That's Ms. Fat-Ass, to you

In the last week, or so, I have received the following two emails on an online dating website:

"You should say fat"

"You need to quit deep fried twinkyes [sic]"

I did NOT respond to either, but holy hell did I want to. What the fuck (excuse me...) is wrong with these people? Let me also say, I am fully aware of what my body looks like. My body type is very much for some and very much not for others. I have tits. I have an ass (excuse me, again). In the grand scheme of things do I honestly give a rat's ass what these two nitwits, who can't string a proper sentence together or post a picture on their profile, say? No. But my feelings are hurt. I'm not sure what bothers me more the fact that they said it, or the fact that I'm bothered by it.

A little help from your friends

Get excited...NoBridget is blogging again (read: is single again and actively trying to date)!

I was out to dinner with friends on Friday night: one other single, two married. The other single-woman shared a great story about meeting a guy she's really excited about. She had started online dating a few months back and was feeling really discouraged and had gotten to a place where she was accepting of the possibility of a relationship just not being in the cards for her. Some close friends of hers continue(d) to encourage her to date and try to meet someone. In fact, one of the friends suggested that she sign-on to the online profile and do some searches for my friend and update her profile a bit. Long story short: the friend found a great match for my friend, they met and really hit it off!

Of course, I was inspired by this story for two reasons: 1. I do think that friends sometimes know you better than you know yourself; and 2. It inspired me to log back into dating websites. However, after looking at what's available I'm thinking maybe I need a friend to do it for me. Takers?

Max Ehrmann Didn't Intend to Write Pickup Lines

Some guy sent me the entire text of the Desiderata on Ye Olde Dating Wesbite. That was it. Nothing else.

And what the fuck is that supposed to mean, exactly?

Radar

What's that? I sense a newly single sure-thing!

How do men know?

It will be months without any communication. No texting. No emailing. No late night phone calls. No hand-written love letters. (Ha, that was a joke!) Nothing!

During those said months I will become interested in someone else. This generally goes poorly and a few months later I am again single. Queue the blast from the past.

Text: "Hey there....Just wanted to say hi and see what's new?" 
Possible Translation:  So, like you, I have been dating someone for the last couple months. Man, the sex was great! But, she wanted more than I am able to provide emotionally and now she won't return my calls. If you don't still hate me, would you be game for a commitments-free roll in the hay?
 

Email: "I just had a crazy dream about you (nothing bad, I swear) and I can't stop thinking about it. It would be great to hear from you!"
Possible Translation:  You know that thing you used to do? Yeah, I think about it all the time. And, I really, really tried to get my newest lady friend to do it...But, it just wasn't the same. Fancy a trip down memory lane? Are you still that flexible...I mean, when are you perhaps available?

Voice message: "Hey! It's me. I didn't expect you to answer, but I hope everything is going well for you. Just calling to see how you're doing and all. Uh, give me a call back! Yeah...if you want. I hope everything is great! So, call me! Or...you know...(mumble) Yeah." 
Possible Translation:  My, it is so, so lonely in my bed. I occasionally take out that shirt you left behind that still smells like you. I may wear it around my apartment sometimes. I kept your toothbrush just in case. I think the cat is judging me.

So, do men come with built in radar that alerts them every time any of their exes suddenly become available? Is this a learned skill? HOW DO THEY KNOW? Because, wow, they certainly always seem to know in my life. As soon as one relationship gets booed off stage, there is always an ex tap dancing in the wings ready to give an encore performance.

Why do you contact your exes? What do your exes want when they contact you?

The Queen of Spades

Baggage Magnet

Attention, Men of the World!

Are you carrying around so much emotional baggage, you'd get charged hundreds in fees by any airline? Do you have a hunchback from the sheer weight of all of the burden you're toting? For bonus points, do you have some kind of issues with your mother, or maybe a substance abuse problem?

If that sounds like you, try dating ME! Seriously! Lots of others like you have done so in the past and been quite happy about it, at least for a little while. The results are best if you 1) Keep your issues a secret or 2) Totally downplay their severity. Because once I realize the codependent mess we're about to be in, I'll probably wise up. But who knows, you might get lucky.

The universe, while spending lots of time sending the Queen some seriously effed-up e-mails, has also been working really hard to send me emotionally unavailable people. Several. In a row. And one question I have is: if you're in no shape to date, why are you on a dating website?

Fair question, I think.

The Week of Weird Emails

I met a boy. We went out. We had a great time. Weeks later, boy says he wants to see as many people as possible while continuing to see me. I say good-bye to boy. 

So, in the week since I have been back to the online dating thing, I have gotten some truly deranged emails. 

Email 1: YOU ARE SCARY!

“So I will tell you I was very intimidated by you and I did not message you several times because of how intimidating you are. Not because you are stunningly beautiful though. (Proceeds to list 10 reasons why I am so awesome.) As far as I can tell you are one of the most awesome people I have had the chance to contact and that in itself is a frightening prospect. I really really REALLY hope you'll get back to me.”

