Every guy I’ve dated could have been related. If you were to stand these guys all next to each other they would look like they all shared similar genes. I take having a type to the extreme.
I’m not good with names. Half the time I’ll forget your name and call you “Bud” or “Hey,” or I’ll completely slip up and call you “Brad” even though your name is Sam. I was too busy trying to make a first impression and now I have you saved in my phone as “hot dude.”
I’m bad at texting. Most of my text conversations are just to set up meet times; anything past that is a near impossible feat.
I like phone calls. Guys probably run away like, “Oh my god, this girl is so clingy!” trying to block my number and unfriend me on Facebook as fast as they can. In reality, I’m just trying to best utilize my time by calling you to ask if you’re free instead of checking my phone every few minutes to see if you confirmed plans for tonight.
I cooked for you and now you think I want to be your wife. The last guy I dated stopped talking to me after I cooked for him. I wasn’t trying to wife you, bro, I just had an excess amount of chicken that was going to go bad and needed to be cooked.
I like One Direction. I don’t even care if my music tastes are basic. Yes, I’ve seen Miley, One Direction, and Britney in concert and deeply enjoyed myself, but I will not apologize.
I have sex on the first date. I will also not apologize for being a sexually liberated woman, but I realize that does confuse everyone as to whether or not we’re actually dating or just hooking up.
I run from commitment. On Date #2 with my dream guy, he told me he “really liked me.” When I went home that night I considered never talking to him again.
Most of my friends are guys, which is, as every article states, a red flag. Living in Southern California it’s hard to find female friends that aren’t like “Ugh, why even go outdoors?” or “I can’t drink beer because I’m trying to watch my weight.” So I hang out with guys because we have similar interests and a deep appreciation of Lil B.
I’m crass. My humor is off-color and can veer toward mildly to mostly offensive, but if you don’t have haters then you aren’t shit.
On a first date exes were brought up, and everything went downhill from there.
I got too boisterous when drunk and started yelling jokes at you.
I talked too much about going to Coachella. But, like, it was the week after and I know you so don’t care because you weren’t there and hate half the bands I saw. BUT OH MY GOD, it was hella dope.
Sometimes, for no reason, I start talking as if I live in The Valley. “Ugh like OMG I had to get off the 101 to like the 405, and then there was like so much traffic on Sunset, so I took La Brea.” I’m not even from LA.
You asked me what I was thinking about and I told you that was a dumb question, which led you into a rant about existential thinking that I simply could not keep up with.
You offered me a massage and I declined even though I knew that was a precursor for sex and I really wanted to have sex with you.
I got really into kale and juicing and you thought I was trying to be trendy, but I was just trying to live that healthy life (and take some good Instagram pictures). So sue me.
I skinny-armed in one too many pictures and you wondered if I my body was forever stuck that way, which would make dating, among other things, exponentially more difficult.
Every time we had sex it was in my car because my roommate took over the apartment, so you probably just assumed I was homeless.
I hooked up with a beautiful man who was probably homeless. Maybe if I’d offered him residence we’d be together now.
You told me I was different, that I was classy, and then I couldn’t bring myself to tell you I wanted to suck face because you might think less of me.
I asked you what you ate for lunch because the conversation was dying, and you probably thought my questioning was too invasive.
I told you I wasn’t trying to pressure you into having sex, and you thought I was being weirdly chivalrous and maybe sort of emasculating.
I never spend the night, and that crosses the line from dating to just hooking up because women are stereotypically supposed to want to spend the night.
I was too busy trying to be the one who cares less, and now you’ve moved away and I never told you how I feel.