Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Seemed like a good idea at the time...

So Mir over at Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda had posted something the other day bemoaning many things about some American Idol candidate who, I guess, was inappropriately smug and judgemental (what, an american princess judging others? No!) and got spanked with the irony paddle when some pictures surfaced of her being not quite so godly. (or cleanly either, apparently!) And Mir's point, more than anything, was "people, tell your kids not to let anyone take pictures of them doing the dirty stuff we do!" And she's TOTALLY right.

I just wish she'd been blogging (or that blogs had even existed, let alone the robust internet of today, or camera phones, or so many things) when I was making my ill-advised video about 11+ years ago. Gulp.

(hi, Mom!)

You've heard me mention WWIT-dude (What Was I Thinking?-dude) already. It's clear that he was a bad choice in the long run. However, when we first met he was many very cool things, especially to me. First you must understand who I was at the time:

-a tender 24 years old.
-living away from where I consider to be home, and supposedly independent
-working and living somewhere that made me feel pretty lame

yes, folks, I was the original 40-year old virgin (except that I was 24 and less hairy then Steve Carrell) and I was the last one o' them that I knew. That anyone I knew knew. And he was a good looking, virile, studly guy. Who looked back.

It was 4th of July, the night I fell into all of this drama, stuff straight out of primetime television with street thugs (honest to goodness thugs!) and tough talk (stuff that would have been written without g's and using many aposterphes, like "dude, don't be buggin'!") and cute dudes who's health I was having actual concern for. And at the end of the night I'd been kissed and there was something ultimately unfortunate hatching: love. Of a sort.

OK, jump forward a year and we're "celebrating" a one-year anniversary. (I say "celebrating" because most of our celebrations featured him losing his cool and his temper and his ability to not yell, be insulting and generally freak me out. Good times...) WWIT-dude lived in another state about 3.5 hours away and so all of our time together was spent in these intense little pockets. Foolishly I thought that was exciting and thrilling and stuff, rather than seeing that it was false and absurd and stuff. One of the things that became more intense when done in little bursts was "the nasty." "Knockin' boots." "Makin' the beast w/ two backs." S. followed by E. Capped off with a big, ol' X.

(I'm not kidding, my Mom is now, or will some time soon, be reading this. Everybody wave.)

So back to the anniversary. WWIT-dude makes some kind of veiled request for something to help him get through the times when we were apart (also called "weekdays"). Now, did the filters in the brain that are supposed to protect you fire up and say "gosh, that's sweet honey, but I'm not really crazy about doing dirty stuff (sorry Mom) on film. How about I buy you some anonymous porn instead?"

Well of course not. If they had then what would I be writing about now? Come on, people, keep up!

No, instead my mind went to all those Harlequin Romance books my sister (my super-smart, over-achieving sister, mind you!) used to read, or the hot and steamy flicks with the Demi Moores and the Sharon Stones and all. Curse you, Sharon Stones! I shake my fists at you, you Demi Moores! Oh how you clouded my normally-sound judgement!

In short order a video camera was acquired and a tape shot. It was just me and it was probably really hard to see what the hell was happening, what with the artsy lighting I used. Today we call them "candles." And then I made a copy (for technical reasons, not aesthetic ones, I assure you) and gave it to WWIT-dude. And in all of this I don't remember ever wondering if it was a good idea. I was so dang new to being a sex-having person, I couldn't really think beyond that fact! It was all "really? you actually look at me in that way? Wow! What, exactly, is wrong with you? (not that I want it to be fixed, but more that I want to be able to recognize it in others...)"

(Mom, if it helps at all it was all done with utmost concern to good hygiene. Clean sheets and everything.)

And keep in mind that back then the only real concern one would have had was either that the dude would show his buddies, which didn't seem likely given how over-the-top jealous WWIT-dude was of ANYBODY, or that someday one would become famous and the tape would surface. I wasn't really worried about famous. We didn't have these easy and convenient opportunities for run-of-the-mill douchebags to take a picture or video and shoot it out over the web for "just 'cause." like we do today. Today is a much different place with much different scary things. I would really (really, REALLY, reallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreally for REALS) like to believe that today I'd stop and think about all the ways that such a folly could become a cl*ster-f*ck and think better of it. And maybe even have anonymous porn on hand to distract -- "look at the naked boobies! Here, fetch!"

Me, I was exceptionally lucky. When, at last, the day came for me to realize what madness that relationship was and call it all off WWIT-dude destroyed the video tape in a fit of anger and in the hopes that I'd feel bad about it and change my mind. (in his head this logic track arrived at Sanity Station, as opposed to most of us who see that thought train in a massive heap of twisted metal at the bottom of Crazybeans Gulch.) I even thought enough to destroy the original right before moving back to my hometown, so there are no scary surprises waiting out there. But again, only because I was exceptionally lucky.

