Vollyball William

I don't even know how to begin this one.

When I first got into online dating, I tried the free sites. Partly bc I was just out of college and poor, partly because i hadn't really bought into the idea yet. I was clueless and didn't realize that the free sites were mainly geared toward people who just want to get laid. Meaningful relationship seekers need not apply; We're going to pound town.

Now, on most of these, you can set your age preferences and it will, in theory, try to filter to your specified settings. I set my over/under at three years younger/ six years older. I felt like that was pretty fair; hopefully it would catch a range of people who like me were either just starting their "real" jobs but also weren't four times divorced with three different baby mamas, cruising toward retirement.

So I get a message from someone who's screenname was something about Volleyball, with an assortment of numbers. I don't remember specifically.  I could tell immediately that I wasn't going to be interested because his age was listed at 35 years older than me. Sorry, but I don't want to date someone my parents' age. Unless you have recently won the mega millions lotto and have no other family to inherit the money. Then we could talk.

He also looked vaguely like the CryptKeeper. 

Why don't I remember the CryptKeeper ever wearing a Hawaiian shirt?

I decided I at least wanted to open the email and see what this guy had to say, bc it surely had to be entertaining. And I was right!

It basically informed me of all the dangers of online dating, how young girls like me were wont to fall victim to scams and evil men, and how we needed to be protected and take care of ourselves. That online dating "wasn't much different than meeting guys in bars... they all want one thing." (a Bud Lite and a extra pepperoni pizza...right?). He then offered to save me from these terrible situations by inviting me over to play volleyball.

I can't even make this shit up.

His theory went as follows: He invites many people over to play volleyball all the time. This was a SAFE and FRIENDLY environment in which to meet people. Located a mere 45 minutes outside of town on some road that does not show up on GPS.

So. let us examine this.
Invites probably means kidnaps.
Play volleyball surely equals "ties up in basement".
And the safe and friendly environment is probably something out of that Saw movie that I tried to watch once and left ten minutes in because having my Achilles tendons sliced is a top ten biggest fear.

The best part, THE BEST PART. is that I'm not the only person who has been sent this email. I know not one, but two other people who have been invited over for sports and leisure.

Clearly if he read my profile, the closest thing I do to athletics is get drunk at baseball games.  Sorry Volleyball Willy, this game is not for me.

Getting Picked Up By My Prom Date

This is all a joke and just goes to show you how small my world really is and how much of a terrible sense of humor my friends also have.

I was trolling my online matches recently and received an email that caused me to laugh until I cried.

You guys, the internet is trying to hook me up with my high school prom date.

For anyone who doesn't know, my high school prom date (henceforth known as HSPD) was, is, and will probably be one of my closest male friends. He's an asshole and I'm ok with this fact; it is why we are friends.

So by receiving this message, I find that he too has entered the cesspool of internet dating:

I feel like I should get some sort of award for being in SOMEONE ELSE'S dating profile photo (red arrow points toward half my face). Does that get me street cred? Does that at least get me a burrito? I could really go for a burrito right now.

I can't decide whether I am offended or ok with the fact that my HSPD and I are only 72% matched. But then maybe that is the correct percent for a buddy who once had to hold me down and dig a seven foot splinter out of my foot. Literally seven foot, I am in no way exaggerating this or how badly it hurt.

 I did just remember that I AM offended over the fact that he told me he would take me to dinner for my birthday, and that was in the neighborhood of seven months ago. I need to cash in on this meal.

Maybe I should change this blog to "Things I do for a Free Meal."

But yes. I get online to try to meet new people, and what do I get? I get home. It makes me laugh/smile/cringe.

I can't remember whether he and I made one of those dumb agreements in high school that if we're still single at 40 we'll just marry one another for the tax benefits. Well. 40's a whole lot closer than it used to be, and I could really use that tax return to fix my kitchen.

Internet lady readership, if you want to meet a nice upstanding fella, let me know. He's a good guy, other than the fact that he still owes me dinner.

Jeepers Creepers, Where'd you get those Peepers?

This did not happen to me, but to a friend. I can feel her pain, and wanted to share because it is a very common thing when internet dating.

I've quickly realized that some people approach online dating in a very different way than I do. I look at profiles and try to decide if there might be a meaningful connection there somewhere. According to most internet trolls, I should be throwing shit out there and just seeing what sticks.

