24 Hours Ago

“It could have been forever but we’ll never know, 24 hours ago. The night was all we had and then I had to go, 24hours ago. We were lovers, Just 24 hours ago”

As quickly as online relationships start, they end. Guess that term “relationship” loosely applies to chats instigated by horny individuals who shower you with equal parts compliment and lust.

Based on his pictures, profiles and solicitations of arrogance you proceed to either message or block him. You coyly yet assertly reply in hopes that this dude is more social media awkward than skeevy.

A slew of messages determine whether or not you feel comfortable with the dude having your phone number— and thus a permanent life line to your person. (I mean who isn’t on or near their phone 24/7 nowadays?) Even more, you wonder if this analog is the potential gentleman sent to wine and dine your or if he’s an avatar with mischievous intentions.

In all honesty you can be whoever you want to be online, fluctuating between all different personalities in your characters. Confident, sassy, shy, vixen, nerd, professor, mom, siren, simple, complicated, funny, serious; your attitude is the unexpected bridge in that addictive melody through you deplore the lyrics.

For men though, this is probably the first time they’ve been invited to joust. The competition’s stiff, but they still win even if they forfeit the match. Prowling through profiles like fingers flitting through a magazine, approving pictures before content, writing guttural reactions to the images before the brain can process that an (emotional) human being waits on the other side of their comments. I’ve already discussed my initial experience with OKCupid! but I never talked about the four dudes lucky enough to get my number.

Dungeons and Dragons:

I mentioned D&D briefly in my first post. This guy messaged me 4-5 times a day, treating my inbox like an SMS receiver. He was cool to chat with but after a month of back and forth, I was waiting for an introduction to social activities (i.e. dating). Finally, I got tired of his self-proclaimed title of Mr. Awesome, and decided to challenge said title as a figment of cyberspace. Gauntlet thrown, challenge accepted. He asks for my number (which I telepathically believe and stated that he wanted for a long time).

First text: “I’ve been wanting your number for a long time, eh? You’re a little too confident in your swag. You’ve only recently gotten my full attention”.

Bold move, Mr. Dragons. You clown me as an acceptance speech to my numerical prize? Who in the name of PlayStation do you think you are? Not to be bested by rudeness, I reply.

Me: “If you can believe you’re captain of the awesome committee, I can believe my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.”

About a month more of this flirty, nonchalant banter ensues before I realize this dude is never going to ask me out. His years of playing card games with other pock-ridden boys has addled this brain to make him believe that the most effective strategy is defense—even when it comes to women. Well here’s one woman who won’t ask a guy out on a first date.

I closed out our chat session in a very dude-like fashion.

“Yo D&D, it’s been real but peace out. Lose my number”.

I know he was butt-hurt by the abrupt finality in his response.

“Damn doll, it’s like that? I was trying to do you a favor.”

—End Transmission—


This guy messaged me with the right mix of self-assurance and complement that I agreed to feel him out though I didn’t think it would work. He did all the right things by actually reading my profile, chatting appropriately, and eventually asking me out on a date. We agreed on mini golf that Sunday, and I gave him my number. He never calls, never text, looked at my profile three times, but never followed through with our plans. Instead this man has the nerve to text me four days after our failed date to say “Hi”.

Sir, do you realize your whole life has been deleted? You didn’t even apologize with an apology. No boo, you text me as if nothing happened; sending out a feeler message to see how badly you f’ed up.

And to think I picked out an outfit.


The Indian:

I am equal opportunity dater but don’t let me fake like Black, White, Latino aren’t my preference—but only because I’m familiar. I pretty much know what to expect.

When T.I. messaged me, I agreed to keep an open mind. When I gave him my number I secretly hoped to check him off my bucket list. He seemed nice, normal, but then he’d start sending me pics and comic MSMs throughout the day. No caption, no purpose, just wasted bandwidth. When we did eventually meet he brought his rented dog, who he says doesn’t like black people, refused to feed me though the original plan to meet was for dinner, and showed a picture of himself on his phone that his friends think makes him look like a rapist.

Sir, I just met you and now you’ve flinted images of me hog-tied to a memory foam mattress and planning escape.

He proceeds to dominate the conversation and cut me off when I try to make a comment. Then you tell me that the reason we can’t have dinner is because the chef won’t cook with the same passion that you will if I have dinner at your place. I’m sure the chef wont cook with roofies either, but I keep my mouth shut. He also tells me that we should go to the shooting range so that he can see if I can handle a loaded weapon (overt rapist innuendo alert).

