Yet Another One Bites the Dust

I waited a few days before writing this, not sure it even bared mentioning, but there are lessons to be learning and laughs to be had with each and every dating dud, downfall, and debacle...And this should be no different.

I've been "seeing" someone for the last eight weeks, and I use the term "seeing" loosely, because we had seven dates in eight weeks, and the farthest things went was a long anticipated but disappointing, lukewarm hug at the end of date number six. Not a great sign.

I spent the last eight weeks enjoying our dates, and feeling like we had a lot in common, a good, friendly connection, but I wasn't really sure if he actually liked me as anything more than a friend. One would think that you could assume he was interested, since he repeatedly asked me out, held doors, and insisted on paying, but I usually go by the tell tale little touches, hugs, or perhaps the occasional kiss. With this guy, though, I had none of that. And yeah, it was nice to know someone wasn't just going out with me to get sex, and sure, he respected my body, blah blah blah. (Especially good since I'm attempting the whole "no sex before monogamy" thing.) But after a while I was thinking I needed to accept that if he seems like he's just not that into you, he's not.

Nevertheless, I was having fun getting to know him, and had no other prospects in sight, so I ignored other bad signs, like the fact that he would go onto the dating sight right after getting home from a date with me. (Yes, yes, I'm a total cyber stalker...but if I have to do the online dating thing, I should at least get to enjoy the creepy benefits.)

Our eight week, hands-free affair culminated this past week when we went out to dinner. The day before, I noticed that he had taken his profile down from the dating site, an act I took to be a very good sign. I thought he was ready to stop looking. I thought he was ready to get serious, and he was, just not with me.

He picked me up and we went out for a lovely meal, chock full of good food and conversation. Afterward, he drove me home, pulled up the driveway and put the car into park, but didn't turn it off, and instead turned toward me and said, "Jen, I need to talk to you about something." Now, you might think he was going to say, "I really like you," or, "be my girlfriend," or something equally enjoyable, but I could tell from the tone of his voice and the look on the face that was not what was coming. My heart dropped a little and I felt a wide, fake smile spread across my face as I listened to him explain that he'd been casually dating online, but now he's met someone he wants to get serious about...and obviously that someone wasn't me. Smile still plastered to my face, I thanked him for his honesty, got out of the car, took my walk of rejection, and moved on.

But here's the kicker...At the end of our lovely meal, I unwittingly insisted on paying for the very dinner that was to be the precursor to my castoff, since "it wasn't fair to always let him pay." And he let me, knowing full well he was about to dump me on my ass.

I should have demanded my money back.

Happy Holidays

Holidays for single people can be a little difficult, surrounded by happy couples and new babies and people asking things like, "So, are you dating anyone new?" It's important to see the humor and keep on laughing at these times. And so, to that end, I give you...My Relationship Status Discussion With a Four Year Old...

Setting: Christmas Eve, my parents house, my cousin's four year old, Sydney, has just climbed up onto my lap.

Sydney: Who's mommy are you?
Me: I'm not anyone's mommy.
Sydney: Yes you are. Who's mommy are you?
Me: I'm really not anyone's mommy. I don't have any kids.
Sydney: Do you have a daddy?
Me: Nope, I haven't found a daddy, yet.
Sydney: Then who do you live with?
Me: I live alone...with my cat...(turning toward my sister) And that is officially the most depressing conversation I will have all Christmas.

How to Turn a Woman Off (and other dating DON'Ts)

I have some strange turn-ons. Actually, that's not really true. I have some strange turn-OFFS. Specifically, the complete and utter lack of punctuation is an extreme turn-off for me. I get more and more emails from men with an absolute lack of punctuation, and I just don't understand it. He could be smart, he could be charming, he could have the looks of Brad Pitt and the wit of Woody Allen, but the minute he hits send without a single period or comma included, he turns into a bumbling, backwoods buffoon, with too many beer bottles and not enough books. All charm and intelligence goes right out the window.

