One dozen free-ranging and organic bad eggs

And now for entry number twelve... We've reached the cliché dirty dozen. And what an unclean group of encounters it has been...


Who: Help Wanted
Pick-up method: I was walking home one evening when I sensed someone walking closely behind me. I walked a bit faster, and so did he. Soon, HW was walking right beside me and said hello. I pretended to not hear him (thanks to my iPod), but he persisted. I told him I didn’t speak much French. HW then asked if I was from Spain. I told him I wasn’t. He then asked about why I was in France, if I was a student, etc. I answered his questions, as I couldn’t think of a way to get rid of him and, to be honest, speaking to him was good practice (this might make me a bad person). HW eventually said he thought we should have a coffee at his home to “discuss [my] life.”
Why I won’t be sleeping with you: To be honest, the prospect of “discussing my life” with a complete stranger is slightly intimidating. It’s bad enough to have had to justify my existence and life path during the PhD application process; I don’t fancy having to do it all over again during what should be a casual social experience. It’s one thing if that is the course the conversation takes naturally, but having that sort of expectation is just forcing emotional intimacy. This will only lead to an interview-like atmosphere… and if I pass said interview, I’m pretty sure that any physical contact with you that I’d earn would not be equivalent to a good health care package, decent salary, and sign-on bonus.

Who: Soundtrack
Pick-up method: While turning a corner I almost walked into ST. I apologised and he said hello. I smiled and went on my way. ST then called after me and started making a sucking/kissing noise with his mouth.
Why I won’t be sleeping with you: The noises people make while performing or enjoying sex acts are hilarious enough, but if you make strange (read: unpleasant and sloppy) noises while merely soliciting these acts I can only imagine the sounds you’d emit while in action. I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to contain my laughter. I’d thereby break your spirit, and the only further sound in the room would be the quiet whisper of disappointed sighs.

1 + 10 = more scary men

Another week, another entry. Will the madness never end? Unlikely.

Who: No Vacancy
Pick-up method: Before coming to France, I posted a profile on a couple accommodation search websites in order to find roommates or a flat of my own. Profiles of this type include a few personal details and a photo. Many weeks after I arrived in France I received an email from NV saying that he did not have any accommodation to offer me, but was driven to write to me because my chest is magnificent. He went on to say that since I study primates, he’d like for me to know that he is an animal somewhere in between a gorilla and a chimpanzee. NV continued to email me for a few days, telling me how he badly needed to see more photos of me, and how he’s committed the ones he has seen to memory. His last email included a photo of a kitten and a simple “Have a good afternoon.”
Why I won’t be sleeping with you: If your claim of being somewhere between a gorilla and a chimpanzee is correct, I can only assume that you have a very large scrotum and a very short penis. This doesn’t seem like it would be a pleasurable combination, and I’d prefer not to waste time confirming my assumption. Further, the fact that you have likely masturbated to my photo takes a lot of the fun out of having an actual sexual encounter with you. You’ve practically been there and done that, you know? You’ve probably got expectations of my bedroom behaviour, fantasies you’ve played out in your head, and a host of other scenarios that I have no interest in fulfilling. Most importantly, however, you’re just creepy. Picture of a kitten? Seriously?!

Note: Using my social network website search skills, I was able to find an actual photo of this man. He is in his mid-forties, has questionable oral hygiene, and his only MySpace friend is Tom.

Who: The Paddle
Pick-up method: As so many of my stories begin… I was on the bus. Opposite me was a couple engaged in jovial conversation. I could tell it was jovial because the girlfriend was sitting on her boyfriend’s (TP) lap, laughing at his jokes, and was totally okay with the fact that he was slapping her behind at regular intervals of about 3 seconds. TP turned his head to me and smiled. He maintained this attentional state for about one minute, during which he raised his eyebrows at me every time his hand met his girlfriend’s faux designer jeans.
Why I won’t be sleeping with you: I’m not really sure what you were trying to communicate to me in this situation. Was it that you are an outgoing guy who loves public displays of affection? Or maybe that you are the type who loves high-risk-of-discovery sex? Or was it that you are a man who has limited mental capacity and thereby cannot devise a more creative way in which to show your woman you always want her? Were you giving me a preview of all the spanking to which I can look forward if I were to reciprocate your flirtatious glances? Or perhaps just that you are a horrible person willing to flirt with other women while your girlfriend is present? Too many possibilities. I may be a bit of a risk-taker, but I don’t like those odds. Oh, also, you have a girlfriend.

