Sex, Lies and the Internet: Part II

As promised, here is part two of my 'expose' on online dating sites. Today we shall discuss the total perverts! I don't know, maybe you guys won't find the below so offensive. Maybe I'm a complete prude or just plain old fashioned. But honestly, I really don't know what these guys expected when they emailed me with this stuff. Seriously, my picture is about as seductive as one of Mother Theresa feeding the poor! But that doesn't seem to matter - my caption might as well have read "Don't need nothin' but a good time!"

So, here are a few of the messages, that I am literally copying and pasting. Oh, just to let you know, I am not using these morons' real handles. 

[NB: Please don't read on if you find stuff like this offensive.]

Perv1: Hey, did u know that women tend to reach the peak of sexuality in their mid 30's !!

Uhm, thanks for the sex ed PERFECT STRANGER who I've never met. Totally appropriate first email. Yes, totally appropriate.


Perv2: hey babe are u into bondage ?
Okay, first of all 'babe'??? Hellloooo, do I know you? NO! So, don't call me babe! And second, just a word of advice, do not send this kind of crap off the bat. It's a good idea to send an introductory message first, like: "Hey, my name is so and so. I like movies and going out to clubs and would love to hear back from you." If the girl responds, then you can try and see if she's into the same gross stuff as you by giving more details. For example, "I like (porno) movies and going out to (strip) clubs." 


Perv3: I think I want to force u into something else than clubbing. I am sure u'll love that.
I guess I should explain that I wrote in my profile that I'm not a big partier and usually go out 'by force' (yeah, that means you MadGlam!). So the above email serves me right, I suppose. 


Perv4: Ok, I can't copy/paste this one verbatim because this is not Penthouse. It was an email with descriptions of licking and sucking ... ending with "yep, that's how you eat an ice cream!" so you all can use your imagination. It is kind of funny if you take away the fact that I've never met the guy before, and slightly clever so we should give kudos to Perv4 for his originality at least. 

Perv5: What's the AR stand for. If what am thinking of applies on what's on ur mind ... I am  more than happy to share with u :)

So, I very cleverly included my initials as part of my online handle. Don't ask me why! So stupid. Anyway, that's the AR this dumbass is referring to. The rest, however, is beyond me. I must not be very well versed in my pervy vocabulary, because I cannot think what AR stands for. I mean maybe if it was one letter or the other, but both? I suppose if you were a complete pervert you could make any initials sound sexual. Maybe I'm missing something and AR is a total turn on. Maybe I should start using just my initials when I meet hot guys, so when he asks, "What's your name," I'll be like, "Aaaaaa Rrrrrrr, wink wink." Yep, I've got the whole seduction thing down pat, so thanks for the tip, Perv5!


Now we come to the worst one - this message literally made me blush, and it was so explicit that I can't include all of it. So here is a short excerpt. 
Perv6: listen i find ur lips and mouth and above all ur bright eyes extra special...u'll never ever find a man more gentle, [CENSORED], sensitive and always [CENSORED] for girls... i love all and everything about you girls...the smell of ur feet - i can cover them with heavy kisses even if smelly like after a long day in ur shoes and then lick them clean...ur soles r like a merry cream to me... then go on [CENSORED]
OMG!!! The rest of the email is like really, really graphic that I'm embarrassed for this guy. How can he send something like that? The funny thing is that as I was reading it, the first part about the smelly feet grossed me out so much more than the nasty sexual stuff further down. It is just so beyond gross. Who in their right mind wants to lick smelly feet! HOW IS THIS REMOTELY SEXY???????? EWWWWWWWWWW. I almost messaged this guy back just to say, "AYBBBB! Ya aybeshoum aleyk!" But then I remembered I'm not his mom. I also thought about telling him that at one point I thought he could have a future career as an erotica writer, UNTIL I REREAD THE PART ABOUT THE SMELLY FEET. EWWWWWWWWWW. 


As you can tell, this whole online dating thing has not been working out so well for me up until now. I've gotten 68 emails to date, and according to the 'matchmaking' expertise of this site, my best 'matches' so far are liars, perverts, or guys from Israel. Hmmmm, so my choices are feeling like I'm in a porno movie or being shot for treason? Great start.

