Meet Quinn Woodward Pu, a self-described "memoirist."
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.
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.
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.
Wait . . . what?! Imagine your fury?! No, I cannot - because you only met some drunk guy with whom you had TWO DATES within TWO WEEKS, and he told you he doesn't want to have a relationship with you. Okay, maybe letting you know by text as opposed to telephone but something a jerk would do, but that being the case, I would think you might be thinking, "Whoa, dodged a bullet there!" and then go on to have a grand time at the birthday party you are throwing for yourself and 125 of your close, personal friends.
But no. Evidently, the paralysis was short-lived.
So . . . because after two dates within two weeks, or to be more precise, "a collective 20 hours together" - and some stupid sexting, which evidently was well-received by Ms. Pu - this man likely realized he was about to embark on a misadventure. Perhaps because he woke up to the notion that with a nine-year-old daughter at home, he has other priorities and wanted to move on.
Cheers to 26! And may I (and you, and your girlfriends, moms, grandmothers, daughters, etc.) never remain silent in the bombastic, outrageously chauvinistic face of an insecure man. After all, only two months ago did a writer describe me as such when asked about my relationship status: “she blushes, giggling a bit. Translation: Ms. Woodward Pu is quite happy being single.”
No - damn sad. And evil. How vindictive can a person be than to "retaliate" for a snub by jeopardizing the career of a single Dad?
The guy may well have been a jerk - I tend to think he was not that bad given the hyperbolic nature of Ms. Pu. But in this case, the "get even" was over the top.
This is modern feminism? No wonder so many of these harpies remain single. Here is her bio from her Amazon.com page:
When Quin Woodward Pu—a straight-A Asian-American extrovert from Georgia with a penchant for vodka, designer shoes, and older men—receives her acceptance letter from Johns Hopkins Medical School, she is forced to make a decision between giving up her hard-partying, man-eating ways and continuing her fabulous VIP lifestyle and pursuing a more glitzy and glamorous career. Type A+ is the memoir of her transition from MCAT-teaching pre-med free clinic volunteer to directionless, yet fabulous and resourceful, freelance writer. Like many Asian-Americans, she butts heads with her first-generation Chinese father when she strays from his life plan for her to attend a top medical program. She is encouraged by her histrionic but loyal friends—from an undiagnosed alcoholic roommate, to a bohemian BFFL, to a middle-aged playboy dermatologist boyfriend —to follow her champagne-soaked dreams of becoming a journalist.
Her self-published book - which I suppose is in the same vein as her self-thrown birthday party - rated 1-1/2 stars. One of the people who gave her 5 stars wrote:
This is the BEST book about narcissistic personality disorder that I've ever read!!! I'm truly impressed by the amount of self-awareness you possess.
But the best is this review:
I had fun reading some of this book, but quite honestly, I am in a state of flux right now and am really not looking to read the rest of it. Sorry to be a downer, but I have no doubt the author will write another memoir because she is a funny, smart, cool girl! Good luck.
To the men out there: perhaps you should buy this book as a guide to crazy, so as to avoid women like her.