Where to begin? “I don’t know you, so there’s no way I’m telling you where I live, let alone cook you dinner. And spending an entire day sitting with strangers on hard bleachers watching you coach a bunch of 12-year olds is not my idea of a date. Shall I go on?”
“You’re high maintenance, aren’t you?”
“Not even close. We’re done here. Good luck finding a match.”
“Whatever.”

Bachelor #7 was a sales representative in Indy. His profile listed his age as 89 years old. However, his picture showed he was much younger. He was seeking women, ages 24-36.
He emailed me, “You have a fantastic smile. I want to get to know you.”
“Thank you. I am definitely out of your “Seeking Women” age range. And I can not have children. So, if you need to have children, then I’m out. If you’re still interested, let me know, and be kind enough to tell me your real age.”
“I’m 46. Let’s chat.”
“Ok. On the phone or in person?”
“U look a little innocent.”
That was an odd comment. Hmmm…“That innocent look is a result from 12 years of Catholic school.”
“I may be too wild for your taste. I may corrupt u. I did read fifty shades.”
Huh? I read it again. Oh, good Lord! I responded quickly, “I read the first book in the 50 Shades series. I am not into S&M or bondage. So, if you like it rough, you’ll need to look elsewhere.”
“Ok”
Yikes!!! Dodged a bullet there. Or at least handcuffs…

Moving right along…Bachelor #8 was a 35-year old in advertising.
“I’m looking for a woman who can handle me. You look like you could.”
“Not exactly sure what you mean by that. I’m not looking for a bad boy.”
“I’m a good boy most of the time. Trust me. I need a woman who can handle me. I’m enormous and I can keep it going all night long.”
Laughing as I typed, “With an ego that big, I’m surprised you haven’t hurt yourself by now. It must be tough dragging that bravado around everywhere you go.”
“Bitch”
Oh well, I’ve been called worse!

Bachelor #9 was 51 years old and worked in communications. Normally, I do not judge a book by its cover. But this guy took the creepy, scary, stalker troll look to a new level. He should have stayed under the bridge. God forgive me.
“You’re pretty. I want to meet you.”
“I’m sorry. We don’t have enough in common. I wish you luck finding a match.”
“I can like new things. Please meet me.”
“I’m sorry. No.”
“Really. I think you’ll like me once you meet me.”
“I’m sorry. No.”
“Give me your number and I’ll call you. I’ll change your mind. I’m sure of it.”
“No.”
A week passed.
“I see you’re still on here. You haven’t found anyone yet because you’re supposed to be with me.”
“Please stop contacting me. I’m not interested.”
“I’m very interesting in person. You will love me. I’m sure of it.”
“No. Please do not contact me again. I don’t want to report you.”
“You will regret not meeting me.”
I was regretting ever responding to him in the first place. He kept contacting me. But I did not respond to any more of his messages. I eventually reported him because he would not stop emailing me.

Bachelor #10 was 42 years old and worked in the entertainment industry. I agreed to meet him for a drink. He looked much different in person. And he lied about having animals. His shirt was covered with cat hair. So, I sat as far away as I could and popped some Benadryl. I honestly can not tell you what we talked about. I was too preoccupied with the appearance of his leathery skin. He must have spent every minute of every day in the sun, baking himself until extra crispy. And his mannerisms were beyond quirky. I kept thinking he looked and acted reptilian, like a Star Trek character.

I drank most of my drink. I just wanted to get out of there. As I got up to leave, he tried to hug me. I pushed him away. He looked hurt. Annoyed, I blurted, “You’re covered in cat hair. I told you I was severely allergic to animals.”
He replied, “I can fix that.”
Then, he did the unthinkable. He took off his shirt. So there he was – standing there in a white, “wife-beater” T-shirt. His scrawny, over-tanned body was covered with ugly, disturbing black tattoos. And I mean covered.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Put your clothes back on.”
“But…”
“Sorry. I’m going home. Thanks for the drink.” And I walked away.
He actually had the nerve to contact me for another date.
Oh, hell no!

Then there were the bachelors who felt it necessary to send pictures of themselves. Yes, I am talking about those kind of pictures. Why? Why? Why? Why do men think it is appropriate to send strangers pictures of their genitalia? I do not, I repeat, do not want to see these pictures. I know politicians do it all the time. But these guys are not politicians. And I am sorry to say, but these men did not have anything impressive to be exposing in the first place.

My computer felt dirty after viewing those pictures. I really wanted to wipe the screen off with Lysol antibacterial wipes. Just even thinking about it now makes me want to clean something.

Stay tuned for the next exciting installment, “Hot For Teacher.”

Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal

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