I’m sitting here watching the sunset feeling all romantical, internet, so I figured I’d revisit my favorite website, Craigslist, and scan the personals for a real man.
That’s right folks. Hold on to your pants, it’s Psychopath Saturday.
Once again, these are actual, live, unedited Craigslist posts (well, the last one was heavily edited for… tact. But the content is still the same.)
Wait, I take it back. I love it when someone’s too big of a… choice word to break up with his partner like a real adult, and wants to drag two other souls into his personal problems. You’re so right, 35. Sometimes it hard.
You know what’ll make it better?
Dragging this situation on for a few more years.
Count me SO in.
I know, internet. I totally left you hanging right when we were getting to the juicy part.
I don’t understand how Cassandra could possibly be a Stage Five Clinger, you probably asked yourself repeatedly over the last two days. She seems like such a normal, well adjusted, fashionable, sanitary person.
Well, you would be right, internet, and I’m modest, too. However, this is the story of how I was a Stage Five Clinger, and it’s still one of the most mortifying circumstances I’ve ever been in, so you’ll excuse me for beating around the bush.
So anyways, I had this insane crush on Cupcake, who was a year older than I was (I was 15, he was 16). We were on the same crew team (he was varsity, I was a wee novice), and I used to chat about him with my friend, Hillary Duff, using extremely clever nicknames that there was no way he would ever possibly figure out.
…of course he did. You saw that one coming, didn’t you? He totally knew. Everyone knew, apparently, and I, using my keen powers of observation, was completely oblivious to the fact that everyone totally knew about my giant crush FOR MONTHS.
Sigh. High school.
Anyways, one day after practice, Hillary Duff and I are in the parking lot talking about Cupcake, and Cupcake waltzes over and says, “Um, I know you’re talking about me.”
So of course I did Something Very Smooth.
Aka I ran for it.
I am an embarrassment.
Luckily enough, Cupcake found my complete lack of social skills endearing, and he asked me out on a date.
Now, I mentioned before that I was a dating dummy. What I should stress now is that I was a moron, actually, because somewhere in my mind I’d managed to get the idea that going on a date with someone automatically make them your boyfriend.
No, I’m not making this up. Going on a date with someone makes them your boyfriend. I was (okay, am) socially inept. However, you have to admit it would make things much easier. No “are we monogamous?” conversations. No awkward “how do I introduce this person with using the B word?”. No dating for 2 years without changing your Facebook status. One date = boyfriend. Boom.
So we went on a date. My dad dropped me off at a local park and we went Geocaching. Never found the thing, but had a lovely afternoon. My dad picked me up. No kiss. No hug. No handholding. Not so much as a pat on the back.
I went right home and changed my Myspace status, because this was 2005 and Facebook wasn’t even a thing yet.
Oh yeah, you’re thinking, this chick is crazy. I bet she had a totally pimped out Myspace page.
Yes, internet, I did.
And I’m not ashamed.
Yet I digress.
The very next day, Cupcake left on a week-long school trip to England.
By the time he had returned, everyone in high school thought we we dating.
Because I told pretty much everyone.
Because I’m a psychopath.
Now here comes the fun twist, internet.
Cupcake had made out with someone else on his trip.
Now, in his defense, he knew that we weren’t actually dating, and since he’d been overseas, he didn’t know that I thought we we dating. I, however, thought he’d cheated on me.
I took to AIM the night I found out about Cupcake’s infidelity. I don’t have a transcription, but I’ll do my best.
me: how cud u?
him: ??? 😦
me: u cheated on me??!!
me: IT’S OVER!!
him: uh… okay?
Cue tears. Drama. Hysteria.
It wasn’t until almost SIX MONTHS LATER that I figured out that Cupcake and I had never ACTUALLY been a couple. And that everyone at school had secretly been laughing at me about the entire affair. And then of course I was so mortified that I couldn’t talk to the guy for three years after that.
…I’m really, REALLY oblivious.
