What makes you weak in the knees? Is it fluid conversation over a California burrito or a freshly drawn tub of bubbles with a rose pedal walkway? Whatever poison makes your heart rate spike, I’m sure it wasn’t difficult to get you there. Like most, it’s easy to turn me on…and like very few, even quicker to turn me off. I’ve caught myself in some pretty terrible deal breakers, checking off boxes like a drive by voting poll. One second I’m absolutely enthralled and the next he tells me something about himself that sends my panties directly to the dryer. At the end of the day there are a couple of things I just can’t look past in pursuit of a future partner. I’m probably really narrowing the dating field with this, and to be fair I can be persuaded in the event that you have a solid case to dispute, but normally it takes a whole lot of pull to get me back up after you’ve knocked me down with the following:
I have four siblings. That’s four people who are automatically supposed to love me. You have two parents and a serious issue with the word ‘family’ or ‘love’. Only children typically have long term friendships that have developed from childhood (because nobody plays Nintendo alone) and still struggle with connecting to any of them on a deep level. They are usually spoiled rotten and refuse to share. I ask if we can go ‘halvsies’ on a meal at dinner and they will most likely give me a look of disgust. All I want for Christmas is to win your sisters over. And you have none, so I have nothing to live for really. When I want to dump you to date your more talented and charismatic brother, you don’t have one of those either. All you have are two parents who look at me like I’m Satan as I try to steal their ‘only baby’ from the nest. I know you think your parents stopped when they hit perfection, but they should have kept going so I would date you.
I hope when you stabbed a needle through your shaft you also submitted to the idea of being alone forever. You can give me all the physiological effects your metal member may have on my libido, but mentally I just can’t get over the fact that you let someone go down there with something sharp. Decorating your genitals is like putting lights up at Christmas time. You are obviously hoping for some drive by’s or else you wouldn’t go through the effort. Which makes me think that Russell the Love Muscle gets flexed in public, and by default you’re a slut-bag.
Nothing turns me off more than a green block of writing coming through my beautiful blue IPhone messenger. For some god awful reason, my brain associates a very disconnected relationship with Android users. For one, if I want to face time…I’m shit out of luck. For two, if I want to know if you’re responding immediately to an urgent matter, the ellipses is no where to be found. For three, most of your messages come in at random times and not in order, because Apple wants you to be so absolutely discombobulated that you have no other choice but to trash your Droid to get a date. Statistics have stated that IPhone users are better in bed. I forget where I read that, probably in my diary. Lets make this easier on everyone and come to the dark side.
I have a car. You probably have a car. We live in one of the biggest states in the U.S. and I still bitch about a 15 mile commute for cuddling. I have no basis for this besides having to add additional time to my agenda amongst other pitfalls like “getting ready” and “if I get a speeding ticket”. If it were up to me I would have just one giant complex of potential men I could date. No need for getting into my car, just walking door to door. That kind of accessibility is unrealistic, but knowing that you live an hour away takes me from eighty to zero in the blink of a pin drop.
My intuition is basically spot on. I can smell a liar from across a football field. If you want to pretend to be someone you’re not, you’re gonna get me about as wet as a California well. You’re not a hippie because you got a peace sign tattooed to your wrist. You’re not a movie star if you have a YouTube channel popular in the UK. And you’re not my boyfriend if you keep telling me lies that I’m going to eventually uncover. Be real, be raw, be you.
Social Media Dislike
I get it. It’s not for everyone. Or at least, it didn’t use to be. But now a days my great great grandma is poking me on the weekends and my boyfriend of 8 months still refuses to friend me. “I don’t use it”. No….you don’t use it appropriately. I don’t expect you to have an album for every vacation, or enough friends to keep you from killing yourself on your birthday, but I do like to know that you share a piece of your life with more than just yourself. I find that ten times out of ten if you don’t have a Facebook page, or an Instagram account, or at least one out of the two…you also like to sit at home on the weekends and have nothing to offer the outside world. Did I mention those who ‘hide their lives’ usually end up having some pretty ridiculous skeletons in their closet? Like lots of wives, or a felony they can’t shake. Either way, let me attach your name to my relationship status so my therapist stops asking me if you’re real.
Like the flip of a switch I go from fancying your Aqua Di Gio smell to having my interest candle snuffed out by a grammatical error. When your pool is as big as our generation’s I find it hard not to be turned off by even the little things that don’t fit in accordance with my wants. I used to bend over backwards (not literally) for men, blatantly disregarding these couple of absolute deal breakers. Now a days, I friend zone you harder than a Kindergarten crush. We’re all different, I bet you hate women who write blogs. But, to be honest I’m ready to dispute that in the event that it’s knocked off any points I could potentially use.