August 30, 2010 § Leave a comment
This online dating thing is a full time gig. I’m slightly overwhelmed, sort-of repulsed, and more than a little bit frightened. I’m regretting not dedicating a new email address reserved strictly for Okcupid traffic with all the winking and favoritism going on. I really can’t keep up with it all and still fit in my regular procrastination for the day via Facebook and youtube.
Yesterday, I met my wink limit. Apparently, you are limited to 1.5 winks per person, per day, per eye. This is an outrage, you should be able to wink as many times and at as many people as you want. It feels good to get winked at, like you’ve been let in on a secret. Unless you realize that person is winking to someone standing behind you, then you feel stupid.
There is also a “smile gesture” but you can only smile at a conversation, you can’t smile directly at the person. This seems weird, and goes against all rules of social behavior. I think I would smile first then wink. Or wink at a conversation, but I’d defiantly smile before I said anything to anyone. I digress; maybe it’s to help you decipher the creepy smiles from the sincere ones. Alternatively, how do you judge a creepy wink? Like when you catch your overly touchy uncle miming about the size of your adolescent sister’s new boobies. Never mind the smile, that’s a creepy wink.
There are also awards. Awards, Really? I have seen girls give guys awards for being “eye candy” and “really funny.” As if the whole online dating scene wasn’t passive aggressive enough, these people are actually too bashful to send a message directly to the person complementing them.
The chat function is quite alarming. It feels like one of those chat rooms in the 90s before there were parental filters. Like at a sixth grade slumber party when you and your girlfriends would giggle in front of the computer tying up the phone line for hours chatting with several pedophiles. Yup, this is just like that. You go online to check your inbox and 30 seconds later you got every Tom, Dick and Harry asking you “Wazzzz up?” My favorite is the guy who tries to chat with me in ebonics, but we’ll save grammar issues and vernacular for another time.
And then there’s Quiver. What the hell is ‘Quiver’? Every once in a while I get an update saying some one chose me on Quiver, like the site threw my profile as a hail mary pass to some dude and he made the game saving catch. The name itself just reminds me of having to pee really, really bad. I don’t think I want to be associated with it what-so-ever.
Although, I must proudly announce Okcupid recently informed me of my official graduation from average to attractive, and I will start being paired with more good-looking men. Well, thank you, Internet, I’m tickled pink that you find me cute, but I am more concerned that you were previously throwing a bunch of uglies my way. Regardless, that is in the past, I forgive you. Now that I have proven myself, I’ll be looking forward to all the toasty fellas you’ll be introducing me to. That is, if you are really telling me the truth and not just blowing smoke up my ass to keep the hope alive that this website will actually work for me. I don’t want to be just another user. I thought we had a real connection.
August 26, 2010 § Leave a comment
It’s part of the cycle: Start dating Mr. Wrong, start eating caveman sized portions, forgo time at the gym for time with him, get on birth control, eat emotionally because he sucks, become a heinous, fat bitch, get dumped, get depressed, Facebook stalk him, loose your appetite, cry for help in status updates, go off the hormones, lose 20 pounds, tag great photos of yourself, find another boy toy and begin again. I realized this varies from woman to woman, and if you find one of those “keepers” you might not suffer from these symptoms.
So you got dumped. Along with breadbasket of emotional woes that attribute to a decrease in appetite, you now have more time on your hands and fervor for vengeance. Somewhere between I-want-you-back and I-want-to-stick-your-dick-in-the-toaster-oven is the best place to start working out. Dust off the running shoes, breakout the yoga pants, or better yet, buy a month unlimited kickboxing package and imagine that you are pummeling his face into next Tuesday. And lucky you, beach season is around the corner.
Since before cell phones, single gals in their late teens and early 20s have abided by a formula and established, along with Barbie and marketing, that being fat and pale does not yield male attraction. I think now they teach that in high school right before senior spring break, or maybe it’s a part of the Greek System’s initiation process. Either way, tanorexic or anorexic, we all know what gets attention. After a few weeks at the gym and a wonder bra, you’ll be selecting a new piece of arm candy and wondering why you dated that douche bag to begin with. Especially after you realize the selection that’s out there now.
Even if you aren’t over your ex, your revenge by sex appeal won’t be ignored. He’s been tagged on Facebook with several new floosies? Upload bikini pics immediately. And, Yes, make it my profile picture.
August 24, 2010 § Leave a comment
Back to the online dating experiment. I’ve been browsing through profiles, compatibility charts and everyone’s favorite: self-portraits. There is even a spot in your profile where you can make public what you are looking for, like a casting call.
