Everything old is new again

Plenty of Fish was down for several hours yesterday and oh the great hue and cry !!!!
Facebook and Twitter were alive with questions about how people were going to get through their working day. Someone actually claimed to have Markus on the phone. Hands were being wrung, OkCupid was flooded with new members.
We are addicted you see. Few are actually on POF to find a relationship. It is a free site.......let's face it....it's a chat room !!
Remember the chat rooms of the 1990's?  Everyone had their online boyfriend/girlfriend. Marriages were ruined. Sex became something that only happened in "private rooms"....it all came down to talking about it rather than actually doing it. Anyone who was glib of tongue and familiar with basic anatomy could reign and conquer. We can thank this phenomenon for the vastly overused word "chat". I mean....come on, who ever used the word "chat" prior to the influx of chat rooms ? Until then it was something old ladies did at bingo games.
There we learned to talk in acronyms, draw pictures with punctuation marks and streamline our work day to allow endless hours of virtual time wasting.
We could be anyone we wanted to be. The erudite Belgian chef was most likely Murry the plumber from Poughkeepsie sitting naked in his attic with a cold Schlitz and a bag of pork rinds.
Should the site crash however, people the world over who are entitled to vote and drive cars would regress into sniveling infants who had lost their favorite binkie.
It was an addiction of sorts, a 24/7/360 party we could show up at in a ratty bathrobe and slippers. No one ever had to surrender their car keys and conga lines around the buffet table were, thankfully, never an interruption.

A free dating site seems to offer this same addictive alternative to actually leaving the house. The party is always well attended, and no one has to cough up $8 for a Mojito.
Private "rooms" may not be available but.....isn't that what texting is for ?
Expecting to actually date is perhaps a bit like waiting for Murry to put on some pants, wipe the grease of his fingers and take you to Harvey's with a coupon. It could happen I suppose........but he would have to leave the party.

 

Docile, Dogma, Doormat

I have made mention of the overused cliches "down to earth" and "easygoing" , albeit not nearly to the degree to which the overuse of such trite phrases annoys me. With that being quite bitchily said however, one has to enter the online dating world with the patience of Ghandi, the tolerance level of Job and the determination of Sisyphus.

This notion brings to mind the male fascination with remote controls and the "guy nirvana" of picture-in-picture. Women the world over have fought for dominance over the remote control in order to watch one channel, and one channel only, for the duration of a program. What is this ADD induced need to be constantly flipping through channels, we ask?  Well a wise man once explained it to me. The y chromosome apparently comes pre-programmed to believe that there must always be something better on.....somewhere. If we apply that same dogma to online dating, then us single minded females are faced with the certainty that even though we may be charming, attractive and un-flinchingly willing to cook bacon in a bikini, the lure of the scroll option may forever satisfy the belief ......that there may always be something better.
Given the eclectic variety of television programs that I have personally witnessed to be remote control brake pedals, perhaps a photo of Nygella Lawson driving the Batmobile with Curly, Larry and Moe in the backseat could have the same effect upon chronic dating site scrollers. But alas, we are but one pretty flower in the meadow and while I am usually willing to offer the platitude, " Go ahead baby, have your fun ", I'm sure that even Madam Curie herself would have been ultimately driven to utter the words, "Pierre !! Give me the god damn remote !!".

Dumbing Down vs Sexing Up

On occasion I have asked a male acquaintance for an objective opinion of my dating profile.
The first response, from a man of moderate intelligence, elicited the response that it was too long and that I used too many big words. He suggested point form, sentences beginning with "I like to.......", and words of one syllable. This would perhaps be sage advice if I am ever likely to be content with Rocky, Red Green or Tony Soprano.

The second response focused more on the images provided. More full body shots were apparently required, preferably in revealing, "asset" enhancing attire and perhaps with an outdoorsy backdrop. So......ski pants and a bustier while chopping wood in the Laurentians ? Or perhaps a clingy, low cut LBD while hiking The Bruce Trail ? Once again, perhaps sage advice if I was looking for Charlie Sheen, Benny Hill or Caligula.

My posted images contain one full body shot in which I am wearing unintentionally tight fitting red pants. Of the comments I receive upon my appearance, the vast majority focus on the red pants. My face could resemble that of Samoan drag queen and my hair could be on fire.....but hey, nice pants. The red pants are now too big. I am considering auctioning them on Ebay.

In my description, I admit to subjecting the boys to a bit of a test. My first sentence deliberately contains the word "stilettos". In the words of Meatloaf, "Stop right there !!"
The remainder of my description could be instructions on knitting a balaclava, it would not stem the steady flow of messages regarding my choice of footwear.

I am considering the notion of inserting a few more "key" words....Search Engine Optimization if you would. Who knows....with the inclusion of "barbeque", "hockey" and "beer" I could be married by Victoria Day.......if I wanted to be Mary Jo Buttafuco.

