A brief glance at my profile would have revealed that I’m not the type of person who enjoys shooting guns, rock climbing, or generally any activities in which something going wrong means that I die. I have folks that work for/with me and they are used to seeing me in my meetings with tie and suit and dont want them to know about the fitness side and shirtless pics online ahah” THIS IS THE BEST.
Plus, it mostly just sounds like he’s going to try to make off with my mall purchases when I’m not looking. Not in a real way, obviously—not in a way where I’d ever want to respond, or meet him.
Why would I want to respond to someone who has already prepared himself to resent me and my snobby, exclusive height? You get the idea, I get the idea, every one of us is in perfect agreement that this is the pinnacle of dating-message achievement and I got it all to myself. I’m guessing that two total are sent per year, and though scientists try to encourage breeding, the messages are never really in the mood.
It’s a thing you say to a woman if you are an asshole who believes that, ultimately, what women really want is for someone to be mean to them. Far be it from me to deny a lady a good blow to her self-esteem now and again, if she promises me that’s what she wants and she’s really okay and she agrees to come hang out with me later, just girls. Lo and behold, a few bravely delusional spirits soldier on.
I just feel pretty safe saying that, as a whole, humans don’t like when people are nasty to them. Sometimes it’s clear they know what they’re doing, which is the worst possible type of neg. I don’t know.) Sometimes it’s clear that they are just hapless goons.
I felt bad enough going online to date in the first place, but the influx of negs made me feel worse. But the desire to demean someone and the desire to date her are, I think, mutually exclusive. I figured you probably hear it all the time, but hey, I couldn’t let someone as gorgeous as you get away without me at least telling her first. I tend to ramble.” When I first got this message, I had been on Ok C for a few days and was already getting tired of the bullshit two-word messages and the negging and the total absence of shallow compliments I thought I’d be getting to at least compensate for the rest of the trash in my inbox. I like talking about myself as much as (and probably more than) the next person, OBVIOUSLY.
It made me feel like I wasn’t a person, and I guess to the people sending the messages, I wasn’t. I could be wrong about that, though, because I’m just a woman.2. When this message came, and I was mildly flattered, it was only because my spirits were already broken. And then the three of us drove to West Virginia, where his profile said he lived (that’s right, he’s copy-pasting girls in other states), kidnapped him, carried him over our shoulders to a marble slab in a deserted forest clearing, and sacrificed his blood to the devil. He tried to tell us that we really were all good shit, but it was too late.3. It is my hope that by continually doing what I love to do, which is talking about myself, someone perfect will eventually just fall in love with me. But some part of me—the part that is familiar with social interactions and general guidelines of human conduct—recognizes that this is neither the most practical nor the most thoughtful way to get to know a person.