Someone stick a fork in me. I’m done.

Ahh ok… I see what’s happened here. I’ve reached the end of the line. Destined to spend my life as a wine guzzling, cat loving spinster. I really dislike cats though. Why the melodrama you ask? Well, this is me we’re talking about. But recently, events have led me to this point. The point of packing it in. You see, I figured perhaps Tinder was not the ideal place to meet someone decent. I know, I know, dear reader. You’ve been reading my blog the past couple of years and screaming at me at the same time. Your “shit magnet” and “it’ll happen when you stop looking” comments have not fallen on deaf ears. I am here to listen because now it seems that I can’t actually make it past the online texting phase. Point and case. PAID for a half subscription to an online dating site. You pay to let people contact you essentially. I post highly doctored pictures of me looking like a Victoria secret model so why would I pay for stamps to initiate contact with someone when I can sit back and let the requests roll in… Here’s how it went.

Potential suitor contacts me. Hello. I’m Man. Nice to meet you. What are your interested. Blah blah. Has a job. Check. Has pictures NOT next to a sedated tiger, shirtless at the gym or performing some obscure extreme sport. Sounds nice and genuine. The conversation goes for several days and he politely asks me for my number to arrange a date. Winner winner chicken dinner. He has my number less than 24 hours and I get this:

Why? For the love of god WHYYYYYYYY!? What are you expecting to happen? OMG I can’t fucking stop the urge… my lady parts are trembling. I NEED MORE! Don’t get me wrong, I love a good DP or suggestive pic, but from some you’re actually dating, someone you’ve actually been intimidate with and it didn’t suck,  someone you like, SOMEONE YOU’VE MET!?!??!?!? Back in the day I would have shrugged it off and added to an album about 100 deep but now, no. Sorry. I paid a subscription. This isn’t Tinder. You can see my response to which I got back, “what, are you a prude or something?” Ha. If only you knew, sunshine.”

Not to be dismayed by an unsolicited picture, I tried again. Because I paid for it. Did I mention that? So here we go again. Hello, I’m man. Nice to meet you. What are your interests. Again, curiosity got the better of me. This time around I waited longer. Discovered many interesting facts about said man and again, exchanged numbers with a disclaimer that went something like “you send me an unsolicited dick pic and you’re blocked.” The thing I liked the most was the text messages. Or lack thereof.  He messaged sporadically (unlike accountant’s 25 per day) and at one point asked if I would mind having an actual phone conversation. SHOCK HORROR. For those of you out of the dating game for a while, this is rare. I even remember saying to Lisa, omg, this dude is great. He’s still keen but not stalkerish. I’m genuinely excited! She got excited. There was much rejoicing. We had arranged a date for a Wednesday. He called me the Sunday before.  This is how it went:

Me: Hey it’s so nice to talk to you! How has your week been?

Man: Yeah you too, it’s been really busy. Not as busy as yours though obviously. It really pisses me off, chicks always saying “oh I’m so busy” and they never write back to your text messages, like I get if you’re busy but it’s so rude not to write back.

Me in my mind: Did I not write back to a message? Cast your mind back Suzi.. last text received yesterday saying “have a good weekend,” I felt didn’t warrant a reply. Me on the phone: Oh, sorry are you referring to the text message yesterday?

Man: Oh I didn’t mean you, just women in general just acting like they’re so much better, always bailing on dates last minute and never writing back.

I made small chat and hung up. I told Lisa. Lisa called him a psycho cunt like I knew she would and advised not going. Hell bent on proving him wrong for all woman kind, I kept my date with him. Wednesday rolls around and I’m supposed to meet him in South bank. I had an existential crisis that day and spent a great deal of time rolling around on the lounge room floor crying, but I would be fucked if I validated his “all women are shit” attitude so still vowed to Lisa I would go when she randomly turned up at my door and proclaimed “I’m here to make sure you weren’t lying in the bathroom with slashed wrists.” We’re both so dramatic. So I asked him if we could move the date closer out to where I lived. Here’s how it went:

Who knew a first date came with the crippling weight of all of those expectations?  So I had a lady date with Lisa and we ate chocolate and watched Masterchef. Am I done with it all yet? No way, I’m going speed dating next Thursday. Now THAT will be an entertaining blog entry.

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