The Friend Zone

Call me crazy.....ok call me a bit left of center, but I like the friend zone.

You can sing to each other for hours on the phone, you can be that "voice in the night" sender of facetious little emails you know only said friend will understand.....and, you don't have to put out !!! Hell, you don't even have to shave your legs !!!
You can sit at your laptop wearing week old yoga pants and sock monkey slippers with absolutely no make-up and an Olive Oyl hairdo....and "the bud" will still think you are amazing. What could be better ?

He's not going to sit across from you over a romantic dinner and tell you that your nose moves when you talk. He's not going to ask you to kick the cat off the bed. He's not going to complain when you don't want to be on top. But best of all....he's not going to suggest a wilderness camping trip for your birthday.

Of course, if the bud is ridiculously good looking, you will have the invariable Harry met Sally moments of hoping he might realize he's in love with you 5 minutes before midnight on New Years Eve. But those moments usually happen at 2:am after far too much chardonnay and they are generally gone in the morning.

Overall, he knows that you are his safety zone as much as he is yours, and, as much as anyone else may get......you will always get something they don't. Because he is your bud.

I am fortunate. I have two of them, and they each, in very different ways, remind me that I am fabulous even when the great un-washed take no notice. They make me smile when I feel invisible......and I cherish them. 

Words and Pictures Part 2

I realize that I should go gently here. As a writer words come easily to me, but I am well aware that even the most smugly over educated may need to breathe into a paper bag when faced with the dreaded "About Me" box.
What to say can perhaps be aided by a couple of tallboys and a call to your mom.
How you say it however, could make the difference between a silent scream and a trip to the fitting room.

Along with free picture rotation, our clever little computers also offer free spell check. Before I start to sound like a 3rd grade English teacher, I won't belabour the issue other than to say, yes it matters. A dating site profile that spells "heart"... HART, is a bit like a menu offering STAKE.

The suggestions offered to encourage self descriptors are simply that.....suggestions. It is not a required formula. Hobbies are swell but, quite frankly, if you are below the age of 70 you should never be using the word "hobbies".

I spent a year living near a beach and, despite repeated checking, I never once saw any single men walking along it.....even at sunset.

If a man's profile features golf and/or The Maple Leafs in the 1st paragraph I would like to point out that you are trying to attract a woman here. I would be willing to bet handsomely on the notion that a woman who enters golf or hockey into her search parameters will likely not own any of the much coveted stilettos.

"Will fill this in later" When I see a profile containing that statement, I wonder what the end result will be of this one....."I will call you later".

"Zest" is the grated peel of a citrus fruit.

A string of unrelated letters numbers and punctuation marks begs the question, are you currently undergoing an aneurism or an epileptic fit ? Please alert me if I should bring a metal spoon on the (highly unlikely) 1st date.

 Keyboards should be programmed to emit a mild electric shock every time someone types "down to earth" and "easygoing". An endless string of self-laudatory descriptors ,ie; "I am handsome, intelligent, successful, adventurous, altruistic, worldly, witty, well-mannered and fashionable" is all well and good, but might perhaps just make me want you to turn into a 6 pack and a pizza at midnight.

And finally, a few entries into the "Kiss of Death" category:

- recently separated (clearly not ready for the 2nd date U-Haul )
- gals ( fine if we square dance but unacceptable otherwise )
- offers or free shoes and/or chocolate ( woman only eat chocolate ice cream out of the carton in movies )
- ersatz used car ads ( all we will ask is,,,,"but what colour is it ?" )

Words and Pictures Part 1

Basic common sense dictates that, in presenting ourselves as an alluring prospective date we should do so without having to use a disclaimer such as, "I normally look much better than this.".
We have only 2 methods of showcasing available; our picture and our words and, while we may lack proficiency in photoshop enhancement or the time to find an engaging profile to plagiarize, there are some basic idiot proofing tools available.

We don't all have flattering shots of ourselves "having fun" readily available, and if anyone were to point a camera at me while I was playing beer pong at The Brunswick House....I might perhaps demur. But short of dropping $40 at Sears Portrait Studio for a cheesy shot of you with a jacket slung over your shoulder......well, it might work if you were Frank Sinatra.  And if you just got a haircut from a barber whose specialty is #2 on the style chart from 1979.......you might want to grab some gel and go for the Columbian Drug Lord look.
Selfies in the bathroom mirror will never compete with Herb Ritts but as long as you, a) put on a shirt, and not the one you wear to clean your spark plugs, b) comb your hair, if you have any and c) remove all condemning evidence of slovenly habits from the counter .....I have no self-righteous gripes about them.
At issue however, are sideways images. Given that both your computer's operating system and the dating site itself offer picture rotation at no extra charge, I can only assume that, if you passed up on 2 opportunities to show yourself as a a human who has evolved into walking upright.....you want us to see what you look like lying down.