Now I just gotta get famous.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Birth of a Euphamism...

So yesterday you met Beautiful Dreamer, she who blazed the online dating trail for me. And by that I mean that it would never, ever have occurred to me try this in any way, shape or form if I hadn't had a chance to watch her do it a little. Not because she made it look fun -- she made it look crazy -- but because she made it look manageable. Even if the way she managed it scared the crap out of me!

Anyway, B.D. continued to try various avenues and found a few Mr. Maybes, some Senior Possible and the odd "Nonononononono!" Then she did something way, far, far away from what I would do: she decided to pursue only dudes who are very in to being religious. Through that avenue she found somebody who matches her quite nicely. It's been a couple of months and they're having much fun, and I'm very pleased both that she may have found the catch she's been casting for (but without that fishy smell) and also that she survived all the previous fishing until she landed him!

But here's the thing: this fellow takes many things very seriously (as is his right!) and one such thing is S-E-X. Now in general I'm in favor of giving sex a certain amount of gravity -- I think there are plenty of people out there treating it with the same regard as flossing (or maybe less regard!) However he lost me with this: he told B.D. that when he does finally have sex with someone again (having been divorced in the last couple of years) it would essentially mean that he considers himself married to this person.

Yeah, I don't get it either. I know this: it doesn't mean he won't "do it" until marriage, nor does it mean that he'll give you a ring if you let him go there, or that there will be a really big party to celebrate right after you're finished. All I'm sure of is that it's a very big, serious deal for him. Somehow important like marriage is important. And a sign of a level of commitment or something. I'm a little confused as to which comes first: the commitment or the act. Is he saying "well if we ever have sex I'll end up feeling super-duper committed to you, just so's ya know." or is it more "you ain't gettin' none o' this foine divorcee booty until I think I could lock in the deal, baby!"

I also know this: it's an excellent new euphamism for sex. Each morning after B.D. has had a successful date (which, for a nice change of pace, often takes place in a populated location with witnesses and pepper spray!) I get to ask her "so, did you guys "get married" last night?" So much more classy then my previous, which was "So, Baum-chikka-bow-bow last night?"

Also it makes me seem romantic when I say "I hope some day to get married," while all I really mean is I hope some day to baum-chikka-bow-bow at least once more before I croak.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Beautiful Dreamer, la da da dee....

So there's this chick where I work -- we'll call her Beautiful Dreamer -- and she actually did all this online dating stuff for quite a while before I started. She's so very much different from I, though not in good/bad ways. Just in different ones.

For instance, she really dove in head-first to the shopping idea of Yenta.com. She winked her little fingers off, and got into these massive email back-and-forths and epic phone calls with the various dudes she found to pursue. She had dates, many dates. And she was always, without fail, unendingly enthusiastic about every part of the process. And where as I saw danger and concern and threats, she always took these total stranger-men at face value. On everything. I found that simultaneously sweet and flabber-boggling. For example:

She finds a guy she likes, based on emails and phone calls, and suddenly they both find that they're available for a date. But only if they take immediate action -- date! Now! Go! So she does the following:

  • Has him pick her up at her house. Which requires giving him her address. "Here," she says to this guy whom she has never met and who could be a cowboy, but could be an axe murderer, "come see where I spend my alone time, with nobody to know if I were to be murdered all axe-style."
  • She doesn't tell anyone else she's going out. She's alone (ostensibly -- she has little kids, but they weren't home so for that night she's alone) and there's nobody who checks in on her to know when she's suddenly missing. No call to a friend or co-worker to say a quick "hey, I'm going on a date with this guy I don't know to location unknown for completely not known by me activities. If I'm not home by some set time I'm probably dead and I just wanted someone to know that I'd like them to play "Don't Fear the Reaper" at my funeral." My favorite part of this detail was the reason she gave for not telling anybody what she was doing: she knew everyone would tell her not to do it. Know your audience!!
  • She lets him drive, and decide where they're going, and what route to get there, while she opens the bottle of wine he brought. (I'll hold on while you finish shaking your head in "what the hell is this girl thinking?"-ness...) They drive, and drive, and drive, and this girl KNOWS how to get where they were supposed to be going but never says "so, are we going to by way of Paris or something?"
  • They get there and enjoy some wine, sitting in the car and admiring the view.
  • OK, just in case some of view missed the significance of that part, I'm going to break it down for you: A) they enjoy some wine, often considered to be a beverage of alcoholic nature, while they admire the view at this place that B) took a really long time to reach and, therefore, will probably take about as long to return from, and they do this from C) the car, which is the only place they have to hang out, and which therefore makes the drunk driving that he's got planned later so much easier to get to.

