I first twittered this in five parts, but decided to post it here for the sake of permanency:

I received a picture text from a hot young cub I’ve not heard from in weeks (because he tripped my Bitch Switch on our last date).

The message was a shot of his penis, along with a note: “You didnt come and get your present…so im sending it to u :)”

My BlackBerry revealed that this was a mass text, sent to me and EIGHT other numbers! Nice move, jackass!

So, I decided to bust his balls, and replied ‘TO ALL’: “Wow one present for all nine of us! Should we blame the recession?”

His response: “Had to do some cut backs used to b more, now just 9, one for every inch :)”

This conversation took place entirely by text message.

MB: How’s work?
EC: Good Hows it going
MB: Good here. Just relaxing.
EC: Hey what are YOU doing tomorrow
MB: I think my oldest son is coming to visit. Then every Sunday night I go to Cantina Laredo with a friend. What are YOU doing tomorrow?
EC: You
MB: ???
EC: I am doing you :-)

Ummmmmm. Oh really? Says who, you moron? So I turn to sarcasm, which sails riiiiiiight over his head and outta the ballpark:

MB: Well be sure and let me know it turns out. ;-)
EC: So you had complaints before???

*thud*

MB: One guy came too fast and he said it was my fault for moving too much. Does that count? But that wasn’t what I meant, silly.
EC: Yea cause you in for guys who never get it and they cum to fast get a man thats been there done that so he can last
EC: Like myself
MB: Oh is that the secret?
EC: You Havent figured that out yet and they so when you get older your :)
MB: Now your sentences don’t make sense lol. How do you know what I have and haven’t figured out? Hahaha
EC: Cause you men you choose are desperate and cum to fast
MB: That was ONE man. Others have done MUCH better than he.
EC: Lol sure :)

At this point, I was tempted to tell him just exactly HOW PHENOMENAL sex with my most recent lover had been — in excruciating, glorious, multi-orgasmic, soaked-sheet detail — and end it with a “there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that you’d never in a million years be able to outdo him – NEVER.” But oddly enough, I felt that doing so would be to abuse the memory of such fantastic sex. Plus, I suspected he wouldn’t even have believed me anyway, which would only irritate me all the more. So, I stuck to sarcasm:

MB: Want their numbers? :)
EC: Yea cause you didnt enjoy it and your on a search for a good one
MB: Now you’re just talking outta your ass lol
EC: Yea you will see im an not
MB: In my experience the ones who feel the need to brag about how good they are tend to be the worst at actually doing it. ;-)
EC: I never once bragged just told you about what you pick
MB: But you don’t know anything about what I pick. Bad sex has NOT been the issue. Not even close.
EC: Well if a guy comes to fast with you what else do I need to know :)

By this point, I’m completely agitated by both his arrogance AND his typos – if he’s this much of a tool before he’s even met me AND when he should be on his best behavior, I can’t imagine what he’d be like after the new wears off. Asshole much?

So, I say nothing further to him in reply. Being the insightful intellectual that he was, he didn’t take the hint too well, and sent another text a few hours later, at 1:30 in the morning no less:

EC: Hey are YOU up

Why yes, yes I was, but there was no way in hell I was about to tell him that. And when he called me two days later, and texted me a couple more times after that, I could have cared less. Meh.

So, last week, I found myself hitting up Match pretty hard. Normally, I find very little on there which rouses even a smidgen of interest from me; but somehow I wound up talking to several men simultaneously. But, of course, as these things usually go, one by one they all showed their colors pretty fast, and weeded themselves out.

The first described himself (via his Match and Yahoo nicknames) as a “sexy and tall CPA”. (He also happened to be black, which isn’t a mark against him at all, as I acquired “the fever” a couple years ago, and my temperature has yet to recede.)

We chatted a little on IM, and agreed to meet last Thursday night at a local sports bar near my home, at about 6:45 that evening.

I already knew from our conversation that he managed a large accounting department, and they were in the middle of month end close; as someone who spent nearly twenty years in the accounting field, I had a certain amount of sympathy for how much month end sucks. So, I wasn’t terribly surprised when he needed to push off our meeting until 8:15 instead. I simply hit up Eathan to come up there with me earlier, for food and talk, while I waited for the CPA to arrive.

At a few minutes before 8, he texted that he was still about another 30 minutes away, and then called me before I could respond to the text to apologize for the delay. I told him no problem, I was visiting with Eathan and having fun, so all was good.

He finally arrived at, ahem, maybe 8:50. He was definitely tall – upwards of 6’5″ – but I’m not all that sure about the sexy. Once he sat down, I was immediately assaulted by his overpowering cologne, which might have been tolerable had it been a more pleasant scent rather than one which literally caused me to start coughing every time I inhaled. Because of this, I could hardly look directly at him to talk, which I’m sure made me appear to be avoiding eye contact with him.

Eathan had quickly excused himself to go home. I was drinking a vodka and cranberry; CPA ordered a soda. Then, he posed a few follow-up questions to me on a topic we’d touched on earlier (interracial dating, what did we like most and least about it). He asked me where I liked to go dance, then when I mentioned one club I frequent, he wanted to know if it was a black club.

I found the question somewhat amusing. First, because even though the person asking me the question was himself black, I just didn’t think it mattered. Second, because it’s the type of club which identifies itself not by race, but by a particular lifestyle.

I guess he didn’t like me laughing at the question, or maybe he thought I was laughing at him. But shortly after that, he suddenly let out this big sigh, hit the table with his hand, and said, “I’m beat, I need to get my tab,” and then asked where the restroom was (though he claimed to have been there before, and they were right in his line of sight a few feet away).

I sat there in a slight amount of shock – did this guy really just tell me that he was already done with our conversation after barely fifteen minutes, when he’d made me wait most of the evening for him?

