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A few precious gems were legitimately nice and pleasant, but their presence in my inbox was so minuscule as to hardly be noticeable. I think this is on the way out, but it’s lingering. I am interested in historical records on some of the most pressing matters of our time.
If I didn’t have corrective contact lenses, I wouldn’t have even been able to see them. But whatever, you get my point.) These messages were like these little lifesavers thrown out to me, a person who was drowning in a cesspool of filth and sewage water, only to be just as quickly cast aside because, even though they were nice enough, relatively speaking, the guys who sent them were fifty-two years old or were self-described “fitness models” or went by the user name “Lets Fck Around.”Look, I know it isn’t easy out there for dudes, either. So guys have some pressure—they’re the ones who have to “make a move” and then just wait while my friends and I gasp and laugh and email each other the complete garbage they’ve just sent us. I am interested in the grouping and analysis of small disasters.
But I am not talking about outlines or brief boilerplate messages. I am talking about excruciatingly detailed compliments. Just came across your post and really its seems to be very honest and clear i would surely like to know u better Well I am looking for a nice to be friends with and then take it from there and i really wanna take care of her I am pretty well off and well educated..i guess I know how to treat a woman . ” Perhaps not surprisingly, this message came from someone with whom I shared a higher enemy percentage than match percentage. He was like our Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, but the opposite. “I’m just being real here, I know this is completely random and I know you have entirely no clue who I am, but I was looking through profiles and saw yours and I was blown away. Mean while showing my humorous side in our delightful conversation on things we’ve done and hope to accomplish in our futures.
I am talking about sickness—a viral kind of pathology that sneaks up on you, tells you you’re special, and then kills you. Nah, maybe we just meet up and dive into a grand discussion walking around Mall of America, grab some coffee or tea and possibly take in some people watching or I carry the bags while you shop.
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 say “apparently” because I wouldn’t have known this was the case had I not signed up for Ok Cupid along with Jenna, and later my other friend Rylee, and watched with horror as our inboxes filled up with a not insubstantial number of the very same messages from the very same users. It’s that “right mind” part that really makes the difference, isn’t it?
I might have noticed that there was something suspiciously hollow and generic about these messages, but I would have allowed my belief in the good of humanity to overrule the idea that anyone could be so gross as to think that blanket dating messages could work. I realize that these young men probably don’t consider the fact that the women they’re messaging might have persuaded a few of their friends to suffer along with them, and that in doing so they will surely be comparing messages. i must say that you seem like an intresting person from what i can tell from reading your profile and i would like to get to know you alittle better. Aside from the fact that I can’t imagine what one does to earn “kick ass” status as a son and a brother, this guy said he’d like for us to “get to know each other,” but then went on to describe only himself. Does he even care if I’m a kick-ass daughter and sister?? “Hello, so now I’m wondering how to entice a beautiful girl into responding to my email.
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.
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It’s like some weird form of hypothetical showing off.