Why You Shouldn’t Date a Girl in Tech

[NSFW: pervasive language and sexual content]

AUTHOR’S NOTES

An oldie, but goodie. I originally started this post while sitting on a 6-hour flight from JFK > SEA on December 20, 2011. The following blog post is the type you read through while sitting on the toilet with your iPad.

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned/ Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned. — William Congreve

In recent weeks, many people have asked me when I would be writing the second part to my story. I don’t know if I ever will finish the story because it’s been quite a long journey since then. There have been so many things that have happened between then and now, and quite frankly, it’d take much too long to write it all down in one sitting. Especially since I’m already fuming about a text message I received from this guy I dated for longer than I should have…

I never thought I’d be putting this guy on full blast. Not that I never talked about him to my mom, my cousins, my friends, and even mentors and other guys I’ve dated. The stories, however, always stayed within verbal conversations and private IMs, never immortalized into the Internet… like what I am doing now.

I realized the more I talk about him the more I make myself crazy, even though most of the stories from our relationship are definitely the types of things you thought never really existed. He was crazy. I was crazy. We were crazy together. I am fucking crazy, and there’s nothing that will change that. But I think, there are probably many girls in the tech industry who have or are going through the same experiences I’m going through now… so here it is:

Why You Shouldn’t Date a Guy Girl In Tech

I’m writing this post on a flight home from New York to Seattle so that I can spend another holiday with my family. It’ll be my first Christmas in Seattle in 3 years. I’m not too sure what to expect really. This holiday, I’ll be 27 and single. It’s kind of a depressing thought when I think about it, but I can’t let the fact that I haven’t had sex in 6 months phase me or I’ll start going nuts.

Dating has been a nightmare since my last relationship ended — I’ve dated every type of douchebag possible: the banker, the Ivy Leaguer, the law school guy, the liberal schoolteacher, the club doorman, the starving artist, the successful artist, and the list goes on. Regardless of education, career or pedigree, the guy always ended up being a douche, and we’d part ways.

(I almost dated this crazy, but hot as Hell venture capitalist once, but he got strange… I’d still have sex with him though — bald men are freaking sexy.)

Anyway, if there was anything I learned in the past 6 months, is that I am on my own level of crazy, wedged between my mom and that big black lady from Diary of a Mad Black Woman.

Unfortunately for me, a lot of my crazy has to do with my career in technology.

My ex-boyfriend, let’s call him LPSG (you’ll later learn what that stands for, just keep reading), was a well-educated doctor I met in his first year at Columbia Dental School, while I was still an undergrad. It was really kismet that we met since he lived so far uptown on the medical campus. At first glance, he wasn’t the type that really caught my attention. First off, he stood 5 feet 7 inches short, and I’ve never dated anyone under 6’ tall before in my life. Secondly, he was black. Not that there was anything wrong with him being black, but I never dated an African American until I met him — and wasn’t sure if it would mean anything different from the guys I’ve dated in the past. It was the idea of not knowing what to expect which worried me more than anything, his race was not a real factor. Third, he was a doctor. I grew up surrounded by doctors because my mother spent her entire career in public healthcare. And those doctors I knew from childhood? Well, most of them are fucking nuts with all sorts of mental, psychological, and commitment issues. I don’t even want to mention what types of personal things I found out when I interned in human resources at a medical clinic. Trust me when I say this, doctors are the types of people that need help the most.

It was only after I agreed to meet up with him for drinks one evening did I begin to feel that I could possibly like him. He was so charming and charismatic for a nerdy little guy. Believe me, he was little — I was the Shrek to his Donkey. LPSG was intelligent and well spoken, which made him even more attractive. He shared with me how he overcame racial barriers growing up biracial in a predominantly Caucasian suburban community. His honesty and openness about his childhood, his viewpoints in life, and ideology was really what reeled me towards him. We could talk about absolutely anything: from the economy to the War in Iraq or random things like the polyester make-up of one of the suit jackets hanging in his closet.

Where he lacked in height, he made up in other areas… which was about as good as it ever got. Whoever said “once you go black…” was right. As time flew by, we grew apart, but I was still that chick that acted crazy.

“Why isn’t he calling me back?”

“Where are you?”

“Answer me…”

“I’m tired of constantly waiting…”

We’d email back and forth talking about our feelings, which was one of the biggest problems of the entire situation. He was not the real talking type — either that or he just didn’t care. When we made time, we never really talked about our true feelings face-to-face. This cycle went on for months, until one day, he sent me an email asking for space to “figure things out” for himself. There were a few things that made me angry about this last email:

  1. To this day, I think he’s a fucking pussy for not being able to hold conversations face-to-face, or at least over the phone
  2. After 7 months, you’d think a guy would know how to spell your name
  3. First thought that came to my mind, “I bet he’s breaking up with me because I made fun of his small hands and fucked up teeth…”

I thought there had to be something else at play. So being the Internet savvy sleuth that I was, you better believe I utilized all the tools that were available at my fingertips. After all, this is what I did for a living: figure shit out about people on the Internet.

