We’ve all been there before — more times than we want to admit. We meet that amazingly sweet and attractive guy who seems to be an exception to the rule of your typical college guy. After a night of steamy chemistry — dancing all night, giving each other lip massages, engaging in small talk, and pointing to each other every time you hear the lyrics, “Grab somebody sexy, tell them hey!”– That moment we’ve hoped for all night finally approaches.
He confirms his interest in you by asking for your number and/or name for Facebook. Once the music stops and you go your separate ways — or not — he might say something promising like, “I had a fun time! And you’re a cool girl by the way. I’ll definitely hit you up later.” Meanwhile, your insides are screaming, “Ahhhh! He’s so freakin’ cool…and cute too! He basically hinted that he wanted to hang out. This could be the start of something!”
It’s the start of something all right. Eventually we learn that despite the amazing “connection,” it’s what most guys typically do and/or don’t do with the privileges of having our name and number that triggers another frustrating experience of dealing with and meeting another flaker, faker and unfortunately, just another D-bag.
Dear Mr. I’m Not Ready for a Relationship,
You were the guy I met at the gay club. You’re definitely an exception to the rule. I don’t even remember how we came to dance with each other all night, but it happened. Finally, you asked for my number and texted me all night until I arrived home safely. And the next day you called me and we talked for hours! After talking on the phone every night for two weeks, we scheduled our first date and you were a complete gentleman. Four months later, we were — wait? What were we? We engaged in PDA. We said, “I love you.” We went on dates every week and I met your friends, but something was missing — the title of being your girlfriend.
I wanted to make things official, but you said you weren’t ready for a relationship, even though you confessed that you wanted to marry me someday and we joked about having kids. Isn’t that a little backwards? I was so confused and I was tired of having to explain to people that I was in a “complicated” relationship and that I had a boo and not a boyfriend. I was led to believe that the relationship was something other than what it really was. I was led to believe that by my not having that title, I was not worthy of being recognized as someone important in your life. You’re the guy I can write a whole book about as to why you were a d-bag. Beyonce was right, you turned out to be the best thing I never had. Thank God I dodged that bullet. Good looking out!
Dear Mr. Let’s Have Fun,
Every time I think about you, I just have to laugh. However, when I first met you, I instantly felt very comfortable around you and you admitted that you felt the same. However, you got a little too comfortable in the car, as you offered to take me home. We joked around and got to know each other, but then you started asking me inappropriate questions like, “So, are you a virgin?” I was so happy that I finished that box of Lemonheads prior to your asking that because I swore I would’ve choked on them otherwise. When I calmly declined to answer, you apologized for being so forward, but ever since then, I had to question your intentions.
You’re the guy who made me laugh every time I got a text or saw that you were calling because we had the same conversation over and over again. “What are your intentions? And be honest because I’m attracted to you, but I have no idea how you feel about me.” However, your answer was never clear, but your texts spoke for themselves. One night, you asked me what I was doing. I responded and said, “I’m not doing anything tonight. You want to hang out?” But, you responded with, “Hang out? That sounds decent.” Need I say more?! Also, instead of texting the normal, “Hey, how are you?,” it’s always, “So, what’s the plan?” Dude, you’re way too obvious.
Dear Mr. One Thing on the Mind,
What a festive Halloween weekend that was when I met you. By the way, you didn’t dress up. Lame. Anyways, it didn’t take me long to figure out that you are the guy who will do whatever it takes for some action. I’m not Nicki Minaj, so you can’t just give me that look and my panties come off. But before I knew this about you, we scheduled to meet up about a week after meeting. I suggested Starbucks, a nice public place to chill and chat. The conversation turned toward my lack of knowing how to play pool. You said you knew a place and that we should go and play. Spontaneous, huh? Me like.
Little did I know, that pool room was in the lobby of your apartment. And after that, I’m following you to your apartment because you have to use the bathroom, which is in your bedroom. And as a girl, I couldn’t pass up a bathroom trip myself. No fair. You then put on some Pandora Radio and showed me your room. Flash forward and next thing I know, you’re giving me a back massage! All I’m thinking is, “How the heck did this all happen? So random!” That was the end of “date” number one.
