Tales of Serial Dater: The Do’s and Dont’s of Online Dating

We’ve seen the commercials about finding someone special using an app and/or website.  You know the ones, they are usually sandwiched in between a pill that will get you to quit smoking, yet will cause you to tirelessly contemplate killing yourself. But hey, at least you quit smoking.  And the other commercial is about life insurance.  So, to recap, quit smoking by slitting your wrists, find the love of your life, then buy life insurance. Clearly they are in no specific order.  Because that would be, you know, influential.

Nonetheless, as you sit at home on a Friday night, binge watching Netflix while eating your 4th pint of Halo Top Ice Cream, you decide that you’re tired of being alone. So, you do it, you sign up for online dating.

Your gender, age, race, or sexual orientation aside, this is a world unlike any other. Why? Well, allow me to elaborate by giving you what will happen as you create your profile and what will happen immediately after.

For a man, you sit there and upload photos that you think are cool.  Ones of you doing stuff and photos of the stuff you like doing.

What do I mean?

Well, Vinny from Secaucus, NJ loves his IROC. So here are photos of him in his IROC. Here are photos of him shirtless washing his IROC.  And of course, a photo of his IROC, all alone in its glory.

Vinny will describe himself as a fun guy that loves to play hoop, have drinks with the boyz, and of course, his IROC. His primary objective is to land a hot broad that will be fun for him to go to the club with and show off to his buddies.

Meanwhile there is Bonnie from Burlington, VT.  She has photos of her hiking, her friends, her hiking with her friends, her dog, her hiking with her dog, and of course, the mountain she hiked, all alone in its glory.

Bonnie will describe herself as an intellectual that is down to earth.  She is looking for someone that will love her with or without make up, preferably without, someone that she can have coffee with, drink Pinot Grigio with, is kind to her dog, and will love spending time with her friends and family.

They couldn’t be any further a part.  Yet, so very similar.

Once they complete their profiles, they submit.

Then, all hell breaks loose.

Vinny will go on a Safari like Rainbow Randolph in Death to Smoochy!

Vinnies hunt consists of him:Finding any and all ladies on there that attract him.  Not paying one bit of attention to what they’ve written, where they are and what they do.  All he looks at are the pics, and when he’s done, he’s liked all their photos, winked at all their profiles, and sent an obscene amount of emails. All with the elegant prose of:

“Hey, wanna hook up?” Written underneath a pic of his dick.  While in his IROC.

His reward: Endless notifications from fictitious profiles from “girls” that look like they are supermodels, have zero standards in their “Wants/Looking For” and magically live in this town where the hottest girl in town IS the hottest girl in town because she has more than 9 teeth.  I’m from Vermont, so I have some expertise on that. All providing their email in their profile that looks like: merta@gamaledotcom

Meanwhile, theirs Bonnie. She hits submit, and before she even has the opportunity to go “shopping” for the man of her dreams…

Her reward: Endless notifications from every man imaginable that likes all of her photos, winks, and endless emails with the elegant prose of:

“Hey, wanna hookup?”

And if she doesn’t respond to guys like Vinny, Vinny calls her a cunt and hopes she dies in hell.  Nice huh? And that of course is written underneath a pic of his dick, while in his IROC.

Before she has an opportunity to have an opportunity, she is already contemplating whether or not this has been the biggest mistake of her life.

With that, I give you my online dating do’s…Oh, and before I begin, you may be wondering what gives me the credibility to be your “Online Dating Guru”?

Well, please note what a parable is, and see if the stories above may seem somewhat insightful.

And no, I don’t own an IROC…

With that:

DO’S

Be yourself.  Seriously, not everyone is comfortable about writing about themselves.  And I get that. I have no problem with it per se, however, I understand there is a comfort level in it.  Seriously, you’re on an online dating site, whoring yourself out to the most eligible bachelor or bachelorette.  I’m going to go out on a limb and say that you’re not all that confident with yourself if you are doing this.

So, if you’re uncomfortable about writing about yourself, don’t. Write about who you want to meet and what you want.  And if that is too had for you, then what the fuck are you doing?!? You don’t know who you are, or what you want.  My suggestion then, go find some porn and take care of business until you figure that shit out.

Why?

