Please advise your date people to get the first and last name of anyone they go out with and Google them before the date. I did it and found out he is a registered sex offender. Well, shit, doesn't hurt to snoop, does it? Now that I have crawled into the hermit stage . . . because that was the cherry on the dating cake for me . . . just thought I would throw the suggestion to others.
I was hanging out with a bunch of friends a month or so ago, drinking beers on a bar patio. As a cute little convertible whizzed by, one of my friends remarked that she's always wanted to jump in some stranger's convertible and see what would happen. We started giving her a hard time, correctly pointing out that getting in a car with a stranger was reckless and dangerous.
While no one would argue that it would be a stupid move, it was also a fact that every one of us there had gone home with a virtual stranger at some point. And so, if we were going to let someone we didn't know into our collective vagina, what was the biggie about getting in a car? The fact is, we should probably all be a little more cautious.
So good on you for checking things out beforehand. (Note to self: Google before the date!) But really—what are the odds you're going to end up with a registered sex offender? I really thought I was the Queen of Dysfunctional Daters, but I'm going to loan you my crown for the evening.
I'm going to need to know more. Do you check up on all your dates? Or just the creepy ones? I barely recall the first names of most of the guys I've dated, let alone their last. I salute your moxie.
I've always discouraged excessive Internet research on a potential date, mostly because there is so much embarrassing crap floating around out there about me. I really don't need some guy knowing what a scandalous tramp I've been before we've even seen each other's butts. I've been on too many mortifying first dates, where everything's going great until suddenly the guy quotes me to me. (Not that I'm by any stretch famous, but you'd be surprised how much crap comes up.) Now that I have another take on the situation, I'm going to rethink my stance.
Regardless of my freakishness, you can't let one creep send you skittering into a cave. Believe me, there is no shortage of creeps who aren't registered with the state. Really. The sociopathic closet case didn't have a record. Nor did the guy who beat the crap out of me when I was a kid.
And while you're busy hiding out from the refugees from Megan's List, you're missing out on all the foxy nonfelons! I know it's sometimes easier to just throw in the towel, but there really are some OK guys out there. Not a ton of them, mind you, but more than several. Don't you want a nice hairy hand on your butt? Wouldn't it be cool to have sex with someone besides yourself? You can take a couple weeks off, but please don't make this hibernation a permanent thing.
After reading your work for years, I would have thought you had all the answers. But you don't seem to know that one of the things men don't do is "think."
Men do a form of what they would term "thinking," but for those of us who really do think, it isn't really "thinking." This is how we "think": When a woman pays attention to a man, he first "thinks" that this is great, but then he suffers a confidence attack because he knows that he is a slob. But she seems sincere, and it would be great to get laid; but having sex with a guy like him—that creeps him out! It isn't the woman's fault; she's just the catalyst for the biological reaction.
There you are . . . the answer, men are insane. To avoid this, you will have to fight for the few who are sane, stay single, or try to "fix" one. All I can say is, good luck.
On second thought, Cautious, is there room for two in that cave of yours?
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