The following is written by media maven, Laura Mayer. It is a gripping tale of harrowing adventure at the battlefront of modern dating. Without brave forays into the unknown like this one, the human race might have to suffer needlessly at the hands of bad dating in the future. In that small way, Laura Mayer is an American Hero.
A few days ago a friend of mine tried to set me up on a blind date with his friend. I waved this process along (from the comfort of a wicker chair in a beer garden, a thorn atop a throne), telling my friend to ask Mr. Setup to send me an e-mail. This is what I received.
My name is Ron and I have all of my teeth. When I was nine I had too many teeth. My shark boy period was settled by a local anesthetic and what seemed like tongs. Though my memory hasn’t been backed up to an external hard drive yet I can recall living on shredded wheat for a number of weeks before getting my goofy, nine year-old smile back.
This coming Tuesday is my birthday. I’ll be cranky with a goofy, twenty-five year-old smile.
I’m an English instructor at a community college in ********. I love my friends dearly though I can go great lengths of time without speaking to them. I’ve been told they love me as well. I can’t stand ignorant people nor their over intellectual counterparts.
I’ve recently began working towards a bachelors in Industrial Engineering because I need the money. Christopher Hitchens makes sense to me but so does Cornell West. I love any creative endeavor worth its weight in merit. Never call me a film buff, artist or writer though these would reflect my behavior and hobby sets. I’ve accepted that I may be single for the rest of my life so there’s no pressure. I laughed out loud typing that last sentence. And that last one. But not that last one…
What Ben told you about me is probably a truthful fabrication, an honest fiction cobbled together from half remembered lies and blurry anecdotes. I imagine the fuzzy shape of an idea you may have about me. Its only gonna get fuzzier. I won’t guarantee anything. That would be presumptuous. No one knows the future. I give what I get. Chill begets chill begets chill.
Alright, I need my booty sleep. Zap me a response. Of course, you have the right to abort any future rendezvous as per your judgment.
Awkward close to an awkward e-mail.
PS. You’re really cute.
Surprised by his candor and awkwardness, I turned to my friend Matt Shore. A master of the written word and a connoisseur in matters of the heart, Matt provided this reply:
Out of deepest respect for you, I have decided to annotate my appraisal of this love letter of yours. Surely the owner could use some assistance when it comes to crafting an appropriately amorous first letter, and I will be happy to provide him with some criticism. Forward this in response, if it is to your liking.
1. Ron? Pussy name. Reminds me of that ginger-headed bitch from Harry Potter. Off to a bad start.
2. “…and I have all of my teeth.” Is this an opening joke, or the first example of what is sure to be a plethora of such half-mundane yet mildly troubling assertions about his character? I can’t tell if this is supposed to be funny (read: it’s not very funny either way) or not, but it severely creeps me out. I imagine this thought goes with the rest of his collection in those black-spotted CVS notepads that he keeps poorly stacked on his aging, rickety bookshelf amongst all of the jars full of fermenting animal parts.
3. “My shark boy period was settled by a local anesthetic and what seemed like tongs.” If this guy actually had a shark boy period, I would say date him. You could use an overly aggressive bad-boy (think a Taylor Lautner / Matt Shore type) in your life, but the incredibly poor phrasing of this sentence is again troubling. How can a period be “settled?” Bad diction and phrasing all around. I assume he was trying to be clever and actually meant anesthesiologist there, but just wanted to pack in some semi-gay passive voice punch. The use of the word “tongs” in the second sentence of a love letter is proof positive that this man uses an inflatable pump to become aroused.
4. “…external hard drive…goofy, nine year-old smile…” aka “Though I am currently an emotionless humanoid cyber-douche with no concept of human interaction or my own potential awkwardness, I was once a young lad of nine, equatable in your mind to Haley Joel Osmenth in The Sixth Sense.” Also, Shredded Wheat is delicious.
5. HOLY SHIT, THIS GUY TEACHES ENGLISH?! WTF, SHOULDN’T HE BE ABLE TO WRITE BETTER?! OH MY GAW- oh, Community College. Makes sense.
6. The next few sentences: “I love my friends dearly, and visit them often at the cemetery. Just kidding, they are alive but I only visit them once a year because my concept of the word ‘friendship’ is tenuous at best. Did I mention I am an English teacher? I have been told by local news outlets that they are still very much in love with me, as I assume you soon will be too. I hate both idiots and smart people. Where do you fit in?”
7. OMG: “I am currently sinking further and further into academic debt (because I need the money). These two things I have been considering presumably make as much sense to you as they do to me. I like any creative endeavor that is worth exactly one pound of flesh (read: human). Never describe me as who I am, what I am doing, or using the systematically prescribed nomenclature and diction of our time. I am indescribable and have been rejected by countless women. I find myself very humorous as a result, and whether or not I am currently stoned, I sure seem to pour over my own writing with the obsession over minutia like I am. You WILL find this charming.”
8. “What Ben told you about me is probably an honest lie, a fabricated yet truthful contradiction, a Rubiks Cube wrapped in a riddle, wrapped in a– WHOOPS. Dripped some of my hot pocket goo on the crotch of my jeans. It is hard to be so eloquent when I am spilling microwaved treats on my loins. Speaking of my loins, how are you? While you think of an answer, I will go procure some ice cubes for my burning crotch. My hope is that chill begets chill.”
9. Three awesomely terrible words to include in a love letter / initial greeting: Booty, Zap, Abort. Talk about classy. He knows women all right.
10. “I recognize that I am awkward and terrible now, but will make no concerted effort to change this email or evolve in any way. Consider this a small microcosm of the horror of our (soon-to-be!!) future relationship.”
11. P.S. I forget what I like to be called, so I gave us both a parenthetical option.
12. P.P.S. Sex?
I hope my dissection of this poor man’s mind has made it clear that you and he are absolutely perfect for one another. As the apex of all womanhood, you deserve someone who can really treat you well, and I think that you’ll find the accommodations in Ron(nie)’s trunk most spacious.
Please text me after the date to let me know you still have all your limbs.
Your friends sure know how to pick ’em?
So what do you viewers at home think? Do I hear wedding bells?