- Men wearing baseball caps that shade their face so I can’t see their features.
- Men wearing sunglasses in all their photos. I get it. You’re cool.
- Men who list all the things they don’t want instead of what they’re looking for.
- Flat brimmed baseball caps. Are you 12? Hipster.
- Emails that go nowhere.
- Men who post pictures with their ex’s face cropped out. Tacky.
- Pictures of men with models. Ugh. Modelizer!
- Men who take photos from so far away you can’t make out their face.
- Their, there, and they’re.
- Coffee dates. No.
- Men who list “no drama” in their profile. Liar!
- Messages that say “hi” and nothing else.
- Usernames like “lovestoeattacos” or “poundman.”
- The drinking with my buddies photo.
- Landscape profile photos. Why?
- Copied and pasted generic emails. You think we can’t tell? We can.
- Strange men instant messaging me. Yikes!
- Topless men. Really? Showoff.
- Any picture taken in the bathroom.
- Any picture taken while sitting in their car.
- Photos of their car. Oh, my bad! I have a pic of my truck in my profile. But it has a HEMI!
- Group shots.
- Photos of men posing with guns or shooting guns. NO!
- Wearing a beanie/hat in all his photos.
- Men who live 100+ miles away from you but who still email you. Pointless.
I think it’s safe to say that POF is promoting my defunct dating profile.
How do I know?
Suddenly my inbox was inundated with POF likes and messages, the likes of which I’ve never seen before.
It’s a shame that when you “retire” your online dating profile, it doesn’t get officially retired.
Such a waste of time and energy.
Ironically, I had to check out one.
His name was Leatherman.
I was curious, would he be the outdoorsy type or the BDSM type?
So I clicked.
And. . .
As it turns out, NEITHER.
Guess what Leatherman is into?
He’s still in Sweden.
I’m still 5,384 miles away in California.
Sadly, he did not make it out to the bay area for Christmas break.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t get to see him.
He’s heading to Florida for a youth hockey tournament with his daughter, the goalie.
And he’s invited me to join him.
Yes indeed, it looks like I’ll be packing my bags and visiting him in Florida.
Doesn’t that just sound AMAZING?
I’ve never been to Florida, so this will be my first time.
Am I excited?
The Goalie will be celebrating her birthday in Florida and I’m invited to join in the festivities.
Florida AND a birthday?!
How much fun is that going to be?
I literally can’t wait for April to roll around.
First, I visit my sister in Reno for a spa weekend.
Then I jet off to Florida to see my Swede.
April is going to be a banner month for me.
I had no idea at the time that what transpired on that date would make me swear off internet dating.
But it did.
You see, I kinda liked the guy.
He was respectful, thoughtful, and nice.
A real gentleman.
Per typical first date guidelines, we chatted about careers, family, hobbies, etc.
And it went nicely.
I mean there were no fireworks, but I was so impressed that he wasn’t staring at my tits or trying to talk me into going back to his place that I didn’t care.
I was happy just being treated like a human being.
Granted, he was a former Mormon, with a big Mormon family and all the issues that go along with that.
But overall, he was a step up from what I’d been experiencing.
But then he said it.
“I think I can speak for both of us when I say there’s no chemistry.”
First of all, please do not presume that after spending two hours with me that you can speak for me.
Second of all, how the hell would you know about our chemistry?
You haven’t even touched me.
It’s ironic, isn’t it?
A decent date caused me to swear off online dating.
But it’s true.
I drew a line in the sand and I haven’t crossed it since.
I may be a little on the “friendly” side, but I don’t make assumptions about chemistry until I’ve kissed someone.
That’s just how I roll.
I am not a porn star
It’s not that I resemble any porn stars out there, aside from being busty and blond.
It’s that I keep getting treated like my life revolves around sex by the men I go out with.
They seem to think it’s okay to grope me.
To ask if they can give me a facial.
To move a glass on the table so they can “get a better look at my tits.”
Yes, all this has happened and more.
And I’m sick of it.
Hence the desire to write a totally biting new profile.
Have men COMPLETELY forgotten about mutual respect?
Where are their manners?
I’m not trading my sexuality for a meal or a couple of drinks at a bar.
I am a REAL person who deserves respect, kindness, and sincerity.
I know I’m not The One for every man out there.
Does that mean that I deserve to be treated like a disposable toy?
No, it does not.
Before you start freaking out, let me set the record straight.
I’m not ACTUALLY going to write a new dating profile.
Because I’ve established that online dating is worthless.
A total waste of time.
And I would rather be a nun than spend any more time dating sex fiends, fuckwits, and assholes.
That is all.
Obviously it didn’t work out with any of them and therefore I could categorize them all that way.
But one in particular takes the cake.
The one who took me from a 35 year old vanilla divorcée and turned me into something a little bit more worldly.
Okay, something A LOT more worldly.
I’ve made peace with him, after a long period of silence.
I actually thanked him for pushing me outside my comfort zone so that I could grow as a person.
In some ways, I miss who I was.
That vanilla woman who didn’t know a thing about social nudity, BDSM, etc.
Those were the easy days when life was a little less complicated.
When I thought I knew the rules that would guide me to a long and fulfilling life.
Occasionally, I question whether my relationship with him was a TOXIC relationship.
In the end, I can only conclude that it was a DEAD-END relationship, as in the relationship was destined to run its course and end in a flurry of tears (mine) and disappointment (his).
Although, there was that one day when he proposed. . .