Another turn-off – and this one is, hopefully, not so strange – A proposition for a date from a 61 year old man. Let's all just take a minute to consider the gross-factor here. I have to admit, I looked at his profile – not because I was interested in him, per say, but because I had to see what kind of 61 year old man hits on a 33 year old woman. He had no picture, of course, which screams that he is either married or physically horrifying, or both! My favorite part of the profile was the age range he was looking to date. I always look at this when I get a message from an older man…even slightly older…I think it says a lot about the person. This particular gentleman was looking to date women ages 20 – 40, because society and Hollywood has apparently taught men that that they can and should date woman much younger and better looking than themselves. Interestingly, it's not the same for women…with the super-hyped exception of Demi Moore, but to be fair, she's a Hollywood starlet and forever immortalized by the uber sexy pottery wheel scene in ghost, so she doesn't count.  Needless to say, I did not respond to him, but I can't help but wonder…if Mr. I'm-Too-Sexy-For-This-Walker is not willing to date a 60 year old, what in the name of all that is holy and true makes him think that I am or should be willing to do so?

And lastly, turn-off number three – extreme arrogance. Now, let me explain. A little cockiness can be cute, especially if it's followed up with at least a tiny bit of humility, but there are some men out there, perhaps like our previously mentioned 61 year old bachelor, who truly believe they are a gift from the gods and we should thank our lucky stars that we get to so much as gaze upon their greatness. One such man really caught my attention, the sheer arrogance of his profile utterly astounding. He was divorced and had no pictures of himself. (You already know what I think of that.) But if he deemed a lucky lady worthy enough, he would grant her with a photo upon request. Instead, he had a photo of a young, skinny, big-breasted blond woman as his profile picture, and claimed that she was his ex-wife…interesting, since she was wearing a Hooters girl outfit in front of a restaurant surrounded by palm trees…but hey! Maybe he lived in Florida and his wife was a Hooters girl…it's possible. He claimed that he was putting that picture up instead to show that he "pulls tens." Even the way he stated that just screams "Hi! I’m a douche bag!" He bragged about the condos he owns, the car he drives, and the big piles of money he, no doubt, rolls around in on his giant, lonely bed of shame, and he implored the ladies of the online dating world to email him if they thought they were as hot as his ex.

Sir – Your arrogance has hit new heights of douche-baggery, never before seen by the world. Congratulations.

Thanks For All the Fish

I'd like to take a moment to thank the fine men of plentyoffish.com for the constant, never ending, ridiculous fodder for my blog. Without you, gentlemen, my life would be far less amusing. 

I'd like to thank the old dude who kept sending me gross messages, each dirtier than the previous. After I called you out on your disgusting behavior, Mr. I'm-Too-Sexy-For-This-Beer-Gut, you explained, through a string of words so crude and disgusting that I would never repeat them on this blog, that you were sleeping your way through the ladies of the dating site, and that all women were beneath you. Though I don't believe, for a second, that you could find as many hard-up women to sleep with as you claim, thank you - for putting it in writing…It made it much easier to get your profile shut down.

I'd also like to thank the man who sent me an angry message after I did not immediately respond to his first message, of, "Let's get a drink tonight." Though you think that my not responding within 20 minutes was "rude," Mr. Entitled, I appreciate your zeal. Unfortunately, I think that your two condos, boat, expensive car, and piles of money may have gone to your head. I'm afraid you simply cannot get everything you want the second you want it, and perhaps with the next girl you should try a slightly softer approach…maybe start with, "Hello, my name is ____." Just a thought.

And, finally, let me thank the many strange, awkward gentlemen who have sent me compliments that, quite frankly, really aren't compliments at all. 

• "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Ricki Lake?" I know, she's lost weight, she's cute…but really, not the best celeb look-alike option out there.
  
• "I mean this only in a good way: I love that tiny asymmetry in your eyes. It makes you real." Though I do believe he meant this to be a compliment, I read it and all I could think was…my eyes are crooked??? How have I never noticed this!

 So, thank you, all ye fish, and keep the crazy coming:)

-        

The Bravest Among Us

I have decided to take a little break from dating to give my heart a little time to heal and build up the crunch candy shell that keeps it protected. It's a bit of a dating hiatus, if you will. Unfortunately, this means that I haven't had many interesting dating stories, of late, but that doesn't mean that I don't still have plenty of other ridiculous stories to share…my vault of hilarity and humiliation has a plethora of tales to which there is no end.