Now 10X more revolting!

I have a bunch of stories on reserve just waiting to be told, but this weekend was so full of freakos that the following two individuals get to jump the queue.

Who: Careless Whisperer
Pick-up method: It started out as an ordinary club encounter: CW asked me to dance, I was drunk and obliged, thanked him, and went on my way. When leaving the club at the end of the night, however, CW ran after us for some drunken chat. As his friend created a sociable diversion, CW took the opportunity to whisper less-than-sweet nothings in my ear. Nothings that would have been considered compliments if I were a two-euro prostitute with abnormal self-esteem issues thanks to a mother who taught me sex gets you love.
Why I won’t be sleeping with you: As if your Friday night drunken chat (including telling me you prefer to think of me as a 16 year old girl instead of a young woman aged 24) wasn’t enough, you decided to try again while sober on Monday evening. Now I am no expert on social etiquette, but I don’t think it’s normal for someone to run out of a café (abandoning one's friend inside) on a Monday evening to chase after a girl he had drunkenly met on Friday night who happened to be walking down the street outside with a male friend. Nor is it normal for one to then attempt to zip up her jacket, telling her it’s cold outside. Nor is it appropriate to tell her more ‘less-than-sweet nothings’ out loud in front of her male friend and any passers-by who care to listen. I prefer a certain level of decorum in my partners. This level is not called “Complete absence of respectability.”

Who: Undercover Lover
Pick-up method: Upon entering the grocery store I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see UL, who explained to me that he was a security guard (this grocery store employs plainclothes security personnel to monitor shoppers). Thinking he was going to ask me to open my bag, I didn’t walk away. He proceeded to introduce himself to me, ask if I was from Spain, and tell me he’d been watching me the past few weeks. I thought I was in trouble for something until UL told me to give him my phone number because he got off work at 6pm.
Why I won’t be sleeping with you: While I do respect your having introduced yourself first, I find the whole “I’m a security guard and I’ve been watching you” situation slightly disconcerting. You mean to tell me you’ve been staring at me while I compare yoghurts every week and this somehow has instilled some deep desire to take me out? Not only that, but a desire so strong that you had no intention of taking me out later in the week, but instead in less than three hours from the time of asking me? You’ve seen how long it takes me be okay with my yoghurt, how do you expect me to be okay with the idea of a date with you after a two minute conversation about how I’m not from Spain and don’t speak French very well (a fact you seemed to be fine with even though, combined with your lack of English skills, it led to some communication issues)? Next time don’t use your position of authority to trick girls into talking with you, only to tell the object of your affection that you’re essentially a stalker-on-salary.

Number 9: This one goes out to the ladies...

To clarify, this entry is dedicated to the females who manage to make me feel just as uncomfortable as their male counterparts do. Vive la révolution féministe!

Who: Basic Instinct
Pick-up method: I was about to get onto the tram and had moved aside so that BI, an elderly woman, could exit. As she stepped onto the platform, she began to stumble. BI then reached out and grabbed my breast (because, clearly, when losing your balance your first instinct is to grab the breast nearest you for support). When the danger had passed, though, she was still holding on. I looked down at her confusedly and she smiled while murmuring an apology. However, BI did not loosen her grip at this point either. I pulled her hand off my chest myself, wished her a good day, and continued on my journey.
Why I won’t be sleeping with you: I understand that I have large breasts, and that my bra is quite supportive… but, really, my shoulder is probably sturdier. Not only that, but it is also a more acceptable place on someone’s body to make first physical contact. I appreciate that you are a confident, independent woman who loves making the first move, but just because you see a lot of “direct” methods on those music-type videos kids these days are watching doesn’t mean those methods are used in real life with any degree of success. A simple “hello” is timeless and should serve you just fine.

