I have said it before and I will say it again, I am not a proponent of the dating apps. I prefer to meet women in person. Messaging is such a terrible way to get to know someone. I will admit to the brilliance of finding people to hook up with while sitting on your toilet, but photogenically speaking, I look like the Second Coming of Jeffrey Dahmer, so Tinder does not benefit me in any discernible way. In every photo I look like I have 12 kidnapped children locked up in barbed-wire cages in my windowless, soundproof basement and multiple women’s heads in my freezer.
So when I meet gals it’s usually at the bars. And every once in a while I will meet a cute girl, have a wonderful conversation, she will wholeheartedly give me her number, I’ll text her… and I will do all of this only to never hear back from that girl again. This is enough to drive a guy into an insanitarium.
This occurrence is more uncommon than not but it has now happened to me twice in the last three weeks. Well the joke’s on these girls because I blog through my tears. I push my feelings deep down into my innards until they come out the other end as pure untainted shit only to be flushed down the toilet into the St. Louis sewers.
But why do women do this? Do you girls have any idea how many men you have turned to a life of insecurity and paralyzing self doubt? And before you call me sexist, guys can definitely do it to women as well, but it just seems cruel when guys do it. Even I, a victim of this mind-fucking tortuous crime, will admit that it is kind of funny when women do it, while not ideal. I guess that is the definition of a double standard and kind of sexist. Whatever.
So to divulge, this past Friday night I was out downtown with some friends at the PBR bar in BPV. That is Ballpark Village for you county folk, or Buttpillage Village as the comedians in my head refer to it as.
Since real men don’t dance at clubs no matter how talented rhythmically, we were posted up at the bar, backs facing the barkeeps. Oozing vibes. Sniffing out all the vaginal musk of the women who walk by. I hate this fake-ass ‘country’ bar but I have to admit, the place was crawling with quality turd cutters. I had my head on a swivel looking for potential suitors like an oscillating fan you own because you’re too cheap to turn on the air conditioning.
Then this cute girl approached me. At the time, my dumb drunk brain thought that she stood in front of me solely so I would start talking to her. She dug my enticing vibrancy, I thought. In retrospect, she was probably just trying to get a drink and I was in her way. But that is neither here nor there.
“Hey how’s your life?” I open with as we start talking. Her name is Jamie, which I love because it allows me to use the word ‘androgynous’ which makes me sound smart despite my room temperature IQ. We talked for what I believe to be 20-30 minutes. The flirtatious banter gave me a mental and emotional boner, along with the literal boner I flipped up into my waistband while she wasn’t looking. Vehemence was intangibly in the air. But this girl is one of the good ones, so she respectfully said she had to go home and gave me her number only. No coitus with strangers. Class up the wazoo. A real fucking lady, this girl. I dig it.
We get to Sunday afternoon and after a few Shiner Bocks and a couple games of Blokus in Soulard to keep my mind sharp, I decide to send her a message. As previously mentioned on this website, I usually wait three days to resurrect the conversation, but even Jesus Christ wouldn’t have waited three days for this girl. I simply introduce myself as the idiot she met Friday night, make a couple light jokes, compliment her and ask her out for a drink. I don’t want a text conversation, I want to see her again. Laid-back yet to the point. Very tasteful. It’s not a science, it’s an art form, you guys. Send. You sly debonair text machine, I think to myself…
This is perplexing and a hearty strike to the face but I am not yet down for the count. Maybe she’s busy. Also, girls play mind games. Not fun board games like Blokus. Some girls want a guy to border on embarrassing himself to get her attention before they respond. There are a lot of smart and pretty sociopaths out there. These kind of girls like to prove their worth, then add tax.
On the other hand, sometimes they’re just not that interested. If that’s the case, sending a second text is like a homeless guy asking somebody for a dollar, being told no, and then coming back and asking for $5,000 dollars. But I don’t care. So I wait an arbitrary 23 hours and 52 minutes to text her again. A second text is okay if done properly. Self-deprecation and humor work well in this instance and have proven successful. If you can make a girl laugh you can make her do anything (butt stuff).
Never give up pic.twitter.com/YqQpAxEAzs
— Mikey Ribs (@HomeFerDinner) February 26, 2018
As I workshop this post it has been more than 24 hours since this display of non-reciprocated affection and still no response. Tupac said there’d be days like this.
While I am very discouraged and confused, I will not give up. Why not you ask? Like, take a fucking hint, Mike. Why not move on? There are plenty of beavers in the river. Well I’ll tell you why I can’t move on. Because I am now in love with this girl. If she texts back immediately and we go out, maybe she’s nothing special, but in direct correlation to the George Costanza theory, I now am wildly in love with her. I cannot resist the allure of a girl who is not interested in me. It is the most enticing aphrodisiac I could ever imagine. If you gave me the Rorschach test right now, every ink blot would just look like her face, or a penis. It is like finding out you are allergic to a certain food. You haven’t eaten, craved or cared about that food in 7 years but now it is all you want to ingest for the rest of your life.
So you’re probably asking okay Mike what could you possibly do at this point to make this girl respond? I’ll preface by saying I am no expert… clearly… but I know that two texts is the absolute max you can send. Two can work, but three only makes matters worse. You have to change the medium and grow some balls. With hair on them. Quit texting girls and liking their Instagram photos you fucking milksop, CALL HER like a man.
So in exactly two days I will call her which will undeniably go to her voice mail. Sometimes a two or three line text can’t revamp the great conversation and chemistry you had 48 hours prior. It’s possible the girl may have forgotten the feeling of attraction she felt or is too coy to text back. You are technically a stranger so it’s not a big deal to ignore you.
The contrarian would say calling a person after two non-responsive texts is like trying to put out a fire with gasoline, and they may be right, but I truly believe your tone of voice, audible presence and perfectly delivered dumb jokes can remind her why she inserted her full name and number into your phone in the first place… Even if it has to be in a well-scripted voice mail. A text does not have that effect.
Matter-of-factly, as I write this and try and revert back to meeting her, I am remembering the moment she gave me her number more clearly. I asked if I should call or text and she said call. Whoops. Well call her I will. Calling a girl shows bravery and a sizable measure of interest compared to a stupid text about disliking Luke Bryan. Very few guys call.
Sure, some girls may be too nervous or put-off by a phone conversation with a guy they barely know, but a girl that can’t hold a conversation without gifs, acronyms and emojis are not worth having anyways. Should I have called first? Yes I should have. But what do I have to lose? I have less dignity than Lindsay Lohan. Your ego is not your amigo. If i don’t call, I never hear from or see this cutie again anyways.
And if that doesn’t work, there are plenty of sites on the dark web that do background checks for next to nothing that can supply her address. I will just show up at her apartment. Now that is romantic!