And then there was Robbie…
We met on: POF
Best quality: our similarities
Robbie was different.
I had hid my profile on POF for awhile after taking a break from the “other” losers that I had found on there. When I decided to randomly log on one day, I saw him, read his profile, liked him immediately and scribbled his profile name on a piece of paper. I was in a hurry and couldn’t write what I wanted to, so I planned to write him later that night. Yeah, I thought he was THAT cool.
That night suddenly became a week and then two weeks and I still hadn’t written him. I decided it was a lost cause when I couldn’t find my scribbled notes.
But the next day when I logged on, who had written me? None other than Robbie. And you know how girls are with what we think are signs. I was smitten because it had to be fate, right? It didn’t hurt that we had EVERYTHING in common either. I couldn’t help but think, “finally!”
We gradually moved from one media outlet to the other; first yahoo emails, then text messages and finally phone calls. We didn’t talk every night, but we spoke pretty regularly. He also called when he said he would, which was “awesome” in my book.
Did I mention that all of this talking/texting/emailing went on for LITERALLY two and a half months before we even met each other?
He was a film editor at some uptown company and created commercials for Republican lobbyists on the East Coast. In other words, he worked long hours and every weekend until November 2nd. This also meant keeping our internet-born relationship behind the computer, you know, until he had time.
I was flexible. I was working for a company doing freelance and working my own hours. It wasn’t like I had any other prospects. Well, I had the weed smoker and the non-conversationalist.
At first I was okay with the not-meeting yet. I thought…wow; he actually wants to get to know me before meeting me. And I really liked the fact that he actually put thought into what he had to say. We all know I’m Chatty Kathy and Wordy Wanda, but so was he. He’d write me 3-page letters, or spend all day texting me. I thought it was kind of cool.
I also thought it was perfect we hadn’t met yet, because I’d have the chance to lose a little bit of that medical problem weight and get my life together.
But my friends talked some sense into me and told me that I was only hurting myself by prolonging this meeting of ours. And they were right.
Our plan was to meet after the November 2nd Elections—when he’d also be free from on-call work and be able to meet up for drinks and dinner. With all of the talking we had done, we literally were conversations away from exchanging PIN numbers. I felt as if I had known him for years with all the information that I knew.
I had spent all this time falling for the guy behind the computer; my friends were right to tell me to speed up the process. In the end, he was going to either like me or not…so why not get it over with? Why fall for a guy without knowing if he’s a douchebag or not? I love my friends…they’ve seen me in pain before. I appreciated their honesty and for once…I actually followed their advice.
I met him three weeks before the elections and guess what? He turned out to be a douchebag. But I like my friend Niki’s version better. She saved me from falling in love with a “douche muffin.”
1) First off, Robbie was born Robert and he was considered a third, or a fourth or some ridiculous number after his grandfather’s father’s, father’s father. In college, he was Rob to all of his buddies. In his adult life, he thought it would be cool to become Robbie.
Robbie? Really? Are you f-ing kidding me? What are you? A third grader?
2) When we set up the date, he asked me where I’d like to go and since I live in such a family-oriented area where everything closes at 10 p.m., I told him to come up with the date plan. His idea? He suggested a cool, quaint pub in downtown Plano. I was game…but I wasn’t game on driving in Plano. The last time I did that…I got a speeding ticket and I swear to you the cop jumped out of a manhole cover to get me…so; I decided to drive to his house, so he could drive me there.
Don’t look at me like that…guys used to pick up women on first dates all the time. At least he doesn’t know where I live.
Anyways…so I get to his house and let me give you some background information on how we planned to meet. When we were talking and texting and emailing, I told him I always wanted him to be honest with me.
For instance, if he wasn’t attracted to me, I wanted him to say it and not just play man games. If we hit it off, yet at some point, he decided he didn’t like me anymore, I told him I wanted him to tell me, so he wouldn’t be wasting my time (or vice versa) and also because I didn’t want to be cheated on again. I told him that if another guy cheated on me, I might go off the deep end and carve animal shapes into his eyebrows. Can you believe he still wanted to go out with me?
Um, by the way…totally kidding about that last part.
On our date night, I told him that if he didn’t like what he saw to tell me to just go back home. He said okay. Knowing that I had told him my best physical feature was my lips, he decided to make up the plan that we should just kiss before our actual date—to see if there was a spark. I was actually quite okay with that. I am, if I do say so myself, a talented kisser and I agreed that it was a great idea—I needed to see if he had skillz. I can’t date an amateur. That’s just no bueno.
So I get to his house, I step out of the car, he sees me, he gives me a hug and asks if I find him attractive. To be honest, his pictures made him out to be bulkier and a little taller, possibly a little bigger. More…bear huggier. He was a slender guy—I’m a tall girl…I like bigger guys. But he was cute. I told him I liked what I saw and asked him the same thing. He replied that he was ready to kiss me.