Many guys (and gals) seem to have a standard "go to" introductory email. More than once I've seen a sub-par play on the "Call Me Maybe" lyrics.  What's crazy here, sir, is that you think your rhyming abilities will get you laid. The Cat in the Hat called, and he is appalled. (see what I did there?)

So back to my friend. She's a great girl, and decided to get on one of the free dating sites just for fun. She put up one picture and a brief profile, just to see what would happen.  This one guy, we will call him Troll, sent her a message about how he was really drawn to her beautiful eyes and it made him really want to get to know her on a deeper level because her eyes were those of an old soul or some garbage like that.

Now, that is true and all, my friend does have really beautiful eyes. However, her picture was something like this:

Note: this is not my friend. This is a representation. However, if someone out there wanted to buy me these glasses, I wouldn't be opposed to it.


That's correct. In the photo, you could not see my friend's beautiful eyes. You could see her beautiful Oakley sunglasses, but not her beautiful eyes. 

PEOPLE. If you are going to hit on someone, at least take the thirty seconds to make sure the line you are throwing out is relevant. This will significantly increase your chances of getting laid.

I will help you now, with a fill-in-the-blank type email.

Hello!

My name is NAME and I wanted to let you know that I really enjoyed your profile. Specifically, the part about PICK A WORD FROM PROFILE.  I too enjoy SAME WORD. I hope this isn't too forward, but I find your PICK A FEATURE OTHER THAN BOOBS to be very striking. I would love the opportunity to get to know you. Please take a minute to look over my profile and if you think we could hit it off, feel free to send me a  message. I would love to hear from you.

SOME SORT OF WITTY LINE HERE.

NAME


You're welcome internet. May you get all the bitches. 

The One Where I Fell Asleep

So I've been getting over the plague recently. Not the actual PLAGUE, but whatever virus garbage that has been going around that everyone seems to be getting lately.

Said in best diet commercial voice.. "I lost nine pounds in 36 hours on the Norovirus diet! Thanks total dehydration!!!!"

Needless to say, this has put a halt on my dating escapades. Also, my total disinterest in dealing with meeting new people. It comes and goes in waves. The tide is turning toward hermit.

At any rate. I'm getting over the gunk when I am asked to hang out with a guy. This guy is a repeat offender (she says in the nicest possible way) so I knew it would be no big deal. We collectively are pretty low key, and low key is what I need right now. So an evening sponsored by Netflix and yoga pants is not something I will turn down. Especially because, well, I like him a lot. We have been spending a lot of time together and I figure, here's my chance to see if he can deal with me at not my best.

I forgot though that I was not yet 100% back to normal health. I am no dating superman. And fifteenish minutes into the movie, I fell asleep.

But not just like... light nap. I was sleep through an earthquake, drooling on myself, mumbling in Russian, probably farting (oh shit, I just realized I probably was farting) in a coma sleep. The kind where you aren't sure if you're asleep for three minutes or three hours. I'm still unclear on this one.

I have no idea what the guy did during this time. In a perfect world he also fell asleep. Or reorganized his closet. Or put together a 5000 piece puzzle. Or solved world hunger.

I think that waking up on a couch of drool when you're 30 and its only 7:30pm is much more embarrassing than those girls who make the walk of shame in college. It's still light out for fuck sake. And nobody got laid. Which is a good thing, bc we were in grandma undwear city, folks.

Luckily, he's a nice guy and didn't make me feel bad or embarrassed about it.

He said next week, once I'm back to 100% health, that he wants to take me out to a fancy dinner somewhere.  I don't know what exactly is involved in a fancy dinner, but I'm sure I'll manage to screw it up somehow. I'll be sure to let you know all about it.

Thinkin

I looked at my viewer stats and the most read post is the one about Anal Fissures.

Y'all are dirty.

Guest Blog Link Up

A friend of mine started a similar blog a few years ago to document the ridiculousness she was experiencing. She was much better at taking screenshots than I am. Don't worry, I'll work on it.

Lucky for her after posting this single post, she met the love of her life. So there is hope for me yet, folks.

I even get to make a brief appearance in this blog post, as she tried to set me up with a guy she referred to as Duckface. I wasn't interested for a variety of reasons (duckface being near the top) and he didn't take it very well that not one, but two girls weren't into him.

I'm going to have to write an entire post someday on why anyone over the age of three should not take photos with duck face.

Here is the link. Enjoy!

Troll Feet

Officially, the strangest pick-up email I've ever received was from a semi-local individual. I wish I had taken a screenshot at the time, but I was too appalled/shocked/confused to think about it before I very quickly hit delete.