Touching Me ... Touching You ...

The following is a true account of how Lebanese people watch rugby.

So, I really do not care for sports at all, something that was confirmed at my weekly pub night with Mr. B, MadGlam and co. The evening started out well enough and as per usual we caught up on a variety of interesting, mind stimulating topics ('remember the swipe?'). Eventually Mr. B and co. left and we were joined once again by the very exciting Mr. Borrring (yes, he is still bored) and his friend. As we continued our intellectual discourse, a mad group of over-excited sports fans stormed in and before we knew it, we were caught up in a raging rugby match that had just started on TV. Oh lucky us.

(By the way, just an off-hand observation, I don't think your average Lebanese guy is into sports either, unless he's lived abroad, has another nationality and thus follows the team of another country. Of course the exception is soccer, in which case every Lebanese man either supports Brazil or Germany because unlike Nelson Mandela who used rugby to unite his country, we Lebanese have no such national team. Yes, I watched Invictus.)

MadGlam, who is as into sports as Mr. Borrring is into yoga, was excited that her fellow Frenchmen were playing 'football' against some team in red (Wales). Someone points out that it's actually a rugby match and we all decide to support France because 1) Wales isn't even a country; 2) none of us gives a rat's ass about rugby; and 3) no one even remotely understands the game - yes, even though I watched Invictus - which is demonstrated by my discussion with Mr. Borrring on whether or not a score was called a touchdown or a goal. "No, no, it's a touchdown," says Mr. Borrring confidently while puffing on a cigar, which is how Lebanese men watch sports. "Are you sure? I think it's a goal," I interject, although I have no idea what I'm talking about - yes, even though I watched Invictus - and am more concerned about the effect of the cigar smoke on my freshly washed hair. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure," settles Mr. Borrring.

Our loud (if mock) enthusiastic shouts of 'Vive La France' draw the attention of a rabid Welsh fan, who comes up to our table for no apparent reason and asks if we're into the game. We reply that sure, we are soooo into the game. He then asks if we're with France. Again, we (faux) passionately exclaim our devotion to the French team. Rabid Welsh Fan then asks if we understand the game, and we say, "Sure, sure we understand the game." And just to emphasize how much we all understand the fine nuances of all things rugby, I ask, "So, is a score called a touchdown or a goal?"

RWF (who by this time has revealed that he is in fact Irish) gives me a face of disgust. "Urgh, you Americans always take a fine, respectable sport and turn it into a vulgar game. You took rugby and made it into American football and took cricket and made it into baseball." I interrupted his stimulating diatribe with, "Uhm, can you just answer my question." "Oh, it's called a 'try'." Man, we were so off base. A try?? Stupid rugby, not even their scoring makes sense.

Not in the mood to get into the whole 'America ruins everything, even good sports' discussion, I turn to MadGlam, and say, "At least American sports players are hot! Rugby players look like toothless cavemen." "They look like hobbits," she says. "Yeah," I agree, "hobbits carved out of tree trunks." As you can tell, we don't care about the game, the talent, or even the team - to us, if we have to watch sports, for the love of Prada, at least let the players be hot!

Anyway, MadGlam, then bursts into fits of hysterical laughter and takes a napkin to wipe her eyes. By that time we are joined by another friend and we all look to the giant screen to see what has so captivated our companion. We see a bunch of stalky, squat men in short shorts in a huddle grabbing each other's asses (no lie) - it looks like a scene from a gay porno, but with clothes, except when one guy pulls down another guy's shorts and we are treated to his bare buttocks. Suddenly, Neil Diamond's 'Sweet Caroline' pops into my head: Hands, touching hands; Reaching out; Touching me; Touching you ... Good times never seemed so good. Could be the rugby theme song.

I look over at RWF and wonder how he thinks American football is vulgar compared to this!! "At least Tom Brady never looks like he's auditioning for an x-rated version of Brokeback Mountain!"  I shout ... in my head  ... but still, I'm right, right?

