The Over-Educated Nympho

I gave Wine Guy my number on Monday evening. Ran into him again Thursday evening. As of now, Saturday afternoon, I have not received a phone call, text message, or email.

Fine. I’m calling it. Time of death, 1:31 p.m. today, Saturday, November 7th, 2009.

Why didn’t he call me? Well, obviously it’s because he died. In the last day and a half. Obviously.

The rejected (or “passive-aggressively dismissed” is probably more accurate) tell ourselves all kinds of lies for the sake of protecting our egos. I’ve done it plenty of times. Shit, I’m still doing it now, and I’ve been chasing boys since I my first day of kindergarten.

What are the lies we tell ourselves and our friends for when someone doesn’t call? What are the excuses we might hear later for why he didn’t call like he said (or implied) he would? Are there ugly truths that may be a blessing in disguise? And most importantly, why are we fooled over and over again?

Some of the excuses below may be plausible, while others are just absurd–and yet I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve said some of these myself over the years. Don’t judge me. I’m stupid when I’m horny. Or awake.

1. He died. In a terrible plane crash/heart attack (so fucking WHAT if he’s only 24)/65 mph hit to the head from a flying Wii controller/zombie attack/brutal flogging by Ancient Romans/dance-off. IT COULD HAPPEN.
2. He turned gay. Yes, in the five days since you met.
3. He’s been really busy at work. So busy he can’t take twenty seconds to text and acknowledge your existence.
4. He lives with his parents. Or in the back of his car.
5. He lives with his parents because he’s twelve years younger than you are.
6. Your overwhelming hotness has left him with third-degree burns on his face and hands, thus rendering it impossible for him to call/text/email.
7. He’s not really single. This one actually happens. Hell, it’s happened to me. Consider this one a free pass saving you from some irate wife spray-painting BITCH WHORE on your car.
8. He’s a virgin, and doesn’t really want his first at-bat to be in a major-league game.
9. He’s a virgin and he thinks you’re a sly (albeit sexy) version of Satan.
10. His mother made him promise before she died that he wouldn’t date women like you, whether it be assertive, vegan, Republican, freckled, or a GMC-driver instead of Chevrolet. If his mother is successfully ruling from the grave, it’s in your best interest to run far far away.
11. He Googled you and didn’t like what he found. Be careful what you post on Facebook or a blog under your full name, especially since it makes it that much easier to cyber-stalk someone.
12. He takes that scene from the movie Swingers to heart and waits six days to call. [Movie clip here, start at 7:00] Note to male readers: are you going to listen to me or some so money douchebag in a movie? Which of us is more likely to get you laid? Yeah. Don’t wait a week, let alone a month. Call in one to three days.
13. Not only is he gay, but one of his friends dared him to try to act straight for a day to see if he could get a girl’s number.
14. He went out of town and forgot to tell you. This isn’t a good excuse in a tech-savvy age where even villages in Indonesia have internet. My own brother has called from Papua New Guinea and text-messaged me from Bangladesh. It may have been at five in the morning, but the phone still fucking worked.
15. Has crotch rot. Doesn’t have money to take you out on a date because he spent it on copays for his herpes.
16. He’s a flirt. One of those people who flirts with everyone because he likes the attention from knowing girls are eating it up. Probably has at least one or two girlfriends at the moment.
17. Lost your phone number. Considering that most numbers these days are entered directly into a cell phone and not a piece of paper or a forearm (haven’t had to do that since 2003) and it’s so easy to look up people on Facebook, the likelihood of this happening is minimal. It’s more likely that his current girlfriend found your number recently added to his phone and deleted it.
18. Has ass rot so bad that he has set up camp in the bathroom for the last week–in which case he would still have access to a cell phone if not a laptop.
19. This one applies to the bar/party scene: he was so drunk when he got your number that he has no idea who/what “hot gir w vodka ton” is in his cell phone and is too embarrassed to admit as much. Although it may show up on textsfromlastnight.com.
20. Broke his penis. Wasn’t anticipating that you would find this out because one of your closest girl friends is doing her residency in urology at the hospital where he showed up crying with a Snuggie over his crotch.