This dude just wanted me for my feet.

His opening line said that he had a longterm, loving relationship with a woman and he had no plans to ever leave her. But from my photos, he was very interested in seeing my feet.

Uhhhhhhhhhhhh wha?

The email went on to talk about how he had a very deep love (psychosis) when it came to feet and he felt that mine would be beautiful. He wanted to "worship them" in a manner they most deserved, and even offered to buy them any shoes I wanted.

For those of you who don't know me. I hate feet. All feet. Mine in particular. I feel like all feet look like troll feet.

Side note. Just googled "troll feet" to find a funny image to put in here, and what the fuck, man. DO NOT google troll feet.  Just no.

Now. I'll be the first to admit I wouldn't mind if someone bought me shoes. But there is no way I'm going to let some stranger have their way with my feet.  I just picture a bodiless set of size nines sitting on a satin pillow (with tassels)  being inappropriately fondled by Igor from Young Frankenstein.

Needless to say I hit delete, and then put on a second pair of socks.

When You're Sittin on the Toilet

I don't know why so many of my stories involve buttholes. This is probably something I should talk to a therapist about.

I have this theory, that diarrhea can get you out of anything. But it's one of those things you have to reserve for particularly bad situations, bc if you cry wolf too many times, well... you're gonna end up shitting yourself.

 A friend of mine was on a particularly bad date awhile back, with an Average White Guy of her own. She texted me from the bathroom and was telling me how terrible it was. I told her she should use the excuse of having diarrhea to leave.

Because think about it. No one is going to question diarrhea. And chances are, no one is going to ask you on a second date if you talk about diarrhea, and therefore you don't have to have the  awkward "thanks, but no thanks" conversation.

You don't even have to use the word "diarrhea" if you don't want. If you just say something like "stomach troubles" and make the "I'm in some serious pain in this area" hand gestures, then they will get the idea.

If you want to really commit to this, you make sure the date is to a Chinese restaurant. You've got a 20 minute window to work with.

I once went on a date where I was getting over food poisoning. We went to Buffalo Wild Wings and I had fried pickles. I spent a lot of time in the bathroom. Unsurprisingly, never heard from him again.

This whole post is messed up, but if anything, I know my friend Dawn will get a laugh out of it.

Colorblind

This is a serious post. Because I'm pissed off and disheartened.

Today I was talking to a guy and he asked if I would ever date anyone who wasn't white. I said of course I would; the color of someone's skin does not determine whether or not they are a good person.

The response back was awful. Because you see I forget that even though it is 2014, there are still racist people out there.

I was berated for being "anti-white" and "joined the clan that's against their own race." I tried to give this guy a brief history lesson as to what part of the globe all mankind is from, and also about my own heritage which contains Native American blood. To which he only responded that "well but you're mostly white."

I responded that I do not judge by color. But I should have known at this point not to bother. When he told me that once I "get some big black snake moan dick, I'll never go back" to which I replied I don't judge by the color of their bait and tackle either.

When he told me that he's more of a man than some free-ride Ivy League-going, hybrid car driving, soft handed man of color, I said that may be his opinion but if he knows a guy like that could he please pass my phone number along to him.

To me, people are not deemed lovable or unlovable based on the amount of pigment in their skin. A man is not a man because he is Caucasian. To me a man is a man because he knows how to be respectful. Because he works hard every day to better himself. Because he is helpful and virtuous and courteous to others. Because he admits when he has faults and is willing to work on them. None of these factors have anything to do with color, gender, blood type, etc.

This is my belief. I do not expect everyone to share my belief. But when and if I meet someone, they will share this belief. And when and if I have children, they will be taught this way. That skin color does not define a persons worth or ability to love and be loved.

What's my race? My race is love.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

How to Woo Me

People of the internet

This is one way to win me over:

Call me a fatty, but the way to my heart IS in fact, through my stomach.

this is not a sponsored post. i have no idea how to do that. but if someone from this company wants to give me free treats, i would not be opposed.

Because Not all Dates are Terrible

I don't want you all to think that every single date I go on is a dud. Just most of them. So here is a story about one that actually went great actually, after figuring out I wasn't going to be murdered in the woods.


I'd been talking to a guy (job, no apparently meth habit) and while I enjoyed talking to him, I just couldn't quite get a read on him. Some people are just like that I guess.