Welcome back to Psychopath Saturday here on hnwcassandra!
Today’s topic – dating sites.
Are you looking for love? Are you a little odd?
Okay, are you clinically insane?
These three sites may be for you!
1. Darwin Dating.
Are you kind of an asshole? Are you a massive egotist? How many hours, on average, do you spend obsessing over your personal appearance? Most of them?
If you’re like our friends over at Darwin Dating, you too can hone your search for love by using only the shallowest of criteria. According to their website, “Attractive people are at a disadvantage on normal internet dating sites. They have to wade through a plethora of ugly people and ugly people pretending to be attractive in order to find someone who matches their own attractiveness.”
That’s why ugly people are banned from using their site. How do you know if you’re too ugly to join? Because you get rated by their members.
They also have an extensive list of “ugly” qualities, including red hair, acne, and fat rolls.
Meet-An-Inmate.com caters to those who like to live on the wild side. They recognize that certain women have a predilection for bad boys.
Some of these inmates have extremely creative profiles.
Take Casey’s, for example.
At nights, I’ll look out my cell window and sometimes an owl appears. At times, he will look up at me and I can see his striking eyes. Especially when it’s a full moon night. His eyes are like shiny diamonds, kind of like the eyes of a cat. Some nights it looks as if he has steam on his brow, I wonder what it would be like to be that own, to actually see what he sees, to be free, or even be able to talk to that owl. Sometimes he will give me that stare, like he wants to say you’ve came looking for trouble and here it is. As I sit here pondering the quandary I’m in. Friendships have come and gone. My desire to build strong relationships and good friendships.
That’s beautiful, Casey.
Very strange, but beautiful.
The website does have a disclaimer, saying, “by using this service, you agree to not hold us responsible for any costs, liabilities, attorney’s fee or damages that you may incur”.
Y’know, from becoming romantically involved with a convicted felon.
3. Can Do Better.
Can Do Better is the site for people who are already in relationships, but are either very insecure or are looking to move on and are unwilling to leave without another option in the bag.
It’s a site where you can put up pictures of you and your partner and people vote on whether or not you can do better. And then you can pick someone else from the Can Do Better pile.
I can’t even.
IT’S THE TRIUMPHANT RETURN OF PSYCHOPATH SATURDAY!!
Yeah, I know it’s a Sunday. Deal with it.
It’s getting into outside reading weather, so I went on Amazon and found some books that I thought I might enjoy taking out to the pool… were I a psychopath. Although the jury’s out on that account.
It’s a book of numbers. Literally. Just pages and pages of random numbers. That’s pretty much it. Which, I imagine, would be thrilling reading for someone like Jack Torrence of All Work and No Play Makes Jack a DULL BOY fame.
Why on God’s Green Earth anyone would want this is beyond me. I imagine there is some sort of math-y application for it, but that doesn’t explain why there’s a) SO MANY NUMBERS and b) A SEQUEL. Who needs a million digits and is too uncreative to think of their own??
This is the perfect gift for anyone with fortonophobia. Just think of all the naval hazards you too can learn to avoid. Although to be honest, the disadvantage for any huge ship trying to sneak up on the unsuspecting passerby is, I don’t know, the fact they they are HUGE and SLOW and DON’T GO ON THE LAND.
As a hungry, schizoaffective Jewish woman, I’m often faced with the troubling question of which of the imaginary animals that haunt my dreams can be consumed in a way that is reflective of my faith. With this guide, I no longer have to worry about how to purify a manticore before roasting it for Passover!
So I really didn’t want to finish cleaning my room today, internet, but these guys showed up to offer me moral support.
So here’s the thrilling conclusion to Weird Things I Found In My Room aka I might be a psychopath.
1. Pages and Pages of Whatever This Is.
Seriously. 16 pages of meticulously gridded Scrabble style animal species. This is crazily precise and super bizarre. I must have been reallyyyyy bored in a math class or something. Why animals, though? Just because? I don’t know.
