Freaks get cool nicknames

Every guy gets a nickname. This is partially in the name of confidentiality (or is it anonymity?), but it's also something that I've always done. Rather, it's something my friends have always done for me. And it's not just one or two friends - nope. I tell someone a story, and the next thing I know the guy in the story has a nickname. The men never know...

It started off pretty innocently, I think.

First there was "Q," so-named because he really had a penchant for dressing in a "GQ" fashion. But since his real name started with a "g," my friend Brad decided calling him Q was the way to go.

But then I met someone who's name actually started with a "q," and some of his friends already called him that. How would Brad and I differentiate between these two when talking about them? Yikes! Even though Q wasn't really part of my life anymore, I've never been very good at letting go totally. Thus, "Q2" was born. Q2 is still a very good friend of mine, and whenever I talk to Brad he refers to him by nickname.

The point of the nicknames, of course, is to be descriptive - either of the guy or the transgression that moved him into the "freak" category. My favorite freak story is that of Big Penis Boy, who even got a nickname for his nickname -- BPB!

I swear this is a true story. Let me say that again and more loudly -

I swear this is a true story

I was living in a triplex, next door to two men about my age. I'd met one of them about 6 months before he asked me out. We'd talked a bit in the interim but not really a whole lot. He seemed like a nice enough guy and fairly attractive. I didn't have anything else going on so agreed. The date was fine - nothing special, nothing crazy. It was normal! Huh. Imagine that.

Two days later he stopped by my apartment to ask if he could borrow a movie I'd mentioned owning. I handed it over and went back to whatever I'd been doing. Not much time passed before I heard another knock on the door. My neighbor was standing there, VHS tape in hand (umm... remember, this is an oldie-but-goody, and times have changed since then ... DVDs existed, but lots of people didn't have DVD players yet - including me), saying that it didn't work in his machine. Could we please watch it at my house?

Lights off, movie popped in, we're sitting on the couch - about 2 feet apart. We're watching the second Harry Potter movie, and just about the time Dobby shows up (you know - not very far into the movie and not at all sexy), I get up to use the bathroom.

Minutes later, I return to the living room and he's lying on my couch butt-naked! (Proud of myself) I don't even stutter when I ask what's up, he says it's hot. True enough - it was summer, about 90 degrees, and no air conditioning. He looks at me, looks at his crotch, looks at me, and says, "I bet you've never seen one this big before, have you?" I smirk and tell him that indeed, I have seen bigger. He says he's tired, where's the bedroom? I say I'm pretty sure it's out the door and across the walkway. He stands, pulls on his shorts, and slinks out my door.

REALLY?!?! Does that actually work for men ever? I'm not complaining, of course; the BPB story has gotten lots of mileage over the years. But, really? He must have thought it would work, right? Which makes me think that it has worked for someone before.

I hear it's possible to find true love on public transit

Want proof that I've been attracting freaks for ages? Let's travel back in time to college days -- more than a decade ago.

I was home for the summer, taking public transit to the mall for work. One day as the train neared my stop, a guy about my age approached. He was attractive and bold - I gave him my number as soon as he asked for it then jumped off the train, knowing he'd call that evening.

He did, and we made plans to meet up the next day. He suggested that we rendezvous outside a relatively popular downtown store. When I arrived at the appointed time, Dante was nowhere to be seen. Irritated (but certainly not devastated) that I'd been stood up, I caught the bus back home. Almost immediately after walking into the house, the phone rang. Dante wanted to know where I'd been - he'd been outside the store waiting for me; why would I stand him up? Umm... what?!? After a bit of confusion, we realized that I'd been at one location of the store and he'd been at the other.

Surely we could try again and get it right this time? Plan #2 was to meet on the top floor of the mall where I worked, in the food court and just outside the movie theater. We couldn't possibly miss each other this time, could we? We could. We did. He wasn't there. (Remember that this is pre-cell phones, so unlike today when I might text someone to say "where are you," we didn't have a mechanism for finding each other except to be at the appointed place at the appointed time.) So, I went home. And, again, the phone was ringing just moments after I walked into the house. Again, he couldn't find me - where had I been?

Now, I'm no fool. I realized that this was RIDICULOUS. And I told Dante as much. In fact, I told him that I just didn't care enough about someone I'd just met to continue to playing this stupid game. I wasn't having fun, and I was done. He begged for a third chance, arguing that "the third time's the charm." So non-fool that I am, I agreed to allow him to put in some effort to meet me, but I refused to put forth any of my own effort. It just so happened that there was a bench in the mall right outside my store. I told him what time I got off work the next day and told him that if he was sitting on that bench at that time, I'd be willing to see him. Otherwise, he could forget about it.

Guess who wasn't sitting on the bench the next day?

But guess what was ringing within minutes of me arriving at home? Bet you can't guess who was calling...

Mmmhmmm. Dante. But this time, he didn't pretend that he'd been there. Nope. This time he wanted to confess something...