I imagine I will get an email from these two next.

Email 2: YOU ARE TALL! AND, SO AM I! I SWEAR!

“Sorry i was short yesterday it is that i have been on this site for over a year and still havent met anyone.....maybe i am lame? but i think we have a lot in common and i might let u win at ski ball.....i also eat provocatively…Maybe you would like to meet.”

Email 3: YOU ARE FAKE!

“You look very good, no dispute. But I think all of your smiles are, actually, posing/smirking. Is there a photo of you with a real smile? Would love to see - I'm sure it will make you look much more warm. Btw, I happen to like Cohen's brothers films, too.”

(Please note my profile includes a candid photo of me laughing. Apparently that is not enough for him. I am not WARM enough.)

Email 4: YOU LOST MY INTEREST BEFORE! BUT, NOW I’M SINGLE AGAIN!

(months later) “Hey there... it seems I dropped the ball on our previous correspondence. Hope you didn't take it personally. Anything new and different with you?”

Email 5, 6, 7: YOU MUST HAVE SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOU!

In summary… “WHY ARE YOU STILL SINGLE?! You are so damn gorgeous and witty. Get a man already, sheesh! Make someone a lucky guy. Come on!”

Email 8: YOU ARE JUST LIKE ME! AND, I AM AWESOME!!!!

“Wow, you're a beautiful female version of myself: tattoos, opera (Wagner or Verdi....important question????), Rilke, my dream poet, and I'm willing to guess you read some Borges here and there. And we're both really really good looking. Mirror!”

Meanwhile, a man from Florida who is ORANGE like an Oompa Loompa, will not leave me alone.

Time to lay off the self-tanner, guys...

Sample Oompa Loompa Email:

“ITS ME MIKE

Wow..You have beautiful skin.
You are such a breath of fresh air you
You are too cute to be in that city.
Kisses”

 

Uh, what the hell?

I do fully admit the majority of the mail I get is pretty decent. However, this week has been just rife with strange, strange emails. Is it the weather?  The moon? ME? WTF? 

The Queen of Spades

Appropriations

Recently the Queen and I enjoyed a night on the town with my good friend T and his fairly-new girlfriend A. I've met A before and I think she's really cool. But what I hadn't notcied before were some subtle changes in T's wardrobe that were very clearly her influence- and frankly, the fact that we met them at a tiny bar to watch an unknown band is also very NOT T.

It got me thinking about when people get into relationships and they appropriate things from the other person- habits, lifestyles, wardrobe, preferences in music and TV and movies. I had a friend who, when she started dating her last boyfriend, suddenly loved punk bands and became a vegetarian. Neither of these were harmful to her, but I thought it was odd for her to make a change like giving up meat just because her boyfriend did.

I thought about myself and what I may have appropriated from people I've dated. Some things were only for the duration of the relationship, while others were things that I truly grew to like on my own (hello, Top Chef!).

What do you think, readers? What things have you picked up, or have people picked up from you? Have you ever made a drastic change because it made you match a partner's preferences? Have you ever been concerned when you've seen a friend do the same?

Where's the Poop, Robin?

Regular readers will know that I'm a big fan of How I Met Your Mother, and that I've found many instances where plot points on that show mirror my dating experiences.

Last week, Robin tried to casually tell the group that she'd seen her ex, a newscaster, on his new show, and that she turned the TV off and realized she was over him. Lily knew better, and asked, "Where's the poop, Robin?" She explained that she'd had a dog as a child who would make the same face Robin was making, and it always meant he'd pooped somewhere in the house. Robin then had to admit that she'd actually watched the whole show, gotten drunk, and called her ex.

Apparently I am as bad at hiding things as my favorite fictional Canadian. To wit:

Queen of Spades: So, how did the date go last night?
CarrieLives: Oh, really well. He was nice, and we had a really good time.
Queen of Spades: Did you kiiisss him? (said in her best elementary-school teasing tone)
CarrieLives: Yes, yes I did.
Queen of Spades: Anything else?
Carrie Lives: ...
Queen of Spades: I KNEW it!

What can I say? I have a terrible poker face and zero willpower. So...there's that.

On the Importance of Knowing One's Audience

Over the past couple of weeks I'd been chatting with a guy I met on the lovely internets. It all seemed pretty cool at first- we had some nice conversations and we had a lot in common. I was happy to accept when he asked me out.

We were discussing where and when to meet up, and he asked if I'd prefer to go home after work before meeting him or not. I said I would so I could drop my stuff off and what have you, and he says, "Yeah, plus you have to look pretty for me."

*blink, blink* Excuse me?

I laughed, because I couldn't think what else to say. And I thought, hey, I'll let that slide, because he was just trying to be funny. And I tried not to think about the guy from last year who told me that 15 minutes late was 5 minutes early for me since I was a girl, and how I laughed that off and he turned out to be a jerk. Because sometimes it's just a joke, right?

