Elbows Guy III: The Reckoning

As I mentioned, Elbows Guy emailed me back after I’d told him his comment bugged me.

Here’s what I’d said, between other things we’d been discussing, one of which was a second date:
“You tell me if you end up free Tuesday, and I’ll tell you if my ashen elbows and I can join you. Sound good? (Can you tell I took that far too seriously and now wonder if you’re a. Mean, or b. Will think/say things about the rest of my body if ever you see it?) :)”

His response, also among other topics:
“You definitely are reading too much into the elbows thing. It was just a simple observation since your skin is really soft and your elbows were a little rougher (I suspect from resting them on your desk while in hardcore writing mode). It’s the little details like that which I find fascinating in people, especially women, since they usually have a story to tell.

“Your (a) vs (b) question is actually the same question – ‘is this guy a judgey asshat who’s going to make fun of me and my quirks in order to make up for his own insecurities and fragile ego?’ And the answer to that is no. I have a very thick skin and will occasionally say something without thinking how someone not similarly thick-skinned will take it, but I’m not a judgey asshat. I have a sneaking suspicion that was not the case with one or more of the guys you have recently dated.”


1. I pay a nice lady to be my therapist. I don’t need you and your degree from the Lifetime Movie School of Emotional Trauma.

2. I HAVE projected from previous men I’ve known, but I’m usually self-aware enough to recognize it. (Like when you called me “Miss” the other day and my brain spasmed because that’s what That Guy called all the faceless, interchangeable women in his harem — THAT was projecting. I knew it, and I shut it down.)

3. I don’t lean on my desk while I’m writing. My elbows are just shitty. (And way to double down on telling me so.)

4. “I’m not a judgey asshat, but I’m gonna point out your faulty sentence construction.” (I know he’s right. Shut up.)

Sometimes my brain goes all River-Tam-batshit-banana-pants-at-the-end-of-Serenity swinging weapons around in a circle to fight off whoever comes near her. Whenever I’ve stuck that feeling out because, “I might be overreacting,” I really can’t remember a time my brain was wrong.

“What’s your magic number?”

I’m sure this isn’t true of all women, but I just learned that 11 is the maximum number of times I’ll let a guy who scares me look at my (still photo-less) online dating profile without talking to me.

Sorry, sir, you give me the willies. I’m already wondering who’s gonna play me in the Lifetime movie based on this true story*. Gotta block you.

Also, your username is DanCurvesLeft**, and there’s no part of me that wants that. None of my happy places are to the left. I might be able to work with it, but…you’re creepy. And sure, maybe you’re referring to your baseball pitch, but again, you’re Creepy Creeperson, so I’m not willing to risk it.

*For the record, if you can get Anna Kendrick to stoop to Lifetime movies, she’s my first casting choice.

**Not his real username. I’m a bitch, not an asshole. May he find lifelong happiness with girl who enjoys attention and has an off-center g-spot.

Keep on creepin’ on.

Series of messages from a guy via OKCupid…

Saturday night:
10:31 pm: “Hello invisible lady. How is it going tonight?” (“Invisible lady” because I don’t have a photo.)
10:32 pm: “[Town I live in] isn’t too far!”
10:34 pm: “Can I hear a dirty joke from you tonight? B-)”
10:51 pm: “Could we get to know each other?”

Yesterday morning:
11:18 am: “Good morning… Do I hear back from you?”

Last night before bed:
12:36 am: “Hi there… Not sleepy tonight?​”
12:46 am: “Are you around?​”

Congratulations on being the impetus for me learning how to block people on OkCupid.

I realize English is probably not his first language. Stalking transcends those barriers.

By the way, I didn’t upload a photo because I’m sort of just browsing, not seriously looking, and I didn’t want creepy bastards sending me messages like I had on Match.com. But when you don’t have a photo, apparently the CREEPIEST bastards send you messages. I’ve gotten several, none worth replying to. But maybe dudes think I must have fairly screwed-up self-esteem to not even rustle up ONE photo, so maybe I’ll just fuck a stalker if he tries?

Also, this guy has only one photo, and it’s of him wearing a surgical mask in an operating room with about five other people, also in surgical masks. You might think “Ooh, doctor!,” but I’ve seen enough Lifetime movies to know that if I interact with this guy, I’m gonna wake up in a stranger’s bathtub with amnesia and one less kidney.

P.S. If you wondered, “B-)” is a cool-guy smiley with sunglasses, which auto-formats in some venues, but not in the OKC email system, so you just look like an asshole. And that’s why you shouldn’t communicate with emojis.