OKCupid was proving to
be a tough crowd. I had sent countless
messages to countless broads and a reply was not in sight. Until Fatcat. Fatcat
broke all our profile rules, but since she had reached out to me, I figured she
at least had to have a sense of humor and since Y’A was busy with the Goosey
situation, I figured I could do my part to support The OKCupid Chronicles. Fatcat was a nice person. No two ways about
it. We messaged for about 6 weeks before setting a date, but I’m getting ahead
of myself.
My interaction with
Fatcat was like messaging a lady from the Victorian era. There was the overwhelming feeling that
someone was in the room chaperoning us as we courted. Her messages were UPBEAT
and full of POSITIVE energy and lots of !!!!!!!!! Anyone can tell you I’m a pretty dark
motherfucker. For 6 weeks we wished each
other a WONDERFUL MONDAY, a HAPPY THURSDAY, a TERRIFIC WEEKEND. The most
substantive conversation we had was about hair. Yea, hair. From day one, she told me she was going to
get a haircut. Nothing planned for the weekend, just gonna get a haircut. This
alleged haircut went on for weeks. As in, every weekend she was sure to tell me
she had no plans, except to get a haircut.
Allow me to pull out my soapbox and expound. Lesbianism, when not directly
affected by the ‘genderfluidgenderfuckgenderqueer crowd’ is a messy and
confusing situation mired in the question ‘who the fuck initiates the date?’
There are those who practice strict gender roles, merely imitating
heteronormative society. Then there’s the rest of us. Just regular women,
completely unsure of who is supposed to initiate date contact. What I didn’t understand about this new world
of internet dating is that emailing could quite possibly go on FOREVER if
someone didn’t make a move. So I invited Fatcat on a date, hair and all.
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