Well, right. But after that came another sexist joke, followed by a racist joke, followed by me saying hey, it's been real, but you have made me feel rather uncomfortable a few times now, so I think maybe we shouldn't hang out again. And that was that.

I've run into this sort of thing a few times- where I'll meet a guy and in the first few conversations/dates he'll let fly a comment (or several comments) that are anywhere from "Gee, I could take that a number of different ways and some of those ways are offensive" to "Holy crap, WHO SAYS THAT?" While sometimes it's that the guy truly is just kind of a jerk, sometimes I think it's a case of them not realizing that when you don't know your audience, there are just some things you don't say.

It goes without saying that anything racist, bigoted, sexist, or generally just fricking mean is pretty much never OK (for example, the infamous Crazy Starbucks Guy, who told me about how all women of a certain age are "Hos" on our first date). But some things can be funny once you're more familiar with a person and you know their sense of humor. I think in dating, and in any new relationship, it's important not to assume familiarity and comfort. Not that you need to be some fake version of yourself or flat-out lie to be agreeable- but it's a good idea to think before you speak.

And here I thought incoherent ramblings and inflated egos were bad...

...but this, my friends, THIS is far worse.

The good people at Jezebel have shared this story of "Alice" and her recent encounter with a male suitor on a dating website. To call his comments "inappropriate" doesn't even begin to cover it.

What It's Like Out There

This post is dedicated to all of those folks who have said:

"You must hear from at least SOME nice guys."
"I bet the problem is that you're being too picky."
"You're so (smart, funny, attractive, etc.), you shouldn't have a problem."

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the highlights from my online dating universe, circa yesterday.

Bachelor #1 would like to help me avoid looking like I have a case of The Gay:
"I'm XXXX, What can I say to you in an email that some guy hasn't already said. How can I stand out from all the other yahoos (guys) on this site. Yeah I called them yahoos, I checked out some of the guys profiles, later found that to be a mistake because I showed up in there who viewed me. Lucky none of them felt compelled to contact me. It would have been awkward. About me, sense of humor, check. I can laugh at my self. Love to cook more than being cooked for. I have a curios nature and am always trying to learn and figure things out. I have a great family and many of my friends agree. I have great friends, don't take my word for it, ask them they will tell you they are great friends. Okay, this is starting to feel like a resume, that what my profile is for. So I leave you with this advice, don't check out profiles of the same sex unless that is something that you are into."

Bachelor #2 would like me to recognize his 40 years of experience.

"Hi beaty I have 40, I would like to meet you before get41. You are so BEATIFUL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Bachelor #3...well, I can't tell you much about him except that he checks me out three or four times a day, and also checks out my roommate's profile- which we figured out has photos of me as well.

So yeah, I guess I'm picky, because this kind of stuff isn't doing it for me.

This is what an omnivore looks like.

Largely uninspired by the world of dating, I am fairly certain I just keep my online profile so I can pick fights with people. Some email smack-down always puts me in a good mood.

Message #1:

(Quotes section of my profile in which I mention that though I live in the land of the vegan, thrift store furniture re-purposing, quinoa-eating home-brewer, I am largely unapologetic for my love of steak.)

maybe you should have moved somewhere else if you feel the need to scoff at your neighbors.

Peruse said sender's profile. He mentions quite proudly that though he is a vegetarian, he would never presume to judge others. Is that so?

Response:

Maybe my neighbors should learn to be a tad less judgmental concerning anyone who is an omnivore. Preaching any lifestyle is unattractive, regardless of dogma.

Those be fightin' words apparently....

Message #2: well, your comment sounds reactionary and obnoxious, so you're not making more friends with it on your profile.

Oh, I'm going to show you reactionary and obnoxious....

Response: Oh! I'm shocked! I'm here to make friends with everyone!!!!! I want them all the hold my hand and sing me soft, soft indie songs about friendship and unicorns. Perhaps my new friends will even take me out for some buffalo tempeh (one of my favorite things to eat) and they will not judge me for my occasional foray into the world of red meat! Golly, that would be so nice!

Instead, I have judgmental vegetarians emailing me to tell me I'm obnoxious. You picked this fight. Even after I state that I will not be apologizing. For steak, for my opinions, for my reactionary statements, for my hatred of Dan Brown's terrible prose.

Move along, sir. There is nothing for you here.

Dating website then matches us up again, commenting that it thinks with both like bowling.

Sigh.

This Is What A Feminist Looks Like

I'm a mean, mean feminist bitch. And, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Email: "Quick! Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, and find line 4. What's it say?"

With no intent of replying, I casually look at his profile. He lists The Bro Code and I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell as his two favorite books of all time. Do men even READ my profile?

I look to my left to find the nearest book.

Yes Means Yes: Visions of Female Sexual Power & A World Without Rape happens to be sitting at my right elbow. This opportunity is too good to pass up.

Queen of Spades: It says..."And the traditional gender roles so exalted by conservative groups---roles that envision women as passive receptacles and men as aggressive deviants---further excuse and endorse sexual assault." You sure you want to play this game being as you list The Bro Code and I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell as your favorite books?