Stupid of me, I agreed to continue seeing you, but I never failed to notice your advances and suggestive comments — oh and the condoms (plural!) poking out of the back pocket of your jeans. Every weekend, you’d text me, “What are you up to tonight?” So when I finally got a new phone, I accidently forgot to save your number.
Dear Mr. Phonebook,
It was a pleasure knowing you for two dances and ten minutes. You were the cutie who asked me to dance and assuming that you were impressed with my moves, you asked me for my number. Once the song ended, you said that you had to do something and that you’d be back. You returned — an hour later.
“Whatever,” I thought. But, it wasn’t until you had to leave again that I became suspicious. Did you have a bladder problem? Did you have to call to check in with your mom? I wasn’t sure, so this time, I kept my eyes on you. You walked ten feet from me to start dancing with another girl, whose number you just saved into your phone. You’re the guy who likes to look “cool” by having a contact list full of girls’ numbers — numbers that you never intend on calling or texting. I never had that happen to me, so all I could do was just laugh, shake my head and tweet about it.
Dear Mr. False Expectations,
You were by far the most promising guy of all the guys I’ve met. You talked about how passionate you were about your job and asked me about what I love to do. I was in awe of your kind. “Take me to your planet!” I wanted to scream. After a couple of dances, you asked me for my name for Facebook, which I gladly gave you. But, we found ourselves spending the entire night together filled with mini adventures and spontaneous driving trips around campus.
When our time ended, we promised to text each other later. I texted you, letting you know that I had an amazing time. You texted back, “(Winky face) So glad u texted me! I had a great time too.” Days later, no Facebook friend request, no text message. Nothing. So I sent you a Hump Day text, “Hey! How’s your week been so far?” Your excuse was that you were “swamped” with work — even though I saw that you were tweeting hours after I sent you the text. (Come on, you guys make us do some crazy stuff sometimes).
After voicing some concern, you mentioned that you were interested in being friends but “probably” nothing more because you’re from out of state. Completely understandable, but why all of the suggestive talk and getting my hopes up for something that you knew wouldn’t work out in the first place? And why ask for my information, knowing you weren’t going to use it?
By the way, you haven’t tweeted in a while and you haven’t followed me back. #rude #justsaying.
Dear Mr. Charming Stranger with Personal Issues,
You’re that charming stranger every girl meets. You asked me a random question regarding your missing friend and next thing I knew, we were having a three-hour conversation about family, school, friends, life and even personal stuff. The entire night, you kept complimenting me on how real and cool I was.
And that movie moment happened. When you walked me back to my place, we talked for another half hour in front of my door and then you looked me deep in the eyes and went in for a kiss. I reciprocated, but I couldn’t stop snickering.
“I’m sorry. This has never happened to me. I literally just met you, I think you’re the coolest person I’ve ever met and I feel like I’m in a movie or something. This is surreal,” I said. The next morning, my roommates asked me if I had gotten Botox injections because a smile was frozen on my face. I was sprung.
However, days later, nothing. Again, I sent a Hump Day text. No response. So I waited a few more days to ask if we were still cool and that I’d understand if you’re not interested in anything. You responded and said that you were busy and that you were going through personal stuff — some issues. I gave you my apologies and hinted that if you feel comfortable, you could talk to me about it. I also squeezed in the thought that we should still try to hang out. You came up with an excuse and added the “It was nice to meet you. You’re a cool girl. Hope the semester goes well.” Okay, I get it.
D-bags come in all forms and not every guy is the same. My ranting is due primarily because of their actions and not the guys themselves.
The cliché point of it all is that some d-bags will make you cry, laugh, go psycho and on a serious note, others will screw up your self-esteem: Why am I not good enough for you? Am I not worth the risk? Am I not assertive enough? Yet, despite the many d-bags you’ll encounter, enjoy the journey and all of the weird life lessons you’ll learn from it.