Guest Post: Twitter Flirting and More on the WORLD WIDE WEB OF TERROR

[Ed. note: Since this is clearly Horrible Blog Karma Week, we're sticking with the trend. It's not that the guys in these stories are necessarily bad people (although the jury is still out on one), it's just that they're breaking the rules they try and enforce with us ladies.

You see, there is a HUGE double standard in dating* and girls get a (deservedly) bad rap.  You call too many times? You're a psycho. You lead them on? You're a biatch. I'll admit it myself, I'll always be recovering from CGS.

But the thing is, women have LEARNED. Um, hello, He's Just Not That Into You? Well, I mean, okay, but at least we're TRYING. He doesn't respond to a few texts? Let him go. Guys, it seems, are regressing in their social skills. Take a hint! I blogged about it last year with a certain guy who couldn't get it in his mind I was just being nice, that I was never interested. The BFF had her Textual Menace (who went a little bananas after finding the post, telling her he was going to get his "Internet Guru Friends" to destroy her. He seriously explained SEO in the creepiest way possibile.

Anyway, the point is that some guys act like crazy girls. Yet they will never be judged as much if they were girls. It's just annoying. And I'm taking a stand. And "calling them out defenselessly in a public forum." Yeah, not the week to get on my bad side...

Okay this is officially the most rambly intro of all time. Let's get to the main event. After my former baby sorority sista Brooks commented on yesterday's Ultimatum post, I sent her some additional gossip about the story (yes, shockingly, I do have a limit about what I'll share with The Internet). Anyway, she recipricated with a story of her own, and was enough of a doll to share it with you. A little background: Brooks is a few years younger than me, just now setting out on her journey to Live the Dream - the La La Land verison that is. The only way to describe her is that she's a firecracker. Who is also obsessed with dogs. And uses more abbreves and made up words than me! You think I'm bad? Shet, watch out. And also her blog is amazing.] 

*By dating I mean two members of the opposite sex communicating, because most of this drama goes on without a single date!

From Brooks:

I was thrilled when, after graduation, I moved to a new city. After 4 dull years of college boys I was ready to meet some major emo hipster hotties. I’m talking the kind of men who are scruffy—not because they’re growing their beards out for SAE Junkyard, but because they didn’t have time to freshen up after sunrise surfing. Delusional? Yes. But a squirrel can dream.

This hipster, surfer, music-appreciating dreamboat is not what I found once I entered the West Coast. No, no. Instead, I got a burnout computer hacker who I’ve known since 2001. But I’m jumping ahead.

This boy, lets call him R2Creep2, and I go way back. We went to the same high school and ran around in the same crowd. We were never close, though, and my most vivid memory of him is when he asked me out my Freshman year. Nothing was special about the date except for the fact that I got nervous that he was an upper classmen so I forced my friend to come over and he ended up having to take both of us out to dinner. As Rachel would say, IAAB.

Clearly, R2Creep2 and I lost touch after high school. But because of magical things like Facebook and Twitter, we reconnected and I loosely learned that he was living out in California. When he found out I was moving there too, he tweeted at me, got my number, and was destined to be my friend in the sandy jungle that is Los Angeles.

When I arrived to the coast, he was unemployed, wearing tie-dye, and had a mysteriously red beard. “Money,” I thought to myself, “The one person I know here has literally nothing else better to do than be my tour guide. This rules!”

Fast forward a few weeks and a few activities later. R2Creep2 was becoming my go to when I had zero other plans. It was nice and easy—similar to the shampoo. It continued this way until one night when we got a little wonky and saw Jackass 3D. Sick movie (in the good way), sick aftermath (in the bad way).

After the movie, he walked me back to my house. It didn’t seem like he was leaving, so I let him stay and watch Mad Men (my fave). I convinced myself that I was still buzzed and thus hallucinating, because his hand kept inching dangerously close to my leg. Finally I kicked him out, took my dog out to shet, and hugged him goodbye. I watched Miles drop a deuce right as—from the corner of my eye—I see R2Creep2 stop at his car door, breath out heavy like “lets do this” sigh, march up to me, and kiss me on the mouth. I was stunned. He left. I went in my house and called everyone in my rolodex.

The next week it was my birthday, and because of his and my’s Twitter relationship, I knew he’d get word of the festivities, so I bit the bullet and invited him. He, of course showed up, but I managed to ignore him the entire night. He got kicked out with the rest of the party, and while I was cleaning up the night’s very fab aftermath, I got this text:

“Thanks for another Sunday funday. Happy birthday. Scorpios and Gemini = http://www.sexualastrology.com/sexual_compatibility_scorpio_gemini.html”

Okay.

No.

First off, omg. So inappropriate. Second, thanks for sending me a website link via text? That’s incredibly inconvenient. And third, did you go to the website? Because we are actually VERY INCOMPATIBLE. That “chemistry” scale? We had the lowest rating. One heart. That translates to “What were you thinking?!”

Whyyyyy.

Obviously I didn't respond to the text. A few days later, my actual birthday comes. Because work = life, I end up staying at the office until like 9PM. As if that’s not enough, when I get to my house, I find a terrifying thing on my porch: a bag of clothing from Amer Appar (his new job) stuffed to the brim. Oh jesus.

Texting ensues.

Me: Whaaat? You did NOT need to get me anything

Him: Pssssh you deserve a rad birthday. 10/26/10 get crunk this weekend. [My favorite part] Hustle-birthday Rick Ross.

What?

And it’s only gotten worse from there. I’ve gotten a total for 4 unreciprocated texts, two missed calls, and two @ mentions from this R2Creep2 character—one of which says “neither Willy Wompa, Zanzibar Santa Monica, bass in yo' face”. What? I don’t understand! Why wont it go away!

So I thought I moved to the “Golden State” but I actually moved to The State of Constant Fear. Every time I tweet, facebook, blog, gchat, I feel like he’s wathching. Or mapping our astrological cosmic energy. The ushh.

In conclusion, let this be a lesson to you all. Don’t be nice to people, ever. Don’t have friends in high school or keep up with them after. Don’t go to movies, don’t use technology, and for God’s sake, don’t have a birthday party. Because someone will find out your horoscope, and that someone will purchase ill-fitting over-priced shirts for your dog. From Amurcan Apparel.

The end.

[Oh the humanity.]