Here, for me, is the most amazing part of the story: she didn't die! She's not chopped into tiny girl-hunks, scattered across the closest body of water to previously-mentioned lovely park, feeding tiny fishes who would have also shaken their heads! But as she cheerily regailed me with tales of what was, to her, a sweet and romantic first date with this guy, yadda, yadda, yadda, I sat there frozen in horror! I had to swallow my own tongue to keep from screaming "What the bloody, demon-infested HELL were you THINKING!?!? Are you out of your M-I-I-I-I-I-I-N-D??????" Because, you know, she was so chipper about it. And I'm apparently so paranoid.

Over time I became really good at the smiling nod and vacant stare, which seemed like the response she wanted. She really didn't like it when I threw my pesky real-life concerns out there, ruining what were such dreamy dude-moments. But trust me, there were many other stories which would send chills running up and down your sane spines.

Next: How a Euphamism is born...

Monday, February 19, 2007

Lessons? What lessons?

I had this one long-term relationship a while ago - ok, a decade ago. It was a pretty exceptionally flawed relationship in the grand scheme of things (racist, sexist, ignorant, ex-military and took great joy at abusing the trust his loved ones would put into him. And these were his high points. That plus one hell of a nice ass and extreme flexibility. If ya know what I mean...) but there were some ponies in that room of hay and horse shit.

The best, in my opinion, were the lessons learned, and one in particular: don't change who I am to fit who I think he wants me to be. I know it sounds super-obvious, and I think I thought I already knew it. But after all of the doing it anyway it seemed pretty clear I DIDN'T "know" it. I just was familiar with it. I could identify it amongst a pile of polaroids, but if you asked what it's favorite color was I'd have to guess.

Since the dark days with What-Was-I-Thinking? dude (or WWIT, as we'll call him from now on) I've really held true to that idea. With everyone. I'm sure I've chased off some just lovely people, but frankly lovely people are far too lovely to handle my particular mix of forceful-and-nutters. I'm really thinking of them!

So here's where this has anything to do with the mission. In case you've been gone, we've moved from Wove.com to Yenta.com (from a relationship website to a dating website) because on Wove nothing happened. Big Nothing. N-O-T-H... you get the idea. (I-N-G) So now we're doing the dating site and you know what's happened since I signed up almost a month ago? (well, how's your spelling? How about your memory? What did we spell most recently?...) And before anybody starts with "well maybe you should try contacting someone!" I did. I winked at someone and he winked right back. If, by wink, you mean he said "Gah!" and ran to opposite-direction-land.

But other than that ego-boosting social experiment it's been quiet. Too quiet. In war movies it would be right before the enemy attacks. Right before the killer attacks in the slasher film. Right before the lesbian kissing scene in porn. And it's lead to a big lack of writing ideas.

So I could go out there and just start winking at anybody who even remotely fits the profile (age, smoking and drinking, location) and see what happens. But I'm really having a hard time doing that (and here's where I tie it all together, and I thank you for your patience, and I do it all without showing the characters with frogs raining from the sky!) BECAUSE by doing that I feel like I paint myself with the brush of the desperation. How do I wink at a guy I'm not interested in unless I'm just so desperate to make a connection that I no longer care if they're a good fit? And that's not me. It's me being what the websites and some of my friends and society generically want me to be. A costume I look goofy in.

So I'm not sure what my next move should be. But the one thing you can still be sure of is that once I DO know what I'm doing I'll let you know.

Friday, February 16, 2007

Math and Science, part 2 - Science

OK, so those of you following along in your textbooks know that yesterday we covered the math. And for once it was math that applies to your life! No elaborate formulas required!

Today we're covering the science part, and again we have chosen not to assert my personal scientific theory ("The amount of tummy shown in a man's Yenta.com profile picture(s) is directionally proportional to how high they rate the importance of their match being a H-O-T-T-Y!") due to lack of actual data to support it. Instead we will cover something that hit the news media on Wednesday, which is this:

Romantic Love = You be very much crazy nutjob sanity go bye-bye. (of course this is scientific jargon.)

According to this article and some others covering the exact same info, being in romantic love, and the high that goes with it, is pretty much just overdosing on dopamine. It hits the same parts of the brain that can be ping-ponged by your being un-sane or non-rational, as well as taking drugs. Get that? Passion, drugs, crazy -- all the same fun ride for the brain!

Every different article that covered this new scientific discovery touched on different aspects, finding what they thought was the most important, amazing, earth-shattering conclusion from the idea. Here's the one that occurred to me: this makes me the most sane person I know. Now how's THAT for scary?