To summarize......if you are lying down, and not for the purpose of changing my oil, shirtless and oblivious to a prison haircut.....I'm probably going to wonder what you look like on a " bad day".
Even a Columbian Drug Lord looks better standing up.

Age, Body Type and Other Falacies

The most rudimentary level of research into the mores of online dating will reveal that yes,  ( insert self righteous gasp of indignation ) most profiles include a modicum of deception. Someone, who clearly needs a hobby as much as I do, has actually taken the time to compile the most commonly fudged attributes.
Men apparently, take the greatest liberties with income and height whereas woman are most likely to mis-represent age and body type. The reasons are obvious, of course, but the gleeful shaving of years and pounds must certainly be accompanied by such worrisome factors as a) can I really pull it off ? and b) at what point do I come clean ?

The widely interpreted "average" body type will soon reveal itself to have been figuratively ( no pun intended ) used upon first sighting of course. I have met many an "average", "athletic" and even "muscular" body type  only to see them enter a room belly first. I can only assume that the muscles alluded to are the ones that hold the belly up over the belt.

Age however, is not as easily detected and, in my guileless and forgiving opinion, if you can unquestionably pass for 49, who needs to know otherwise ?

My daughters are my most vocal supporters in this regard. While having dinner with them one evening, a woman of perhaps 50-ish passed by our table and they launched into a discussion over how much she looked like a middle-aged mom. I reminded them that I am a middle-aged mom. They looked at me incredulously and remarked, "But you don't look like one ".

My posted age on dating sites is 53. Without exception, on first meetings I am told that I don't look 53. Perhaps I could shave off a couple of years and raise nary an eyebrow, but then again.......perhaps I am not 53. If a man who is capable of doing basic math, and who does not have the eyesight of Mr. Magoo can be pleasantly surprised by my 53 year old appearance.......then 53 I shall remain.

Brawn vs Intellect

Spoiler alert..... I am about to spill a "girl" secret and will certainly be fined by the estrogen police. It won't be the first time. I am about to have my license suspended for unpaid tickets.

The question that seems to plague men everywhere and, most certainly contributes to receding hairlines is, "What do women want?". The answer may seem rife with gender prejudice and open to lengthly psycho-analysis, but it is really quite simple.

We don't know what we want.

So, when asked by a friend who was called upon to assist me with a new profile, what kind of man attracts me.....there was no easy or linear answer.

Initially of course, I lean towards the intelligent, the witty and the creative. Tall, thin, slightly rumpled bookish types who sometimes forget to comb their hair, haven't a clue what the purpose of a ratchet wrench is and sometimes wear cardigans......intrigue me to no end.

But.......there's something about a big, bad, bald guy. One who can throw me over his shoulder and carry me up the stairs without breaking a sweat. One who can fix my lawn mower with the swiss army knife he keeps in his back pocket. One who hop into a semi and, without any prior training, drive it around the block looking like Steve McQueen.

Problems will ensue however, if said big, bad, bald guy ( and forgive me if I discriminate ) thinks Fellini is a type of pasta, Khafka is a kosher cold medicine or Hyden is a part of the female anatomy.

And......given that the thought of getting onto a motorcycle is, to me, as appealing as having a root canal, I would surmise that what attracts me would be......

A big, bad, bald guy with a PHD.
 

Commercial Break

Yes, I did warn of potential segues and, given that a particular, long running commercial aired last night...I must finally illustrate my puzzlement over a seemingly insignificant detail.
I refer the Excel chewing gum commercial (Excelerate your breath). The one with the chorus line of halitosis inducing foods. The blissfully cavorting coterie include such obvious examples as coffee, garlic and onions which we can all cover our mouths at the mere thought of, but ........a little, pink doughnut ? I am at a loss to grasp either the significance or the inherent pitfalls of ingesting such a seemingly harmless confection prior to a first kiss or perhaps an important business meeting.
I find it somewhat incongruous to imagine that much anticipated kiss in the back of a taxi being suddenly aborted to the words of,  "Oh baby, you have little, pink doughnut breath", or a smothered belch in a board room resulting in swiftly turned heads and the accusation of,  "Okay, who just ate little, pink doughnuts?" 
When imagining the aftertaste I think of an ever so slight taste of fat and an ever so strong taste of sugar, neither of which strike me as being unappealing.

I may very well go to my grave pondering the judgement of the account executive who approved this selection, but I may just as well go there secure in the knowledge that "little, pink doughnut breath" will not yet have seeped into the popular vernacular.

So, to that particular deep fried dough- phobic executive, may I offer a few suggestions of ingested items that would seem much more certain to repel:

- a 6 pack of Old Milwaukee and an ash tray full of Pall Mall menthols
- siphoned gasoline
- any variety of tiny, smoked fish that come in long, flat pop tab cans
- an egg salad sandwich chased with buttermilk

And to lovers of little, pink doughnuts everywhere......don't let the haters kill your carbo fix.