The Small, Small World That Only Looks Big

So, I mentioned last time that I deleted my profiles. Then, I started listening to the audio book Modern Romance, by Aziz Ansari. He reads it himself, which makes it amazing. But, he calls his audiobook listeners lazy asses for not reading, and that’s not nice. Aziz, I am driving, ok!?!

Anyway, this book is hilarious, and it tackled all of the interesting online dating questions I had related to the social sciences and psychology, and why people are so reluctant to make a choice with all those options!

In the book he talks about THE app, the one the revolutionized the online dating world. It has a really bad rap, so I have never tried it. One of my friends did and she met her match there, but I won’t say who. That online gateway to love is Tindr. The little flame icon promises hot lovin’ at your fingertips! I decided to see what all the fuss is about.

 So far, it’s not so bad. I haven’t had much time to explore it, but I did talk to one guy. Ironically, he works close to my neighborhood, we know some of the same people, and we both lived in the same horrible town when we were growing up! I said, it’s crazy that it takes an online dating site to meet someone who works a block away from you. Wild!

Anyway….last time I promised to tell the story about the man who ate the whole meatball. It’s my officemate’s favorite dating tale.

The Man Who Ate the Whole Meatball

My son dubbed this date “The Pool Boy.” My son never met this guy, but because of his name, he decided that he sounded like a pool boy. I only wish he had been an actual pool boy. That might have been a lot more fun.

Not to say he wasn’t fun…he was ….pleasant. But there was no fire! When we dated (for about six weeks) I wrote poetry about starting fires! I was waiting for inspiration….but, you know, I thought, I could make this work.

(Instagram #phoetry inspired by The Pool Boy)

So the Pool Boy was a perfectly nice man. He was responsible, had his own home, a good job, which he left to start his own business when we were dating. He had a schmancy car, which I could care less about and actually didn’t like but I’m weird like that.

We had a fun first date at my favorite coffee place. Incidentally, there was an open mic that night. I didn’t know that, but it made the date more fun and we ended up staying for the whole thing. It wasn’t even good open mic, which I think helped us bond.

On the third-ish date, we met at a popular pizza place after work on a Tuesday. I have a long commute, so I headed to the restaurant straight from work. He had secured a nice table on the patio by the time I arrived. We ordered an appetizer…a meatball. A giant, one pound meatball. The humongous meatball arrived, we both had a sliver, and then I excused myself to the ladies room.

When I came back, the meatball was gone. The whole damn thing! I tried really hard to make my face neutral, but inside I was like “Damn! He ate the whole meatball! A one pound meatball!”

I didn’t say anything. Our giant pizza came, and he was too full for more than one slice. He sent the rest of the pie home with me, saying he had shown that meatball who was boss! Mmmmhmmm, I bet you did. When it ended with The Pool Boy, I said, and I quote, “This feels really lukewarm, and I don’t want lukewarm. I want a Celine-Dion-Drive-All-Night-to-Get-to-You kind of thing.” To be clear, he ghosted me, not the other way around. I was still willing to give it a shot….

Next week:

The Paradigm of Choice, and The Mostly Mute Man

 

How hard is it to make a plan? For real!

He’s right. Flakes galore…

Dumpster Fires vs The Real Ish & the Bachelor in the Bathroom

will-ferrell-twitter

This time, my date had diarrhea.

I have been blown off with a multitude of lame excuses…Thunder game tickets (ok, this is legit but I was still mad), passed out drunk, had a sty (lame) and a number of other lies, but this time, the guy was having some gut issues.

Let’s go on a little flashback with a candidate from Snatch.com…..I’ll call him Dewey. Dewey was very interested in the Dirty Librarian fantasy. Our conversations consisted mostly of me thwarting dirty talk. You can make baking cookies sound really suggestive without actually saying anything naughty. (<<< spin doctor!)

Dewey was fresh out of a divorce. Had been married for over a decade. He was really cute. Had a sharp wit and sense of humor like a junior high boy. We finally agreed to go see a movie on a Friday night—The Avengers.

Of course, the day comes, he calls, and I’m not surprised. He says he’s having stomach issues and shouldn’t be far from his bathroom. He adds that what he really needs is someone to bring him Pepto.

So……I break my no-going-to-stranger’s-houses rule, but only after texting my friend his full name and address, and take him some Pepto and library DVDs.

I arrived at his house. It was a nice house, in a nice neighborhood. The burlap wreath from his married life was still on the front door and his neighbors were in the driveway. I felt like a Jezebel as I drove up…chickened out, drove around the block, and then came back to park and hurry in wondering what the neighbors thought.

This boy was FINE. Out of my league fine. But no amount of good looks in the world can make a man with diarrhea sexy.

The date was pretty uneventful. I was nervous and also afraid of catching his ailment so I stayed on the other side of the room. I sat so still, like a statue. I was super fun! He put in both DVDs. Totally could have left after the first one but stayed through the second for some reason.

Then he ghosted me.

Later, I learned that his son was in one of my daughter’s classes. When I asked her if she knew him, she said “eww, yes.” He had drawn a penis on her drawing. I was not surprised.

Which brings me to my next topic, Dumpster Fires vs the Real Ish.

dumpster-fire

Dumpster Fire: a person or situation that is a total mess, then set on fire to intensify the craptasm that is their current state.

The Real Ish: a person who has their life together. You could have something real with them, but that is scary. I am the Real Ish.

There was this popular self-help book a few years back that made me cringe every time I saw it on the shelf. “Why Men Love Bitches.” This title is annoying because what it’s really about is how men love women who are confident and have boundaries. That’s not bitchy. The rest of that book title is How to Go from Doormat to Dreamgirl. So many problems with this….first of all, if a man treats you like a door mat, he is a jerk. Don’t deal with it. Secondly, the only dreams you have to fulfill are your own. Being someone else’s dream girl is kind of lame.