So one night we have a really low key date (which is right up my alley) of watching garbage television and eating mediocre pizza. It really doesn't take much to please me, folks. We talked about an assortment of random get-to-know you things as tends to happen on most dates. I'd mentioned something about how I want to take some road trips this summer and see what our great state has to offer (Worlds Largest Teapot, hello?).

The next day, I was enjoying my lazy Sunday (read: watching a Netflix special about bacon) when the guy textedvme. He told me to get off my ass and put pants on (how did he know???), that he would pick me up in fifteen minutes, that we were "going on an adventure to find my covered bridges." (I'll explain this further later)

Now, growing up in the backwoods, being told I'm going on an adventure is not something that necessarily worries me. However, I feel like I'm (slightly) less naive now, and an adventure to this semi-stranger could mean some sort of meth-induced ritual sacrifice. I flipped a coin and decided to go, only after alerting a friend of my plans and that I would check in periodically.  PEOPLE. phone a friend is key in life.

As we start driving and head off the main road down something that I can legitimately call  a "holler" I begin to second guess my choices. I'm only 30, I've got so much to live for. Plus, there was a Little House on the Prairie marathon coming on later that day, and I really have a thing for that Nellie Olsen's bitchy outlook on life.

Luckily he didn't kill me (You probably figured that one out by now). Instead he took me to see one of the 17 covered bridges left in our state. I had mentioned the previous night during my roadtrip ramblings that I was interested in seeing all of these, but wasn't quite sure where they were located. WHAT? SOMEONE LISTENED TO SOMETHING I HAD TO SAY? This shit is unheard of. That feeling in my stomach? It's butterflies.

So we spent the rest of the afternoon driving to see not one, but TWO covered bridges that are within reasonable driving distance. The first was underwhelming, but the second was very pretty. I had a great day and it was nice that someone had taken the time to find something that I was interested in.

Now if I can just get a date on board with a day of playing skeeball.

Friend zone

I'm really bad about going into the friend zone.

You know what the friend zone is. You enjoy hanging out with someone, but you don't know if you LIKE LIKE them and/or if they LIKE LIKE you back.

Because we're twelve here, and don't know how to put feelings into words.

I seem to do this more and more over the years. Granted, I've gotten quite a few really great friendships out of it, but it's just disheartening sometimes.

In grad school I thought I was just pals with this guy from Austria (I went through this period in grad school when I was fascinated with foreigners. I was also drunk a lot. The two may or may not be tied together.).  He had the same crappy taste in movies and also had a dog. I thought we were buddies, and I was 10000% fine with that.

Until Valentine's Day.

I came home from my night class to a porch filled with gifts. A giant stuffed animal, some chocolates, a cheesy card, and a mixed cd. That's the only time anyone has ever made me a mix of my own. I don't remember what songs were on the cd but the cover was titled "From (NAME WITHHELD to Andrea: My Emotions Set to Music".

This all made me feel like an asshole.

Actually, I just realized that this happens frequently during Valentine's Day. It happened this one as well. I thought I was just buddies with someone, to check my email and see a gift certificate for a two-hour hot stone massage with the message "Would You Be My Valentine?"

If you think I'm bad at dating, you haven't seen me trying to un-date. It is a shit show.  There is a lot of talking with my hands.

It did come back to bite me in the ass though. Back in the fall I started talking to a guy (who thank goodness is still a friend) who I sorta  thought I hit it off with. We could spend hours talking about nothing. So I decided I didn't want this one to linger in the friend zone, and told him my feelings like a big girl. He didn't feel the same, we had the awkward conversation, but in the end we have been able to maintain the friendship like the successful adults we pretend to be. Lesson learned: just bc you can talk to someone doesn't mean you are compatible in that way. and by that way, i mean in the pants region.

I don't know what is the moral of this story. I guess that I can't blame all my bad dates on the crazies I go out with. I am just as much of a crazy myself.

Are You Going to Heaven?

I almost feel bad about making a post on this one...but it was so ridiculous that I have to. I think it falls officially under the title "Worst Date Ever. EVER."

I started talking to a guy online who seemed like a nice, upstanding citizen. He has a job, volunteers with his church teaching a foreign language to adults and teaches the little kids Sunday school classes, enjoys working out and being outdoors. These are all positives in my book. And, he was cute. Sorry, but let's face it, cute is a big selling point.