Douchasaurus: You assume I only read stuff like that ha, they are amazing books. That doesn't mean I don't read other, more sophisticated ones.

Queen of Spades: The fact that you call them "amazing" does not give you much credibility. Listing misogynist fiction which loosely masquerades as entertainment for masses insecure men, in fact, mostly bespeaks quite poorly of you. I said that I liked literature and education in my profile. I did not say that I enjoyed self-indulgent man-children with a need to degrade women.

Douchasaurus: Amazing meaning entertaining. But the fact that you chose to come back with such hostility doesn't seem to bode to well for you either. Enjoy your "literature."

Queen of Spades: Actually, "amazing" means causing great surprise or sudden wonder. I'd suggest turning those books in for a good, old-fashioned dictionary. Hugs and kisses!

As an aside, my date last week took a distinct nose-dive when my date remarked on how much he liked my bow. I think I stared at him in complete bewilderment for several minutes. Then he leered at me, closer and closer, until his eyes fixed upon my cleavage for an uncomfortably long pause.

"Your...bow," he said.

Yes, that's right, the bow in the middle of my bra. How charming.

Then receiving the bill for dinner, he pulls out a $20. (His entree alone was $26.) Awkward pause.

"Uh, sorry, I only have enough to cover my own meal, " I say while making sure my shirt is appropriately covering my cleavage.

"Oh." Grumble. Shuffle through wallet. Pulls out a few more dollars. "Fine. You can take me out for a drink next time." Leaves no tip for the waitress. Shameful.

He wants to go out again. I told him my bow has high standards and unfortunately it is only attracted to generous tippers and men who do not inappropriately leer. My bow has discerning tastes. And, it's not going to take any of your shit.

If you loved me you would

I love my friends. I love them and they love me, but sometimes I wish they would focus on their own lives and not everyone else's, or at least not mine. I've been telling people the former boy and I have been talking again. It's been a little jarring when I get: "F him! You better not get back together with him!" I realize the people who say this truly care about me and do not want me to get hurt. I also realize that we did not end things well. The dramatic way it ended is in this blog for the world to see. Believe me, I have not forgotten.

However, when the hell did I say I was going to get back together with him? Would I hear him out? Yes. Do I miss him? Yes. Do I believe that people can make things work the 2nd time around? Yes. Am I going to drive to his house tonight and tell him how sorry I am and jump in the sack? HELL NO. Frankly, the assumption that I would is insulting.

Here is a snippet from a recent conversation:

Me: I heard from XXX btw.

Friend: WTF. Fuck him. Did you tell him to fuck off?

Me: Ummm, no. I was civil.

Friend: You better not take him back!

Me: Ummm, what? That didn't come up.

Friend: Well would you, cause I would be disappointed if you did.

Me: Ummm, I would be open to hearing what he had to say about it, but I certainly am not going go back to something if it's still the same way it was.

Friend: I realize you didn't ask for the advice, but...

Me: Please don't lecture me

Friend: (insert 5 minute monologue here about what an ass he is and how great I am except for the part where I'm a stupid bitch if I take him back)

Me: I appreciate your concern, but I can make my own decisions and I would think you would support me regardless.

Friend: Well, I would. I just think it's the wrong decision to make.

Me: Yeah, that just doesn't sound very supportive to me.

Friend: Well wtf, he was a jerk.

Me: (I have completely shut down at this point and am just mumbling shit like "well we'll see", "whatever", "uhhuh")

This friend has called me every day since just to "check on me." *sigh* To be fair, most of my friends have had nothing to say about it other than Oh? What's up with that?

And then we have the conversation with my mother about it:

Mom: Well, would you dump his ass if nothing has changed?

Me: Of course.

Mom: Is he good in bed?

Me: Of course.

Mom: Then what the hell do you care what your friends think? It's your life.

I heart my Mom.

Dear Universe,

Sometimes I ask the universe for favors. And, frighteningly, sometimes the universe responds.

I’ve had too many coincidences in my life to believe anything else. A year ago, I was entirely conflicted how I felt about an ex and my then current boyfriend, My Favorite Mistake. I asked for a sign to figure out what to do about my ex. He called me that night for the first time in months to tell me he had proposed to his new girlfriend of two months. That was certainly an answer.

My Favorite Mistake is still very much present in my life and I unfortunately gravitate toward him in times of boredom, loneliness, happiness, hell, really anything. But, the fact remains, we cannot be together and we have too much history to pretend we can just be casual friends.

Meanwhile, I have come to the conclusion that I simply cannot go on any more boring dates. I have finally figured out I am looking for an unconventional, eccentric counterpart while also realizing that I simply cannot make polite, generic conversation anymore. I do understand that I am somewhat of an eclectic crackpot, but I have been exceedingly uninterested by my prospects. I have not been excited about anyone in such a long time; I can’t even remember why I want to fall in love again.