I also enjoy the idea that if you find yourself falling in love your two best options may be either a 12-step program (Hi, my name is Femtastic and I'm in love. Pass the coffee and cigarettes) or therapy (Tell me about your mother -- did she also have bouts of in-love-ness? How does that make you feel? No, I didn't mean you should feel yourself - please stop that.) So the next time you feel a case of the loves coming on just bop over to your doctor and ask for a wee bottle of lithium. Just until it passes.

OK, homework for next time: what's the craziest thing you ever did for or because of love?

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Math and Science, Part 1 - Math

By now you guys know that I was born with an over-abundance of opinion and thinkyness. Many have tried to perscribe treatments to cure me of this overage, but so far I've been totally resistant to all cures. The result, as you so well know, is that I talk out of my ass constantly, railing on and on about things that I think or feel.

But what works even better, have found I, is things called facts! Knowledge supported by this stuff they call data, which has much more credibility (apparently) then just "because I said so and shut up, you!" Now, getting bonafide data for the kind of crap I've been writing about is not easy. Seriously not. But all of the sudden a holiday like Valentines Day comes along and reports and studies come dropping from the sky!00

Today we're covering some math knowledge: according to a study done recently by my tiny local newspaper it turns out that the lack of mateness that I'm experiencing here is totally not my fault. It's just a matter of the math. My city has more than it's fair share of unwed womens!

The study says that there are 60% unmarried women in my town (even the town is innocent enough to need protecting, so I'll just call it Hippyville), compared to the national average of 48%. They had many reasons why this would be:

  • we're a college town and ejamacated womens don't tend to need mens to care and feed them quite as much, so they don't get quite so married.
  • we've got a higher-than-normal lesbian population (hmmm, maybe I am being too picky?...) and though LORD KNOWS the lesbians would love to be part of the married population, we all know that such a thing would cause an end to the world as we know it, as well as a serious down-turn in the sale of women's razors, a run on sales of CDs by KD Lang, Melissa Etheridge and the Indigo Girls and plagues of locusts.
  • We liberated lady-types don't always marry those we hook up with, so many of these women may be in long-time, committed relationships that just don't happen to include licenses, blood tests, salad shooters and gravy boats. (toot, toot!)

But for me I'm just focusing on the numbers. Especially these numbers:

"There are 7,000 more unmarried women then unmarried men in the city of Hippyville..."


So I guess I need to start finding these 6,999 other non-married women (or, as I shall now call them, NMWs) and talk them into marrying those I don't want (also known as the population of Wove.com and possibly Yenta.com) or into moving away. Hey, I hear things are nice in AnywhereButHereburg!

Tomorrow: the science.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007


Sometimes you eat the bear, and sometimes the bear eats you. (now see, in my head that sounded all profound and deep. but in writing? Just dirty. sigh.) Yes, ladies and..., well pretty much just ladies, things are all sorts of familiar now! I'm wrapped up in that most well-worn of beach towels: rejection. In less than 24 hours Monty sent word my presence was not required.

I know what you're saying now. "24 hours? Well hell, you could have told this 2 days ago!" You're right. And I started to a bunch of times, but each time this same thing happened. Everything came out all bitter and hissy. See, this is what put out my fire to pursue this kind of stuff in the past. I got danged tired of the rejection, and even more tired of the nasty little bitch I become in the face of it.

(Woah, this is becoming another very real and bitter post. Allow me to break things up with a random tangent, shall I?)

Tangent: tomorrow (today already for some folks) is that most commercial of holidays, Valentines Day. This year I think it's being brought to us by Target, Coke and the letter P. This holiday is one that really separates the boys from the men, I say. Or more accurately the single boys from the dating men, and same goes for the ladies. If you're doing the wove thing when this day wheels around it's all about "do something or don't? If I do something am I just pandering to society's insistance that I choose today to be romantic? If I do nothing am I being an ass-hat?" Here's your answer, dating/mating world: yes. Yes, yes, a thousand chocolates over yes! You are pandering, you're letting the rest of the world dictate your romantic schedule and you're a complete and utter bastard if you don't. So suck it up, buy a single wed wose or a teddy bear holding a box of inedible chalk talking hearts or those truly classy silk boxers with the big, red lips all over them and get to it!

And then there's those like moi, who have to decide if they'll shun the day (usually with much bile and self-pity), take back the day with the tried and true "hey, why don't all we single friends get together and do something!" plan or pretend that the 14th of February is no different than the 13th (like anyone's buying that.) Me? I used to celebrate with as non-romantic a movie I could find (Platoon, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, most things starring David Spade...) and eating an entire pizza by myself (using the traditional "hell, if I'm not dating anybody then there's no one to care if I gain 5 pounds in a single sitting!" rational) but that seemed like giving the day more oomph then made sense. Now I just look it as the day before the day when all those boxes of candy go on big-time sale!

