In all sober truth, I am actually not an impatient man.
All I ask is that you not waste my time. I understand that life happens and circumstances decree needs must, but dude. If I, out of the generosity of my heart, have given you a couple of chances already, you should know not to fuck it up.
I’m just saying.
If you, in fact, are an adult, you will, in fact, reply to my messages in a timely manner. If you have enough time to update your goddamn Facebook status–and it isn’t “help, I’m trapped under a rock like that guy in 127 Hours“–then you have enough time to reply with even just a courtesy acknowledgment. I mean, if in fact you are an adult.
Which, clearly, you are not.
Also, if you’re that other guy who also is not an adult, you can just go fuck yourself, because I won’t be doing it–as obviously it would be physically impossible because your head is in the way, asshat.
What is it with people who just want to waste my time?
Yes, I am (and have been) going along with own bad self, making my own plans. But dude, a) don’t woo without follow-through, and b) don’t contact me all out of the blue to drop everything for your ass, because damn, you actually aren’t anywhere near that amazing. Seriously.
Oh, and really cute chick who was all Ms Interested and then when I replied with some charm, and demonstrated that I actually read your profile and found you interesting: radio silence is not the answer. At least, it’s not the kind of answer you yourself would appreciate… so you, too, fail on the adulthood front.
Speaking of adulthood, and therefore (hopefully) maturity and a sense of what’s appropriate, hey, skeevy oversharing random poly chick who instant-messaged me out of the blue to tell me all about her lovers, including her favorite Latino lover (and pretty much implying that she’d like me to audition for the role)–what the fuck? Really? At least you didn’t really waste my time, I guess, since you made it pretty clear what you wanted (some hot brown sexiness, coming right up!), and took “no” fairly gracefully. Actually, now that I consider it (and do a contrast and compare), Ms TMI-and-skeevy-hot-brown-love-wanting, you get points for most adulthood demonstrated.
Sad friggin’ curve, no?
And that, my friends, pretty much means that I’m at the end of my patience.