So you wanna get laid...
You’ve been on CL M4W before, but haven’t had good results--too many baby-hungry / money-hungry / KFC-hungry ladies. This time, you vow, things will be different. This time, you decide to spend an extra 5 minutes / 5 hours / 5 days crafting your ad, choosing just the right words to capture your creativity / intelligence / obsession with Grand Theft Auto. You’re positive that this time, the 10 words / 10 paragraphs / 10 lists of random personal traits you wrote show the real you. You’ve taken care to hide your real weight / not mention your three ex-wives / avoid a desperate plea for sex. You even used spell check for typos! You click “publish” and your on you’re way--er, you’re on your way.
Next morning, you wake up wondering who might have responded to your ad. Wow, you have five / fifteen / fifty messages in your inbox! Oops, some of them are from bots / men / Russian girls with pay-for-porn URLs. Oh, well, you still have two / three / five emails from real women. Dude! You crack open a Red Bull / beer / juice box and start cruisin.
A few hours later, you have seen enough tramp stamps / saggy boobs / fugly hags (no offense, grandma-lady) to last a lifetime. And then you see it, the online dating holy grail: a response from a flirty-looking, smart-sounding cutie pie! Wow, she can write whole sentences. Even better, she is vegan / loves the Sox / has a decent rack. You reply back. This. Could. Be. It! You try not to get too excited, though. She could have crabs / a convicted felon ex-boyfriend / shitloads of debt she’ll expect you to pay.
A few days later, you’re still corresponding with Cutie Pie. Being bold / bored / horny, you ask to meet up. “Sure thing!” she replies. “I love going out with guys from CL (wink wink).” You find her comments charming / annoying / indicative of a mental disorder, but you try to keep an open mind.
You decide to meet at your favorite mall / Starbucks / bar. With your best non-smelly tee / dress shirt / Sox jersey and a dash of Old Spice / Brut / Ivory soap, you are looking hot. You arrive early. While you wait, you check out chicks / chug espresso / nurse a beer. Finally, she arrives--only 5 minutes / 15 minutes / 45 minutes late. Holy shit! She’s 10 times prettier / fatter / taller than you expected. Hey, it’s all good; you can roll with the punches.
You sit down and order a smoothie / double-shot latte / Jack on the rocks and ease into conversation. After thirty minutes, you’re pretty sure Cutie Pie is dumber than rocks / into BDSM / one date away from suicide. You, of course, are your usual charming / clueless / monotone-voiced self, and being a gentleman, you wait another ten minutes / forty minutes / two seconds before making your excuses about having to leave.
Oh, shit, she has that look in her eye, the one that says, “Hey, are we gonna continue this or what?” You would rather see her in your nightmares / in hell / in your bed, drunk and naked, but of course you can’t say that. Instead you say, “I had a great time. It was nice knowing, uh, meeting you. Best of luck with graduating from college / going to law school / working on a farm in Bolivia.”
You head home, disappointed again: yet another night you’re not getting laid. Oh, well. At least you have Scrabulous / the Daily Show / your hand and some lotion to entertain you. Besides, you’re optimistic. Tomorrow, you’re going to post a profile on Match.com / e-Harmony / CL Worcester. Next time you’ll definitely get tail, you just know it.
A huge RAVE to the thoughtful, charming, and yes, horny men who remain optimistic about dating on CL despite bad, crazy, or just awkward dates. Speaking from personal experience, women have it tough, but you have it much, much worse. For the record, not all CL women are bitches, bots or sloths; you just have to look hard to find us. -27/f
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