So, I asked for a new distraction. My list of desired attributes a-went a-somethin’ like this: Well-traveled with an interesting cultural background, multilingual, successful, intelligent, deranged sense of humor, well-read, intellectually curious, love of board games...and, you know, attractive.

And, hot damn, the universe delivered!

So, the dating hiatus is over.


This message has been approved by 4 out of 5 Ms. Universe contestants. I don't know about you, but I think Ms. USA looks like an Queen-of-Spades-hating, love-bashing lady. That, or she really just doesn't approve of Miss Japan's dress.

Blast from the recent past

I recently created a new profile on the dating website I've been on. I did it because I was linked up on the former boy's profile (bad choice, on my part) and women were checking me out and one asked for a reference on him. Bottom line is: I don't want to see or know who he's talking to or dating. I tried to let him know, but since he had blocked emails from me, he didn't get the message I sent. I made the grown up decision to just start over (Yes, I'm patting myself on the back for not going batshit crazy and messaging this poor woman back).

The new profile has been up since Thursday, maybe Friday. There is this silly star-rating system on the website where people can rate you. If someone rates you 4 or more stars, you get an email stating "one of these 9 people rated you..." Well imagine my surprise when he was one of the 9 people. I figured it was just a coincidence and it was actually one of the other 8 that had rated me. Then I go to see who has looked at my profile and there he is (and none of the other 8 have). Now this website is set up that if two people rate each other with 4 or 5 stars, you get an email saying "we rated each other 4 or 5 stars!" So of course I rated him 4 stars knowing I would get an email if he also did. Sure enough, I get the email...

Now, here is the thought process: WTF did he seriously not recognize me? He saw me naked for three months and didn't realize that was me? I mean, if he did know it was me, there is no way he would've given me four+ stars. He hates me! I'm sure you get the drift. I ventured into crazy town for a bit. As we all know, I can't leave well enough alone so I send him a message: LOL I'm assuming you didn't realize it was me. Got a good laugh out of it, though (again, patting myself on the back for not being batshit crazy). At that point I had to let it go. I assumed he wouldn't respond and we would both just go on our merry way, each pretending the other doesn't exist.

He responded. I literally had to count to 100 and breathe before reading his response because I thought for sure I was going to get blasted by him (Remember: his last words to me were that he wanted nothing to do with me and I was crazy, disturbed, etc.). Basically, he knew it was me, thought I looked "great" blah, blah. I explained why I had the need for a new profile and he was apologetic and immediately removed my old profile link from his profile (not that it matters now). We exchanged a few more messages and that was that. It was actually nice to not feel like I was on the defensive.

I do admit, the last 24 hours I've been thinking about him a lot. I'm not naïve enough to think anything has or will change or that we will rekindle anything. Hell, I don't even think we'll communicate again. The issues that we had are probably still there. However, I do miss him. I think we both said and did things out of anger and frustration that we wouldn't have done/said under normal circumstance. Don't get me wrong, I'm not making excuses for him...he was a total ass and has yet to apologize. It's just nice to know that we can both move past it and as I said to him "not still be drinking pints of bitter."

Taking the Low Road, and a To-Do List

I've been dating for a long time now. Since I was fourteen, with about 5-6 years off when I was in one relationship or another. So I've got about ten years of experience to draw from. But for some reason I'm still a little surprised when a guy professes to be interested, talks about wanting to go out again, and then disappears.

I'm not talking about the ones where you both aren't interested and you sort of vaguely avoid the subject or make halfhearted attempts at saying things like "So I'll call you" and then no one does. I mean when you've had several dates, he says, "We definitely need to go out again, let's plan something for next week" and then he falls off the grid faster than if Witness Protection had sent him to Idaho.

I guess I continue to be surprised because I find that sort of thing to be counterproductive and kind of cowardly, and I am nothing if not efficient and straightforward. And normally, even though I don't get it, I usually take the high road and take the hint. No sense spending energy on a person like that.

But...Deja Vu Guy and I had a great date last week, and it ended with him saying we should definitely get together again. When I mentioned that my schedule was a little iffy, he said, "Give me a call when you know what nights you're free." And I did. And that was five days ago. And frankly, given the backstory on this one, I'm a shade annoyed. Not to mention a man of his age should know better.

So I took the low road for a change and sent this e-mail today:

So I'm curious...you couldn't remember why you never called me five years ago. What's the reason this time?

I'm aware of a few things here- namely that 1. I may not get an answer; 2. I may get an answer I really don't like; 3. This probably makes me look kind of bitchy; and 4. Saying this won't change anything. I'm OK with that. For some reason, it just felt good to speak up and say "Hey, this is kind of silly, why not just tell me you're not interested?" rather than slinking away so as not to "bother" anyone.

Since that act, however small, was a stretch for me, I thought this list (found via FunkyBrownChick) was interesting. Maybe this counts as #10? Eh...probably not. :)

Where is the line?

