My summer of love hasn’t necessarily been slow, but it hasn’t been the most progressive either. Before I deactivated my OkCupid profile, I connected with a handful of cute guys in New York and D.C. where I split my time. Long messages and chats morphed into phone number exchanges – the start of something promising, no doubt. I don’t give out my number that easily…something has to be special about the guy before I do something like that. These “something specials” were the last crop of men that I vowed to entertain for now in a ditch effort to let love – or like – grow organically.
Sadly, my handful of special men weren’t really that special. That’s how all these stories go though, right? Nothing with the guys that I talked to ended up producing what dating sites are meant for – dates. Yeah, we talked about it – like the guy who wanted to go out for drinks in downtown Brooklyn after the Beyoncé concert at Barclay’s or the one who planned on dropping by my job for free coffee and conversation – but everything fell through. And hey, it happens. People get tied up in their own thing or make more important plans. But I think what irritates me the most – what really grinds my gears, if you will – is all the effort that’s put into the buildup of the let down. The texting. The mile-long iMessages and kissy face emojis. The back and forth winkie faces and the blissful torture of that damned gray ellipses while waiting for a response.
Something that this summer has taught me is that douchebags will text a good game all day and night…because it’s easy and it’s a copout. I mean, think about it. How simple is it for someone to construct an entire 140-chacter write-up of BS? You’re not peering over his shoulder or into his eyes, and your sweet, single voice isn’t pouring into his available ear canal. They have time to sit down, stretch out and spin a web of lies, deceit and empty promises. I know you all have received some of these texts – or not – or you’ve read your friends’. And if that’s the case, girl, run away. Fast. Get to blocking. He’s not worth your time, energy OR texts…even if they are unlimited.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
I remember reading a super-corny fortune cookie when I was like eight that said that at any given moment, someone in the universe is thinking of you. My naïve self took that to heart, always hopeful that I was being thought of by someone somewhere – even if it was just my mom. Not going to lie…good morning texts are super-flattering. It’s always sweet to THINK that a guy has you on his mind…but I’ve heard straight from the horse’s mouth that good morning texts—usually sent in mass form—are just another playboy tactic to win us over. Personalized texts with names or something specific from last night’s conversation are probably more genuine…and a better way to begin a day rather than some other prospect’s recycled goods IMO.
“Send a pic.”
My stomach always drops when I receive this one. The “send a pic” text could possibly be well meaning. Maybe the guy just wants an image to save for his contacts, or maybe he just wants to see your pretty face without logging onto Facebook. I still haven’t figured out the function of the “send a pic” text…but I have figured out why I don’t like it. There’s so much pressure in picking out the perfect selfie and avoiding an impromptu shoot for a new one. And sending an innocent pic can sometimes be a gateway into a request for something saucier. No thanks. Just find me on Instagram, bruh.
…is probably a booty call.
Anything past 11:38 p.m.
…is definitely a booty call.
“Do you have a roommate?”
…is a way to see if the booty call will be uninterrupted and maneuvered smoothly. I once talked to a guy who ceased all communication after he learned that I lived in a four bedroom suite at the time.
“My phone was dead/broken/off/stolen.” or “I was sleep.”
Do you know what excuses are? They’re tools of the weak and incompetent and they build bridges to nowhere and monuments of nothingness. Those who specialize in them seldom amount to anything. So you fill in the blanks, babygirl. Unless he’s strapped on a gurney, you deserve better than this haphazard justification. And besides, Siri could’ve easily taken care of things.
Anything with a 😉
I’ve never winked in real life because I always look like I have this freak inverted eyelid situation going on. But from what I’ve heard, the well-placed wink is the ultimate way of letting someone know that you like what you see. It’s also an indicator of someone who #definitelywantsthed. The wink (or the ever-popular smirk emoji) means that things will get really flirty really soon. Be prepared.
This one’s tricky. Everyone isn’t the best texter in the world. I’ve even had my dad one-word me after sending him extensive iMessages and emails. But if you’re getting one-syllable sayings – especially after typing something important – it might be best to leave that thread alone…after handing him a thesaurus. K? K.
When I switched to #teamiPhone last year, I was so excited to be within the land of the blue bubbles. While fiddling with my settings, I noticed the read receipt option and thought that it was kind of weird. I can admit that I’m not the best texter at times…I’ll see a message and only remember to get back to it hours later. Why would I want the evidence of my forgetfulness to show – and be perceived as kind of rude? Purposely ignoring a text is inconsiderate…and showing that you did is just flat out grimy. But some guys don’t mind that. The read receipt has crushed my feelings a few times…after saying hello or even suggesting a date. Reading into the read receipt might be able to tell you if you’re wasting your time and your texts.
Mama Undateable always told me that sometimes the best response is no response. I have to respectfully disagree with her – at least when it comes to texting. Because words and communication mean so much to me, I rarely ever ignore a text…even if it comes from a douche. Sure, my response might not be the warmest…but at least I respond. I’ve talked to guys who, for some reason, just stop talking altogether. No warning. No pretext. No nothing. I have too much pride to double text someone who doesn’t respond after a few hours or for an entire day. I just take the safe route and imagine that he was so floored by my correspondence that he doubled over and fainted, shattering his 4S or 5 in the process.
When she’s not watching for Blue Ivy sightings or doing some serious Facebook creeping, Khalea moonlights as a print journalism major at the REAL HU, Howard University. Follow her on Twitter at @letsbeKHAlear, or feel free to Twatch. Whatever works for you.