Who: Wine & Dine
Pick-up method: I exited the bathroom stall in the shopping centre’s public restroom and proceeded to wash my hands. At the next sink was a middle-aged woman, W&D, looking through her bags from the grocery store. She pulled out a bottle of wine (of which a third had already been consumed) and took a big swig. W&D then smiled at me, said there was no point in waiting to get home to drink it, and offered me the bottle. I graciously declined her offer, and she insisted I stay there with her, in the public restroom, to drink.
Why I won’t be sleeping with you: I am definitely a fan of unconventional dates; I don’t even mind a lack of cleanliness if it’s part of the fun. But, somehow, drinking in a place where hundreds of people expel their waste each day, while that is actually happening, isn’t my idea of a good time. Besides, with all the strangers coming and going (in every sense of those words), I think we’d feel constantly interrupted… that kind of atmosphere just doesn’t do it for me, sorry. Points for resourcefulness, though.

Eight: It’s not fate, it’s hate

I apologise for the week’s silence. Luckily, a lack of updates does not equate to a lack of blog-worthy encounters.

Who: Waist of Space
Pick-up method: I was sitting on the bus enjoying my morning paper when I noticed WS staring and smiling at me from the ticket validation machine. When our gaze met, his grin grew… and he began a slight thrusting motion that somehow involved his waist (well, entire abdomen, really), rather than just his hip/groin area. I rolled my eyes and returned to my paper, but WS kept at his air humping for quite some time. Guy had stamina.
Why I won’t be sleeping with you: I could list at least a dozen reasons right now (no exaggeration, I counted). But one, and only one, needs to be mentioned: You were wearing a fanny pack*. Enough said.

* Translation for British readers: bum bag

Who: Pooper Non-Scooper
Pick-up method: I noticed PNS walking his dog one morning as I was wandering into town. Upon seeing me, he stopped and winked from across the narrow side street that separated our paths. PNS watched me as I approached, looking me up and down a few times while maintaining a slight smile. As he stood there his dog squatted. Then defecated. Right there. In the middle of the sidewalk. When finished, PNS gave me a little wave and then continued on his way.
Why I won’t be sleeping with you: I understand that you are not the only one in France to manage your pet’s needs in such a way. And I admit that in my line of work I’m accustomed to having bits of excrement from various non-human animals in my hair and on my shoes. But I prefer to keep that as a special experience for the office only, and the piles of faecal matter on the sidewalk really make that goal a bit of a challenge. I choose not to reward those who hinder my quest for a hygienic after-hours existence.

Seven... not always lucky

For this entry I will take you on a journey to the time just before I came to France. Searching for a flat is always frustrating, but it’s much worse when a- you aren’t even near the city in which you’re flat hunting and b- you don’t really speak the language in which you’re flat hunting. Luckily, the Internet is full of strange and randy characters. Thank you, Internet Freaks, for providing me with some much needed levity during such a stressful time.

Who: Flame Retardant
Pick-up method: I received an email from a man in his late thirties (FR) describing a room he had available during the time I’d be in France. He seemed normal enough until I read the following words: “J’aime les femmes americaines” (trans. “I like American girls”). I rolled my eyes and moved my cursor toward “delete,” but, before I clicked, I noticed that FR had attached two items. Being the knowledge seeker that I am, I checked them out. One was a link to his website, which was full of video clips of amateur glamour photo shoots (he was the photographer, not the subject). The other was a photograph of him. In a fireman’s outfit.
Why I won’t be sleeping with you: I don’t think you’re actually a fireman. At least, you’re definitely not a respectable one. Respectable firemen do not take “I’m sensitive and deep” –type photos in their gear. So either you’re a fireman no one respects (which means I will not sleep with you), or you acquired that outfit for another purpose. I think it’s likely that you were auditioning for a low-budget, American-inspired, French porno flick, from which you were swiftly rejected. In order to save face, you send the photograph to young women in hopes that you will receive compliments and thereby justify your self-image as a sexual stallion. I’m sorry, but if you were to burst through my front door and dramatically ask, “Where’s the fire?” my response would not be “In my pants.”

