Hey. So, life’s been rough. At least the one that I live in my head. All I want to do is eat cookies and play The Sims and sleep, so I’m probably a tid-bit depressed, hence my lack of posts to this here blog. I shaved my armpits AND am updating my semi-abandoned blog today; that’s probably the most I’ve done since Christmas.
Anyweiner, I have a month left on that gotdang Match.com and I just discovered that a muscular, well-dressed, silky dark chocolate colored black man just wrote me a nice message. If you know me even a little bit well, you’ll know that I promptly farted on that guy’s hopes and dreams (and my mother’s) and blew him off. He’s SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO not my type. But I did so in a way that was unflinchingly honest and that amused me, so I figured that I’d post it here in lieu of any new content while I get myself together. Please to enjoy, and thanks for hanging in there with me:
Re: Robot
Hahahaha! Hey! You’re certainly not the only one to robot (I’m using it as a verb) in public. It’s fun and awesome.
So M____, I’m a little surprised to see that you wrote to me. I am no vegan and to be perfectly frank, find the idea of veganism exhausting and ridiculous. I grew up in the Pentecostal church, but I chose to walk away a few years ago. I like booze. I don’t drink a lot, but I drink. I haven’t purposefully exercised in probably more than a year. I’m fat; fat is just an adjective to me, so I’m not being “one of those girls” in saying that I’m fat. Basically, I’m a fat, meat-eating, booze-drinking, agnostic-ish, far left-leaning, nose ring-wearing, would-rather-watch-TV-than-do-a-distressingly-long-list-of-things kinda chick who realizes that she dresses a lot of the time like a hipster lesbian and is okay with that.
I say all of that to explain why I don’t think we’d be a good romantic match. I would roll my eyes way too often at your food choices and Bible scripture quotes. You seem like a nice dude with a lot going for him. You’ll find someone. You’re probably dating some nice lady right now that you’re not sure about. I bet you she’s great. Give her a chance! And if she isn’t, you’re a muscular black man; you won’t be alone for long.
Thanks for your email. It made my day to meet another robot aficionado.
Take care,
Ambrosia
Yeah. So in case it’s not clear, I can’t with this fine fellow because:
- He’s a VEGAN.
- He might be a Mormon.
- He’s most likely a Born-Again/Evangelical Christian.
- He has on a bow-tie in one of his profile pictures.
- He quotes the Bible repeatedly in his profile.
- He’s looking for a woman who’s into “eating healthy and exercise”.
- HE’S A VEGAN.
- He was like, super shiny in his pictures. But in a fancy way. Like, he probably searches the Interwebs for Kanye West’s skin care regimen so he can get tips on taking his look to the next level and typing that has made me want to punch everything in the vulva.
Le sigh. I’m totally going to have a commitment ceremony with a rescue dog, aren’t I?
I Can See Why She's Single. 
So excited to see a post from you!
Your response email to vegan Jesus guy was both classy and hilarious.
Thank you! It feels good to sorta be back. Thank you so much for reading!
Glad to see you posting again! Is there any reason you felt compelled to to skip the traditional “Thanks for your interest but we wouldn’t be a good match. Good luck in your search.” message instead of a full-on (entertaining) takedown of every reason he’s wrong for you? I’m not being critical, I’m just genuinely interested in this phenomenon when someone goes out of their way to convince an interested party how disastrously unhappy they (the object of desire) would make them (the interested party).
First, let me gush and flap my arms in excitement for a moment: THE FORMER MISS PLUMCAKE AND CURRENT RHIANNON READ/READS MY BLOG!!!!!! HOLY TOLEDO!!! Fangirl nonsense and screaming abound!
Thank you for asking a super thoughtful question. As I was doing it, I kept thinking “Why am I doing this?” I think I felt compelled to respond to him in that way because I felt like I SHOULD have been attracted to him; excited that he “chose” me; and willing to date/meet him. If my mother knew that a man like him was interested in me, she would lose her mind to learn that I turned him down.
I felt like I ought to just throw my cards on the table. And to be even more honest than perhaps I should, I felt some resentment. I resented the fact that I believe that this guy and anyone else who saw his picture and read his profile would expect me to be excited and interested in him. Ooh, muscles! Ooh, he’s well-educated Ooh, he’s more than gainfully employed AND has muscles! I wanted to show him that I wasn’t/I’m not so easily won, even though I’m fat, black, and over 30. I had to prove a point to… I don’t know. Someone.
I have a lot of internal nonsense to work out. Clearly. But I also just wasn’t interested in him and kinda wanted to tell him why. And maybe a pretty man like him doesn’t hear ‘no’ very often and I wanted to say ‘no’ for a change. Don’t worry, I’m seeing my therapist on Friday.
Thanks again for reading (HOLY SHIT YOU READ MY BLOG SOMETIMES) and asking an awesome question. Also could you send me a lock of your hair and be my best friend? š
I feel you on the resentment, like you’re expected to turn into a quivering mass of emotions and astroglide the minute a stereotypically good catch gives you the nod. It took me a long time to go from “Oh so this guy thinks I should drop at his feet because he’s got a job and the industry standard number of teeth? Well he’s got another think coming!” to “Wow, this guy is a total dreamboat catch for someone who’s decidedly Not Me.”
Since my upbringing involved a whole lot of criticism and rejection, it was a lot easier and more natural as an adult to put myself in a narrative where *I* wasn’t right for this supposed Great Catch (see also: deserving of healthy, nurturing love) because I’d danced that dance before. I was queen of that dance.
For me it took ages to go from that story to being able to pass on something “high quality” (men/food/whatever) without feeling like someone else was telling me I should take what I could get and be grateful about it.
I remember when I had to break up with The Bulgarian. He was a champion athlete and fitness model who became an occupational therapist to help traumatically injured young people regain their physical abilities. Even with my mostly-mended ways and sound sense of self-worth it took me a month to break up with him because some asshole inner monologue was like “but he’s perfect! You should be grateful he’s even interested in you!”
It’s the whole tricky shift from “I’m not right for them” to “They’re not right for me.” that kicked me in the ass for most of my twenties. It was totally liberating and a whole lot less mindfucking when I finally got it, though.
And as for the fangirl stuff, thank you. You’ve made my day. Now just keep writing more. I miss you when you’re gone!