Come On, Man...

So many men… so little time. And by "so little" I mean none. At all. I haven't even had time to watch Aaron Rogers in his delicious football pants on Sundays. I used to get annoyed by the fact that Sunday NFL Countdown feels the need to hire ex-players who come up with bogus predictions, stats, and commentary and they get to babble on just because they have famous names. But I actually miss hearing Keyshawn say, "Come on, man….." I barely have time to do laundry so I have clean socks (and other essentials) right now, let alone finding time to browse through my daily internet dating prospects. So disappointing, as I'm missing out on pictures like this:

I got a lot of negative feedback for my opinion on guys-holding-dead-fish pictures. (Go Fish). Fine, hold your fish. Kiss them on the mouth for all I care. (Eew, please don't). But at least be in the picture. I swear to you - this was honestly one of someone's photos copied and pasted directly from the website. Come on, man….

And remember the guy who asked me to take a look at his profile and critique it? I did. But I'm not allowed to tell you what I thought, because he asked me not to. He was already bent out of shape because I mentioned a portion of his screen name in my post about him, and he emailed me asking me not to mention him further. Um, you've read my blog…. what did you think I was going to do? NOT talk about it?? You really think that the random 100 or so people who read my blog are going to figure out your name, the city you live in, and which website you're on? And so what if they did? You put all that stuff on the internet yourself, did you not?? Come on, man….. No fun. But he's a friend of a friend, so I guess I have to respect his wishes.

There was a guy about 2 months ago (see: Shot Down) that I emailed back and forth with about 6 or 7 times. I was legitimately, really interested in meeting him. And then I never heard from him. I have to preface the rest of the story by telling you that I have a really odd pet peeve. (Ok, I have several, but for now we'll focus on one). I hate voicemail. Everyone who has a phone has caller ID, correct? And I never turn my phone off, so I see any calls I've missed in my call log. If I see that you called, I'll call you back. And most people's messages just say "hey, it's me, call me back" anyway. And if it's an emergency, the person will either call 7 times in a row, or text and say "911. Call me immediately." I know, it's weird. But that’s how I feel. And it really bothers some people. Like my boss, for example (haha). He wants to be able to leave me one of his infamous 5-minute-long, excessive, bloviating, TMI messages, only to repeat himself over again when I actually call him back or see him in person. Precious minutes of my time that I will never get back. But the point is, I actually cleaned out my voicemail last night. I knew most of them were probably 2 months old, but no big deal. I've talked to those people. So I deleted most of them pretty quickly, until I heard a voice I didn't recognize… "Hey, it's Brad. Just calling to see if you wanted to get together, grab a drink or something. Let me know…" Huh? Who's Brad……? OH. CR@P!!! The guy I thought shot me down! How did I miss that!? I didn't have any missed calls from numbers I didn't recognize. The only thing I can think of is that he happened to call during the miscellaneous 2.5 hours that I was on a plane back home from visiting my family that week. Come on, man….. Probably a little late to get back to him, huh?

I'm going to be single forever.