2. An Astrolabe.
Okay so I have an astrolabe because I took an ancient astronomy course once, but that doesn’t explain why I STILL have an astrolabe. It’s not remotely accurate for the area I now live in.
“Hey, wanna come over and check out my astrolabe?” is a terrible pickup line, so that’s not it either (Reason #6 why I’m still single- I’m terrible with pickup lines and have astrolabes lying around like it ain’t no thang).
Plus, the Stars app on my iPhone is a thing. I DO NOT NEED THIS ANYMORE.
3. A Plastic Wineglass Full of Rocks.
Owls everywhere. Owls out the wazoo. Owls from A to Z. This piddly sample doesn’t even put a dent in the amount of owl paraphernalia that I own. It’s absurd. It’s like a pokémon collection. There’s a character in John Green’s book Paper Towns whose parents own the worlds largest collection of black santas. That’s going to be me in 20 years with owls. I’m going to be the weird owl hoarder with owl astrolabes and owl posters and pages and pages of “owl” just written over and over.
Oh my god. I’m a psychopath.
Okay internet. I’ve been giving psychopaths a lot of slack for having weird things and whatnot. However, recently I’ve decided that I’ve been being a little hypocritical. So I decided to turn the tables on myself and see what weird things I’ve got, while in the process of cleaning my room.
I’m killing two birds with one stone. If I was a real psychopath, I might try to actually do that. But I’m not. It’s a metaphor.
Let’s see what we’re starting off with.
Okay. Not a great start, but not quite a hoarder yet. Take note that you can, in fact, see floor. Let’s see what else we’ve got.
1. Wine Bottle Flowers
Alright. What is this? A wine bottle with fake black flowers in it and a fake rose glued to the front. That’s normal, right? People have flowers in their rooms all the time. This is decoration. Whatever. Moving on.
2. An Absurd Amount of Ties
Wow I have of ties. Where the heck did get these from? Why do I have them? I don’t even wear ties. I’ve never dated anyone who wore ties on a regular basis. Certainly not this many. I’m just going to assume I bought them for a project or something. That sounds right.
3. A Lot of Pictures of This Guy
I don’t even know who this is. Who is this? Why do I have four pictures of him?
4. All This Stuff
…I think I’m done for today.
Guess what internet. It’s the long anticipated sequel to Psychopath Saturday. The first Psychopath Saturday was actually on a Sunday, but this is my blog and I do what I want.
These are actual, live, unedited Craigslist posts. They are all from places far away from me. Partially because I was too scared to look at the personal ads for my own area, but mostly because if any of these people read this, I don’t want them to be able to hunt me down.
Yes. YES. Starting off with a strong contender here. The creative spelling, the fact that they used the word “friend” three times, the inclusive of a phone number (!!!). This person is clearly a bold, entrepreneurial genius. He’s a rebel. He learned spelling and grammar (maybe?) and thought to himself No. I shall make my own way in life. The inclusive of a phone number speaks to a dangerous streak. This guy doesn’t play by the rules. He makes the rules.
This guy knows what he’s looking for. Cool people with embarrassing stories. Is that you? Probably not. But maybe. Try emailing him. He’ll write back. Or he won’t. He cares. Ish.
You know what women go crazy for? A man who plays hard to get. Someone who reminds them of their super cool high school boyfriend who, like, was so above caring, y’know? This person is cool and he knows it. He doesn’t even have to convince you. He already hooked you by the promise that he might write back. Or not. Whatever.
I believe children should be raised by both parents, so if you think the father should
not be around, please do not respond. I am in this for the long run.
If interested, put “Family Time” in the subject line to avoid spam, or you will be deleted.
Thanks, and may God bless you.
This guy ain’t afraid to go for the jugular. He wants kids, and what he needs is a working womb. No personality required. Baby maker? That’s the endearment I want to be referred to by my man. He doesn’t even mention marriage. It’s the 21st century.
Marriage is so passé.
What do you think, internet? If you had to pick from one of these fine gentlemen which one would you go for?