Fast little booger.
I guess he liked the way I looked—and so we kissed. He grabbed the side of my face and put his other hand around my neck and moved in for the kill…only to move around like a sloppy fish…or like someone doing the electric head slide! I swear to you he moved around so much, I had to do neck exercises immediately after. Okay…maybe not neck exercises…but you get the picture. When we broke away, he asked me how it was and I told him that we should just be friends. When I saw his expression and his eyes fall, I said, “just kidding.”
In a way though, I was sort of serious. It was one of those kisses where you have to wipe slobber off the side of your mouth because ol’ dude can’t seem to keep it in his.
3) So we get to the pub, he gets his beer, I get my cider and we’re talking and talking and talking. We talked for hours. At one point, we started talking about our houses and he was telling me about how he and his roommate had been renovating his house. Of all the kajillion times he and I had talked about our houses, he never mentioned having a roommate. I had no problem with him having a roommate…lord knows, I could think of extra ways to spend the rent money if I had one. But because he was so quick to change the subject after he said anything, I decided to keep asking questions.
How long have you had a roommate? Is your roomie an old buddy from college? What’s his name?
I just assumed it was a guy. It was not.
Him: “Actually, my roommate is female. Does that bother you?”
Me: “No. As long as you’re not having sex with her.”
Him: “See the thing is…
Really? Starting off with “see the thing is” is never a good sign.
Him: “See the thing is…she’s actually my ex. We were together for three years and she’s now my best friend. We’re really close. I’m actually good friends with all my exes.”
My thoughts: “I’ll bet you are.”
Me: “Why did you two break up?”
Him: “We were better as friends. There was no romantic spark in the relationship anymore. Does this bother you…having my ex as my roommate?”
Me: “No, not at all.”
Could he have not told me this while we were speaking on the phone or talking through emails? He could have saved me a lot of time…or hell, some of my Burt’s Bee’s chapstick from wearing it off with that horrible f-ing kiss.
When he said he had to work the next morning, I was glad and suggested we leave.
4) When we got back to his house, we sat in his car doing the whole fumble for the keys, the door, and the awkward stares. He asked me why I wasn’t making a move and I told him I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to. And so he leaned over his console and told me to try him out—fishy lips and all.
So I made the executive decision: “What the heck…why not?” My boy pickin’s were slim. He wanted to kiss me and this might have been the last time I’d get to make out with anyone for awhile. I girl has needs you know.
And besides, I wouldn’t have to wash my face when I got home…his slobber would do the trick.
So; we made out like two horndog teenagers in his car for…about an hour. Yep…boys and girls…that same sloppy makeout kiss from before.
5) But not so fast my friends…his bad kissing didn’t make him a douche. His personality, after said date, was what made him the douche muffin.
After the date and after suggesting we not only make out in his car, but in the backseat of my car too…um yeah… the next day rolled around and he called suggesting we go out on another date.
When I got home that night, I made a pros and cons list on him and it wasn’t just the bad kissing that turned me off. Deep down, I decided that there would NOT be a second date…but if I was wishy washy…here were a few cons that pissed me off enough to just say no.
1) Him asking me to come into his house (with his ex) and see his bedroom (while his ex was sleeping in the Master) did the trick. And it wasn’t just once, it was about 9 times. I mean, maybe he thought I was drunk enough. I was pretty tipsy—I had three drinks. Three ciders in tall glasses. I was “good to go.” Thankfully though, my head was still screwed on straight.
2) He said he leaned to the left…but really enjoyed making political commercials for Republicans. Yeah.
3) There were some days and a couple of weekends he wouldn’t call or email and he said it was because he was just too busy. Riiiggghhhttt. So you really like me and you keep telling me you see us in a longterm relationship, yet you don’t have time to spend all of 3 seconds and send me a text message that says “hi?” Let’s see. I call BS on that one. You have time to text me at a red light, when you’re taking a piss, when you’re heating up your lunch, just before you go to sleep, etc. I wasn’t born yesterday.
The next few days flew by and he sent me a dozen messages or so saying that he really enjoyed himself and that he was glad he finally got to meet me, that I was really pretty, that we needed to hang out again, that I was indeed, a great kisser and that he couldn’t wait to slobber…I mean kiss me again. And then the messages and calls stopped.
A week later, I get this text message from him that says, “Hey. How are you? So I’ve been thinking about us over the past week and I just don’t think there’s a romantic connection between us. I think we should just be friends.”
You think? I loved how it took him a whole week to find another chick to slobber on.
Douche Muffin. Enough said.