We don’t go on a road trip without knowing where we want to go do we? Sometimes people like to go for a drive. But they know who they are and why they are doing it.  And typically that is in an effort to “clear your head”. Well, you subjecting yourself to this world is in hopes of finding love…right? Or get laid.  Again, if that is the case, you have some standards now don’t you? And if you don’t please refer to the porn comment a paragraph ago. Point being, if you don’t know who you are, or what you want, then you will suffer immeasurable pain.  You will be treated like shit but some piece of shit that is just like you. You will come across serial daters…

Spac Profile Pic

That are just as lost as you, and will tell you all the things you want to hear in an effort to make themselves feel better. Which of course it won’t do.  So, what do they do? They take you for granted, take advantage of you, and walk away like you never existed.  All after they made you feel like the greatest thing on earth since Blue Raspberry Airheads.

Insecurity has always been an issue of mine. Until this past week.
THANKS TONY ROBBINS!

Tony-Robbins

And when you’re insecure, you lack the confidence to be present with a woman you find attractive. To go engage them.  Instead, with online dating, you have all these “likes, winks, then emails.”  What ends up happening? You’re expectations grow to imaginable levels and they lady or man you meet doesn’t stand a Pint of Halo Top ice cream chance in hell.  This leads me to the next point:

Don’ts

Don’t fucking do it.  Don’t go online to date. Imagine this, you meet someone online, you engage them, they like you, and you like them, then you meet, then you realize they suck, then what?

Next!

Why can’t it be like that with someone you meet at the grocery store, the gym, through a friend, through fucking Facebook?  At least on Facebook you can see all the photos they DON’T post on an online dating site.  Seriously! I’ve gone out with girls that had their profile pic on Match.com be a photo taken back in 2008!  Do you think she looks a little different in the fucking decade since?

 

Moral of the story.  Please believe in yourself.  Who you see in the mirror may be beautiful to a stranger.  Christ, we all get tired of certain people in our lives, seeing them day after day after day. So you can bet your sweet ass that your perspective may be a little skewed  when you see yourself.

To you, you may look nothing but ugly.

To another, you may be the most exquisite thing they’ve ever seen.

Good luck!

-k

 

Please feel free to subscribe to be notified of my next blog postings. And if you’d like to reach me, email me at: kth08250@gmail.com

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Dating Diaries: Epilogue

Authors Note: After writing my initial thoughts on Online Dating, followed by three epic tales of dating disasters;  I felt it was necessary to conclude by telling you where I’m currently at.  Also, the views expressed in this blog  may not represent my current state of mind.  They are just thoughts for the sake of your entertainment.  With that…

Decisions

A lifetime ago, when I was a chubby, chainsmoking car salesman; I learned this whole little spiel about Benjamin Franklin:

Me: You know Ben Franklin right?

Authors Note: Now here comes an inappropriate yet oh so appropriate aside; there used to be this store in Fair Haven, VT named Ben Franklin.  So, when selling cars in Vermont, which is something I forgot to mention, sorry.  One could see how someone, if asked if they “know Ben Franklin?”, there is a chance they may be thinking of a department store)

Them: Of course

Me: Good. Before he made a decision…

Authors Note: Me again, God, I suck at story telling!  Why the fuck am I talking about Ben Franklin (man not store) while trying to sell a car? Let me catch you up to speed:   At this point, the person won’t commit to buying the car.  They’ve taken a test drive, toured the dealership, been offered a cup of something hot or cold to drink a solid 9 times, and sat there while you go back to see your manager to “see what you can do” about the monthly payment for the third time claiming this is the best we can do each of those times.  And now, they are about to cause the biggest fear in auto salespersons miserable life; the prospect/customer is about to walk without buying. Why does this cause so many salespeople to drink? To smoke? To contemplate blowing up the whole fucking dealership on a daily basis? Because when you leave, you go from being an 80/20 to a 20/80. The left number representing your chances of buying vs. the right side indicating you taking my number and shopping it for ten dollars less a month.  And while you’re walking out the door,  I have to now face my sales manager, general manager, and sometimes owner, to explain  why the one fucking customer to come in today didn’t buy.  But before that happens, I throw a “Hail Mary” and I ask if you know of Ben Franklin (man not store)? Oh and I now have a pen and paper.

Me: …well, before Ben Franklin ever made a decision…

This would really fuck with them if they were thinking store not man.

Me: …he would grab a piece of paper and pen

I am literally showing them me holding a piece of a paper and a pen. This is all before I try to convince them to sign away 5 years of their life to pay from something that miraculously isn’t worth shit the moment they sign for it. But here look, I have paper, and here look, I have pen!

