I thought I was done with commentary on the world of computer dating for a bit, but then I discovered an old favorite phenomenon. Everything old is new again. Dear Mr. Malaprop: I’ve always enjoyed your Grandma (Great? Great Great? Well of course she’s at least great, whatever the generational aspect.) You can imagine how [...]
Well that was fun. And now I’ll take some time off from dating sites. There’s more to write about. Just remember–our disappointments are better sooner rather than later. Thanks for checking in. Please read around the site and share.
I rarely hear from a guy who lives within 15 miles of me AND posts a picture AND is less than 35 pounds overweight AND I could even start a cup of coffee with. I know, these items wouldn’t seem to form such an insurmountable hurdle, but they do. And then the messages from these fella’s … well maybe they have a different definition of lovely than I do. These guys give clear signs that they haven’t read any part of my profile. At worst they’re evil scammers. At their most innocuous they’re probably drunk and lonely.
Most of these [Google] results were asshole tests—no we’re not talking hemorrhoid diagnostics. I guess people need to find out if they are assholes. I mean that seems natural; I know plenty of assholes and I don’t think they know they qualify.
Guitar man? There are lots of them. Subtext? “I never grew up? I have no money? I’m an independent spirit–code-name: groovy misogynist?” The guitar is at least a woman-shaped object in his arms.
My fun is in highlighting annoying, weird, crazy stuff that really happens. (Actually, I’m more focused on routine misses and reveals.) Since I’m almost at the end of my patience for this week, let me just get this off my chest:
I have no objections to pictures of you on your Harley or in front of your Taurus with the dog tied to the roof rack. That’s just truth in advertising. But a photo of just the car/dog/cycle?
As a serial online dater I’ve learned to recognize the open-mouthed flakiness, announced kinkiness, ferocity, moodiness, unreliability, poor judgment, narcissism and financial disastrophy of prospective dates as gifts to me. Should I be angered by the man with the fun-loving, gentle profile when he happens to call an hour before our appointed coffee date to [...]
I revisited a piece I wrote years ago–Love in the Ether–a tribute to a period of steamy email lust (and amazing disregard of corporate back-up systems. Egads.) Good email is almost a nostalgicism, isn’t it? I have bowed to texting but I’m much too old to find it erotic. Maybe when I come back to this world as a teenaged boy. Oh but by that time text too will be so last whatever.