I had an interesting first date last night, that temporarily left me wondering where the line is between "no real connection" and "too picky/stuck up bitch." My date was very nice, respectful, honest (or seems to be...), and accepting (again, or seemed to be), all of the things that are on my Must Haves list. However, I left something off the list and I felt guilty last night for thinking this...Intelligence, or insight, or ability to have an intellectual conversation. He may not be "dumb" per say, but I think we think very differently about things and we find different things intellectually stimulating (I'm so diplomatic, aren't I?). And let me also say this: I totally would have dated him in my 20's, but not at 37. Here is the exchange that pretty much sealed the deal for me:

Him: So, tell me about your trip to Portugal. Is it as under-developed as S. America (he had just returned from a trip there).
Me: In some parts, yes. There are some areas where I would not be the least bit surprised to see a local riding to donkey to get around. But in other areas it's built up and developed. I also think that in some ways they are ahead of the game. Like, using wind power and federally legalizing gay marriage.
Him: Oh they legalized gay marriage?
Me: Yeah, a few months ago.
Him: Wow, I didn't realize there were gay people in Portugal.
Me: There are. (while in my head going: *BLINK*blink*blink*blink*)

Like I said, he is a very nice guy and maybe I am a stuck up b***, but he is not a good match for me.

He emailed me about an hour ago to say he didn't really feel a connection and didn't think that I was interested in him either. I do feel a little bad that it was that obvious, BUT I am glad that he took the time to email, I give him a lot of points for that.

Deja Vu All Over Again

You may remember that a while back, I received a message from a guy who I'd gone out with before and that he didn't seem to remember me. In the end I decided to just come clean right away, and we had a laugh over it and neither of us could remember why we only went out once back then and never called each other. Since it stood to reason that if the date had been truly awful at least ONE of us would remember it, we decided to give it another go.

Since then we've been out twice- due to opposite work schedules and a LOT of travel on my part, there were five weeks between those two dates. But I guess that's better than five years, am I right?

So far it's been a lot of fun, and fairly relaxed, which is nice given my tendency toward being a neurotic freakbag about this stuff. But we'll just see if we can get to a place of actually hanging out more often than once a month, or if this will peter out like it did back in the bygone days of 2005.

In other news, NoBridget introduced the Queen and me to Project Husband 2011 (found via 27 Dresses in Cleveland) and we're both horrified. What do you think, readers? Is this a great experiment in the power of positive thinking, or is this woman absolutely batshit insane? (Call me crazy, but I think booking a wedding venue and choosing a dress BEFORE you have a groom is putting the cart before the horse just a tad.)

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Well, my opportunity to go on a blind date and write about it in a major newspaper has sadly been canceled. Due to an unforeseen family emergency, I was forced to reschedule my date. Then the column changed hands and the new editor was unwilling to reschedule my date. She told me that she’d keep my profile on file, but I have a feeling it is currently lining the circular bin. Blah. Fine.

Both dates from More Than Slightly Demented were very kind during said family emergency. I even went out on another date with Numero Dos when I returned...And promptly decided that I’m just not attracted to him. Whilst filling my mom in on my sad dating life, she asked, “So, when you met up with him again, where you excited to see him?” “No.” “Well, that certainly answers that question.”

He was very gracious when I told him that I simply cannot date anyone right now. He told me he had a serious crush on me (which I ignored) and then something about how I would be a serious find for whoever I let find me (blah again). So, OkStupid has been disabled, I’ve canceled other tentative dates, and I doubt you will see much of me blog-wise for a while. I’m going to focus on starting a new business and myself for a bit. Too-de-loo.

Here We Go Again

After Mr. Patient turned into the former boy and flaming a**, I quietly decided to go on strike. Initially, I updated my online dating profile and was ready to forge ahead without giving it a second thought. Then, I was being cyber-stalked (long story) which lead to some very bitter and hateful email exchanges. I realized I was really very sad and angry about the whole thing. And the strike began.

The first two weeks I let myself stay angry. I had to, if I didn't I was going to be sad and pathetic. The second two weeks I left the country. I wish I could say it was a spontaneous break-up related thing, but it had already been planned. And now I'm ready. I'm neither sad, nor angry, but also not indifferent. I would say more annoyed and disappointed than anything. More about his behavior, post-breakup, than the actual ending of things. If you only knew how many times I have said "If I only knew..." over the last month. The silver lining in all of it is; now I know that I do want to be in a grown-up relationship and I'm not as scared of that as I have been in the past. So I'm not giving up, and the strike is over.

There are currently four potentials in the dating queue. All have stated they would like to get together. One is incredibly grammatically-challenged, I'm not sure if the OCD-tendencies in me can handle that, but he's super tall and that always gets a first date. The shoulders are brushed off and away we go...

Blind Date, Ahoy!

Earlier this year, CarrieLives went on a blind date with a gentleman (documented for prosperity in Mystery Date). Even though she was described as "stimulating" and "well-proportioned," alas, it was not meant to be.

Now, apparently, it is my turn.