He came out, went over to get his tab, came back to tell me he’d taken care of mine too – um, okay, but I’d already paid my tab before he arrived, so there wouldn’t be any awkwardness over him thinking I expected him to pay for the food I’d had earlier. I’m pretty sure my eyebrows went up and I gave him a look of “oh really?”

I walked quickly to my car, pointing out where my Mustang was parked, him trailing behind and mentioning something about where he’d parked his Mercedes. (That felt like an attempt to impress me at first, but later I realized it was probably more about him being too impressed with himself.)

Still saying “WTF?” to myself, I drove home and knocked on Eathan’s door, knowing he’d be way surprised to see me, and he was. I think we both agreed that you don’t make a woman you’re meeting for the very first time wait half an hour only to spend a mere fifteen minutes with her. (And really, since we were originally supposed to meet at 6:45, it’s two hours!)

Eathan also pointed out that, in my case, it really took much more of my time and effort, because I work from home, and one of the big benefits I take advantage of with that is not doing the whole hair and makeup drill every single day. So, when I agree to meet someone, I’m not just swinging by after work like they probably are, already spit-shined up, I have to carve time out of my regular routine just to get presentable.

Now, of course, this isn’t the man’s fault that it takes so much extra effort for me when I decide to meet him. But nevertheless, my time deserves just as much respect as his.

(And, hearing someone else put it this way made me realize that I’d never really done a good job of explaining to the last guy I was seeing why I got so frustrated by his last minute bids for my time, when I’d prefer to have some advance notice so I could look my best for him. In fact, I did a quite terrible job of it, and ended up taking that frustration out on him in a very inappropriate manner. But how I made amends over that situation is a story for another day.)

Another thing that Eathan opined is that sometimes, when certain black men become successful, they develop an attitude of such self-importance that they expect to be overly accommodated. Hmmmmmm. Interesting theory.

Anyway, to wrap up a story that’s gone too long: shockingly (*snark*), I’ve not heard a word out of the CPA since Thursday night – which is actually okay with me, because I also sometimes suck at telling people I’m not interested in them (yes, really, although I know that might sound strange to those who’ve observed my ability at ripping the occasional new asshole for those who deserve it).

There was one positive thing to come out of this: I’ve decided that, on at least a couple of days each week, I’ll take the extra time to get glammed up, regardless of whether or not there’s some man sniffing around. It’s something to do to feel better about myself, and it will also seem like less of an out-of-ordinary event for me when I have to do it for an actual date.

Here’s an email exchange with a guy who found my profile on Match:

From him (no subject, but signed with his name):

Liked the part about the intellectual conversation. Not many women with looks who are into that.

My first reply (question refers to his choice of headline):

Oh, I’m more into the conversation than my looks – which is probably even more rare, I imagine. :)

So, what exactly were you born 100 years too late for?

His reply (which included his phone number and hotmail address):

Wellll the 100 years thing is my way of expressing that the world is too much of a safe place. And what I mean by THAT is my idea of living on the edge is not some instructor holding on to me on my first skydiving lesson on the way down, or a guided tour of something that someone made to make money off me or standing around a turnout vista while 30 oriental tourists are snapping pics. There’s nothing left to explore, there’s no freedom, no REAL freedom, like just going off into an unchartered territory. World is too tame.

Thoughts?

My reply (which took a few days since I was irritated by his reference to the “oriental” tourists – who still uses that adjective in this politically correct era?):

Hmmm. Well if none of those things fit your idea of living on the edge, then what does? :)

His answer:

Great sex ;)

Huh? Is he serious? How is having great sex “living on the edge”?

Or is this just the typical case of a guy who’s only looking for a hookup, and so he’s bringing sex into the convo as quickly as possible?

Either way, I’m already turned off to him, and so I don’t know how/if to reply. I’m just that fickle, I guess.

After exchanging a couple of harmless emails with a man on Match, I got this one from him today:

I’m sure this message will come completely as a surprise, but I am not going to be able to talk anymore. Over the last few days, I have felt the Lord calling me to reconcile with my wife. Though our talks have only been at a level of friendship, I feel like I need to completely end my communication. Please understand that this has nothing to do with you, but is my response to a prompting I’m feeling in my heart and a desire to be obedient to the Lord.

I couldn’t help it, I busted out laughing. And all I could think to say in response was, Trust me, if you’ve got that kind of relationship with the Lord, a reconciliation with your wife was going to be the least of our problems.

One thing I’m definitely not is deeply religious, and in all honesty, I’m rather contemptuous of those who are. It’s one thing to rely on a faith in something (or “someone”) bigger than yourself to get you through your everyday life, or to help you rationalize things you may not otherwise be able to explain (such as the miracle of birth, or the tragedy of death). It’s quite another to go on and on about it until you start to sound like a candidate for a padded room.

Most of all, I’m just not impressed by a man who uses “the Lord” as a scapegoat for his own ambivalence.

“At first I tried the seniors’ dances,” said McConnell, 63, who lives in Ontario. “They’re meat markets.” On the website Wired Seniors, she met several older men, including an 83-year-old who sent her $1,000 to cover the cost of a visit to California. A 70-year-old from Canada wooed her, too. She said both men used Viagra, although with limited success.

Eventually, she met a 69-year-old male friend for occasional romantic trysts. “We get it on in his truck. This is purely sex,” said McConnell, who added that she enjoyed staying single and having the freedom to date around. (Suddenly Senior)

All I can say is: I hope that when I’m 93, I’ll have an 86 year old boyfriend too!

HE: Have you missed me?
ME: Just as much as you’ve missed me! ;)
HE: So your horny too..lol
ME: Oh is that what that feeling is? LMAO