It’s spitting in her face and then asking her out after.
It is a statement that almost sounds nice if you aren’t listening very closely.
I knew, very literally, that love wasn’t going to happen overnight. We poured ourselves glasses of wine and set about describing ourselves in the best, most attractive, most unique, most intriguing ways we possibly could. Is this what guys are thinking when they list their heights as five-ten even though you know, in your heart, that they are five-seven? It didn’t matter what he looked like (or what I look like, for that matter), or if we had anything in common, or what we were even talking about. More fitting would be “trite,” “absurd,” “weirdly insulting,” and “grotesque expressions of the soul-sucking vortex known as humanity.” Some messages were innocuous enough, but these were in the minority. Less horrifying.) For some reason it seems like standard operating procedure, among those with opposite-sex interests, that GUYS message GIRLS and that is that. I am, however, interested in the betterment of humankind.
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It’s a thing you say to a woman if you are an asshole who believes that, ultimately, what women really want is for someone to be mean to them. Far be it from me to deny a lady a good blow to her self-esteem now and again, if she promises me that’s what she wants and she’s really okay and she agrees to come hang out with me later, just girls. Lo and behold, a few bravely delusional spirits soldier on.
I just feel pretty safe saying that, as a whole, humans don’t like when people are nasty to them. Sometimes it’s clear they know what they’re doing, which is the worst possible type of neg. I don’t know.) Sometimes it’s clear that they are just hapless goons.
I felt bad enough going online to date in the first place, but the influx of negs made me feel worse. But the desire to demean someone and the desire to date her are, I think, mutually exclusive. I figured you probably hear it all the time, but hey, I couldn’t let someone as gorgeous as you get away without me at least telling her first. I tend to ramble.” When I first got this message, I had been on Ok C for a few days and was already getting tired of the bullshit two-word messages and the negging and the total absence of shallow compliments I thought I’d be getting to at least compensate for the rest of the trash in my inbox. I like talking about myself as much as (and probably more than) the next person, OBVIOUSLY.
It made me feel like I wasn’t a person, and I guess to the people sending the messages, I wasn’t. I could be wrong about that, though, because I’m just a woman.2. When this message came, and I was mildly flattered, it was only because my spirits were already broken. And then the three of us drove to West Virginia, where his profile said he lived (that’s right, he’s copy-pasting girls in other states), kidnapped him, carried him over our shoulders to a marble slab in a deserted forest clearing, and sacrificed his blood to the devil. He tried to tell us that we really were all good shit, but it was too late.3. It is my hope that by continually doing what I love to do, which is talking about myself, someone perfect will eventually just fall in love with me. But some part of me—the part that is familiar with social interactions and general guidelines of human conduct—recognizes that this is neither the most practical nor the most thoughtful way to get to know a person.