Hell Hath No Fury (or Gay for a Day)Submitted by Ejryuu at 2008-03-06 17:32:07 EST
Rating: 1.6 on 47 ratings (47 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
Being single is awesome. Let me rephrase - being single is awesome after you get out of a relationship or two that you didn’t really want to be in. The freedom’s great. You can flirt (and not feel guilty), leave the seat up and not have anyone nag you about why you keep a box of Kleenex at your computer even though you haven’t been sick in eight months.
Eventually, though, being single gets old and a guy starts to feel the need to be oppressed for some reason. This was me a few summers ago.
Since most of my friends were either married, engaged or preying on similar mates that I would, the option of being introduced to a “friend of a friend” wasn’t in the cards. I’d done the bar scene a few times, but that was nearly always at a concert. For better or worse, a fella doesn’t find too many single hot chicks at rock/metal concerts. And besides, low lightning, loud music and lots of Jaegermeister have a way of turning a donkey into a fox that the morning after is all-too-excited to revert.
So I turned to the next best thing. I turned to craigslist.
Craigslist is like ubersite, but for dating. What an awful idea.
After a few revisions, I post my ad and wait for the dysfunctional honies to start rolling in. While eager to jump back into the relationship world, I wasn’t completely desperate. Standards still high, I was turning down the paltry number of bigguns, chicks with kids and the flat-out uggos that had actually responded to my ad.
Saturday night comes around and a friend and I partake in our then-ritual of Super Smash Bros. Melee and excessive drinking. It’s not a bad routine. I showed him a few of the unsavory women foolish enough to send pictures and we continued to drink. After several bottles of Heineken, none of them looked good. So I posted again...
My Sunday dragged on uneventfully. With my fridge nearly devoid of food (save some fish sticks), I took the Ethiopian diet and just decided not to eat. Shoulders slumped, I trudged my way from my kitchen to my living room, prepared to turn on the television and rot my brain...until I see I’ve got a new message!
The shallow part in me scrolled down for a picture. Nice! I read. I replied. I hoped against all odds that she didn’t check to see if I was a registered offender of any sort. When a guy is out of “the game” for awhile, the exciting wave that dating conjures crashes against him. There is no other time where you’ve got to be on the ball, smooth, funny, charming and above-all, not creepy than when you’re trying to reel in your catch.
It hadn’t been more than an hour into getting the ball rolling with this girl before a surprise came from out of nowhere. It was almost as offensive as beating up on M. Bison when your younger sibling comes by and mashes on the other controller - A NEW CHALLENGER! That’s right boys and girls. Another chick has entered the fray. This is going to complicate things.
Since I hadn’t been out in awhile (and let’s be clear, we’re talking three months, maybe four tops), there was no way I was going to let this golden opportunity slip through my fingers. I went into Jack Tripper mode and figured that if I timed my Sunday evening correctly, I could manage two separate dates in two separate places and of course not allude to one that the other was also “on the menu.” Not the most difficult situation to juggle, but not what I’d call an easy task.
Drinks and dinner with Emily (girl #2) and then I was to call Tiffany (girl #1) to confirm our plans. I showered and got directions to the restaurant before I nervously speed off. Emily was in the middle of switching cell phone service providers so she didn’t have a number to reach her but I needed to get ahold of Tiffany anyway. Not a good thing when I'd forgotten to charge my phone the evening before.
I arrived a solid half hour early and reserved a table at this busy, kind of classy joint. It was a good thing, too, because by the time the wait was up, I was three minutes ahead of schedule as shown by the digital clock on my dying phone.
I wait. And wait some more. When fifteen minutes had passed, I ordered a drink - just a bottle of Heineken. That’s not rude, is it? I’ll wait to order food until my date shows up. Man alive, I am starving! Maybe skipping out on food the first seven hours of my day after drinking the evening before was not a good idea. Fifteen more minutes pass and still no sign of this girl. I stood up and walked around a few times just to make sure that there was no one waiting at the door or anything strange. When I’d made the rounds a few times and didn’t see a girl in a pink and brown top with jeans on, I sat back down and ordered another drink. Girls are allowed to be late. I told myself that by the time I finished my second beer, I’d leave.