And that's how Lebanese people watch rugby.

Porn and the Blowfish

This week has been an absolute disaster on so many fronts that I think they've named a new condition just for me, Crazy Bitch Syndrome. Well, I don't know how well any of you would do after contracting chronic sinusitis and being quarantined at home for over a week with no contact to the outside world, which I guess wasn't such a bad idea considering that the medication I have to take has made my face puff up to Fat Albert proportions. Actually, when I got my diagnosis and treatment plan, I really did handle it with grace. I thought, I'll take this time to just read and watch TV, I mean I'm kind of a homebody anyway, so how bad could bed rest for a while really be?

Things started out ok until ... the cable went out and I absolutely FREAKED! Apparently these two cable companies that I happen to subscribe to decided to merge just when I was not allowed to leave the house and all my favorite channels were like gone! They had to reconfigure the signals or whatever and until then it was like I was lost at sea with no raft. So, I called my dad and made him get the freaking cable guy come over right away and talk to him because I just can't yell effectively in Arabic. The cable guy came over pretty promptly and I gave my dad strict instructions on what channels he better bring back or I would kick some serious ass (even in my weakened state, TV withdrawal brings out the Hulk in me). I did not personally meet with the cable guy because vanity is a beast and hello, did I not mention the hideous swollen guppy face that made me look like I could be an extra in a horror movie without the need of special effects?

After a while, dad comes to my room and asks me to check my channels and make sure they're all back. So I flick through and I notice that three of my favorite movie channels are missing and I go ballistic. So my poor dad goes back to talk to the cable guy and tells him to bring back those particular channels. Then dad comes back to my room and explains that they've changed things around now and those channels are now part of a different package and cost more money. Okay, you have to imagine my situation: I'm off caffeine because of my meds, my face is literally space alien scary, my hair is crazy and I'm wearing granny sweats as I storm into the TV room and start ripping into this cable guy, who is like a 16 year old kid. Vanity be damned! I wanted my TV damn it!

I tell him in my ranting Arabic that I've been his client for a hundred years and if he thinks he's going to charge me more for the same channels I was getting before then ... yeah well, I couldn't think of anything threatening enough to say at that moment, but I think my hideous appearance frightened him enough. So he said I had to call his boss, and I was all like, fine, I'll call your damn boss and turned to dad and told him to call the boss, which he did (my poor dad!). He told the guy, "My daughter wants these channels and you better give her these channels and we're not paying you a dime more." So the boss guy didn't want to upset my dad, who is a very loyal customer and tells the kid to give me my channels. The kid gives me this really strange look, like he's embarrassed for me or something, and I figure it's just because I look so stunning in my chronic sinusitis attire. Then he very weirdly asks my dad and I to leave the room. At that point, I was just like 'WHATEVER! Just get it done,' and stomped out all huffy and puffy.

A few minutes later, dad comes in and says that the kid left and that I should check if I got my channels. So, I flick through my TV and I see my three movie channels and I'm happy for about three seconds and then my jaw literally drops. I was totally stunned, shocked when I saw ... SIX HARD CORE PORN CHANNELS. Oh ... my ... God. I don't think I've ever been so mortified. I mean, I was screaming at this poor kid demanding these channels, and the whole time he was obviously convinced that I wanted FREE PORN! Oh ... my ... God! And that's why he asked us to leave the room, because he was too embarrassed to download them in front of us!

So, this kid is thinking two things: 1) I'm a pervert addicted to porn with a dad who is okay with that; or 2) my swollen face is as good as it gets for me and that's the closet thing to a social life I'll ever get! Oh ... my ... God! What followed next was a very embarrassed phone call from dad to the cable boss guy, explaining that I only wanted the non-porn movie channels (honestly!) and to please send the - probably now disgusted and horrified - kid back to remove the porn. Yeah, recouping from chronic sinusitis was fun.

Anyway, my quarantine comes to an end this week, and although the porn is gone (honestly!), I've still got that sexy blowfish look going, but if you happen to see me, tell me I look pretty anyway and I'll buy you a beer :)