Online dating is becoming more normal all the time. The transition has been swift. If you were on Yahoo Match way back when, it was only one step above calling a phone sex line. Not so today.
Though online dating has become more normal, women haven't, so their online dating profiles are a mess of contradictions that can be tough to navigate if you're a novice. Everyone already knows that "full figured" means fat, but there are lots of other important words and phrases to beware of:
I'm brash=I'm loud and dumb.
I'm really into sports=I'm going to memorize one player's name and pester you with irrelevant questions about him until you finally stop caring about the game.
I'm ambitious=I'm going to keep shoehorning my accomplishments into the conversation as though you were looking for a one night stand with my resume rather than me. I will probably also declare--unironically--that I hate arrogant men.
I'm a foodie=I'm going to drag you to lots of restaurants where we'll stand on line for food neither of us actually cares about, all because a Facebook review raved about a sandwich I wouldn't eat for free at home. And though all I do is brag about the burden of having a refined palate, if you blindfolded me I couldn't tell the difference between a bowl of SpaghettiOs and a pasta dish cooked in the Trevi Fountain.
Chivalry isn't dead=I have contrived a list of arbitrary things you must do only so I will have a handy list of things to complain about when I describe you to my equally nitckpicky friends. You might intently listen to me sit at a bar babbling about my theories on crocheting, but if you didn't open the door to said bar you're a inconsiderate guy. And by the way, if you looked like George Clooney, you could slam every door in my face and I would still beg you to let me blow you through the mail slot.
I care about social justice=I once vacationed for three days in a Third World country and forgot to get vaccinated for Buttinski Syndrome, so now I want to apply my tourist's knowledge of four square miles of Nicargua to society as a whole. And lest you think I wasn't fully immersed, did I mention I took high school Spanish?
Must get along with my dog=My dog, the one who was tortured and abused and starved by humans for six years before I rescued him, the one who has the eyes of a Marine who did a tour of Vietnam AND Korea, is an excellent judge of strange men who come through the door at 3:00 in the morning.
One more thing: If women's online dating profiles are to be believed, all it takes to get laid is knowing the difference between "your" and you're," so a little extra editing will mean a lot more hookups.
Showing posts with label online dating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label online dating. Show all posts
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Blind dating with my eyes open
I have started Internet dating again (back by popular demand). It continues to be a misadventure, mainly because the women I like spend the whole date planning their exit and the ones I don’t care about come back for more.
When it comes to first dates, it has reached the point where as soon as I start to like a woman, I have to repress grim chuckles, because I know in a few weeks I’m going to be walking down the street, my head tilted slightly, wondering how I bungled it…
Right now I am nursing one of those glum bits of reflection.
Recently I arranged a date I had a good feeling about, and by good I actually mean bad, because I kept thinking if I like this woman and it goes poorly…how am I going to pick myself up for the 10 millionth time?
Day-to-day I’m a sour, saggy guy, so perking up for first dates is a full cardio workout. First dates demand even more pizzazz than job interviews. You can't be a grouchy vegetable and expect another shot. This puts overwhelming pressure on a killjoy like me. Normally, if I smile more than five times in an evening, I have to go home and ice my cheeks.
When my date entered the bar, I couldn't keep from blurt laughing. I knew I was going to like her. I think I even muttered, “Not gonna go well.”
But it did go well, and I wound up liking her even more than I expected to. I could have spoken to her all night. And for my part, I was absolutely on fire. No crabbiness, no ill-timed sighs. Somehow I kept matching her crackling energy. I was fighting above my weight class, but I never clinched. I was like Billy Conn in his first 12 rounds against Joe Louis.
When we said goodnight, my first thought was, "That is as well as I will ever be able to sell myself. If that wasn’t enough, it just ain't gonna happen.”
Of course it wasn’t enough. She didn’t buy what I was selling. Not even the unusually upbeat and spicy version of me she was treated to was sufficiently intoxicating.
If I were younger, I could reassure myself by saying: "At least I know I gave it my best." Too bad I'm old enough to know better. It is far more comforting to fail when you didn't rise to the occasion, because then you have this trusty excuse: "If only I'd given it my best...it would have worked out."
When you deliver the goods and still flop, you are forced to endure the cruel fact that your best still wasn't good enough.
Another youthful rationalization is the classic line: "Hey, it's a learning experience!" Sorry, but after a while your failures stop bringing you new wisdom. No one ever erred their way into Mensa. “You mean I made exactly the wrong decision yet again? Cool, now I can take that job teaching particle physics.”
At some point you need some victories to round out your knowledge base.
Just as nothing succeeds like success, nothing fails like failure. Eventually compound interest takes over and every little misfire wounds you down to your marrow.
I have no further need for “learning experiences.” I have learned quite enough from failure. I have fallen on my face more times than a drunken kangaroo. I need some wins, because I am all out of rationalization juice.
I'm still here though, so I must have rationalized it somehow, right? Would you like to read that rationalization? You just did.
Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/greatmikepayne
When it comes to first dates, it has reached the point where as soon as I start to like a woman, I have to repress grim chuckles, because I know in a few weeks I’m going to be walking down the street, my head tilted slightly, wondering how I bungled it…
Right now I am nursing one of those glum bits of reflection.
Recently I arranged a date I had a good feeling about, and by good I actually mean bad, because I kept thinking if I like this woman and it goes poorly…how am I going to pick myself up for the 10 millionth time?
Day-to-day I’m a sour, saggy guy, so perking up for first dates is a full cardio workout. First dates demand even more pizzazz than job interviews. You can't be a grouchy vegetable and expect another shot. This puts overwhelming pressure on a killjoy like me. Normally, if I smile more than five times in an evening, I have to go home and ice my cheeks.
When my date entered the bar, I couldn't keep from blurt laughing. I knew I was going to like her. I think I even muttered, “Not gonna go well.”
But it did go well, and I wound up liking her even more than I expected to. I could have spoken to her all night. And for my part, I was absolutely on fire. No crabbiness, no ill-timed sighs. Somehow I kept matching her crackling energy. I was fighting above my weight class, but I never clinched. I was like Billy Conn in his first 12 rounds against Joe Louis.
When we said goodnight, my first thought was, "That is as well as I will ever be able to sell myself. If that wasn’t enough, it just ain't gonna happen.”
Of course it wasn’t enough. She didn’t buy what I was selling. Not even the unusually upbeat and spicy version of me she was treated to was sufficiently intoxicating.
If I were younger, I could reassure myself by saying: "At least I know I gave it my best." Too bad I'm old enough to know better. It is far more comforting to fail when you didn't rise to the occasion, because then you have this trusty excuse: "If only I'd given it my best...it would have worked out."
When you deliver the goods and still flop, you are forced to endure the cruel fact that your best still wasn't good enough.
Another youthful rationalization is the classic line: "Hey, it's a learning experience!" Sorry, but after a while your failures stop bringing you new wisdom. No one ever erred their way into Mensa. “You mean I made exactly the wrong decision yet again? Cool, now I can take that job teaching particle physics.”
At some point you need some victories to round out your knowledge base.
Just as nothing succeeds like success, nothing fails like failure. Eventually compound interest takes over and every little misfire wounds you down to your marrow.
I have no further need for “learning experiences.” I have learned quite enough from failure. I have fallen on my face more times than a drunken kangaroo. I need some wins, because I am all out of rationalization juice.
I'm still here though, so I must have rationalized it somehow, right? Would you like to read that rationalization? You just did.
Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/greatmikepayne
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