For me, I want one that’s tall, athletic, with a beard. The facial hair is important, the height is important and extra points if he drives a pickup truck. Well, the beard is not mandatory, but he must be able to actually grow on if he wanted, that’s the mark of a real man.
So I got a thing for lumberjacks, don’t judge. Short guys with peach fuzz don’t get offended either. I am sure there’s a lady out there who wants you just as you are, but it’s not me. If given the choice I am sure you would want me to be bleach blonde with double Ds, a flat tummy and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. Online dating allows you to be specific, superficial and go for the gold. After all, you aren’t really looking at these people in the eye, so you aren’t offending anyone to their face. That makes it okay, right?
By using the “favorites” function, I can create a list of my favorite Guys who Like Girls (age 27-36) who are over 6ft tall. I can also use this function to let them know they are one of my favorites. It’s kind of like having your friend approach a guy for you, passing along the message that you think he’s cute, all while you watch from the other end of the bar, blushing.
However, I learned about this function by being on the other side of it. Within a mere four hours of posting my profile I was being added to favorites lists, and these guys were making me aware. What’s really suspect is that I am a favorite of a guy clear across the country. We will never meet, I guarantee. Then why make me your favorite? Choke the chicken much? Gross. It’s like letting the person you’re stalking know that you’re the perv who’s adding you to his spank bank. Things like this should be kept private.
Checking out the profile of each potential ex boyfriend can be dizzying. For a group of people wanting a true love connection, they sure talk a lot of crap. I can’t help but assume that some of these dudes are straight up lying. I mean, come on, you make over $100,000 a year and you can’t find a date in LA? I could find you at least three potential trophy wives within two hours of hanging out at a Beverly Hills nail salon if I could advertise that kind of cash. And then there’s the whole height thing, unless you really are a 6’5” pituitary case, my guess is you’re embellishing by couple of inches. In truth, it’s probably the proclaimed 5’11½”ers you have to worry about.
I am still chuckling about the cubby guy who describes himself as athletic. I’m no supermodel, but at least I am honest with myself. Also, I can’t get past the amount of people who rant on and on about their world views and awesome personalities then don’t even mention their occupation. Okay Cupid, I’m not sure if you and I are really going to work out much longer with all this probable deceit. I’m 5’5” and if it’s not true, I’m not lying, I just haven’t measured myself recently.
August 19, 2010 § Leave a comment
Last weekend I relished in my independence. How wonderful the absence of boy drama can be, how simplistic. But while thinking about what else was omitted when I disposed of my boyfriend and watching Legends of the Fall, I got horny.
The one thing that blows about being single is giving up your Get Laid Anytime card. I’m not really into slutting it up at the bar, climaxing in a drunken fog with a random isn’t what I call satisfaction. As a table for one, you have to face this desire head on, repression will only make you crave chocolate and cheese puffs. Replacing your orgasm with food is not only unhealthy, I promise you, it’s much less fun. Go for the gold and choose your weapon: a booty call or a vibrator. Either wand, there isn’t much difference.
Booty calls are tricky and technically fall into the boyfriend category; with the added gem of knowing he’s probably sleeping with several other women. Plus, sometimes his phone is off. That’s why I play it safe and go for the sure thing. Lay down, reach over, pure pulsating bliss.
The vibrator has evolved over the past 100+ years and has since been embraced by women worldwide. The humble beginning of the electric massager was under the guise of a cure for medical ailments rather than being advertised as a straight-up pleasure rod. But this was a great start to revolutionize the idea that females also have a need for sex. Maybe they did have it right, horniness and sexual repression seems like a sickness to me.
The one draw back to the vibrator is that you only seem to cum once, while the real thing, especially if he’s concentrating, can give you a couple residual wows. With the vibrator, I just don’t want to put in the effort for round two. Nonetheless, I am satisfied and thankful that I don’t have to deal with the awkward, “was it good for you,” the “that isn’t even close to the area you should be in”, or the argument about who sleeps in the wet spot.
I’m not saying that the vibrator could ever completely replace great, passionate, sweaty, give-it-to-me-big-boy sex, but I hear they are working on it. Also, change the batteries regularly. Makes a world of difference. I had to take a nap after.