A well-meaning newspaper in the area sets up strangers based on their responses in a questionnaire and then sends them out to a restaurant for a date. I decided to fill out said questionnaire at 3AM on a Friday night during a dating slump, oh, several months ago. I may or may not have been a little tipsy. I also may or may not have sent in the snarkiest questionnaire possible.

So, they now want to send me on a date next Tuesday. And, I'm going to go.

I'm on about date 4 with nerdy guy numero dos from More Than Slightly Demented. It's been really fun so far and I quite like him. That said, I think he is fully on the rebound from his recently ended relationship. (And, every girl knows the worst possible things is to spend your time helping a guy heal his wounded heart and wings to then watch him fly on back to his original nest.)

So, blind date it is for me. If anything, it's free dinner and a funny story.

Have you every been on a blind date? What happened?

Do I know you from somewhere?

The message was innocent enough:

Hey, I'm XXXX... how are you? I'd love to talk some time.. learn more about you. How is okcupid treating you? Any interesting characters.. or meetings?

So I start looking at photos. And I realize the guy looks familiar. And that I'm pretty sure I've met him before. And then I realize I've done more than meet him, we've gone out before. Five years ago.

And one of those times definitely ended with some drunk groping and whatnot. *headdesk*

So...how does one handle this, exactly? Ignore him? See if he's any different than five years ago? Point it out? This is just odd.

"I'm Really A Nice Guy." Yeah? You Seem Like an Asshole to Me.

Message 1:

Hey baby! I’m like milk. I do a body good.

(No response. Look at profile)

Asshole’s Self Summary:

“It really smells like sausage in here. If you're fat and/or ugly, YAY for you. welcome to this FRAT party bitches. you probably have a false sense of ego/self-esteem, but you wonder why guys leave right after they fuck you slut, make sure to get herpes on this website ;) I mean there are like 10 sausages for every pair of buns...makes me sick”

(What the...? Is this real? Then I promptly receive an IM from said Asshole)

Asshole: Uhh, don’t read that…you should stalk me on facebook sometime if you desire :) I think that someone hacked my profile :(

Me (because I think everyone needs a living/learning lesson sometime): Then why don't you change it? Also, I was just stalking you because I was AMAZED at the level of douchiness one paragraph could contain.

Asshole: lmao, thanks hun :) I appreciate it lmao You like a good girl; What are you doing w/ your life?

(After looking as his Facebook profile as he suggested. His profile included such gems as “To all you sluts….keep dreamin’!”and “So let's get it over and just get naked, I wanna give everything I got.”)

(WTF?)

Me (after reading his bio): “Seductively handsome,” huh?

Asshole: Damn right.

Me: AND “livin’ the dream?” Wow, making sure you live out those clichés to the fullest, huh?

Asshole: Uhhh, kinda. LOL. You’re ripping me apart. I like it. So when are you going to call me?

Me: Hmm, never. I do not associate with men who refer to women as "sluts."

Asshole: I'm really a nice guy

Me: I also do not associate with men who definitely got the short stick when it came to intelligence. And, sweetie, "nice guys" do not call women "sluts."

Asshole: 7” is not short...

Me: Yes, but I can buy 7" of battery operated fun. The best part? It's not attached to an asshole.

Asshole: Haha, nice. So what's your number?

Asshole: Call me.

Me: So, really, does this ever work for you?

(Peruse his Facebook profile out of curiosity. Find he has posted tons of pictures of naked girls who obviously did not know their picture has been taken or had sent him pictures privately. Also found several photos of, uh, crotch shots. Status updates included things such as Asshole “hates this Fat bitch so bad he hopes she gets stuffed with black dicks (not small ones) until she explodes like a piñata and children collect the blubber.")

(QUEUE HORRIFIED LOOK ON FACE. Oh. My. God. I didn’t think people like this really existed.)

Asshole: Only w/ you ;) So call me.

Me: You are officially blocked from this point on…I reported your photos on Facebook as porn. I have also reported you on this site. Even if this is some elaborate joke, you are sick.

Asshole: get a life ;)

Me: Get a clue.

WHAT THE HELL?!

AHHHHH!

More Than Slightly Demented

I am a planner. I like to plan. It is what I do. In fact, as I sit here, I am planning my blog entry.

Short, witty beginning. Unexpected transition to relevant topic. Paragraph detailing week’s current neurosis. Reference to beginning humorous statement. Self-depreciating sign-off. The end.

Suffice to say, the unknown makes me nervous. Even when spontaneous events occur, I am most likely silently going through an action plan in my head, developing several different scenarios. Luckily, I’m not normally pessimistic so these are rarely worst case scenarios, but rather tend to be happily fanciful. (Except when I’m worrying about being hit and killed by an embarrassingly small car as I cross the street. Anyone who knows me realizes though that this has more to do with having a shameful obituary.)

“Hit and killed by a Ford Fiesta coasting along at 14.25 MPH, the Queen of Spades is survived by her family, three houseplants, blue ukulele and family’s flatulent French bulldog.”