So what if some of the excuses above are actually true? A guy friend has told me stories of how much he lusted after a girl in college who finally hit on him, and he froze up because he didn’t expect her to actually be interested in him. Fine, that happens. Another possibility is that he’s afraid of rejection. Perfectly valid.

HOWEVER. That doesn’t keep him from being a pansy you shouldn’t waste your time with. If he wants you, he’ll find his balls, man up, and do what it takes to get you. It’s that simple. [Go ahead–you have my blessing to use my own words against me in the future.]

To any readers who have been given signs that a girl liked him back–seriously. MAN UP. Is it really worth saving yourself the rejection on the not-so-unlikely chance that she will say yes? What about all the wonderful things that could have happened if only you had asked? Dates. Talking. Sexual tension. PUSSY. Sweet, awesome elixir of femininity–PUSSSSSY. THINK OF THE PUSSY YOU’RE MISSING.

Ahem. –straightens shirt– Excuse me. That point hit a nerve with me, as you might have noticed. Guys being pansies is an issue I have encountered way too many times for my liking. Which is all the more reason that guys of this kind should listen to me. THINK OF THE PUSSY YOU’RE MISSING. And love and snuggles and all that schmoopie stuff too.

Now it’s time for the truth, the one excuse that doesn’t show on the above list because it’s so hard to admit to ourselves: he wasn’t into me.

Oh. Damn.

If a guy didn’t call me, it’s because he didn’t want to call. More on that whole “he’s just not that into me” thing later. But for now, I am not going to lie to myself and say that Wine Guy was intimidated by my three degrees or the age difference or that he doesn’t like tall brunettes who refuse to drink chardonnay. I am going to tell myself the truth, how ever much it hurts my ego to do so. He’s not interested. I shouldn’t waste my time fretting over why–at least not once this post is done; I like to use my anger for instructional and/or motivational purposes, after all. LEARN FROM MY DUMB ASS. Don’t repeat my mistakes.

I’m not pissed. I’m not sad. Oh noooo I am definitely not sad. I’m fucking stabby. My violent tendencies toward dumbfucks is part of the reason both my dogs are female. I’m pretty sure if I saw a testicle anywhere near me today, I’d be doing all sorts of unlady-like things that would surely send them into hiding back inside his body.

And I don’t want to be like that. Really I don’t. I love dick. I love guys. Most of the time. I just don’t like guys who can’t man up enough to say “Hey, I know you gave me your phone number and everything, but I’m not really interested.”

Cool. I’m mature enough and have been pissed off enough times by the game-playing that hearing the truth from someone, how ever much I don’t want to hear it, is welcome. Just don’t be a vague pansy who hides and quietly waits for me to lose interest on my own.

If a guy likes you, he won’t wait a week to call. When The Marine and I exchanged phone numbers, he called the next afternoon, even though all he said was “Hey I’m the guy from the bar last night. I can’t really talk now because I’m at work, but I just wanted to say hi and I’ll call you for real tomorrow night.” It was the perfect way to go about it. When did he call back? The next night, just like he said he would.

After Tex and I talked for the first time, he started text-messaging me mere hours after we exchanged phone numbers. And this was when the entire city was going ape-shit over an approaching hurricane. Even though we both spent the next two days preparing for the hurricane, we were not too busy to text and call each other. Even when a huge tree fell through the roof of Tex’s parents’ house, he took the twenty seconds to send me a text about it while helping his father move furniture to a different room. That’s how it should be: FUCK THE TREE IN THE GUEST BEDROOM, HE STILL TEXTED ME.

Most recently, Dominic started with an email asking if he could have my phone number. I gave it to him, and he texted me later that same day. That night, he called me so he could ask me out on a proper date.

THIS is how it’s supposed to be. Easy. No mindfuckery. There is none of this vague “maybe” or “sometime” crap. And most importantly, there is no waiting.

And yet, even though I know better, I still tell myself stupid lies when a guy doesn’t call.