The Needier Sex

As I’ve mentioned here before, I decided to subscribe to an online dating service to try to meet some relationship minded guys. I love the online thing because it’s a way to connect to a lot of people at once and probably guys who are more serious about a real relationship than you’d meet in a bar or nightclub. One big drawback, however, is that you can only tell so much about a person from a two paragraph blur and a couple of pictures. So, my best friend, Suze, and I have devised a sort of set of rules for weeding guys out. We exchange at least three on-system emails (meaning anonymously through the dating site) before giving out our real email addresses, and at least three more after that before giving out a phone number. By six emails, you can usually tell if the guy is illiterate, perverted, or actually a thirteen year old boy. And that’s when the phone test comes in.

I’ve weeded out a couple guys at the phone stage. You can tell a lot more about a person by the way he speaks on the phone than through an email. For example, there was Bad Dad Guy who was absolutely stunning in his photos, but on the phone he was screaming at his kids in the background every five minutes. Nice guy. Yeah, he was out. There was Hopped Up on Speed Guy, who talked a mile a minute and used the F word as a catch-all adjective - out. There was Valium Man, and, no, not because he was a valium addict, but because he was so freaking boring on the phone that I had to pinch my arm to keep myself awake when I talked to him - out. And, most recently, there was The Dude.

The Dude had some pretty hot pics on his profile, I will admit. And, after exchanging the requisite number of emails, he seemed literate, had a real job, didn’t suggest anything rated R. I took the next step and gave him my number. He called right away, that same afternoon.

On the phone he was very sweet, but it quickly became clear he was just a little too “dude” for me.

Him: Dude, you sound hot!
Me: Uh… thanks?
Him: Your voice is like, total hotness.
Me: O-kay.
(insert loud noise in the background)
Me: Um… what was that sound?
Him: (Giggling) Dude, that was my mixer. I’m making brownies. (more giggling)
Me: These wouldn’t by any chance be “funny” brownies, would they?
Him: No, dude, these are like totally serious brownies.
Me: No, I meant… uh, never mind.
Him: You like brownies?
Me: Um, sure.
Him: Dude, if we got married, I’d bake you brownies all day.

Whoa. Did The Dude just say the “M” word. Okay, time to nip this stoner in the bud. So, I tell him I’m meeting up with a friend that evening and have to get off the phone.

Him: Cool, where you guys going?
Me: Uh, you know, around.
Him: I could meet you there.
Me: Oh, gee, thanks. But this is a girl’s night out kind of thing.
(whew, quick thinking!)
Him: Oh. That’s a bummer. But call me back as soon as you get home, okay?

Um… call him back? No, the conversation was done. No calling back. We’re kinda finished here. He can consider himself weeded.

But, apparently that wasn’t clear to him. By the time I went to bed that night I had two voice messages and two texts from him. The next day, he calls again. Twice. The messages getting increasingly more upset. And whiny. There is nothing in this world I find less attractive than a whiny guy. So… three days and countless more messages later, I’m getting fed up with him hijacking my voicemail. I finally call back.

And that’s when I’m treated to a lecture on how rude I was to wait this long (three whole days!) to call him again. He hasn’t heard from me in “forever, Dude”. He goes on to say that in the meantime (while he’s been leaving me five hundred messages a day) he “met” someone else. Okay, not met, but called someone else. And he doesn’t talk to more than one girl at a time. I’m thinking, “Hallelujah! Move on already.” But, no. He says that since he’s talking with this other girl now, we can only talk as friends.

Oh brother.

How to tell him I already have enough friends? So, I say, “Dude (trying to speak his language) I already have enough friends.” He says okay, we hang up.

That night… another message. Two more the next day. One a day for the rest of the week. Me thinks someone ate too many funny brownies and their brain has turned to mush. How does he not get that I’m not interested? I’m left with two choices – change my number or tell him to bugger off again.

Changing my number sounds like paperwork (which I hate) so, I chose option B and call him. But, before I can tell him in no uncertain terms to take a long walk off a short pier, he starts in on another lecture about how “friends” call “friends” back.

Him: I thought we were friends.
Me: You do realize I've never met you, right?
Him: How am I supposed to get to know you if you never call?
Me: Excellent point. Let's just give up on the whole getting to know each other thing, okay? I think we know enough.
Him: What, you can’t find the time to pick up the phone and call me even once a day?
Me: (Laughing. Out loud. A big snorting thing.) Seriously? Once a day? I have a life. A busy one. I’m lucky I have time to shower once a day.
Him: Dude, that ain’t normal. Friendship has needs. You should put your friends first.
Me: Dude, don’t ever call me again.
Click.

I’m happy to say I’ve only received two more messages from Needy Dude since then. I think he’s almost got the point.

So, help me gals, how can I weed out the needy boys before I give out my number? ‘Cause, seriously, I don’t think my voicemail box can take another one like this guy.

~Trigger Happy Halliday