Another one bites the dust.

In high school and college I had a thing about dating athletes.

As in, I tried not to do it.

I was a cheerleader, so the idea of dating The Basketball Player or The Football Player, aside from them generally being players, was all a little bit too obnoxious and Teen Movie for me.

Now that I’ve hung up my cheerleading uniform and slipped into a Twitter handle, the same rule applies to dating guys that are heavily involved in social media.

As in, oops, yes I’ve done it, but I really try not to.

Not that I think I’m the Prom Queen of the SM World. I wasn’t even prom queen of the real world, but dating someone who follows you on Twitter or reads your blog can be problematic for any number of reasons. I don’t really count Facebook in this because everyone and their mother uses it and I have doubts as to whether anyone is actually paying attention to anything anyone writes but themselves.

But I digress.

I try not to date people who have a high probability of reading the things I write online for various reasons, but the biggest reason concerns what I’m about to do.

Which is, say less than awesome things about The Australian.

Before anyone gets their panties in a bunch, especially him if he happens to be reading, I still think he’s a nice guy, cute, still has the cute accent, etc. I’m slightly more impressed with him now that I’ve seen how much German he speaks, which is REALLY hard to do and kind of hot.

Unless.

<rant>

He’s speaking German to other Germans, not including you in the conversation or even bothering to introduce you or translate. THAT is not that hot.

It’s also not hot when he shows up 25 minutes late to meet you somewhere and then tells you to “relax” when you crack a joke about it, instead of cracking him over the head.

It’s REALLY not hot when he tells you to meet at his place around 9:30 before you go out for the night, doesn’t pick up his phone when you call him at 9:00 to tell him you’re on your way and that, yes you would like him to meet you at the train station because among other things you may or may not remember how to get to his apartment from the station, it’s DARK AND SCARY and he’s already warned you that going in the wrong direction might get you stabbed by ghetto-fab Neo-Nazis (I don’t get that either), that you don’t have a way to get into the building because, you know, you don’t live there, or when, by 10pm you finally manage to get to his apartment after getting lost in Stabby-ville by yourself without knowing how to say, ‘“NO, SCARY GERMAN MAN, PLEASE DON’T MURDER ME AND FEED MY REMAINS TO YOUR PIT BULLS” in German he’s all, “Oh, oops I was sleeping, I’ll be out in a second, relax.”

Relax.

Two things you should never say to me:

>> You look tired. Are you trying to get punched in the face? Everyone knows that’s code for, You look like shit, GOD DID YOU EVEN BRUSH YOUR HAIR THIS MORNING? The answer is always “no” and you’re a meanie.
>> Relax. This is one of the most condescending things to say to someone, especially someone who is relaxed or having fun or whatever and you’re just saying it to, I don’t know, be obnoxious and make me want to, ahem, punch you in the face.

And relax is most certainly not what you say to a person that has just braved -7 degrees to come hang out with you, decided to ignore about 25 reasons that they shouldn’t even give you the time of day, and has put her game face on for the sake of having fun.

So, after two consecutive nights of him throwing adjectives at me like, “stunning” and “gorgeous” (words that made me feel like he was referring to some other girl he knows, the kind who can wear white without getting dirt on it and doesn’t curse like a sailor), Night Three brought out The Jerk in The Australian.

I should say: I didn’t come to Germany for him. I barely know him (obviously). Yes, he was the catalyst. He made Hamburg sound so fun and so great, so I probably wouldn’t have popped in had it not been for him, but I came here, made my own friends, and have been pretty much able to rely on myself. I got my own hotel and found my own way. I should also say, I don’t want to date this guy. I’m about 90-10 on relationships, with the 90% being that I don’t want to be in one. But I’m 100% sure that I don’t want to date anyone that lives in a different country. So none of this probably matters.

However.

The stand-offish, passive-aggressiveness for no discernible reason (I’m pretty sure I didn’t like, pick my nose in front of him or anything) was pretty insulting. I called it a night early because I didn’t feel like going out until 7am, listening to him complain about the price of beer (um, then don’t drink any) and then sleeping through what turned out to be an awesome solo morning in Hamburg.

No, I didn’t and don’t want to date him. But, I did and do want a little respect. When your friends, who don’t know me, are infinitely nicer to me than you are, and by that I mean they’re talking to me and you’re not, we have a problem.

And now, as with The Boys of 2009, The First Boy of 2010 is kind of a dud. As I said in the beginning, I still think he’s a nice guy and I’m sure (maybe) I’ll keep in touch with him and blah blah blah. I don’t think this is indicative of where the year is going because I’m pretty committed to not even entertaining the idea of dating someone unless I’m wildly impressed and fascinated with them. Which, like, never happens. But those are the criteria. So, if there is a Boy #2 of 2010, I’ll be fairly certain before he reaches nickname status that he isn’t a total waste of energy.

</rant>

So yeah, I generally don’t date guys involved in the same social networks I am. Because when they do something stupid or lame or mind-bogglingly annoying, which they always do, I don’t want to have to censor myself when I turn to my blog and say, whaaaaaaaaaaaatthehelljusthappened?!

Because.

What. The. Hell. Just. Happened?

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