Who: All Forms of Payment
Pick-up method: The email I received from AFP included no information about himself or his flat. He simply wrote, “I have a room for you, in other words I want to sleep with you.”
Why I won’t be sleeping with you: I thank you for being upfront about your preferred method of payment, but I don’t remember saying, “Willing to pay in kind rather than in euros. Ask me how!” in my ad. And while everyone agrees there is an element of fun in getting things for free as a result of flirting or other types of adult relations, when that situation is a pre-arranged expectation all the fun is removed. Instead, the recipient of the free goods and/or services is left with a monotonous chore (yes, I am saying that sex with you would be monotonous… you are, after all, having to offer free accommodation in order to get laid. You must not have many girls coming back for more). Who needs that? Not me. I have a grant that is paying for my stay in France and, last time I checked, they don’t reimburse for the STI treatments and loss of dignity that would result from such an arrangement.

Six, six... it's the same word!

It's only been three days since my last entry, and already I have enough material for two more (will keep some on reserve should the population of France suddenly and tragically lose its sex drive). If only other aspects of my life were half as productive and eventful...

Who: Dog Whistle
Pick-up method: I was taking a morning stroll (read: heading to the boulangerie) and encountered an older man (DW) walking his dog. As I got closer he smiled, so I said "bonjour," as is typically done. Then DW whistled at me. He didn't use the cliche, demeaning, "you're so sexy" -type whistle. Instead he whistled at me as if whistling to his dog to come inside the house for dinner. DW accompanied this whistle with a gentle pat on his knee and another smile.
Why I won't be sleeping with you: As a primatologist perhaps I have lost touch with the intricacies of folk taxonomy, but I’m pretty sure that before I became the scientist I am today I knew the difference between a canine and a human (and was very aware of this difference when using words like “bitch," “dog," and "Sparky" in a figurative and insulting fashion). While I admire your bold approach, I am most turned on when a potential partner recognises and appreciates at least the Order to which I belong in the animal kingdom.

Who: Thirsty Artist
Pick-up method: During another morning stroll (perhaps the key to keeping this blog going is making frequent trips to acquire baguettes) I happened upon two young men moving some paintings from their apartment to their car. One of them (TA) was holding a half-empty bottle of beer and not navigating his environment with what I'd call "grace" (please note that this occurred at 9:30am on a Sunday). TA looked at me briefly then went back to his task. When I got closer, he looked again. TA then raised his eyebrows, smiled, and said "Good morning." I smiled back, figuring I'd humour the inebriated, yet strangely cute, young artist. He then held up his beer to me, asking if I'd like to come up and have a drink with him.
Why I won't be sleeping with you: I think the problem for us is a lifestyle difference: I had woken up at 9am and my only morning plan was to purchase a loaf of bread adorned with sunflower seeds; I'm not sure when you woke up (or even if you had gone to sleep), but what's important is that I'm not really the type of girl who drinks copious amounts of alcohol before noon (okay, that may have happened one time... but there were extenuating circumstances, and this seems to be your general pattern of behaviour). An online dating quiz once advised me, "Though you're drawn to them, avoid artists at all costs." I really do have a weakness for artists, and fully expect this vulnerability to be my downfall one day. Unsurprisingly, I've never been able to follow the advice of The Internet... until now. You deserve someone who will be cracking open those beers right alongside you, or, at least, cracking open those beers for you. I'm just not that girl. Thank you for showing me that it is possible to follow that quiz author's advice. You've given me hope.