The Secret Life of My American Boyfriend

And so the story continues… I was already pushed to the brink of being super crazy. My behavior here is not at all a surprising, I’m 100% positive women in my position have done some or all of the things that I was about to do. Using the Internet to find out information that may or may not have been brought to light during the relationship. I was so determined to figure out what went wrong — that I didn’t want it to be over and there just HAD to be another reason for why he ended things. Me being off my fucking rocker wasn’t a thought I had at the time, but obviously is probably the sole reason why he broke up.

The great lengths I took to find the puzzle pieces and put them together was pretty freaking impressive if you ask me. I used all avenues possible, and cross-referenced the data I found across several mediums and platforms. Yes, I know how this sounds, but I would not have found out the truth if I hadn’t. It’s the shit that I always find out later that pushes me to the brink of insanity. From a normal person’s perspective, my ex-boyfriend is just fucking weird. So hopefully, you haven’t eaten anything before reading what I’m about to tell you.

Google: I realized the last email he sent me came from an email address that he never used before. I never Googled for anything so fast in my life, and this is what I found:

  1. The Gmail address he created with that username also existed for a Yahoo Messenger account created a few years back — which I found via Google on a few random medical message boards.
  2. His username was a combination of his initials, his profession, his age (at the time), and his favorite hobby: snowboarding. What a retard. Apparently, he was smart enough to get into Harvard, but too stupid to figure out that you should never use identifiable information in your username if you want to keep your shit under wraps.

He used this username to sign up for the following services and websites (I shit you not):

  1. Adult Friend Finder — He was smart enough to crop out his face from all the perv pictures he posted. Unfortunately, he was too stupid to realize that he listed identifiable information like his profession, university, and uhh… his name.
  2. School of Sex — This is basically a site dedicated to hosting sex orgies and parties to “sexy elite couples in NYC”. Fuck no I was not participating, and NO I was not aware he was doing this… but it explains a lot. After we broke it off, he would randomly text me about his 3somes with other couples — I am assuming this is where he met them. Either this or Craigslist.
  3. LPSG.org — This is why I refer to him as LPSG. LPSG stands for LARGE PENIS SUPPORT GROUP. This is not a hoax. This is a real community of weirdos that basically create profiles for their very own 3rd members, and basically wack-off to each other. I found out that he had a profile with over 500 friends who tuned into watching him choke his chicken every single fucking day. How do I know this? Because his profile, stupidly, details his “Last Activity” which was within a few hours of me finding his profile. I checked this every single day for over a week to figure out he did this daily. Yeah, so if you have a huge dick, you can join this community to get support.

Facebook: Before the lights went off in his brain to block me from Facebook, I milked that thing for every ounce of information I could find. I was already on the crazy train, so this shouldn’t be a surprise here.

  1. Friend’s List — I sifted through his entire Friend’s List and found tons of slutty girls that he was “friends” with. Then I would read through their public bio. Most of these girls were like 18 and living in Nebraska or some other similar BS. Seriously, how would someone be friends with a chic with her boobs hanging out, taking a bathroom mirror picture, that has interests like “coloring, jumping rope, etc”.
  2. Family Members — This is why it’s a bad idea to list family members on your Facebook profile. It’s crazy bitches like me that use that information to dig contextual information about people and their backgrounds. I basically used this to figure out if he was hiding hos anywhere — perhaps a long-time girlfriend his family knew about, and made sure I never did.
  3. Wall — I had a lot of free time, so I literally clicked “Older Posts” on his wall to when he first created his profile back in early 2006. I read every single post, link, comment, reply, photo tags, and more.

With all the unimportant and minute information I collected, and the anger I felt, I could have created a hell of a Internet meme campaign — pasting his name (which is basically unique to him) and photos from all of his crazy little Internet sex profiles. Or take out full-page ads exposing his perv ass — so that every time someone Googled him, images of his huge donk and the words LOLSMALLDICKBIGHEAD would be plastered everywhere, and there would be nothing he could do about it…. well, maybe except sue me.

Now, I know there will be tons of women who work in tech that will be angered by my sweeping generalization that all girls in tech are basically psycho, but hear me out. I know not every woman in tech does crazy shit like this, and I know a woman doesn’t have to work in tech to do crazy shit like this. But there are plenty of women in tech who leverage their professional expertise and knowledge in digital media to figure out who it is that they’re really dating. These are the women that I speak for and represent. As a woman with a career in tech, we have access to some of the most powerful tools in digital media that provide us with all sorts of consumer information, from private data to social media usage and so forth. What makes this even scarier is that we know how to use these tools to our advantage… for the most part. Boys beware.

Intelius — Live in the Know

Amen.


Originally published at justranee.tumblr.com.

Like what you read? Give ranee a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.