Anyway…my current conclusion is that men love women who are dumpster fires.

In a future blog I will tell the awkward story of the Mute Man dates, but the Mute Man also told me something that made me want to laugh in his face.

“I have white knight syndrome.”

He said he was attracted to women who were in financial distress. He wanted to save them.

Give. Me. A. Break.

All of the tiny independent woman cells in my body curled up in little balls and had teeny tiny seizures…

Captain Save-a-Ho

I have a friend now who is going through one of those things that shred your life into pieces. As he looks to his future, he also wants to avoid the whole dying alone thing. But, he doesn’t want the Real Ish. As a self-professed Captain Save-a-Ho, he wants a dumpster fire. He just got burned down by a dumpster fire. Some of us learn slower than others…

This realization can be a little disheartening to women who have their crap together. The message here is don’t be too successful. Don’t be too independent. Don’t have it too together, because that’s not attractive. Be vapid and helpless but don’t you dare be clingy either!

Ok, so if you are listening to that garbage, don’t let it alarm you. Because the man you want to date is confident and supportive and can handle the Real Ish. See, the man YOU want to date can build empires with you because he doesn’t need to busy himself with rescuing you from the tower. Don’t you want that guy? The one you can conquer kingdoms with? I know I do.

Profile Fun

Though they are currently deleted, I thought about adding reviews to my online profiles….kinda of like movie trailers or book trailers. Here are some real reviews!

**I always have fun when we look at art and stuff. She’s a nice person. – D. J.

**She’s like Mother Theresa plus Joan of Arc, add a lot of spice! – B. B.

**She easy to talk to and she can cook! – S.B.

Next time…The Man Who Ate the Whole Meatball.

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Anna Nicole Smith, my favorite dumpster fire.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the Zone

“No one wants to be caught up with a hot dog just in case a steak walks by.”  Me, on online dating.

In honor of Super Bowl Sunday, I am giving you this mini-installment. I don’t sport, but I do know that football includes an end zone. That’s where the touchdowns happen—the SCORE!

But in dating, there is a different kind of zone….and it definitely does NOT include scoring. (Unless you want to enter into an emotionally draining situation that never leads anyone to anything good.)

That zone is the friend zone.

I am overly familiar with the friend zone. I’m haven’t decided what this means yet. I’m good to know, but not too good? I’m a cool chick to hang with, but…..??? You see what I’m getting at.

Being friend zoned isn’t always bad. And, it’s definitely not always personal. Often times, it really is timing, life issues, placement, personal struggle, a smattering of things that contribute to a person’s reluctance to become intricately involved with another. I have actually made some good friends throughout the course of my dating expedition—and don’t worry if you’re that guy and you are reading this—I won’t blog about you. Sometimes the friend zone is the right call. Other times, the goodbye zone is the better call. It’s hard to tell when those times are.

Having been friend zoned, oh, about an hour ago, I decided to think about the emotional roller coaster you ride when you lock down that handle bar and buckle up for the dating ride. I’m not sure what to do with these feelings right now, so I will present them to you. That seems smart.

The emotional cycle of the friend zone.

Excited! So exciting! You matched with someone who seems like they could be the one you have been looking for. The search could be over! Excited!!!

Curiosity….now to find out as much as you can so you can decide whether to invest or not. You want to know all about them. You want to talk to them, meet up with them, and then decide if you want to go for it.

Hopeful….as the discovery phase continues, you start to think about the future, what it might look like. You hope the search is over and you are ready to end the treasure hunt. You imagine them in a tux. You laugh at yourself for that imagining. You stop that! You imagine them making pancakes instead.   

Nervous….the more time you invest the more you doubt yourself, the situation and that there really is someone out there for you. All the what-ifs rush in like the wind velocity of the downhill plunge of a roller coaster. Or maybe it’s bumper cars for you, and you go back and forth, bumbling your way through deciding to go through with it or not. You do it scared, or you can’t bring yourself to do it. Or any combination of the two, more than once.

Friend zoned……you get it. You are fine with it. You will get over it….but at that same moment your hopes are dashed and you think about starting this exhausting process over again and you are just DONE. You are cool….BUT……insert reason for friend zoning __________________. Bottom line, you are somehow not good enough for their pursuit. (This is a lie. Don’t do that to yourself.)

Exhausted…the thought of doing this again is exhausting. You are tired of the cycle. You are over the hunt. You are done with discovery. You can’t even with the nerves anymore. YOU ARE OVER IT!

Assessment/Overthinking/Analysis…let’s review…where did you go wrong? Was it your unabashed genuine attitude? Your responsible lifestyle? Did you say something tacky? Are you boring? Ugly? Too fat again? No one can decipher the whys of the friend zone. I have often wondered if it would be in poor taste to send past dates a short survey so I can assess and correct my strategy. I think that might be the marketer in me. No matter though, because it doesn’t matter. Bonnie Raitt said it, you can’t make them love you if they don’t. Don’t even try, just move along to the next lucky contestant.

*Remember the dating motto: Everyone is entitled to their own pursuit of happiness, which may or may not include you.  It’s not personal. You are still awesome.

Frustration. Ugh. Why isn’t this working?? I—just—no…I can’t…I don’t get it!

Quitting. *&^$#!@. I don’t’ have time for this. (Delete profiles. Uninstall apps. Resign to life as a spinster. Look forward to closing the library each night.)

Sadness. I am single. I am alone. So sad.

Moving on. Wait, I still have a goal here. Maybe I can try this again.

But not today….

Special thanks to all of the dudes who friend zoned me and meant it! I am happy to be your friend. And the ones who didn’t, well, sorry about you.

While I hate this movie, this is a FACT.