The following is a cautionary tale based on actual events. Subject matter may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
I was out one night with a bunch of friends enjoying libations at a local watering hole, post break up and on the prowl. Just then entered a guy that appeared to be sent from the heavens, lets call him Terry. He was tall, good looking, in great shape, and was dressed to impress. When he came and sat our table I was in heaven. We hit it off immediately. We worked in similar fields. We had the same sense of humor. He opened doors, he bought me drinks. I was twitterpated.
**Fast forward 24 hours**
I used my super human internet stalking skills and tracked down his Facebook profile, I didn't have a last name so this proved harder than one would think. I sat in silence for at least 5 minutes staring in horror as his page loaded. Right there staring back at me was a picture of him in a sleeveless shirt, his neck adorned with dog tags, and a bandanna wrapped around both his wrist and head.
My name is Stina, and I was duped by a douche bag!
Stage One, Denial: "This cannot be happening to me, there must be some mistake. Maybe this is just a Halloween costume." I'm choking back tears and vomit. "Is this real life?"
His status updates included such gems as: "Eat, watch football, repeat" "I'm always the right tool for the job" and "Can't wait to get all jacked at the gym tonight." For the sake of my self worth, I should have closed the window and walked away. But I just had to know just how much of a tool Douchebag Terry really is.
Stage Two, Anger: "How could my friends allow me to do that? Why didn't someone warn me? I am clearly a victim of false advertising." I am hyperventilating at this point.
Upon further exploration I find out the following disturbing information: Douchebag Terry is a preachers son, he of course drives a big truck with over sized tires, he has a bible verse tattooed on his arm, he likes big guns and country music, he was in a fraternity, and most of all he is his biggest fan. 90% of his pictures are self portraits, my biggest pet peave.
Stage Three, Bargaining: I see no other option at this point and switch the browser to Monster.com and begin looking for jobs out of state. "Maybe if I move now, I can start over in a new town and no one will know that I liked a tool."
Unfortunately, the night before I was so proud of my find I paraded him around town like he was a new pair of Jimmy Choo's. Just then I received a text from a girlfriend. "Who WAS that dude you were with last night? He was super cute!" Busted.
Stage Four, Depression: I abandon the computer for a pint of ice cream and move to the couch. I turn on the TV and of course, Tool Academy is on. I picture Douchebag Terry in my head, pelvic thrusting in a banana hammock at my company Christmas Party. "I better turn in my 2 week notice to my boss tomorrow, just in case."
I starting running the events of the previous night through my head, repeatedly. I was definitely spotted out with him. He had a camera and definitely has pictures of us together on it. I definitely gave him my phone number. I definitely gave him my real name.
Stage Five, Acceptance: Maybe I'll look cute in Ed Hardy.
Now luckily for me, Douchebag Terry and I eventually became like best friends. He's a great guy, but obviously *not* my type. Just remember when you meet someone for the first time they're probably are on their best behavior and you're only seeing the tip of the iceberg. Google is your best friend for PRE-screening potential mates. Please heed my warning, or you too could end up liking a tool and who knows if you'll look as cute as me in Ed Hardy. Just sayin'.