So Sunday night I come home from a rollicking evening of Grammy-tastic action to an email from my very good friend, Yenta.com, assuring me that I shouldn't give up hope just because oh yeah, by the way, that dude what I winked at reacted with something along the lines of "yeesh! Are you high?" and beat feet in the away direction. I really appreciated that Yenta was there for me in that, my time of need. There with generic encouragement to get back on the e-horse and go find someone else who can reject me tomorrow! But in all honesty what I felt like doing was, in my opinion, a very reasonable and balanced reaction. It was a plan of two steps:

  1. write an email apologizing to him for the mistake wink, as I had no interest in him whatsoever and that the wink was actually due to my cat messing with the computer while I was on the john -- "she winked at no less than 17 different guys while I was taking a dump. I'm so glad that you're not interested, because you couldn't be further from what I was looking for if you tried. For instance, I'm looking for a straight guy..."
  2. copy his picture and paste it into all sorts of doggie-porn chat rooms under the moniker "poodle-poker"
Tangent: Dooce.com posted a link to a list of bad gift ideas from Amazon.com which I couldn't have loved more if I'd compiled it! It had not just one, but multiple creepy sex costumes included, which has me wondering what is the DEAL with sex in costumes? I know my sex experience is limited (much in the same way that the number of minorities allowed into the KKK is limited) but is there such a large population of folks who get hot and sweaty at the idea of knocking boots dressed as a 5-ft baby? Seriously? (shudder.) Also, it has really been a long time for me, because I don't remember for the life of me where the wolf urine, the tick nipper and the 4 lbs of cow crap come in. Would that be the "foreplay" I keep hearing about?

I did try to follow Yenta's advice and check for anyone new out there at whom I could wink. Apparently the pickings are sticking to their strict diet of parsley, red ants and criticism (which is the same diet that Nicole Richey is on, by the way.) In other words, they are still slim, these pickings. Am I being too selective? Perhaps. How do I tell? Based on the small amount of info I'm provided and these akward, sketchy and sometimes frightening pictures I'm not finding anyone I want to open a door to. But correct me if I'm wrong: that's what I'm supposed to do, right? I'm supposed to look for someone who interests me and make contact. It's just the first part I'm having trouble with.

Tangent: Valentines for friends - for 'em? Agin' em? What say you guys? Because I've received a ton (sorry, should have been T-U-U-U-U-H-N) of valentines cards and gifts from friends. And it's a three-part process. First there's the reaction that you show your friend: Wow, that's so nice, thank you so much! Simultaneously there's the reaction in your head: great, another box of pity candy, another lovely poem about how good a friend I am where a dirty limerick about my boobs should rightly be, another friend worried that I might finally OD on Mad Dog 20/20 and Firefly reruns because I'm unloved on Feb. 14th - how pitiful am I? And then there's the internal struggle: should I have bought something for this friend too? I figured they'd be celebrating with their spouse/main squeeze; oh crap-a-doodle, are all of my friends expecting cards from me? Am I now officially a bad friend on top of a kaka significant other? Don't get me wrong, because I know that these are truly coming from a good place. My friends are all really excellent people who are just thinking of me. But I gotta be totally honest here (thereby taking me off the hook everywhere else) and state that I'd rather skip it, thanks all the same. Spend the money on the silk boxers!

Anyway, if you look at my scorecard so far I've got Mr. Eloquent of the non-sequitor pipe pics and the "I'm stealing my own soul" self-portraits AND a big "Wow am I out of your league, sweetie" rejection from Looks-good-on-paper-but-probably-would-have-sucked-his-thumb-and-called-me-mommy-Dude. I'm pretty sure that means I'm losing. Time to start figuring out how I can cheat.

Happy Valentines Day, everybody!

Saturday, February 10, 2007

to poke the bear or not to poke the bear...

OK, so I checked Yenta again today. Same lonely email ("hi, I'm not supposed to be here and my info and pictures suck. Have a nice day." Of course I'm paraphrasing.) and same list of people who've checked out my profile. But that's it.

I scanned the list again, and here's the thing. There's this one (and only one, so far) dude who looks interesting. His headline is something I'd appreciate, he likes many things that I officially like (some of them I actually DO like!) and he's not bad looking. And he's on that list of guys who looked at me, and at this point I'm on his list of chicks who've looked at him.

Now what?