August 19, 2010 § 1 Comment
Let’s just say, I have more than just a little attitude toward online dating. In an effort not to pass judgment on something I know nothing about, I took my scowl to the street. I gandered at eharmony and match.com. After vomiting a little in my mouth at the pictures on their homepage, I searched for something with a little less investment. Ashleymadison was a little too hooker for me, so I settled on okcupid because it was free and casual dating seemed to be an option.
After much procrastination and a lot of silly answers, I decided to quit the nonsense for the sake of the experiment and get serious about finding my digital soul mate. I answered wholeheartedly and was appalled that the third question asked of me was how often I brush my teeth and was it important for my future lover to have the same habit.
Supervised by a close friend, who was keeping me honest and from stomping on my computer with a stiletto, I spent an hour thinking about who I was and who I was looking for. Then upon viewing my profile I realized I had chosen my screenname rather carelessly. It was my real name, first and last with an underscore in between. I was advertisement: stalkers welcome. I quickly went though my profile options to try to change the name only to discover it’s about the only thing you cannot change. At the drop of a hat I could easily become a lesbian, a vegan, a trapeze artist, but changing my name was against the rules. I contemplated taking on a whole new persona and letting my alter ego run rampid on the internet seeking out uncharacteristic people and activities so no one could trace me. But instead I just deleted and started over.
Take two was approached differently. I was way too tired of answering questions about preferred oral hygiene regimens and tying to pull the philosophical blue print of the perfect partner out of my ass. So, I answered the about me “essays” with as few words as possible to remain clever yet intriguing and quickly started searching potential hotties. Once I had glanced at a few profiles it occurred to me: most of these people didn’t seem to actually want to be using this dating site and were about just as embarrassed as I was. I started personifying them with funny voices as I read their profiles out loud. This is when I started feeling bad for the lonely hearts and began electronically winking at them.
Yes, there is a wink button. I am sure it’s some incarnation of Facebook’s poke, but somehow in this arena tons more fun and far less pressure. So much fun that I think I am going to bring the act itself to the bar this Friday and try it in the flesh. Hopefully, it will have the same effect.
So I winked at few guys over 6ft tall and cute enough to sleep with and decided to call it a day. My only worry is that one of these tall boys will actually have some connection to me in real life, like my boss’s nephew, or the dude who bags my groceries. I would be mortified. I am officially a closet online dater. Well… I’m a winker. I’m just winking right now.
August 19, 2010 § Leave a comment
Let’s all just own up to it right now, every one of us is a Facebook stalker. And if you say you’re not, you’re lying. Or you’re one of those people who have regarded the Internet as “just a phase” for the past 20 years and are stunted worse then female Olympic gymnast, Karri Strug.
For the rest of you, the status update is special tool that you hold near and dear. Sometimes I find my inner monologue thinking in status updates, one clever descriptive sentence at a time.
Your electronic status can inform a lot about you, from your availability and linguistic skills to your whit and general temperament. Although it does require some homework, the status update can be a great tool for determining if a prospective lover is worth your time. Think about it, do you really want to be with someone who feels the impulse to update all of his/her electronic friends on what they ate for lunch? Or the person who doesn’t have enough self respect to learn how to spell ‘believe’ or know the correct use ‘there’ and ‘their’.
For me, it’s more specifically about the content of the status. The content of a well-crafted status update directly relates to how a person thinks, and what they think about. I dated a guy who used the word “booyah” in nearly every status update. Obviously, he was an excitable human being, but this wasn’t the problem. The problem was in the term “booyah” which can be defined by urbandictionary.com as: 1 – an exclamation of joy, 2 – a mocking or arrogant exclamation used to taunt a loser one has just beaten. Both uses are often accompanied by a hand gesture.
Although, he never actually expressed this word verbally, I understood by his status updates that it was very much in his vernacular. The idea that he used this word in his everyday thought process made me jump to conclusions. Can you imagine our little booyah-kids running around, booyahing all over the place? The word “booyah” has ADD written all over it and I don’t want to fornicate with anyone who is even thinking it. Before you know it, I would start using the word too, acting sort-of gangster, wearing a baseball cap backwards, and taking up basketball. Because if you think about it “booyah” is really only appropriately used when schooling some one in a game of basketball. It doesn’t translate well to World of Warcraft or croquet.
The next time you want to share, really think about what you’re saying, spell check, and pay attention to grammar. Above all, stay true to yourself. Mr. Booyah probably hates the fact that most of my status updates are merely gibberish, absent of any intelligent cohesive thought. But I am me, and I like who I am. When you share yourself with the world censor yourself appropriately, especially if you’re going to get sensitive about it. People judge.