So I left with my receipt crumpled in my pocket. A good 30 mile drive and $10 spent on the same two bottles of beer I had picked up just a few days before in a case for $20. Strike one, bub. Now pray your phone lasts long enough to make plans with the other girl.
And it did. My first and only meal of the day was ice cream with Tiffany (who later turned out to be a pill-dependent psycho but that’s not what this is about).
After going one-for-two, I arrived at my place and decided that before this Sunday night came to a close, I’d email Tiffany and tell her that I had a wonderful time, that I really enjoyed her company and all of the other lines used to seal the deal and get one step closer to Candyland. Hey, I’m human. Fuck you.
The comforting hum of my computer firing up in the darkness of my living room calmed my nerves a little. It’d been the most exciting day I’d seen in quite awhile. I opened my email and much to my surprise, I was greeted by no less than half a dozen new messages, some with attachments, none of which were spam. The title on the majority of seemed to be the same and it was not one I’d recognized. The one that I did recognize, however, was from Emily:
SUBJECT: What the Hell?!?
Why didn't you show? That's so fucking lame. If you didn't want to meet, you should have said something. It would have been no skin off my back.
Do you think you are so fucking special that you can get away with that sort of bullshit. Trust me, you're not.
I hope you finally do hook up with someone from Craigs List and she gives you syphillis and chlamydia. Crabs, too.
That’s charming. A few minutes later and my well-written defense to plead my case was jetting through cyberspace to Ms. Disgruntled. I was there (at the restaurant), she was not. End of story. Thankfully, I’d remembered the receipt in my pocket and whipped it out and took a picture. Often times when arguing with a woman, not even concrete proof will make you right and her wrong.
While waiting for a reply, I decided to check out the rest of my messages. I opened the first one and it was junk.
I didn’t bother reading because the idea of dong and testicles right below the lines of text was too disturbing. I opened the next email and was greeted by a different set of bait and tackle. Jesus! The third emailer (which didn’t contain a picture) asked me something about wanting an older daddy.
A few minutes pass before I come to a revelation - craigslist.
Sure as can be, there was a craigslist post that matches the majority of the titles of my unread emails in the section called “Casual Encounters.” Just great. I clicked on the post and found four pictures. Two of them I recognized as they were the same pictures of myself that I’d just sent Emily a few hours ago. The other two, however, were not. The other two .jpg files depicted a tan young man spread eagle and one man fellating another man. Also enclosed in the post was my direct email, typed out backwards to avoid being caught by filters or something bizarre.
Angry Emily had been so bitter and convinced that she’d been stood up that she went out of her way to make her would-be date’s (me) life a little bit more interesting by luring the homosexual men of the Minneapolis craigslist site to me.
As we were battling back and forth and I’d proven that I was indeed at the right place at the right time as agreed upon, Emily came up with yet another surprise:
Don't act like you aren't turned on by all those responses! Any good pics?
And, for your information, I was a copy editor at my school's newspaper (with a daily circulation of 15k) for two years. No need to spell check, bitch.
So do you want to continue this tongue thrashing at my place, or what?
Now she’s inviting me over for late-night action? This is unbelievable! Yet I was so aghast, mortified and a few other big words I don’t use by what happened that I turned her down. The few morals I’ve got left from Catholic school compel me to think that it’s not right to have a one night stand with a girl I’ve never met that just turned the homo battalion’s gayonets in my direction.
Over the course of the next week, I received no less than a dozen other emails from men looking for casual sex from other men. I even answered my cell phone at work to a heavily breathing man named Bill looking for me by name. I think the most depressing part is that I received more replies from casual encounter seeking men than I did from standard relationship seeking gals.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.