We agreed to meet up for dinner at one of my favorite local restaurants. I'd been looking forward to it all day, because this guy seemed like a winner AND I was going to get a burrito filled with pineapple.  He was waiting out front for me when I arrived and smiled that smile that makes your guts go all mushy. I was REALLY looking forward to this.

We ordered our food (the same thing! It's meant to be!!) and sat down for the normal first-time-meeting awkward chitchat.

Or so I thought.

The first thing he asked me was If I knew I was going to heaven when I died.

plays that record scratching sound

This is not a question that is on the acceptable list of first date opener questions.  The list includes:

1) How was work today?
2) How was your weekend?
3) Have you seen any good movies lately?
4) Has your dog eaten anything weird in the last few days? (Yes, my tv remote, thank you for asking.)

When asked whether or not you KNOW if you're going to heaven upon death, 9 out of 10 times you immediately question whether or not this person is going to murder you and wear your skin like a suit. Or maybe that's just where my mind goes.

This guy did not want to kill me. However, he was concerned with my everlasting soul. Which, ok. That's nice. I appreciate that someone is concerned with my spiritual well being.

So I said yes, I do believe I am. Not going too far into my personal religious beliefs here, but I'm comfortable with where I stand in the great scheme of life. I said as such to this gentleman. Apparently, I did not give the correct answer.

For the next half hour (meaning: how long it took me to hoover down my delicious burrito) I was extensively quoted scripture as to why I was a heathen and my beliefs are skewed. I know at one point I had to just be sitting there, staring, with my mouth hanging open. I had never experienced this before.  It's hard to enjoy dinner when you're told you are going to hell.  He then started into hypothetical situations, I assume to test the strength of my faith. I had mentioned in a previous conversation that a dear friend of mine recently had a baby and I was very excited to get to spoil this child. He used this in one of his scenarios. "If a man comes and murders your friend's baby, but he is already saved, he is going to heaven. How do you feel about this?"

excuse me, what?

WHAT?!

Did we really just talk about hypothetical baby murder? Over a pineapple burrito? Jesus, take the wheel.

The gentleman did not seem to appreciate my answer to this question, which was "I would be FUCKING PISSED."

Clearly it went downhill from there. I attempted to change the subject and ask him about his working out routine, bc he had mentioned he does CrossFit. I've found that, much like the Steelers, people either live and breathe CrossFit or think it is dumb. This guy fell in the former. He proceeded to ask me about my own workout regime, and I proudly told him how I have recently gotten back in the gym and have a trainer and am really focusing on my health.

Apparently because this does not involve CrossFit, it does not count. He proceeded to tell me that because the exercises I do have no "real life application" that they were a waste of time. I responded with that I didn't really see where flipping tractor tires would apply to any of my real-life situations, and would be sticking with what I'm doing.

I might as well have two heads.

Needless to say, the date quickly wrapped up from there. We did the awkward goodbye and parted ways. Shortly thereafter I received a text saying that "while it was nice to meet you, I do not feel we are a good match."

It took everything in me not to respond with "NO SHIT."  Instead I wished him the best of luck.


If nothing else, I know I've got a stranger praying for my soul, and frankly at this point, I can use all the prayers I can get.

That One Time Where I Nearly Killed A Guy (A Sort of True Story)

In the not too distant past, I semi-seriously dated a guy with Celiac Disease. For those of you who don't know, Celiac's is an autoimmune digestive disease in which the body basically kung fu's itself anytime the person eats gluten. This disease can range from mild discomfort to incredibly severe. On a no-gluten scale to ten, this gentleman was around a 7.5.

Now, growing up for me, as for I think many people, all big family events revolved around eating. Birthdays, holidays, tax return days, Mondays. Any excuse to eat, we did. Dating for me a lot of times has been to go to dinner, which I personally feel like is a great way to get to know someone. Comfort food is...well, my comfort food. So dating someone who could not enjoy 99.9% of the things I like to eat was tough. No bread, no pasta. It was really eye opening how many foods we consume contain gluten.

The new normal for me was to eat and brush my teeth before the guy came over and we would go do something else. I saw a lot of movies during this time. But do you know how miserable it is to go to the movies and not get popcorn with the butter sludge? If he ever planned to spend more than a few hours with me, he had to pack a cooler with an assortment of bland foods and protein drinks. This was really hard for me because it took out a big chunk of who I am, but I figured I'd try to keep at it, because I really liked this guy.

