“Hi… I’m in Delaware.”

I am legit staring at this man’s face in his OkCupid profile, trying to decide if I’m physically attracted to him.
I don’t think I am, but he lives in goddamn Delaware, anyway. *shaking fist at geography*

I’m at least sending him a “we need to be friends” message.

Advertisements

If he also made pie, I’ll marry him.

I’m not 100% sure about this guy I’m about to message on OkCupid. If I’m being totally honest, he might be too smart and too chill for my silly, hyper ass.

But in his profile photo, he’s pouring shredded cheese into small, hollowed-out pumpkins to make individual fondue pots, and… well, people, my needs are simple.

It’s possible I just need a pet.

I’m not saying I wouldn’t be talking to this OkCupid guy if he didn’t have an adorable black dog with blue eyes named Oliver who likes to snuggle.

But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.

Discreet skeet

I got a first OkCupid message from a man whose only profile photo is a fairly sizable, at-attention penis constrained by thin white cotton underwear.

The only part of his profile he bothered filling out was the “My self-summary,” under which he wrote only, “Discrete.”

*sigh* “Discreet,” sweetie. You’re looking for “discreet.”

“Discrete” is math. Don’t be math.

I guess if I’m allowing for there to be blood in his brain as well as in his penis, “discrete” can also mean “individually separate and distinct,” and its synonyms are “detached, unattached, disconnected.”

So maybe that IS the word he was looking for. In which case, well played, fellow commitment-phobe.

And hey, also? Way to grow a dick. Kudos, you should be proud of that thing.

But…nah, I’ll pass. If I put that in me, I’ll be rendered incapable of discretion no matter how you spell it. Probably best you don’t awaken that beast.