So I've been thinking…I could tell you one of the many, many, many dating stories of yor, from my single times in Buffalo and Atlanta, or I could wax philosophical about my past relationships and each bitter, dreadful, or amusing demise. I could talk about my first kiss, my first love, or other, more tawdry things, but instead, I think I'll give you…cockroaches.

Now, let me start by explaining that despite how absolutely horrible these things are, they are nothing, in my opinion, compared to rats, which is maybe why I can, at least now, consider stories involving them to be funny. Some people fear spiders, some snakes…me, I will scream and turn into a hysterical little girl at the mere sight of a rat…they terrify me to my very core in a way that I cannot begin to explain…and since squirrels are just rats with fuzzy tails - and don't even try to tell me otherwise - I'm not too fond of those things, either.  But since any story involving a rat is just horrifying without any side of funny, I will instead regale you with cockroaches, instead.

To be clear, I am not talking about those little bitty things that scatter in the light and exist in building I try to avoid like the plague they carry. I'm talking about the giant, freaky cockroaches that they have down south, known as waterbugs, or Palmetto bugs…Which are actually two different things, but might as well be interchangeable, as they are both large, fast moving, and horrific. (Side note: I know way too much about these things, thanks to the time I spent living in Atlanta, and the wonder that is Wikipedia.) They are around 2 inches in length, they have wings, and they are one of the fastest running insects in the world! These things are the stuff that horror stories are made of. Generally, they live in trees, where they should always, ALWAYS stay, but on occasion, they make their way out of said trees, and into our lives.

Here is one such story.

I moved down to Atlanta, all by my little lonesome, in September of 2006. The roommate I'd lived with in Buffalo, who also happens to be my cousin, and one of the tiniest full-sized adults you'll ever meet, drove down to Atlanta with me. My moving truck (a 'you pack it, we ship it" service) was waiting for us when we got there. If you have ever been to Atlanta, you know how hilly it is. My complex was no exception. Upon arrival, we discovered that the genius truck driver had parked the truck at least 50 yards DOWNHILL from my apartment…and left us no dolly. Being the very inventive gals that we are, we managed to move every last box, a very heavy recliner, and even my giant sofa using nothing more than our girly brawn and a desk chair on wheels which had been chewed down to almost nothing by my cat. Of course, we couldn't just move everything right into my narrow shoebox, because at some point between me packing it and them shipping it, someone added a couple hundred ants to the mix, and I refused to bring anything into the apartment until it was thoroughly shaken out.

Eventually, we moved everything in and started to explore the area. That's when I realized something.

I was on the WRONG side of town.

It had been a whirlwind move, selling my house, moving everything 1000 miles, and finding a new apartment, all in a very short time. I knew I wanted to live in the city and set my sights on an area called Midtown, but in my haste I ended up in a very beautiful, very expensive, very small and narrow apartment in a gated community on the WRONG side of Midtown. Actually, I was on the wrong side of a street that kind of cut through, separating the trendy, fun half from the shoot-you-in-the-face-for-looking-funny half. I was on the latter side of the street called Ponce de Leon. (Fun fact for my northern friends – they do not pronounce it the fancy way that we all learned in school. They pronounce is pawns-duh-lee-yawn. Drove me nuts.) Outside of my very lovely gated community was a Publix grocery store, where large scary-ass dudes stood outside the entrance after dark, flashing guns and drugs, in case you were in the market for either, while picking up your bread and milk. Around the corner was a holding center, and below my balcony was the parking lot of the Civic Center, where drug dealers and prostitutes would have a screaming turf battle every evening as they both tried to sell their wares.

It was a lovely place.

But that was all part of the experience, right? I wanted something new, something different…and you couldn't get much more different than that.

My cousin left and my mom flew down to bring me my cat. As we drove to my apartment, my mother was far from pleased at what she saw, but she was kind enough to keep most of her comments to herself as I tried to be brave and talk about how happy and excited I was. Eventually, though, I broke down, admitting that I hated the neighborhood and couldn't stay there. The next day we trudged back out into the huge, strange city, where, by the way, four right turns does NOT equal a square, and found a bigger, better, cheaper apartment in a much safer part of town.

