Being a smart, funny, or attractive woman on the Internet is a death sentence courtesy of bitter men who can’t fuck them. The word cunt is thrown around in Twitter replies and comment threads more than the amount of selfies a girl with the fake last name Leathers posts on Instagram. I say I’m not bothered by it, but it really does have a subconscious negative effect because who the fuck wants to read anything negative about themselves? Giving men who live in their mom’s basements free reign to contact almost any girl on the Internet is the worst thing ever.
On the opposite spectrum is a plethora of men sending flirty messages to girls they want to fuck. Anytime I hear stories of women being hit on by men through Twitter messages, it is more than likely the same twenty to thirty dudes. You know who you are, dudes, because I’ve met some of you prior to being aware of your shenanigans. I like to give men the benefit of the doubt and learn about them on my own. But this is a characteristic I’m slowly starting to drift from because I don’t have the energy or desire to deal with any amount of bullshit. Quite often I get Facebook and Twitter messages from guys telling me I’m really funny and smart, and even offering jobs. It has come to the point where I email my manager, “Is he legit or does he want to fuck me?”
I could destroy a few marriages and sabotage the careers of some men with my arsenal of Twitter direct messages. I’ll keep the names to myself because I am not Anthony Weiner’s Internet whore, but I will definitely quote some of those objectionable messages from men who are notoriously established as “those creepy dudes.” I was exchanging messages with a guy on Twitter about anti-depressants (classic Stetten) and our conversations seemed totally platonic. I assumed I was having a conversation with a mature, respectful, and smart guy who had a very reputable career. Come on, Melissa, you’re smarter than to think that. We exchanged messages for a few days that were flirty and silly. We had similar senses of humor. I actually met him in a setting that wasn’t a date, and he seemed very well adjusted and nice. You know who’s always described as “well adjusted”? THESE GUYS:
The day after we met he sent me a text that said, “why dont u let me fuck the sadness out of u?” I definitely saw that coming. We were two single (I assumed) people so it just came off as funny to me. He was a charmer! Some other messages he sent were, “We should make out and talk depression.” And, “I don’t even know where Koreatown is but my cock will find it.”
I realized that I hadn’t gone deep into this guy’s Internet presence, so I did some googling. Turns out he’s married, has children, and is older than he said. Talk about husband material! I confronted him immediately and he explained that he was bored. Well, at least he was honest about that? I felt weird. I didn’t want to be responsible for ending a marriage. Our week-long internet date eventually became awkward and gross. We continued texting sparsely over the next couple of days, but I was more interested in asking him questions about his relationship, but he was (obviously) only interested in being a cheater.
I would get texts from him like:
“My wife’s friend and boyfriend are staying in our guest house and drunk which is fun to come home to after a 14 hour day.”
“Making out isn’t cheating right?”
“Don’t text, wife using phone.”
“Wife may be planning trip to spa with friends in a week. U will be mine.”
He claimed to have never cheated on his wife (yeah right), but I couldn’t be a part of this morally compromising scandal anymore. I stopped replying and labeled him another creepy Internet dude. I’ve since heard stories about him having phone sex with random Twitter girls. Ugh.
I had another disparaging encounter with a married man at a party. I was sitting alone in the corner editing a photo for Instagram because I’m bad at parties, and this dude sits down next to me. I notice his wedding ring right away. We started talking about music and I see him slowly slide his left hand underneath his leg so his ring wasn’t in view. I turned to talk to someone else but I saw him take the ring off in the corner of my eye and put it in his pocket. Busted, idiot! I didn’t say anything and pretended like I didn’t notice. We continued talking about our jobs and exchanged Twitter names. I fake-replied to an email so I could Google this motherfucker. I knew he was married, but he also had a newborn baby. Way to go, dickwad!
He leaves shortly after our conversation and again I’m left alone to be anti-social and drink vodka. I fuddle around on my phone and hear a familiar voice, “Hey.” I glance up and it’s the “non-stop talker and interrupter” guy I talked about in Deal Breakers Pt. 2. We haven’t seen each other since the breakup and I didn’t think I would run into him this quickly. As soon as our eyes meet I have flashbacks of the degrading texts and other abominable things he did to me. He sits down on the couch. He’s doing that whole “I’m talking but I’m looking around and pretending I don’t care” thing. What a shit head. I like to avoid conflict so I answered his “how are you?” questions calmly. I say, “Much better than I was, great actually, the best I’ve felt in years.” Which isn’t a complete lie, but I wanted to indirectly say how much my life has improved since I no longer acknowledged his existence.
“Sorry about that un-following thing, I’m sure you understand though.” He says to me, thinking I give a shit. I don’t care about whether or not he’s following me on Instagram. The fact that he thinks it bothered me is obnoxious. Everything about him makes me angry. I should’ve just got up and walked away but I sat there, feeling extremely uncomfortable. He then starts rambling on about his ex and un-friending her on Facebook and blah blah blah I don’t care. I. Don’t. Care. One of the things I hated about him was that he’d repeat boring stories about himself over and over again.
He then drops the bomb, “So, you wrote about me?” I smile and say, “I’m not writing about you, I’m writing about aspects of our relationship. No, I have not used your name.” I don’t want to give him the pleasure of thinking I wrote an entire article about him, so I emphasize the aspects part.
“A friend sent me the link and I glanced through it.” He said with that voice, which now makes me want to stab knives into my brain. “It sounded like you were still angry and I hope that you’re not.” I reply with a very monotone, “Nope, I’m fine.” Then he says, “I know we talked about it and tried to resolve things but I want you to know again that I apologize for all that sex stuff.” He then babbled something about trying to be dirtier than other guys so I’d want to stay with him. “I know how much that upset you and I want to apologize again.” I don’t know why he was bringing that up at a fucking party on a Saturday night. I got the feeling he was trying to appease things so I wouldn’t write about him again. It didn’t work.
I left that awful conversation to walk outside. I talked to some random people about Seinfeld for a while then went back in to refill my drink. I get a tap on my shoulder and it’s the monster telling me he’s leaving. I nod and say, “See ya.” He goes in for a hug and I don’t know what to do, so I stand there with my drink looking very frigid. He gets really close to me and says, “So, like, what are you doing now? You staying?” I say, “Yup, staying here.” He looks at me with his rapey eyes and squeezes the side of my stomach with his hand while trying to hug me again. He asks again what I’m doing later, clearly insinuating sex. I step back and tell him to have a good night.
I’m not sure exactly what post-traumatic stress disorder feels like, but just the sight of him made me want to vomit. That encounter completely took me by surprise and brought back really bad memories and anxiety. I shook it off and tried to enjoy the rest of my evening.
I got home around 4am and texted my friend in New York. He was actually awake so I had a bit of a breakdown about how all men are appalling and there’s no hope for women. I know I say that often, and the response is always, “You’re not dating the right men.” How am I supposed to know a guy is going to turn into an asshole a week after we start dating? All guys are overly nice to impress girls at first, but as soon as they have us trapped, they bombard us with their insecurities and self-proclaimed sovereignty.
I noticed that the married guy followed me on twitter. I decide to tweet:
“Hey guy who tried to slyly hide his wedding ring in his pocket mid-conversation last night: I saw you idiot”
He un-followed me shortly after. I hope his baby is doing well.