My plan, because I'm already having a hard time with having invested money and time in online matchmaking, was to get myself out there and let the dudes do all the work. Let my siren call and my fascinating, scintilating (I didn't talk about poop or boogers at all!) profile and that come-hither look in my eyes be all that it took to drag them forth in droves. This was the plan. I have a plan, and when I have a plan I hate to deviate from it. From the plan. See my pretty, pretty plan?

The hard part is getting the dudes to do their part of the plan. Where, I ask you, are my droves? So far they are totally slacking on all the being dragged forth stuff. I'm having bonafide Wove.com flashbacks, and so here is my dilemma: wink or no wink?

See, Yenta has this thing called "wink" and apparently it's a way to let someone know that you're interested (beyond just the "I was looking at your profile" deal). I imagine it is the adult, web-based equivalent of "hi i like you do you like me if you do check this box if you dont then i dont either." I'm sure the next step would be e-punching them in the arm and e-running away.

But the winking is not on the plan. I've checked. So do I stray from the pretty, pretty plan? Does that make me the aggressive, pushy beotch that I'm trying to hide from the droves, at least until I've got their spare key and PIN number? Or (alternative spin that I'm trying on for size) is this a good way to find a member of the droves that would be able to handle such an aggressive, pushy beotch? After all, beotch I be one way or another, and maybe the fair thing is to give them the warning now, in the beginning?

OK, you've talked me into it, you silver-tongued devils. I've winked at the dude (we'll call him Monty.) And I'm already regretting the whole thing. You silver-tongued bastards, what the hell were you thinking? Why do I listen to you? Sigh.

I'll keep you posted. Don't I always?

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

the dimensions of the pickings

So I promised before a quick breakdown of what we're seeing on Yenta.com so far. The pickings, as they say. I won't lie to you: Brad Pitt is NOT looking for any E-Lovin' in my fair town. Or if he is he has used his worst possible pictures.

But on an upside, at least there ARE pictures! Yes, there are far more folks with faces on this avenue. You do a search (looking for dudes, this general area, between "can you even buy beer yet?" and "so when do you start receiving your social security checks?") and you get this list of faces staring out at you. And there are several very popular poses you'll find:

-Dude with pet -- "see, I have a softer side!"
-Dude doing hobby -- "see, I am more then just my work (despite what my damned ex-wife is always saying. Take this, beotch!)"
-Dude needed to take some pictures for Yenta.com -- his arm in the foreground; cheesy, forced smile
-Dude should have taken some pictures just for Yenta.com -- is it just me, or did this picture used to be of two people? Note the hand just being cut off the edge, and the wedding band there on.

I'm pretty baffled by the number of guys who think that 'unwashed' was the right fashion choice. Or even better, that 'shirtless' is the look to find your great love. Especially the ever-classy 'shirtless with exceptional beer belly.' SO want to introduce you to the folks!

Now here's the part that I finally figured out, and which has me over-thinking everything: when I look at someone's profile THEY GET TO KNOW ABOUT IT. There's a thing that shows you "who's viewed you." Firstly I thought "oh cool!" and was pretty amazed that the number so far was 12 people. Look at me bringing in the dudes! So I started going through the list and clicking on a few to see what they were about. Next time I went to the site there were 30 folks who'd peeked. I'm ever so very popular am I! And hey, look at that: the ones on the top of the list are the same dudes that I reviewed the last time. What are the odds? (no, I really hadn't figured it out by this point. Did I tell you that "smart" came up not even once when I was touting my qualities on the profile?)

A day or so later I go back to check the list again and wow, 45 dudes! And wow again, there are those same fellows at the top of the list and OH MY GOD THEY CAN TELL THAT I VIEWED THEM TOO! And now I'm something I didn't realize I was being, at least as far as they can see. I'm desperate or slutty or flirting or I don't know, but it just freaked me out that every time I look at someone's profile they know about it!

(Wait, it gets better, and also more ridiculous)

And now I'm afraid to click on prospective profiles because I don't want them to know I looked. Seriously! I start to click their picture and the voice in my head says "hold it, are you sure you want them to think you like them? Because you're not even sure that you like them, so do you want to give them that idea?" OR WOULD YOU RATHER SPEND THE TIME AND MONEY ON THIS SITE AND THEN PLAY HARD TO GET TO THE POINT OF BEING AN E-HERMIT!!!!

So now I'm crafting an additional paragraph to add to my profile, because I feel like it's something important about me that I've not covered. It's going something like this:

"I think you could say that I'm witty and bright, and I'm most definitely a GRADE-A WACKADOO. This is your first and last warning, my friends: run as far and as fast as you can from this total nutbag now, while I don't have any real contact information for you! For no sanity has tainted this, the most BRLBRLBRLBRLBRLBR (sound of finger running over lips) of dipsy-doodles! If you take even one more step in my direction all subsequent stalking, tire slashings and voodoo dolls are on you, got it? ON. YOU."