One day we had been runing around and were both getting really hungry. He was all excited for this, because he said he had read that the tomato soup at Panera was gluten free, so we could actually go out somewhere and eat for once. Categorize this under Best Day Ever.  Subcategorize this: For about 30 Minutes.

After dinner we get back to my house and this guy starts acting funny. Over the next hour he gets progressively worse to the point that I am convinced he needs to go to the ER. Being a man, he is stubborn and refuses to go, and we are both just miserable for the rest of the night. Turns out what probably happened is the unknowing food worker put the croutons in the soup, realized the order specifically said no croutons, and scooped them out. That is enough contamination to rip this guys guts to shreds.

Or it could have been because I kissed him after eating a bread bowl of mac'n'cheese.

Either way, it was a terrible night. We didn't last much longer after that. Not directly because of the food issue,  but I won't lie, that didn't help things. The one good thing about all the bad dates I've been on since then, I've been able to at least enjoy a bowl of fettuccine alfredo without fearing I'm going to kill someone.

Let's Hear it for the Average White Guy

This one could have been a good one. I really thought it could.

His profile looked promising (steady job, pets, no apparent meth habit) and the captions on his photos were funny. His main photo was listed as "Three time winner of the Average White Guy Award."

Someone who likes to make fun of themselves for the enjoyment of others? Sounds familiar.

We'd chatted back and forth on text for awhile, getting all the boring statistical information out of the way. No in depth conversations, but some people just aren't texters. And that's fine.

The first warning bell should have been when he told me that his mom owned 12 cats and he was probably going to adopt a few more himself.

I'll be the first to admit that I have two dogs whom I post way too many photos of online, so I get being the crazy pet person. I embrace being the crazy pet person. I've made Christmas cards for my friends and family showcasing how much of a crazy pet person I really am.

But even for me, aspiring to 12 cats..... that's a bit much.

But whatever, give everyone a chance, am I right?

We met for lunch at my favorite local burrito place. Hadn't been there since I got preached at on that previous date, but I thought, surely it can't be as bad.

It really is like I set myself up for these things.

Instead of being preached at for an hour, I felt like I had to be my own song-and-dance act. This guy, was painfully shy. Any question I asked I could only get single word responses back. Or just a head nod.

So I found myself telling all sorts of ridiculous stories just to have something ANYTHING to try to talk about. And I quickly realized he laughed at everything I said. Even the stuff that wasn't funny. 

I recently watched a documentary about how awful whales are being treated at SeaWorld. 
Laughter.
I'm pretty sure I have gangrene in my left food and it's probably going to fall off. Doesn't matter though, bc half my toes are completely worthless and tiny.
Laughter.
I once went on a date where I learned all about anal fissures and it has ruined my ability to feel safe while pooping.
Laughter.


It was the most exhausting date I've ever been on. But, because I want to be a nice person and not judge everyone up front I agreed to go on a second date. We went to the same place (which is fine by me, I like the food and the waitstaff don't seem to mind my antics) and it went exactly the same way. I had even taken the time to google "list of questions to ask on a date" just to get some hopeful conversation starters. The ONLY thing that I got more than two words out of was bringing up those 12 dang cats. And I'm sorry, but I am allergic. To cats and this situation.

So I gave up, went home, and took a nap. I genuinely tried here. It just wasn't in the cards for me. When he texted the next day wanting to make plans, I apologized and said that I thought he was a nice guy but I just didn't feel a connection with him in that way. Short, sweet, and to the point.

What I received in reply was like something from a Jane Austen novel. He went on about what a nice, charming, outgoing person I was and he could tell I had my life together and while I was exactly the type of woman he wanted out of life, he understood that he is not yet in a place in his own life to be able to give a woman like me what I would need. And how he aspires to be a better man who can deserve someone with as many positive qualities as I do, and that he wishes me the very best in my search as he was very sure I would find someone more my equal.

Uh. Hello, Wordy McWords, where was this guy the last two dates? Had he even vocalized a quarter of these sentiments, I absolutely would have at least tried a third date. I would have probably even taken an allergy pill to go meet his horde of felines.

I left this situation feeling very confused. He was in no way a bad guy. He really was just your Average White Guy. And there's nothing wrong with that. Average White Guys tend to be my type. I'm just an Average White Gal myself here.

I hope he does meet a nice girl that he feels comfortable talking to and has an equal love for cats.  That's not me, but I left this one feeling ok with my life choices.