In the 10 years since the relationship ended I’ve moved on, struggling from time to time to incorporate what I experienced with the person I want to be.
Struggling to be a non-vanilla woman in the mainstream world.
And I have him to thank for it.
I’ve got 10 events in 10 days at work so I’m reposting some old content I find funny. New content will resume on February 6th.
Reposted from 2015:
I tend to be a spontaneous kind of person.
Which is wonderful if you’re my friend and you want to have fun but bad for meeting men.
That is to say, it’s GREAT for the men to have me spontaneously LEAP into bed with them but it’s bad for creating actual relationships.
Because of this, I’ve evolved some alternative techniques to help me keep my lustful urges under control.
They may seem odd, but believe me, they work.
Case in point – my date with The Israeli this weekend.
We are making out on his couch and he is ABSOLUTELY CONFOUNDED BY MY JACKET.
I’m wearing a wool jacket and it’s buttoned up AND the belt is knotted around my waist.
I’m telling you, it took him a good 10 minutes to get me out of that jacket. With much laughter and giggling on our parts.
Enter birth control level 2 – I’m wearing a scuba dress (think high neckline, sleeveless, high density lycra).
Basically, there is virtually no area of my body that he can get to without GREAT effort.
It was fun to watch him struggle with it.
But eventually, it came off.
No laughing or giggling this time. Just a lot of heavy breathing.
Enter the final level of alternative birth control.
The granny panty.
Yes indeed. The kind of underwear that is super comfortable but ultimately very ugly. It’s birth control effect is only felt by the wearer (in this case, me) in order to dissuade me from being caught dead in such ugly undies.
I took them off my own self and slipped into my backup sexy panties which I brought with me for just such an occasion.
I’m not saying it’s a perfect system of birth control.
Just that if he can get through 3 levels of alternative birth control measures, he deserves some candy.
The other day, I got a message from a dear friend, sort of setting me up.
She sent me a picture of a handsome man and asked if I was interested.
Let me see. . .
Of course, the second I thought it, my next thought was, “What’s wrong with him?”
Because I’m pretty sure that men I meet either want to:
a. Cum on my face
b. Cum in my butt
c. All of the above.
It’s not like I don’t believe in good guys.
I know a BUNCH of decent fellows.
It’s that I don’t seem to ATTRACT that type of man.
And then I felt sheepish.
Shouldn’t everyone get a chance, without having to bear the burden of those who came before and were indecent?
But that’s not what happens, is it?
I’ll keep judging them BEFORE I get to know them (BAD me!) and they’ll keep fulfilling my expectations (let’s face it, the bar is set low, low, low.)
Despite the fact that I have no online dating presence right now, POF continues to email me with requests from men who want to meet me.
I know what you’re thinking.
You’re thinking it’s possible that there might be a good one out there.
Let me dissuade you from that notion.
In the 12 years since my divorce, I have absolutely met not a single soul online who I connected with.
Excepting a few Facebook friends.
Every time I get tempted to go online and see what’s up, I remember that guy who moved his glass so he could “see my tits better.”
Or the guy who deeply hurt my feelings because he said we had “no chemistry.”
I’ve been thinking about chemistry a lot lately.
About how deceptive it is.
Sure, I get all pie-eyed every time I see a lumberjack.
Give me a beard, broad shoulders, and a warm chest and color me happy.
But in reality, I’ve discovered that long term chemistry has very little to do with that initial physical rush of hormones, and everything to do with who that person is on the inside, which takes time to discover.
Barbara would tell me this is EXACTLY why I should wait MONTHS before getting physically involved with someone.
Take, for instance, my ex-boyfriend Luke.
Luke owned dozens of hand guns, even more knives, and he drove a truck.
He had no beard, but he lived in flannels on his days off.
Perfect man for me?
Not so much.
When times got tough, and we tried to talk it out Luke could only stare at the floor and play with his socks.
He had no ability to discuss difficult topics AT ALL.
And you know, everyone runs into the need to discuss challenging subjects.
So I say fuck chemistry.
Not that anyone is lining up outside my door for a chance to take me on a date, but I’m basically like the carpool lane on the weekend:
OPEN TO ALL.
How this happened, I have no idea. I didn’t even know what most of these men’s names were. I can only imagine the magic that Facebook employed to delve into my online dating records. The fact that Facebook was able to dredge these men up from the sewers of my life scares me and impresses me a little.
They even located Louis, who managed to give me my WORST DATE EVER story involving two standard size poodles, the Adult Swim channel (which may have cartoons on it but it incidentally NOT A CHILDREN’S CHANNEL), and Louis’ 6-year-old daughter. I could not make this up and I’ll save the whole story for another blog post.
Louis beat out that aptly named “Fartman” for the title of WORST DATE EVER. No explanation is necessary for that one, I assume.
It’s been an awakening to see al the faces of the men I’ve entertained. It makes me realize how long I’ve been dating and how many different men I’ve gone out with.
More than Princess Di, less than Madonna and we’ll leave it at that.
But still, I have to wonder how did Facebook do it? They even found sexy Dixon who I am currently texting with.
I can only imagine that these men are experiencing the same flashbacks as I am as my picture goes floating by in their “People You May Know” (aka “People You Know But Don’t Want to Admit You Know or Even be Friends With) section.
Surely they think of me as that sexy, brilliant, adventurous blond they were lucky enough to go out with and perhaps they should give me a ring.
Then again, PERHAPS NOT!