The day I met him on the train, he'd been on his way to the police station. He was turning himself in to complete his sentence (something about "a couple of kilos - no big deal"). He'd been calling a friend collect and having that friend use 3-way calling to get me on the phone. THE WHOLE TIME. He wanted to see me, and he wanted to be able to meet up with me; he simply couldn't do it the traditional way. Could I maybe visit him at the jail instead?

Sigh.

I didn't go. But I confess that I did give him my address so we could correspond. He wrote me the craziest letters about how women were like popsicles. He'd tried a lot of flavors but finally found the one he liked best. I'd met him for 5 minutes. I never responded to his letters. He continued to write for at least a year. When he got out, he tried to call - over and over and over again. He finally stopped when a friend of mine made some kind of threatening "don't ever call my friend again" call to him.

Flypaper for Freaks. That's me, folks.

I might be long-winded, but I don't go overboard

Writing a personals ad is tricky business. I mean, let's face it - you're trying to offer an image of yourself that will make people want to get to know you better. It's a resume for dating. I have a pretty good work resume; it's relatively easy to talk about my professional successes. But personal ones? Well... that's a little trickier.

For this experiment, rule #1 says I must be honest when writing my ad. So I will not lie. And I will do my best to be true to myself. But I still don't really know how to write an ad. What should I say? Should I include a photo? Is there such a thing as oversharing? And if I don't share enough, does that mean I've lied? Is there a standard format for a dating resume? Should my ad look just like everyone else's? Should I be short and sweet? Or long and caustic? I'm beginning to see that this is HARD WORK!

I've spent a little bit of time looking at other ads on Craigslist, just to see what's out there. I've also scoured the internet for other examples. Here's what I know (in addition to following my rules):

• I will spell everything correctly
• I will use proper grammar
• I will not sound whiny or complain about the fact that all the men are pigs or say that this is my first time posting an ad (because even though it is, I don't believe a single person who writes that in their ad)
• I will not include a photo (but if someone requests one, I'll pass it along)

And MOST IMPORTANTLY, I will not write a book outlining the perfect man. He doesn't exist. And I am not looking for him. I will most certainly not get caught up in the drama that this man did when he wrote his ad. And if this process ever does get me to the point of being that crazy, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE make me stop. Immediately.

Let the Games Begin

Several years ago, my place in the world crystallized for me. I'd walked into a novelty/gift store with a friend and found a display of postcards from Co-Edikit. One of them called out to me:


I'm not kidding. It was like angels singing from on high. This was absolutely what was wrong with me! I was the embodiment of flypaper for freaks. I bought the postcard, placed it in the corner of my mirror, read it every day with a knowing smile on my face, and continued to experience the phenomenon that is being flypaper for freaks. No joke.

(Note that this particular postcard - the one that has followed me across the country and back, even as I've rid myself of belongings with each move - is no longer available. It appears a t-shirt and a magnetic notepad are the only items deemed worthy of sale any longer. And they don't even have the same character on them!)

In any case, this freak magnet thing I have going on works with all people, but it's really only the men I'm concerned about here. Yup. I attract some of the freakiest men on the planet. At least, I used to. And then I started finding ways to avoid attracting men altogether. On purpose. I was so tired of the freaks that none seemed better than the clear option. Well, it was that and the fact that I couldn't seem to make myself stop vacillating between two decidedly not freaky (but certainly not perfect) men. It slowed down but didn't stop; the freaks have always found me.

And, ssssshhh -- don't tell anyone, but I think I kind of like it. The stories I can tell about these men are AMAZING! Seriously. The thing is, it's slowed down enough that I'm getting a little bored. I recycled all the stories over and over. I need some new material.

Thus, the birth of the Grand Experiment. And I'm inviting you along for the ride. Come join me - I promise it'll be fun ... and all you have to do is sit back, relax, and enjoy. I get stuck doing all the work!

The Goal: Gain new material for my stash of freak stories
The Methodology: Post a personals ad on Craigslist, following a few simple rules
The Hypothesis: Freaks are out there, and they're ready to pounce ... I just need to offer "permission" again.

Wondering about the simple rules? I have 4:
1) Any ad I post must be honest, a true-to-myself description. In fact, it should be an ad that I would post if I was actually trying to meet a man I'd like to date, develop a relationship with, and eventually marry. That is, it should be a serious ad. No lies. No fibs. No truth-stretching.
2) I must respond to any man who answers my ad.
3) I must continue to respond. In the e-mail stage, I must be the last person to send an e-mail - I must leave no man hanging.
4) When (if?) they ask to meet, I must say yes. In a public place. Far away from my home. And telling someone where I am and who I believe I will be with at all times. Safety first, sure. But I must say yes. (This is sort of like the rule my parents gave us before we went to our first 8th grade dance - "you must say yes when a boy asks you to dance. No exceptions." Additionally, if it seems that the online communication is dragging on and on, I must make the "ask" myself.

Of course, I'm thinking you may need some proof that I have a long history of being flypaper for freaks. So, we'll warm up with a few of the "oldies but goodies." Come along, join the fun, invite your friends.