Encounters: Messages from Match

"But why must all the men be creepy?" Image via Mike Licht, NotionsCapital.com/FLICKR

Full disclosure: I’m not finding OKCupid very useful these days.

While I did go on a string of dates with a great guy, my main reason for using the website—the inappropriate and often grammatically embarrassing messages that make my creep-tastic “Biddie Encounters” worth reading—have stopped.

Which makes me wonder—what did I do to stop attracting these creepers?

But alas, it’s not what I did, it’s how I’m doing it! I’m on the wrong site—the douchey dudes of internet dating have shifted over to Match.com.

I’m obviously missing the poetry and the ellipses. Luckily some awesome biddies started “Messages from Match,” a Tumblr dedicated to publishing those grossly misspelled, completely terrible attempts at first contact that only come with online dating.

Here are some of my personal favorites:

The only time a dude ever began a relationship in the doghouse. “RUFF, RUFF, WOFF, WOFF and HOWL, to you! Yes, I am acting like a animal. that’s because you bring out the Wolf in me! Don’t get too close Sweety, Because I have a Sweet Tooth, for you. Of Course I Bite. i am like lightning you never know when or where I will strike. Sometime I can and do strike more then once in the same place.”

If you give a creep a cookie… he might molest you. “If I could turn back time…I’d meet you when we were both kids. During lunch..I’d walk up to you in the playground and offer you my cookie. And it won’t be half the cookie…I’d give you the entire thing. Then I’d whisper in your ear “when you’re all grown up…..and turned into a beautiful woman…I’ll be waiting in this playground. Waiting for you to show up………………….with a glass of milk in my hand. So u betta not eat that cookie girl!!!”

And my personal favorite because I once received the exact same message on OKCupid:

Do I get your balls on a platter, too? “Overview of your profile, I wanted to let you know that I have decided to marry and divorce you inside my mind. Sincerely, Your imaginary ex-hubby.  P.S. I get to keep our beach house in Florida and the leftover pie. You get to keep the overweight cat.”

Read more on Messages From Match.

Biddie Encounters: The Fist Pumpin’ Giant, Part II

Earlier this week we posted the first of what we hope will be many reader-submitted Biddie Encounters. To catch up on the first half of this story, click here.

Thanks to Elle Russo, the biddie brave enough to bare her soul — and some other things — for our readers.

*

Grabbing his hand, I brought him into my room, making some kind of excuse about the air conditioning working a lot better in there. I sat on my bed and gave him a quick tour of his surroundings, but before I could get out the name of my sorority he went in for a kill. A forced kiss never starts out well, since you two end up slamming up against each other before taking a minute to pull back and try to get into rhythm. He wasn’t a terrible kisser, but definitely like a typical guy. Too forceful, a bit sloppy, and searching for treasures in my mouth with his tongue.

I leaned back onto the bed and his hand quickly slid up my leg as he collapsed onto his side, trying not to break the kiss. I pulled my dress up and before it hit the floor I turned around and he was completely naked. I was a bit startled and tried not to giggle at his eagerness. I turned my desk lamp off and started to explore his body with my hands in the dark. I kept my hands above his waist while he tried to unhook my bra clasp. When he was finally successful, I pulled my bra off my shoulders and threw it on the floor. I climbed on top of him, let my breasts only skim his chest and teasing him with soft kisses on his neck and ear.

He moved his hands to my panties and tried to tug them off but couldn’t with me on top. I slid down his chest until his penis was right in front of my face. Massaging his thighs and lower stomach, the only thing I did was simply breathe on him and I thought he was going to blow right there. While letting my hands trace the folds of his skin around his penis, I shimmied out of my panties and then moved back up so we would be face to face. Some more light kisses on his neck and I quietly whispered, “do you have a condom?”

His hands dropped. “Um…no. Do you?”

“No.”

He looked at me with that “it won’t really matter” face that boys get when they’re about 10 minutes away from blue balls, but I unmounted myself from him and laid back down, letting out a heavy sigh.

“We can still do things,” he said. But after I laid back down I realized I had a headache from the alcohol and my room was started to spin a bit.

He tried to edge closer to me as he started to kiss my neck. His one hand slid down my neck to my breast, down my stomach and to my thigh. He gave my thigh a tight squeeze and then explored between my legs.

What went from something somewhat sensual turned into a poking game. He kept poking me with his finger, starting at my clit and moving down. I’m not sure what was suppose to happen but since the room was really spinning now I started to fake some heavy breathing and moaning. In about three minutes he got tired of of being the Giant Woody the Woodpecker and his head fell on my shoulder.

He started snoring.

Now that I was feeling pain in more places than my head, I tried to gently pull the comforter from under me so I could at least get some rest. As soon as I moved, he shot up, started kissing me, went back to the vigorous poking and fell to sleep again. My only choice was to sleep on top of my bed.

The next morning I woke up to find him laying next to me, while the sunlight streaming through the window really showing every part of his body that I doubt I ever needed to see. I dramatically shot up and yawned, waking him up from his poking slumber.

A few mumbled words later, he was finally dressed and heading out the door, with promises of phone calls and another night out. I said I would love to. I lied.

—

Four months later I was at my office, flipping through Facebook photos of myself as I tried to find a new professional headshot to use for a company website.

“Hey, nice drunk shot there,” my coworker Aaron laughed, pointing at a thumbnail on a screen.

It was me in a black dress from almost a year ago, dancing at Seven. I was clearly wasted and was fist pumping right in front of the band.

“Oh. My. God. HIDEOUS!” I said, as I flipped through a few more.

And there it was. Drunk me with Drunk Giant. Dancing at Seven about 6 months before our hook-up disaster. He was clutching a beer and singing to me, while I was smiling at the camera with a “hey, look at this stupid guy,” look.

I saved the picture and immediately had to email it to everyone who knew the story about Giant.

To: Friend 1, Friend 2, Friend 3
Subject: HAPPY MONDAY
Body: YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.
[IMAGE]
HAHAHAHA

My co-worker, clearly confused, asked me what it was about.

“Oh, nothing,” I said, trying to brush it off. “Just a strange encounter with a strange man. A very tall, strange man.”