Sunday, January 20, 2013

WTF?, Regrettably Starring Me

I was both appalled and amused at the same time. There must be a word for that. Maybe not in English, but I bet the Germans have one. Appalled and amused -- just as I am when I watch some dumbass reality show like Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. But on this occasion, I found myself watching my own personal reality show called WTF?, regrettably starring me.

This week's episode of WTF? features an athletic guy in his mid-40s who contacted me several times in December and January via the dating website. I ignored him the first couple of times, because after checking out his profile, I suspected he was just looking for a short-term romp in bed. But I admired his good humored, low-key persistence almost as much as I admired his hot body, so I responded to his most recent email a few days ago and we chatted a bit through messages over the course of two days.

Born and raised in Romania, he now lives in LA, where he's lived for the past 25 years. "Romania" seemed very focused on my looks, which immediately put me on my guard with the assumption that he's just looking for a quick roll in the hay, which I am not. I took great pains to ask him what kind of relationship he was looking for, and twice told him I was seeking a relationship that built slowly over time, not a hookup. He agreed with me and *insisted* he was not looking for casual sex either. Hmmm... maybe I misjudged him. A few hours later--BOOM--he emailed me crotch shots of himself in his gratuitously tight Calvin Klein underwear. WTF?! Did he not read a single word I wrote?!

This is when that whole appalled-and-amused thing kicked in. At first I was stumped about how to respond. I realize that most women not looking for a hookup would have responded by ignoring him and immediately blocking him from her profile. But most women aren't writing a blog about their dating misadventures and don't need an ending to an unbelievable story about a clueless guy who thinks it's entirely appropriate to surprise a near stranger with revealing photos of himself in his skin-tight underwear.

I decided to pretend I thought we were now married.  

Me:  So, what happens now? Do you move in with me? Or do I come to live with you? I'm not really sure how this works.

Romania: Oops! i did piss you off.... im sorry.....

Me:  In some countries (Romania perhaps?), if you send a woman pictures of yourself in your underwear, the two of you would be considered married. I was married once. Once is enough. Please don't force me to be married again.

Romania:  You got it all wrong! not into getting married... just forget about my pics...erase them please!

Sorry. The scantily clad genie is already out of that bottle.

Guys I don't know who are overtly sexual -- either in words or pictures -- are a turn-off for me because it's a telltale sign that I'm being sexually objectified, which does not make me feel special. In fact, it makes me feel like a commodity, something so common as to be interchangeable with many others. Being treated as a commodity is the exact opposite of being treated in a way that acknowledges me as a one-of-a-kind being.

Romania often ended his emails to me with the loaded phrase, "Kisses where you want them." Subtle. Kisses where you want them. Oh, I know *exactly* where I want them.
You can kiss my ass.

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