And have a nice day. (but at least I'm clean and shirtful in all of my pictures. Most of my pictures,)

Sunday, February 04, 2007

I have no response to that...

Well Yenta.com is off to a pretty good start. Not more then 48 hours after I posted all the wonderfulness that is me I had over a dozen fellows checking me out. More than that, one even sent me an email. Due to the wonders of technology this email came right to my regular email inbox, so I found it during my usually boring morning check-in. And I'll admit that my first response was to be excited! More so then I would have expected really. "Ooh, looky!" I thought to myself, "someone was already interested enough to reach out! Take that, Wove.com!" and I triumphantly opened up the email from this, my first official suitor! And I found this:

i thought i was to be of this site a couple of days ago so i dumped the information off my profile. well match did a auto renew that was not approved so i did some changes on the profile and need to put up better pictures. see ya.

.....blink. Blink. Blink.....

What do I do with this? I feel like this was not a message to make a connection, but more of an FYI. "Hey," he seems to be saying, "just in case you go looking and find my profile and wonder why there's no info and the pictures aren't very good, here's the deal." I read it like I was scoring it, like the guy that takes you out to pass the driving test for your first license. "Hmm, can't spell "off" - check. Ooh, blames the technology for his not knowing how the system worked - check. Ouch, has been here for at least a month and has yet to put up good pictures - check. Hey, would you pass me the "FAIL" stamp for this application?" Needless to say, I think I've already got an insight into why this guy is looking for a little help with his matchmaking.

To be sure I wasn't judging him unfairly based on one less-then-stellar email I did go and check out his profile. He's not for me. I mean he's not a serial killer or skinhead or anything overtly "Gah!!" like that, but there's no click. No "pow!" No "where have you been all my life!" Based on the pics that were there, all my life he's been laying pipe under houses. (He even had pictures of the pipe. And the houses. With no sign of him in the picture at all. No idea why.) And I have to wonder if he's looked at my profile, beyond my (clearly GENIUS!) headline. We don't match on much beyond the physical. And you gotta love any guy who answers the question "what do you do for fun?" with the fact that he's spending all his fun time on Yenta.com "e-mailing candidates that do not respond in general, they seem to have a lot of hang ups." Ooh, tell me more, big daddy! I love bitter, disgruntled guys who make big, sweeping generalizations about the rest of the world!

Still, I was trying to find a way to see this as a positive step that I should take. After the bust that was Wove.com I thought I should do whatever I could to make this a more productive endeavor. But the nail in the coffin for me was this phrase:
"...they make a lot of money and do not need what they are looking for..."
Yeah, see ya buddy.

As you guys already know about me, this pursuit is absolutely not one of need. I'm not searching for someone to take care of me, or support me, or solve all of my problems. I can take care of myself and do it pretty dang well. I have been supporting myself for close to 20 years, thanks. No guy will ever be able to solve all of my problems and I don't want one to. It's as my Granny said when explaining why her marriage to my grandfather didn't work out: "He wanted me to need him, and I didn't. I chose him, I loved him and I wanted him, but I didn't need him."

I'm not looking for a hero or a solution or a parachute. I'm looking for a buddy or a partner or a good foil. But until the right person comes along I'm doing just fine. I can afford to be choosy. And choosy I shall be! So I sent this first suitor (whom I will call Bitterman) one of Yenta.com's pre-crafted "no thanks" emails, saying basically that we're not a good match. (they didn't have one that said "I'm just gonna dissapoint you like all the others before me, and why would you want to go through that yet again? So just assume I'm another one of those damn self-sufficient bitches and move on. Have you considered something in a mail-order-type-deal, say from somewhere super-crappy?")

So what we know now is that Yenta.com is a faster process then Wove.com, but that the matching may be just as funky. May be. Stay tuned!

Friday, February 02, 2007

Level of slutty from 1-10:

I'm at about a 7?

(note: this post will be scattered w/ song names, showing how cool a Risky mixed CD is. I'm rockin' out to a compilation called "For the Next Disaster", shuffled of course, and it's jamtastic! Current song: "Steve McQueen")
Yenta and I had our first date last night. She asked me all sorts of questions about myself, just trying to understand who I am as a person. It was all like thisy:

Y: So, what do you like to do in your free time?

F: I enjoy making jewelry, reading Joshilyn Jackson books, making mixed CDs and crochetting.

Y: You are looking to attract a GUY, right?

F:.....I read comic books, play video games and paintball, shoot things and bake brownies. To give to other people. And I'm really easy to please in bed. And I honestly think size doesn't matter.

Y: better.

