The Post that Gave D a Nervous Breakdown

We’re resurrecting Pic of the Week, because if we didn’t with this picture, we would be legally obligated to turn in our blogger cards. This guy popped up as one of my “matches” on Hinge (more on Hinge in a later post).

The problem is, I don’t even know where to begin with this one…

Girls and Corpses

This is a real publication?!?

What.

The.

FUCK?!

Let me tell you, I just fell into a really fucking weird internet wormhole researching this magazine. You know, the “world’s first comedy magazine about death” that sometimes does photo shoots in real live morgues. 24 issues may not seem like a lot, but you go look at 24 magazine covers featuring scantily clad women getting up close and personal with dead bodies and try to tell me with a straight face that you don’t feel forever unclean.

I mean, it’s endorsed by Sheri Moon Zombie, which is literally all I need to know about it. True story – I was once conned into watching The Devil’s Rejects on my birthday, by the guy I was seeing when I started law school, and I will never be the same. I lost so much that day: innocence, the contents of my stomach, the will to live. (I may or may not have just taken a break to text him “remember that time you ruined my birthday by making me watch The Devil’s Rejects? you still owe me for that.”). I’m getting sidetracked. All these corpses, plus that movie trailer (that I inexplicably watched despite the fact that every scene of that movie is seared into my brain and will haunt me for all of eternity), has really put me in a weird place today. What I’m trying to say is, a good litmus test of how much I would enjoy something is to ask “would Sheri Moon Zombie like this?” If the answer is yes, get it the fuck away from me. I don’t care if it’s heavy on satire and meant as “a commentary on advertising, where you put a beautiful girl next to anything to sell it.” I just. NO.

Back to the picture at hand. Literally, because on the cover of the issue this dude is displaying, the corpse is getting a little handsy up underneath that bathing suit. It’s so creepy and gross, but I can’t look away. Why is the corpse feeling up this Baywatch model? WHY IS THIS HOW I SPENT MY DAY IN BETWEEN CLOSINGS?!

Among all the other burning questions I have about this, the one that is most relevant to this blog is: why is this one of this dude’s featured profile pics? What is this picture supposed to tell me about him? Because the first thing that came to my mind was “I’ll probably murder you and do unspeakable things to your dead body.” Granted, I now know that this a satire/comedy magazine, but that doesn’t really eliminate the possibility that this dude is a deranged psychopath who just enjoys the spread and doesn’t give a shit about the articles. The necrophiliac’s Playboy, if you will.

That last sentence has me wondering how my life has come to this point, where I’m describing things as “the necrophiliac’s Playboy.” I take it back – Wallet Chain (the nickname my friends “affectionately” gave the guy I dated in law school) didn’t ruin my life.

Online dating did.

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First date with the Good Message Unicorn

In case you are just joining us (in which case, welcome!/fasten your seat belt) this post is technically a Part 2. When we last left off, the Good Message Unicorn had apologized for his lame behavior and asked if I wanted to meet. And sweet baby Jesus, it was about time. In keeping with my Summer of YOLO affirmations, I decided to go for it. I gave GMU my phone number, sat back,  DudeWaiting …and waited for him to take the reigns, which he did. We made plans to meet for drinks, which in my mind was going to go one of two ways:

  1. We’d meet, hit it off immediately, and begin a hot mid-summer romance, thus validating the entire Summer of YOLO plan
  2. We’d meet and the date would be mediocre, in part because I set wildly unrealistic expectations of a complete stranger who sent me some half decent messages over a month ago

Hmmmm let’s see. Which of those options seems more likely in the world of LSD, and the world of online dating in general? fresh prince hmm The night of our date, I arrived at my old reliable (yes, he asked me where I wanted to meet and yes, I was annoyed about it). I didn’t see GMU at the bar, but he’d just texted me that he was there, so I headed up to the second floor and…. literally ran right into him on the stairs. Now, if you’ve ever online dated, you know that the first moment of a first date is almost always excruciatingly awkward because neither party knows how to appropriately greet the other person. Do you shake hands? Hug? Wait to see what your date does? Before I even had time to consider my greeting options, this happened:  GMU: Sorry, I don’t want to touch you because I’m really sick. Me (internally): wtf-mate-o Me: Oh. Sorry you’re sick. We could have rescheduled…? GMU: I know, but I was looking forward to meeting you, and I also felt like since I kind of disappeared for a bit, it would have seemed extra shady for me to cancel at the last minute. I didn’t want you to think I was blowing you off. Despite that fact that we were still having this awkward ass conversation ON THE STAIRS as waiters and customers brushed by us, GMU earned some points for that. Because he’s right: the fact that he fully disappeared once, coupled with the fact that more often than not, the ‘I’m sick” excuse turns out to be bullshit, (and maybe the fact that Stupid Cupid is the patron blog of pessimistic over thinkers) means that I probably wouldn’t have believed him. Well played, GMU… 10-points-to-gryffindor_gp_1622829 Source: memecdn.com …even though I was now at risk for contracting the “summer cold” he claimed to have come down with. Welp, that’s what they make Purell for, right? Finally we moved from our creepy perch and I got a chance to fully check my date out. He was:

  • shorter than he claimed to be, because duh, but still respectably tall
  • almost as cute as his pictures

All in all I was pleased. We sat down, ordered drinks, and GMU launched into telling me about his job. I don’t know why this seems to be a trend with me lately, but I’ve encountered some serious Chatty Cathys. Luckily GMU had a cool job that I was mildly interested in (small/independent film distributor–I’m sorry but no one can top Keith Mars in that department) so I peppered him with a lot of questions. Homeboy was smart and well spoken and unlike a previous Chatty Cathy, didn’t bore me to tears with tedious anecdotes that no one cares about but him. But, even though GMU was holding my interest, at the same time it all seemed very…official. And oddly business-like. We were chatting like two strangers exchanging platonic pleasantries, not two people on a date. Our messages had been filled with all the flirty, loquacious banter of some snappy Aaron Sorkin dialogue, but that just wasn’t translating in person. This is actually pretty common, I think mostly because it’s easy to sit in front of a laptop and type and re-type a message until it’s the perfect blend of sassy, witty, and hilarious, but when you’re sitting in front of a complete stranger yeah, that shit’s a little harder. Men appear to especially have a hard time with this… I can’t tell you how many have been literally PERSONALITY OF THE YEAR over messaging and then come off like a wet blanket in person. Midway through the date I went to the bathroom and thought about how it was going. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great. Two things needed to happen for the night to tip the scales toward positive:

  1. We needed to stop talking to each other like two co-workers in a conference room at a Scottsdale Ramada and start flirting, ASAP.
  2. GMU needed to actually ask about me and my life, and then shut his mouth and let me speak. The talking thing seemed like a nervous habit, so I was trying not to take it personally, but at a certain point it’s hard not to feel like you could be replaced with a bag of rusty nails and your date might just keep going because he literally has zero interest in getting to know anything about you. If you think I’m exaggerating, read this article. More great news for single women!

I got back to the table, these thoughts still on my mind. As if on cue GMU said, “Where was I…? Oh yeah!” and immediately launched into ANOTHER STORY. And I just sat there with my mouth agape, thinking: not done My eyes started to glaze over. But then, as if he could read my mind (or possibly my facial expression), GMU stopped mid-sentence and said: “I’m sorry, I can hear myself talking your ear off. I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” Well. That took me by surprise. I appreciated the self awareness, though it took a lot of self control not to shout “YES, YES YOU ARE TALKING WAY TOO MUCH AND IT’S REALLY OBNOXIOUS WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU??” Instead I went with a much kinder: “Yup, maybe a little too much.” “I knew it. I’m sorry! I just want you to know it’s because I’m having a really nice time. Let me finish this thought and then I promise I will shut up and you can tell me more about you.” I had to physically bar myself from rolling my eyes at ‘it’s because I’m having a nice time’ because LOL, yeah. You’ve been listening to the sound of your own voice for the better part of an hour. I bet you’re having a nice time. narcissism To GMU’s credit, though, he did shut up and listen. Thank God. As the conversation became more of a back and forth, we started to banter a bit. GMU had obviously gotten more comfortable, and even managed to pull out some of the teasing and volleying he’d been so good at over messaging. Then it was revealed that he knew my alma mater, BU, very well because he dated a girl for three years who went there and visited frequently. The highlight of the entire date was when GMU started to talk shit on CGS, which is something that every BU student knows about. The College of General Studies is a school that freshmen are admitted into when they’re…not…ready?…for BU itself. CGS has an infamously bad rap at BU–it’s affectionately known as crayons, glue and scissors cgs So it totally tickled me that GMU knew about this and was in on the shit talking (PS, most of this shit talking stemmed from the fact that his college girlfriend cheated on him with a CGS student, which explains his surprising fervor on the subject). I know this all probably comes off as mean spirited and douchey, especially coming from a school that lives in the shadow of the capital of elitist doucheland. And yes, it kind of is, but it’s also a time honored BU tradition. Sidenote: I actually have a few friends who were in CGS (if you’re reading this, hi guys!/I’m sorry, I’m the worst xoxoxo), and who are smart, successful humans with good jobs, so clearly all this snide judgment is meaningless. Funny, but meaningless. ANYWAY, I was still LOLing from the BU/CGS tangent when my date surprised me again: GMU: I’m having a lot of fun. Would you like to do this again sometime? I mean, what single girl doesn’t like to hear that from a cute guy, even one who talks incessantly? I’ve just never heard literally it in the middle of the date in the middle of a conversation. A part of me was like, wait. Is he ending the night right now? Is GMU just going to get up and walk away after I answer him? Only one way to find out. Since the date had markedly improved during the second half of the evening, I decided the Good Message Unicorn was worth a second look. Me: I’m having fun, too. And sure, I’d love to. GMU: Awesome. Anyway, back to what we were talking about… So the date continued but started to wind down. 15 minutes later we got the check and left. We stood outside the bar, saying an awkward goodbye. GMU repeated that he’d love to see me again, and told me he’d be in touch soon. Then something…unprecedented happened. My date fist bumped me.