That night, we got some food and settled in to start re-packing the apartment as voices from the parking lot below rose up and in through the single open window, a distant chorus of curse words drifting in on the breeze. Wanting to get a little more fresh air into the tiny apartment, I reached out and opened the balcony door, just an inch, maybe two, when something small and black ran in, scurried past my feet, and hid behind the couch.

I screamed. I screamed like a helpless girl in a horror movie. A mouse! A mouse had run into the apartment! At least, I thought it was a mouse…It was about the size of a small mouse, dark in color, and moved very fast. I stared at my cat, waiting for her to do her predatory cat thing and pounce, but she simply glared back, bored and annoyed at my antics. I called my mother out from the bedroom, and she took the three step trek into the living room to find me standing on a chair, clutching a shoe in horror.

"There is a mouse behind the couch!" I shrieked.

Being the fearless woman that she is, she pulled the couch out, caught quick sight of the creature before it darted back under, and then proceeded to let out a scream of her own and jump up onto another nearby chair.

"It's not a mouse. It's a giant bug!" she insisted.

Well, once I knew it wasn't a mouse, I was fine. I calmly climbed down from my perch and gave the cat one last longing look. When it became apparent that she was interested in taking this one on, I handed my mother another shoe and gave her directions.

"I'm going to pull the other side of the couch out and try to smash it. If it runs toward you, just jump down and hit it with the shoe, hard."

She didn't look convinced, but agreed. Pretending to be far braver than I really am, I clutched my shoe in one hand, yanked the couch out with the other, and there it was…the biggest cockroach I'd ever seen. I stared down as it glared back up at me, a sneer on its little roach face, and our eyes locked, the bug just daring me to squish it. I took a deep breath, and in the name of single, independent women everywhere, I charged forward, ready for the kill.

Unfortunately, the cockroach ran, too, right toward my mother.

"Hit it!" I screamed, trying to come around the other side. "Hit it now!"

And she did. Jumping down from the chair, she slammed the shoe down on the roach, heel first, and we heard a crunch. She hit it again, for good measure, and I let out a sigh of relief. My mother, though, wasn't quite done. Her eyes wild, her arm swinging, she smashed the shoe down again and again, yelling in a high pitched voice, "help me! Help me! Help me! Help me!" The words were a steady rhythm with each smack of the shoe.

I yelled for her to stop, my voice finally breaking through as the pummeling came to an end, and we both looked down at the tiny black remnants of the cockroach, most of which had been smashed down into the carpet, along with a dark, inky pulp.

Tossing our shoes aside, we sat, physically and emotionally exhausted, and I wondered for maybe the tenth time that week, if I'd made a mistake moving down south. The next couple of years would be trying at times, but I would eventually answer that question with a resounding NO! I did not make a mistake. Though I ultimately did not stay in Atlanta, that move ended up changing my life and making me who I am today. I would later have several more run-ins with the dreaded water bug, my shoe a handy weapon in the war, but that night I just pulled myself up, dusted myself off, and searched Google for the best way to get smashed cockroach stains out of the carpet.

Say Cheese!

I like to think that my little blog serves three main purposes: sharing my silly stories with my friends, dissecting my life for my own self-awareness/analysis, and enhancing the world with my own little pearls of wisdom.

This post is directed at the third objective. I've been in and out of the online dating world for the better part of 8 years – a fact that I am not terribly proud to acknowledge. Nevertheless, I've been around for a few years, in several different cities, and there are many online dating blunders that I have seen repeated over and over again. Whether it be a terrible profile picture, a generic or off-putting "About Me" message, or inappropriate introduction emails, online daters seem to get it wrong more often than right. 

Today, let's talk photos. I'm going to focus on the guys, because, as a straight, single woman, I've viewed my share of male profiles. I'm sure there are plenty of awful blunders in the ladies' profiles, too, but that's a topic for another time.

Common Dating Profile Photo Offenses

1. The Topless Photo – A sad attempt at a playgirl spread without the visible cash and prizes, or an obligatory attempt at showing off the pectoral region. Now, guys, I understand that it's summer, it's hot, and you're probably spending time out at the beach or on a boat, sans shirt, with friends snapping photos, and that's okay. I think it's fine to sneak one or two of those photos into the mix, if, of course, you've got a body worth showing off, or are very comfortable with the lack thereof, but maybe slip those into the middle of the pack, and reserve the main profile picture for a shot that is a bit less revealing. Of course, if you're just looking for a little fun and the occasional hook-up, plaster your hot bod on up there, but don't expect a woman who's looking for something more serious to pay much attention. We appreciate the view, but the photo doesn't exactly scream "mature and committed." Once out of our twenties, most women are looking for a little more J. Crew and a little less Jersey Shore.
   