("Staple it Together", Jack Johnson)

The Queen helped me, to make sure I didn't write anything too lame, and together we filled in the stuff that I HATE to write. These long, terrible paragraphs which are supposed to tell everything about yourself. I kid you not, one asked me to write "what defines me as a person." Am I wrong to think of this as a pretty tall order? A heady concept to try to sum up in 4000 characters? Aren't there Bhuddist monks out there meditating on this kind of concept to the distration of everything else? Perhaps you'd also like me to fill y'all in on why we're here, and a little chat about the meaning of life?

("Shake Your Lovemaker" ala Cherry Poppin' Daddies)

Such a big question makes me want to answer in the simplest of ways. What defines me as a person? The Muppets and Daffy Duck; Cheddar Beer Kettle Chips and Hostess Cupcakes; dust-free kitty litter and bird poo on my car shaped like Pee Wee Herman's head. I am defined by the fact that Princess Stinkbutt cannot identify me out of a crowd. Even a crowd of 3. By the fact that there is a song running through my head at all times. ALL times. I'm defined by all the movie quotes that I can't forget and the math formulas I can't remember, and by every time I added a "Dammit!" to someone else's rant. because trust me, the rant needed the big finish. (dammit)

("Give me Novacaine" ala Green Day. Greenday? Dia Verde!)

Anyway, of all the challenging questions asked by Yenta, the one that stumped Queen and I equally was this one:
Your dating headline. (defined thusishiously: "the only chance people will have to hear your “voice”—your personality—before they decide to click for more" Essentially the one and only one thing that will wrap you all up in pretty jewel-toned w/ foil accents wrapping paper, glittery ribbon and voluminous bow. But no pressure.)

How long could it take to come up with one witty, yet not too full of oneself, but descriptive, and also to the point, and not repetitive of your details and also sure to catch the eye of your soul mate and cure cancer and create world peace and a delicious, low-carb, low-fat drink that won't rot your teeth? So much longer then I'd like to admit. We read their helpful(less) hints, including things like "don't tell them where you are because they already know that," and "don't be boring or cliched" and "do something unexpected to catch the eye." and we both agreed that they deserved a big helping of "WELL DUH!"

("Beijing" by some rockin' chick named Melissa Ferrick)

We considered movie quotes. Tell me, would you be attracted to someone who's headline was "Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles..."? How about "Do or do not. There is no try." I know that one would bring in all the single geeks in the area. And I could be their queen! We looked through some that other people were using, and I decided quickly that I would not be using the words "Playful", "Open" or "Flexible". Finally I went with this:

Daffy Duck seeks her Bugs Bunny.

If he's out there and he sees it, he'll get it. And such a guy I'd definitely consider!

("Nugget" from my friends Cake)

Coming Next: the pickings and just how thick or thin they are...

Thursday, February 01, 2007

So few words, so many syllables...

Princess Stinkbutt becomes an officially 2-year old person tomorrow. Thanks to the help and support of the royal family, as well as friends a plenty and her rockin' school, the princess can, so far, do all of the following:
  • body parts identification (yours or hers)
  • animal noises (with special skill at quiet bear)
  • Row, Row, Row any Boat you give her
  • show you her handle as well as her spout
  • dance, dance, dance, baby!
  • allow water to touch her face both via submersion and bathtub waterfall
Things still on her highness' "to do" list:
  • talk
Don't misunderstand, because she's by no means quiet. She and I probably spend the same amount of time a day making sounds via the mouth-type-face-part. But where as for me it's all about using the fanciest, bestest words I can conjure (like, for instance, conjure!) the wee pri-shizzle does it all through her own special brand of 'no-actual-words-were-harmed-or-used-during-the-creation-of-this-sentence' language-ishness. I find this pretty amazing, because I have it on pretty good authority (i.e. my own guess) that I came out of the womb talking exactly this much and this fast. I have always felt like if I couldn't talk I'd freeze up completely as a person. Petrofide Femtastic. Oh the horror.

That's why I love hanging with the princess. Princess in da house, yo! Because she reminds me over and over that one can communicate volumes, even without actual words. She encourages me to use the facial expression, the hand gestures, the rollicking hip-toss and oh the inflections, inflections, IN-FLEC-TIONS! Through this stuff she gets it done! You know from when comes she most of the dang time!

So tomorrow she and the Queen will hang for the day, and this weekend is pock-marked with "Princess Stinkbutt is 2!" celebrations, complete with cupcakes, toddlers and sing-sing-singing! There are rumors of crowns (as would only befit a chick of her royal stature) and visits from cousins who share the same awesome birthdate.

I'm just hoping she and I get a chance for a good, long talk.

Happy Wove, Thursday, y'all! Here's to showing the wove w/out the words.