dating, first world problems

Where’s Ashton?!

In this weeks edition of why reading my blog will make you feel better about your own life – a classic story of girl “meets” fuckboy.

I started talking to this guy who seems nice enough on a Monday after work on Plenty of Fucktards – Fish – I mean Fish. Divorced, has two sons and works in Philly and lives in South NJ. He’s was asking questions and seems like an upstanding citizen – that’s all I can really ask for these days. At least I’m not driving the entire conversation. And as soon as I think this one is possibly dateable – he veered the conversation into “I’m definitely a fuckboy.”

Why is it guys always have to ask about sex before we even have a date with them? Now I’m not a prude, but we haven’t even had a mere telephone call and he was asking about my sexual needs and fantasies. I’m pretty damn sure back in the days prior to online dating and text messaging were available, guys I barely knew did not have THE BALLS to ask me these types of questions.  Guys I dated for YEARS didn’t ask me these types of questions. Since he brought up sex in less than 24 hours of contact, I did what any rational female would – I deemed him a fuckboy and declared him DOA around 8:30 PM on Tuesday night. As usual, I try to steer the conversation in another direction; but for some reason (BLOG), I decided to appease him and answered the questions – some honest, some purely for my own amusement. If only I could have been a fly on the wall.

According to him he had four females at once when he was younger, a devil’s threesome and one same sex experience. Doesn’t phase me because with all the fuckboys that have told me about their sex lives I have heard some crazy stories (not that I believe them all). Don’t know if I believe 4 chics at once, but who cares? He’s a fuckboy trolling for sex and I’m not going to meet him anyway.

The next day was more interesting/entertaining. I don’t know what it is about me that makes people tell me their most private details and intimate secrets (could be the chubby, cheery cheeks on my face), but they do. However, this is the first guy who has ever admitted anything like this to me. At first I thought he made a joke, and I played along. And then a picture message comes through on my cell. Me: An unsolicited dick pic? GROAN. And then I open it.


Just in case I lost you for a minute – THAT ISN’T MY PANTY DRAWER. First, I don’t think I own that many pairs. Second, everyone who knows me knows I am NOT ORGANIZED. If my laundry gets folded AND put away it’s a cold AF day in Hell.

And so the question still remains – how do these guys find me? Furthermore – is this a blessing (BLOG – obvi) or a curse (can I meet someone already)?

FOR THE RECORD (and before you say people trust me with their most intimate details) – I wouldn’t have shared this story if we had ended up in a committed relationship with this man. Please note I have given no indication of his name or profession. I never even met the fuckboy, because he GHOSTED on me (and again – BLOG). Maybe he was embarrassed about admitting his bisexuality or sending just how many bras (right hand side of the photo in case you missed them), women’s panties and anal toys (only two?) he had collected. I can’t tell you why these fuckboys disappear – they just do. And sometimes they give me the juiciest details before they go….*wicked laughter*

Do you know what I would REALLY like to know?

Exactly how long is Ashton waiting to get out of the van and tell me that my dating life has been a recurring series on Punk’d 2.0?

I hope it’s soon; but I have a feeling he’s waiting for my meltdown.  It won’t be much longer.

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