My date FIST. BUMPED. ME.

Yes, you’re thinking of the right fist bump. The GMU and I did this: fist bump 1 fist bump 2 fist bump 3 I have no words. And I had no words then. I think I actually blurted out, “wow, okay. That just happened. Well….goodnight!” and fled. So what happened next? A second date? A phone call? Some text flirting? Anything? Anything at all? Nothing. https://i2.wp.com/i.qkme.me/3rdom7.jpg After a months-long saga of messaging, taking a break from messaging, disappearing, YOLOing, reappearing, meeting, illnesses and hand moves made famous by bros, after all that, I never heard from the GMU again. That bastard had the gall to pull a fade away. the jerk store called I’m not even going to go into how maddening it is to be asked out again IN THE MIDDLE OF A DATE and then hear nothing from that person, because it’s well covered territory here at Stucu. Like I said at the beginning of this post, this is not an interesting or juicy ending to the GMU saga by any means, but it’s so incredibly true to life and to the dating world as I know it. A lot of BS, time and effort amounting to… this. I realize this post took a dark turn for a sunny Friday afternoon, but if you’ve been following our blog you should hardly be surprised. I do have two positive things to end on. 1. I’m still hella glad I YOLO’d, because at least now I know. I know that GMU is not the one that got away and that I didn’t let tired dating conventions and self consciousness get in the way of figuring that out. So…go me? I mean, still alone, of course, but alone and wiser. Yup, basically just alone. Positive thing #2… our wonderful co-blogger D celebrated a milestone birthday this week! Readers, join me in wishing her a Happy Birthday! D, you’re one of my favorite people in the world, even if you do have a ‘tude about Disney classics and our use of the term YOLO. Here’s a little belated Bday treat for you… Date rating: 6/10. The chemistry that I had with GMU over messaging never really materialized in person, and he talked my ear off, but the date did improve a fair amount towards the end. Until, of course, he FIST BUMPED ME and then pulled a fade away. Given the last two points, my grading might actually be too generous.

search terms – saggy breasts

Like S, my prospects are pretty dim at the moment. Even with the addition of Match. Which is a total mystery to me, because who wouldn’t want to be with a girl who wakes up in the morning screaming about flying turtles taking up residence in her humble little studio apartment? That girl sounds like a total catch. Not a traumatized lunatic at all. But I digress. Since I’ve got time on my hands, and we’re a little narcissistic over in these parts, I’ve been hanging out on our stats page a lot lately. One thing I’ve noticed is that this Pic of the Week post is viewed pretty regularly, well after it was posted. Not quite daily, but definitely more than once a week. I do happen to think it’s one of my funnier posts, but sadly, that’s not the reason it gets as much traffic as it does. The real reason can be found in the Search Engine Terms section of our stats page:

screenshot of stats page

S alluded to the entertainment value that is found there, amongst the search terms. There are some really unique gems in that history. You know what else can be found in that all time summary? Four of the top ten search terms sending people on over here, and a total of 57 different search terms, revolve around saggy breasts. I compiled all such searches into this handy little chart:

saggy breasts stats

(I don’t really know what to say about the fact that I spent an inordinate (read: alarming/disturbing/sad) amount of time tediously perfectly lining up each entry when pasting them all together so the border lines on each side matched up exactly. Other than thanks for the OCD MOM.)