Me: “I prefer hand-to-hand combat”.

Him: “You think you can take me?”

Me: *Chuckles*”don’t get it twisted this is all lean muscle”.

Him: “Don’t make me put you in a choke hold and find out if your hair is real.”

Me: *Speechless* “umm… what time is it? So I think I should go because I have to wake up early for work… no don’t walk me to my car… no I won’t be answering your calls”.


Captain Libido:

This guy seemed promising: an architect, God fearing, ability to make cheesy lines sound charming. That is until he introduced his other head, the one below the belt. And these are the texts…

Part One:

Him: Send me a sexy picture

Me: Sorry no sexting before monogamy

Him: It’s not sexting if you’re fully clothed

Me: Loopholes

Part Two:

Me: Do you like sports?

Him: I’d be really intrigued if you could fit me in your whole mouth

Me: NCAA? You watch the Ohio game?

Part Three:

Him: Come give me a massage

Me: Did you watch the MMA match with Gina Carano?

Him: Let’s take a bath together…

Me: Are you 14? Most 28 year olds can control themselves…

Safe to say he was also deleted. I had to say that I’m not a 1900 number, and his free trail is over.


Yo, if you’re gonna proposition a woman, at least have a price in mind. You wanna treat me like a pro than punt the paper over the p—- like a field goal, and let me decide if the price is right. At least if I was giving it up like that a student loan would get paid around this piece.

As you can imagine, I deleted my account. I’m not sure if online dating is for me. I may be tired of dating games but the blunt agenda of online dating is too liberal for my tastes. If this is my reintroduction to the dating pool than I politely remove my toes from the water.

Readers: Have you ever tried online dating? Any luck? Good/bad experiences don’t forget to share in the comments box.


Wish you were here

“How I wish, how I wish you were here. We’re just two lost souls, Swimming in a fish bowl, Year after year, Running over the same old ground. And how we found, the same old fears. Wish you were here.”

I heard of another death this morning; blinking scripts announcing the passing of another too soon. Seems like the world is ailed by a personalized vendetta against life, a virus that keeps on affecting its environment.

Wonder how much a person can handle before the caulked cracks become permanent fissures.

Three things happen when you’re faced with death:

1. You ask the why and the how (constantly)—as if it will help you understand

I don’t think the brain is programmed to comprehend the magnitude of death. You start playing 20 questions with the ones closest to you; at the same time throwing 20 accusations at your Maker for disturbing your equilibrium. There’s never a solid answer. No firm footing. No solution. You’re continually left off-balance.

The Ping-Pong of phrases with question mark ends leave you more confused than when you first learned the news.

2. You’re called to action

When I learned of my brother’s hospitalization I immediately went to work. Making plans, making arrangements, making calls, making busy work to keep me moving. When Daddy told me of his death an hour later, the movement kept me from crying. Action keeps the grief at bay because you focus on what needs your immediate attention.

You can’t stop the moments of debilitation as a memory flashes through your fog of work. The breathless sensations as you tell someone else that death has visited your doorstep. The reminder that every upcoming holiday, event, celebration is tinged with sorrow, overshadowed by grief, intermingled with the ache of missing because that person who is supposed to be here… isn’t.

It takes you to a dark place as you have to rewrite the images of your future because it’s no longer how you have dreamed it.

3. You become reckless (or maybe it’s just me)

The realization that no matter how controlled, good, dutiful, prayerful of a life you live, something so earth shatteringly bad can creep in and disrupt your balance… you start not caring.

Grounded by rules and boundaries of what’s right, what’s pleasing, compounded by the greater good… Frankly I don’t give two flying hockey sticks about superintending my actions.

I border between a careless discord and adding more regulatory minutiae to my life. There’s no balance. Not sure if it’s a type of fear, but the idea that something so valuable and longstanding can be taken within finger snaps agitates an inner maniac.

Prison doors with the keys in the lock, silent cries turned into deafening shouts of “let loose”, “break free”. I don’t think being irresponsible of your personal welfare is part of the 7 stages of grief. Despair, loneliness, reflection… yes I understand these steps. A brash and foolhardy existence? Not so much… but it is a path I’m heading down, no blinders or speed bumps or road shoulders , just a slickly greased slope of rash behavior.

Readers: Have you ever experienced something in your life (death or otherwise) that has shaken your core? Can you identify with any of the three trapeze acts outlined above? Feel free to overshare in the comments.