I’ve recently been on two admirable first dates. I went on a fairly epic date with the peppy, slightly deranged man of the Dating Action Plan. We tourist watched. We drank beer at an Irish pub. We walked along the water. We ate overpriced Italian food. We let a clog salesman from Minnesota buy us drinks after correctly answering questions about the Prime Ministers of China and Canada. (Yes, this actually did happen.)

Date number two was with an equally obscure-trivia-spouting, dog-loving romantic interest. It included cheap Mexican food, a walk along a river, a glass of accidentally ordered champagne and an awkward kiss good-night. (I have come to conclusion that I am perpetually 12 as it always shocks me that anyone wants to kiss me. It usually goes somethin’ a-like this: “Oh hey, look! Something shiny! I had a good time toni-mwhwhwakahaaa(smooch)...Oh. (pause) I have no game.”) Awkward moment aside, I was really excited about this date and I thought it went really well. Both men asked me out again.

Wait. Continue waiting. Impatiently wait. Tap fingers. Ponder what happens between “Let’s go out again” and the subsequent lack of communication. Whip self into a pitiful frenzy about how one is going to die alone. Fabricate elaborate ruse in which one convinces landlord that you have to take your dearly departed aunt’s cat in order to have a feline companion in life of solitude.

Suffice to say, with my penchant for planning everything, the unknown in dating makes me extremely nervous and more than slightly demented. In the midst of my self-pitying frenzy of crazy last night in which I had convinced myself that both men had completely lost interest and disappeared, lo, an email. Oh, and an IM. Oh hey, a text. Oh. Wait, is that a missed call? Date number one wants to go on a grand date on Friday. And, I forgot date two was out of town, HELPING HIS GRANDPARENTS MOVE, for a couple days. He wants to go out again when he gets back.

Oh.

Well, damn. So, I am an unhinged control freak who doesn’t deal well with the concept of rejection. Let’s not even talk of actual rejection. Though it seems like letting myself off easy, puffy eyes and a headache of death will have to be punishment enough for my utter lameness. Post crazy tantrum, I had a moment of clarity about my bad dating habits and the cycle of insecurity I get myself into every time I start anew with this whole love business. So, I’ve managed to calm down a bit, promising myself I won’t talk myself down into the pit of despair again. I will also not try to over-plan and over-analyze everything.

Man, I suck at this.

A Dating Action Plan

Day 1: Ponder the last month’s inactivity in the romantic arena. Reflect on choices made and how those have come to leave one alone on a Saturday night eating Weight Watcher’s desserts and watching the sanitized version of Sex and the City on basic cable.

Day 2: In flurry of activity, rewrite on-line profile. Include works like “daring,” “adventurous,” “friends,” “dancing,” and “bacon.” Pause to reflect on this fabulous woman on the page. My, she is a fearsome, generic creature. Realize said woman really has nothing to do with beer-drinking, zombie-loving, classical-musical-loving, plan-making nerd of reality. Rewrite profile again with a decidedly angry feminist slant. Leave in “bacon.”

Day 3: Inbox full. Full of messages from 22 year old music students who love zombie movies, vegans admonishing love of bacon, 40 year old professors wanting to discuss Nabokov, and one fellow who while starting out with a discussion of Bach’s Brandenburg concertos takes a decidedly darker turn with talk of BSDM. Overwhelming response queues inability to formulate any response. Log off.

Day 4: Fearful of checking email and yet compelled to see what will grace inbox next. Today’s emails include a recipe for a sunchoke grilled cheese sandwich and a zombie movie recommendation. Realize though exceedingly picky, as of yet unwilling to compromise for sake of dating. Change profile picture to what could only be described as a true visage of “bitch face.” Might as well go for broke.

Day 5: Buy fancy underwear. You never know.

Day 6: Frolic down memory lane to land square in the middle of ex-sex land. No fancy underwear. That privilege is gone.

Day 7: Beat roommate’s ass at Tekken. Make pizza from scratch. Decorate new back porch. Completely forget singleness and sad-sack Saturday night.

Day 8: Slight senses of guilt for letting messages languish in inbox. (No guilt felt for ex.) Start conversation with peppy, slightly deranged man in passing. Entertained.

Day 9: Ex goes out of way to be nice. It is a trap. Bickering ensues. Timely reminder of why ex is ex.

Day 10: Hesitant to go on date with peppy, slightly deranged man. Less about him than possibility of being tortured by another terrible date. (See Red Flags.) Look forlornly at fancy underwear. What the hell. Make plans to tourist watch together on Saturday.

Day 11: Eat Cheez-Its while slurping down soy Frappaccino. Dichotomies abound in life. Instead of devising a new dating action plan, decide that it's okay in continuing on in the same vain as day 1 through 10. Date may be exceedingly fun or extraordinarily lame. In the meantime, will wear racy underwear every day. You know, just in case.

P.S. How hysterical is that book cover? I would have entitled it “When Good Clams Go Bad: How a Stock Photo of a Lovingly Embracing Couple About to Be Eaten by a Clam Makes Single Girls Appreciate Their Lives More.”