The one topic that I purposely avoid in the blog world is my dating life. For those of you who have wondered....I do have one...I just don't talk about it...unless you're in the inner inner-circle of trust...and not many people ever make it there. But since I'm airing all sorts of dirt these days I thought I would open Pandora's box and let you all in on a little known reality: My Dating Life.
Background: Mormons don't date until they're 16...(well semi-active* and inactive* Mormons might, but unfortunately I didn't fit into either of those categories). So, for the first 16 years of my life I dreamed about my first date. In my mind he'd open my car door, we would go to a move, eat dinner at a nice restaurant and then he'd drop me off before curfew. Yep, that was the dream...let me just say that dream ended the second his family's dog started humping my leg. Now, it's not so much that I sustained leg-rape on my first date, it's that my shin was humped raw becuase for THREE HOURS (while we watched some lame ass movie in his musty basement) his dog assaulted me. I know what you're thinking, "why in the hell would you let a dog hump your leg...FOR THREE HOURS????" Well, like most leg-rape victims I tried to fight the little bastard off, but he kept coming back. And my incessant pleas to my date were met with a smile and "he really likes you". Yep, THREE HOURS OF LEG HUMPING "like". Praise Rah that my date didn't like me that much!
Well, needless to say, dating continues to be one adventure after another...
Present: in order to keep my life interesting and to explore the LDS Pond o' Potential ECs* I keep LDSlinkup (the same site that put Jared in contact with Natalie...see below) open whenever I'm online. For the record I'm kind of popular (but not as popular as Natalie). I'm not going to lie, my shallow inner fat kid gets a self-esteem boost every time a guy checks me out. And because I know it's not easy to contact a complete stranger, I tend to reply to everyone who send me an email.
A little over a week ago a cute guy, who I'll call "way to much hair gel" sent me an email asking me about the Vikings (Carrie+Minnesota Vikings obviously equals conversation starter). I emailed him back (even though his profile says that he's "in a relationship"). We emailed back and forth about my intense love of football (I know, I hate football, but don't tell him that) and discovered that we have a common connection: the Trojan (as a mascot of course). Yes, I realize that building a relationship off of your love of Trojans probably isn't the most solid foundation, but greater things have been built off of shakier soil. So WTMHG and I took our relationship to a new level.
First I asked him what he does for a living. He replied by telling me that he sells high end moistureizer. Now, I don't know about you, but it's really hard to find a good moisturizer. So I asked him to tell me more...that's when he sent me his phone number and told me to text him.
I played hard to get and didn't respond for a couple of days, but yesterday morning, while slathering generic Wal-Mart lotion on my face I decided that I should up my game and see if I could score some free goods. So I sent him a text...about moisturizer. He responded by asking about my virginity. I told him that good girls don't answer questions like that. He asked me to send him a picture. I asked him what he wanted a picture of. He said me. I told him that while I'm willing to do just about anything for a good wrinkle cream, I wasn't willing to do that. He asked me if I'd had a good make out lately. I asked him if his girlfried had had a good makeout lately....
We bantered back and forth all day. He asked inappropriate questions, I sent back smart alec answers. Then, while I was trying to finish up some pretty serious school work he sent me this:
I like guys who are a bit on the skinny side, who look like they haven't showered in months, guys who wear thick wool socks with their Birkenstocks. Guys who kayak and rock climbing Guys who play guitar and can understand poetry. Guys who fly F-16s and kill people for a living.
I do not like rock hard abs. In fact I think abs are icky.
So I texted him back, "is that really you or did you just paste your head on that body?"
He replied, "it's me".
I replied, "nice purple towel"
He replied, "bet you thought more than that".
Well isn't Mr. Inappropriate picture sender intuitive? Because I did think more than that. In fact I thought this: "oh hells no, not a slutty bathroom shot", followed by "probably not the type of guy who digs a girl who lives on spray cheese and Tootsie Pops", followed by "is he really flexing his arm in that picture? YES! He's really flexing his arm in that picture!"
I replied, "actually my first thought was, 'probably not the type of guy who would sit on the couch and eat ice cream out of a tub with me'"
I don't think that's the answer he was fishing for because he has yet to text me back.
Moral of the story: if I was stuck on an island and had to pick between Jared (see below), icky abs guy, or a three hour leg humper, I'd probably have to go leg humper. At least the leg humper could fetch.