Just Another Folder (Part I of II)

On my way home a few weeks ago, I ran into Soothed. He invited me in to catch up. I told him briefly about a guy I was interested in and he told me about his dating life. He went to his computer to show pictures of them. I felt that it was weird that he wanted to show me photos but I went along with it. I was curious anyway. Also, a part of me felt that he did it out of jealously because of the new guy or to one up me.

I assumed that the photos would come from a dating or social networking site but boy was I wrong! He had a special folder on his computer dedicated to these women—about 60 of them. I asked if he slept with all them and he claimed that he only been with about 60% of them. He gave a brief description, pointed out their character flaws and the reason(s) why they no longer dated. It was a bit TMI but curiosity killed the cat. I was used to his ramblings. The women he met online were from different walks of life and nationalities. Some were fully clothed, in lingerie, or naked.

I spotted a folder with my name on it. I asked him to open it. In this folder, in all their glory, were nude pics I sent him 2-3 years ago. I was shocked that he still had these photos. Thank goodness they were faceless! I asked him to delete the photos in a jokingly manner but a part of me knew that he’d probably dig them out the recycle bin or had backups elsewhere.

He went through a folder of someone that he dated sometime in 2010.  He said that it didn’t work with her because, “It was a sexual thing for me. I didn’t have romantic feelings with her—just like with you.” I was shocked. I wasn’t shocked because he didn’t have romantic feelings for me. I already knew that. It was how nonchalant the statement rolled off his tongue. Why did he feel the need to remind me that he never wanted to be with me.

“You didn’t have to say that,” I irritatingly replied.

“I was just saying. I wasn’t trying to be rude.”

“You didn’t have to say that,” I repeated.

His statement and the redundancy of the folders began to irritate me . I wanted to leave but didn’t want to do it so abruptly. I was too proud to show that he got under my skin. He opened another folder by mistake and backed out of it quickly What I saw couldn’t be unseen. It was a picture of a cross-dresser.

“Was that a tranny?” I asked as nicely as I possibly could. “Is there something that you want to tell me? I won’t judge.” I lied. I was judging. Judging harshly.

“Yeah. It’s a tranny,” he said as he reopened the file, “Nothing ever happened. It was just photos.”

Just photos? A part of me didn’t believe him. What straight man has pics of a cross-dresser in a red teddy and matching boa? What skeleton just landed out his closet and unto my lap? What was I suppose to do with these bones?

Online Dating Truly Annoys Me

A few weeks ago, I decided to dive back into online dating at my best friend’s urging. She was on Plenty of Fish and received many responses. I’ve never been on POF so I decided to reactivate my OkCupid account instead. Last year on OkCupid, I met The One Who Intrigues Me (the guy who wanted to become a polygamist). (Side note: He recently apologized and we went on another date. There were no sparks. I let him down gently and haven’t heard from him since.) Anyhoo, going back to OkCupid was pretty much a bust. There were tumbleweeds in my inbox. Also, I came across The One Who Soothed Me profile during a search. Yeah, that was awkward.

After leaving that ghost town, I decided to give POF a try. Boy was she right! I received messages left and right. It was unbelievable. And most of the guys were easy on the eyes! Where have these sexy specimens been all my life? I felt like a Beyoncé in the midst of admirers. I wasn’t accustomed to this type of attention that seemed to gush out like a glorious fountain. My ego was eating this up! I figured if I were to find someone new, I would move on from these jerks I attract. Maybe I would find The One.

Initially, POF was fun but it became overwhelming and irritating. The One Who Never Let Up found me and flooded my inbox daily. It became so severe that I blocked him. Also, Soothed had a profile on POF too! Was he going for some damn dating profile record? In addition, the messages that flooded in were the same ole same ole. No one really stood out. It was the same compliments, small talk and number exchange requests. It was like they were reading from the same script. Besides, I couldn’t possibly give my phone number to nearly 20 guys. What was a girl to do?

I exchanged numbers with 3 prospects simply because they were chattier than others. It turned out they weren’t so chatty. They solely communicated with me via text. Does anyone pick up the damn phone anymore? This seemed all too familiar. It reminded me of The One Who Loves to Text. These were 3 smelly big red flags. They vanished after I stopped responding. I didn’t see the point. They were probably married or had a girlfriend.

I grew even more irritated. I deleted my profile. This was the most annoying 3 weeks of my life.

Honestly, I don’t think that I am ready to date. I’m still on this journey of self-love and discovery. A sista gets lonely though. I lie awake at night wanting someone to find me in the dark. I want to get lost in someone’s eyes. I can’t remember the last time I was kissed and lost my breath. I want to fight and make up. I want to walk hand in hand. I want people to tell my boo and I that we’re such a cute couple.

Although I want those things, I don’t want to get to the point where a man is my only source of happiness. I want to complement him, not consume him. Been there, done that and have a t-shirt two sizes too small. Masturbation gets redundant but another casual relationship will only add more fuel to my love addiction’s fire. Maybe I’m just better off alone for now. Maybe I should get a cat or update my toy collection. Hubba. Hubba.

(Another side note: A few days after I deleted my profile, Soothed asked me if I was still on POF because he didn’t see me anymore. Why was he even looking for me? I told him that POF wasn’t my cup of tea.)