Let me tell you, I didn’t really know what to expect when we started this blog. I don’t think I ever really considered google search terms. But I certainly did not expect the perkiness (or lack thereof) of women’s chests to play a role in bringing in readers. It is equal parts hilarious and terrifying how many searches focus on saggy breasts. It’s also a little astonishing how many different iterations there are of “saggy breasts pictures.” Most have just been used once, but there are a handful that are repeat offenders. Nineteen times people (or just one person over and over again) have searched “saggy breasts pics” and clicked on over to us. I just sat silently shaking my head for 2 minutes after typing that sentence.

A few of my favorites:

delicious breast molesting

“Delicious breast molesting.” As if there’s any other kind of breast molesting.

where can I date a woman withsaggy breasts

There are a lot of very specific dating sites out there (seriously – take a moment and peruse that list). Maybe this is an untapped market? Should I shelve this whole lawyering thing and start a new dating website? God knows my ambition to become a public defender isn’t going to make me rich. Are saggy breasts the key to financial success in my life?

saggy breasts blog

Not really the description that I was hoping people would use for our blog.

extremely sagging breasts pics

Because a normal amount of sagging just won’t do. No one wants to see that. Extreme sagging is where it’s at. You heard it here first, folks!

the most saggy breast in the world

who has the saggiest breast in the world

Both of these searches are oddly singular. They’re just looking for 1 saggy breast? Not a matched pair? Is this a niche fetish? I should probably create a group on the new dating site that caters to these folks.

s

Are saggy breasts my legacy?

Pic of the week: spelunking

This is semi NSFW, so proceed with caution if your boss could be standing behind you. The fact that I even need to say this about someone’s internet dating profile picture should clue you in that it’s going to be good…

pic of the week spelunking

I know. Crazy, ri–oh wait. There’s more…

pic of the week choochoo

So that’s who I’m being matched with on okcupid. In other news, still single!

Message Monday – The Dead Rat

Today’s message is a little different than others, but I’ll get to that in a second. First, the offending message (with the boring pleasantries redacted so you can truly focus on the good part):

message monday - dead rat

What a charming little anecdote! Nothing says “I’m not a weirdo, you should totally be interested in me!” like talking about a dead rat. Rodents are a great conversation starter…

Now, how is this message different, you ask? Well – I didn’t receive it.

I wrote it.

And clicked send.

I. SENT. THAT.





What the FUCK is wrong with me? Why would I share that? Especially as my first communication with this guy? I mean, some things are funny, but should probably wait to be shared. This isn’t one of those things. It’s not a good story EVER. I even acknowledge that it’s a terrible thing to share/talk about, but instead of just using that handy little backspace key on my keyboard I just say “but there it is anyway.” I wasn’t even drunk or otherwise incapacitated. It was mid afternoon on a weekday. I was at my desk at work eating a peanut butter and honey uncrustable (marketed towards “families on the move”, purchased by lazy 28 year olds who can’t be bothered to perform the strenuous task of making a peanut butter sandwich).

The worst part is that this guy had messaged me first, so he was interested. But then he got that response and I never heard from him again. He seemed interesting and fun too. But I went and shined a glaring light on why I’m single and on dating websites in the first place. This is not the first time I have verbal diarrhead all over a guy, it’s a specialty of mine. Like that time I launched into a detailed explanation of why if I had to choose (and I don’t know why I ever would have to choose), I would be a proctologist before I was a podiatrist. I still cry on the inside thinking about that, it haunts me. An unfortunate number of other examples just flooded my memory and I had to take a moment to compose myself. Annnnnnyway… I thought maybe online dating would be different, what with the benefit of a computer between us and the ability to take a moment and edit myself. I thought I had a chance at escaping my past. Not so. NOT. SO.

L tried to make me feel better by pretending that my message was ok.

L: I mean, it’s not like you said you took the dead rat home and made out with it.

D: He hasn’t messaged me since.

L: Well he may have died.

That explanation doesn’t brand me a crazy cat rat lady, so I’m going with death…

-D