   
2. The Mirror Shot – Posed shot in a mirror, holding the camera or phone in your hand. There is nothing natural or appealing about these shots. They are staged, awkward, and to be honest, we're usually checking out the background to see how dirty or messy it might be, instead of focusing on the macho pose you're striking. If you must take a photo of yourself, here's a helpful hint: just about every digital camera has a timer on it – set the timer, put the camera down, and pretend you're doing something other than striking a sexy pose in your bathroom.
    
3. The Angles – Originally perpetuated by the internet's abandoned playground formerly known as MySpace, the Angles are photos that only show a person from certain, specific angles, so that you're never totally sure how they really look. Like a mixed up puzzle, or a dissected Picasso, the Angles coincide with the Mirror Shot, often self-photographed, and generally looking like a model's pose gone horribly wrong.
    
4. The Arm-Stretch – An off-shoot of The Angles, the Arm-Stretch occurs when one takes a photo of himself while holding the camera up and out, shooting the pic at arm's length. This is only acceptable with two or more people in the photo, and preferably if you are all drunk. If you're alone, chances are whatever you're doing isn't interesting enough to take a photo of, and if it is, again, I highly recommend the camera timer.
    
5. The Not-My-Baby Photo – A photo of you holding someone else's baby. You post the pic, then you put up a caption explaining that the baby does not belong to you. Guys, I get that you're going for the whole "women love baby's" thing, but maybe just got with another picture and save yourself the trouble of explaining – or borrow a friend's puppy…much less likely to scare off the ladies.
    
6. The Visible Cut-Out – Scratched out, blurred out, colored out, cut out, or covered up picture of the person next to you. It's creepy, strange, and a little sad. If you have the photo on your computer, then chances are you have some kind of basic photo editing software. Find the crop tool. Embrace the crop tool. The crop tool is your friend.
    
7. The Beer Bottle Shot – This isn't a don't, per say. I'd just like to point out that a vast number of guys have shots of themselves, at a bar or party, eyelids half open, face a little red, beer bottle in hand. It's a classic, really, but maybe better left to those in their early 20s.
    
8. Thug Pose – The serious-face, flexed muscle shot, meant to look tough, rough, or otherwise badass. You're not fooling anyone, guys. Mom is your hero, and your pitbull, Daisy, is your baby-girl, so put the scowl away and give us a grin.

Thanks for Being Creepy

Sometimes I am utterly amazed by what people...and by people, I mean men, consider to be a good pick-up line.

Today, I got what has to qualify as at least top three creepiest come-ons  I've ever gotten. Thanks to online dating sites, that ranking has become more and more competitive.

Previously, the top creepiest pick-up line went a little something like this...Several year ago, I had an eyebrow ring. (I know, I know...but in my defense, it was the 90's and I was an art/film student.) I was at a bar with a friend one night, and a slightly inebriated man came up and said, "I like your eyebrow ring; it makes you look like a little girl, and that makes me want to take you home." It was confusing and creepy. How does a piercing on my face make me look, in any way, like a little girl? And more importantly, why does THAT make you want to take me home? Ick!

Pedopheliac undertones aside, this new one actually, for some reason, made my skin crawl even more. I think it was the combination of the email along with a profile expounding the importance of family, his own children, and good morals.

And now, I give you the creepiest online introduction I've ever received...

 I really am a cat type of person and I just gotta ask...
 ...can I pet your kitty sometime? Mine is getting really old and lives with my ex-wife.

EW! What woman would ever respond to that? What woman would read that and saw, "Awe, how sweet!" If you were shooting for funny, Creepy-Email-Guy, you missed the target...by miles.


To all my non-single friends out there, thank your lucky stars that you are paired up and don't need to trudge through the dark, dangerous, post-apocalyptic world of dating. It can be a scary place.