Thinkin

In my next life, I want to be a disinterested looking back-up dancer in a rap video.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The one with the Banjo Music

The appeal of internet dating is it opens your network up to a whole new group of screwed up people to choose from. I come from a town where everyone dated the same people because pickings were slim. This exchange happened only after you each researched your family tree to make sure you were at least 4th cousins.

Only possibly slightly exaggerating.

So back to the wide world of internet trolling. I started talking to this guy back in the fall. He met all my criteria (had a job. did not have three eyes or an apparent meth habit.) and so I was very interested in getting to know him further.

He is a chef at a local restaurant that I occasionally enjoy. He was close to his family. He drove a subaru. These are all just bonus points for someone in my book. We made plans to meet up for dinner following the weekend because he had to leave town for his grandmother's birthday party. We started talking about his trip, and I realized it was very close to the area where my mother grew up.

You see where this is going, right? I mean you do, right?

He told me about how his family was really big into local bluegrass music, and I mentioned that my family, specifically my mom's side, was also big into bluegrass. Our family reunion every year is basically a three day concert from sun up to sun down. I stupidly thought, hey maybe our two families were friends back in the olden days, playing music together down by the river. So I asked him what his family name was.

TURNS OUT... it is the same as mine.

TURNS OUT... we are related.

TURNS OUT.. we have been to the same family reunion at one point or another.


We did not end up meeting up for dinner.

Grammar

I received this gem recently:

Now. Let's discuss this for a minute.

Mister "TooGoodLookin" was of average good lookin-ness. I scribbled out his face for privacy, for his sake, so you'll have to trust me on this.

But. The grammar. THE GRAMMAR.

It says in my dating profile that I have had schooling in technical writing and editing. That I do technical writing and editing in my job. These should be indicators for someone to think, "Hey self. Maybe this lady knows words and stuff. If I want to impress her, I should probably know the correct way to use the english gd language."

However, I am dating on the internet, so I have to remember to lower my standards.




He did not write me back when I responded with "Your grammar is atrocious."

Go home child, you're drunk.

Anal Fissures

No, you read that title correctly.


Over the winter I went on a few days with a Correctional Officer. You should know now that if you call a Correctional Officer a "prison guard" then you will get a 15 minute lecture on how that is not the correct term. The short of it is: guards are people who guard precious/important things, and mobsters who are in jail for liquifying people in barrels do not qualify as precious or important.

So. The CO. He seemed intelligent on the internet (mistake) so we met up for coffee. Conversation was awkward, but I feel like that is to be expected the first time you meet someone. Right? I should have known this situation was going downhill when he berated me for not liking the Steelers.

For those of you who don't know, in these parts, you are either an ultra-fan of the Steelers, or you are nothing. Which definitely factors into my dating situation in ways my therapist has yet to explain.

I decided that the coffee meet-up wasn't a total waste of time, and accepted an offer for dinner. I like dinner, and this guy hadn't totally put me off, so hey, why not?

A few days later we meet up at the local Lebanese place (which I heartily recommend, especially if someone else is paying as it is a bit pricy). As I begin to eat (my weight in) delicious hummus, I ask him how work went that day. That's a normal get-to-know someone question, right? If you asked me that I would say it was fine, had a report due, client meeting, other snooze-worthy responses.

I did not anticipate the anal fissures.

For the next 45 minutes I got to hear, in depth, about his coworkers accident resulting in anal fissures. Do you know what anal fissures are? DO YOU? It was the most horrifying thing I have ever heard. Remember, this fellow works at a maximum security prison. I'm sure if you google "anal fissures.jail" you'll find some pretty fucked up stuff, and I would say that would be accurate as to what I learned.

ANAL FISSURES.

I just needed to stress those words, because I heard them many times over what should have been a really great dinner of chicken with some sort of pine nut stuff.  But when your date talks about ANAL FISSURES, and not even his own anal fissures but someone elses anal fissures, you feel like you need to leave immediately. and then scrub yourself. with bleach. and a wire brush. because ew.

Needless to say, there was not a follow-up date.

Why? Because ANAL.FISSURES.

That Post-College Slump

My first mistake was staying in a college town after college.

Who does that?

I thought I was doing the right thing. Get the multiple important-sounding college degrees. Getting the right job. Buying a house like a responsible adult. Turns out I forgot a key factor here.

Dating in a college town, when you yourself are not in college, is a crap shoot.

So join me, as I chronicle the highs and lows of my dating misadventures. Because believe me, it's going to be mostly misadventures. I've been saving up stories for awhile now.