Hey, remember that brutal text message rejection I posted about earlier today? Gawker unearthed some of the backstory and it's worth a follow-up. The text belongs to Quin Woodward Pu, a 26-year-old author "with a penchant for vodka, designer shoes, and older men" who keeps a blog of her personal life called Little Black Blog. In a post explaining the backstory to the most brutal text message rejection we've ever seen, she sets up some backstory:
It all started two weeks ago, when I met some rando at a bar. He was friendly enough, but annoyingly and sloppily drunk, which is why I offered my email address when he asked for my number. We emailed later that weekend, and I met up for a few drinks, which eventually turned to dinner, and then champagne. We had relatively good chemistry, but then, I kinda have chemistry with pretty much everyone, because I really like talking to people and winning over complete strangers.
She then invited him to her birthday party, for "125 of her closest friends":
We had dinner the following weekend (as in, two days ago), and it was equally fun. I invited him to my birthday party, which I’m holding this weekend for my closest 125 friends. He wouldn’t be in town, so he scheduled a weekend in Virginia wine country the following weekend. It seemed a bit much, but I agreed to a singular day trip. When we parted that day, I didn’t think much of anything. In fact, I actually headed out to a bar to meet up with a former lover from 2012, with whom I may or may not entertain a few exchanges here and there. #timesbeing.
So imagine my surprise–which quickly turned to fury–when I received the following text out of the blue yesterday. FYI I have done absolutely no editing on this conversation; the previous dialogue is from Saturday night when he told me not to dress up (I haven’t dressed down since 2k5), and I jokingly asked if I shouldn’t wear my ball gown.
Day trip to wine country seems a little big for date two, but we don't know how big this Bro's wallet is or what his game's like. Then he reconsidered that maybe all of this wasn't such a good idea, so he sent that now-infamous, rather polite e-mail calling things off.
And that's when she lost her shit. Maybe she somehow made it to 26 without ever being the one dumped and always being the dumpee? Who knows. Woodward Pu writes:
I was stunned into paralysis. I had no words–this never happens–and I just felt short of breath. There were many things that pissed me off, but I was so flustered I couldn’t even articulate them. Again, this is a serious problem for a writer and effusive communicator.
I was still so agitated 10 hours later that I had to leave opera rehearsal early. This is a serious no-no, given that opening night is Saturday at the Organization of American States.
Then I realized: I am on the eve of my 26th birthday. Why am I stewing instead of just expressing what I really feel? There is practically nothing to lose from just telling the truth.
And then she fired that text-heard-round-the-world off:
I'm sorry, but I'm not sure how Quin Woodward Pu gets a pass here. He very kindly cut things off and complimented her, yet she turned around and forwarded his texts to her boss. So, so, so uncool. Then she proceeded to shame him publically on her blog, which now all of the Internet is weighing in on. Sounds pretty tasteless to me.
Be careful what you get into out there, Bros.