Me: And he would draw a line down the middle.

Authors Note: Ya, me again.  I really allow you, the reader, to get into a flow now don’t I? Anywho, one thing I love to write, and when I say love, I mean despise more than the inevitable colonoscopy.  One thing I love to write are screenplays.  So, this is really bothering me that I am writing physical actions without describing them.

For example, “I’m about to cry” and my dates eyes spring leaks out of her face as if she was a nuclear submarine in the Abyss of the Atlantic.” 

However, it also causes me to reflect on how idiotic and condescending I used to talk to people.  And we wonder why buying a car drives us nuts! 

 

So I would then draw a line down the middle

Me: On one side Franklin (man not store) would write yes, and one side, he would write no.

What would follow is me going through everything the person liked about the vehicle:

Me: You love the color, the interior, the safety features, the make, the model, how it drove, you liked the fact I pointed out to you that if you look on your gas gauge and you see an arrow next to the gas tank indicator, you now know what side your tank is on.

No shit, people loved that! And if you didn’t know that until now, you’re welcome.

Me: And on the no side is price.

Price, you know, the thing that determines whether or not you have money to eat, buy clothing, heat your home which is pretty important in Vermont, send your kids to school with said food and clothing, pay all your utilities, etc.  Essentially, the only thing on the no side is whether or not you can afford it…But did I mention you loved the color?

Now, here is the thing and the purpose of this entire blog: I do the same exact goddamn thing with every girl I date or have the prospect of dating. And I truly think they do the same to me. Which they should, because I am a ninja at sucking at relationships.  And why?

Well…

Chubby, chain smoking Car Salesman me: So do you know Ben Franklin (man not store)?

Single, content with being alone me: Yes

Chubby, chain smoking Car Salesman me: What do you like about relationships?

Single, content with being alone me: Sex and occasional company

Chubby, chain smoking Car Salesman me: And why not?

Single, content with being alone me: Well, my parents were divorced which means my perspective of love is as fucked as Pollack painting.  Dating at this age in life means that every time I meet someone, I have to defend my life up until this exact moment. And after that, after you’ve looked over my past;  I’m more than likely going to apologize for here moving forward. Oh, and being in a relationship means I have to pay for EVERYTHING!  Dinner, coffee, parks, movies, ice skating, tubing, Coach purses, flowers, and don’t even get me fucking going on the jewelry you never wear!

And IF you offer to pay, for lets say dinner: Taking money out of your aforementioned Coach purse that I paid for, takes forever.  Like it’s the slowest goddamn thing on Earth. It’s like watching grass grow if grass were an 90 year old Italian woman driving in Boca Raton. And it’s even better with an audience. Audiences like Flo, the lovely waitress standing  there, judging, watching, judging.  All the while holding :the check” that was placed in front of me only moments ago with the assumption that I was paying.  Finally, after I’ve already grown back the “five o’clock shadow” that I disposed of only two hours ago:  I give up and say, “no, I got it”, and your jewelry free hands pull away from your $300 purse as if it was as hot as the goddamn sun!

“”Oh you sure?” She softly asks while acquiescing.

Ya, I’m sure. I’m sure for the rest of my life I’m going to be broke! And what do I want in return?

Sex. That’s it.

Essentially, being in a relationship is the most accepted form of prostitution. IF, she doesn’t have a “headache” or doesn’t “feel like it”.

That’s why! That’s why dating at this age is as fun as…nothing. There is nothing as fun as this.

Yet, this is where you, Mr. or Mrs. married couple with two gorgeous kids and a day full of frustration and smiles, this is where you say:

Love.

You know, love? Love that makes your heart race when you think of her.  Makes you smile no matter how many emails your CEO throws your way because your company is 1% down from the previous quarter.  Love, the thing that provides you confidence to take on the entire world day after day because you have her.  That no matter what you’re facing, you’re going to be okay, because she loves you.  Love, the thing that makes every moment your not with her feel like Christmas Eve and the moments you are with her are like the greatest Christmas Day ever!

Love…

If I wasn’t so squeemish, I’d put a youtube clip of someone vomitting.

But, I guess love is like price. All the other shit is just window dressing.  If you can get over the price, you can enjoy all the things you do love about the car.

And I guess if you can get over all the other shit… love, the feeling we all covet in everything we do, love is your gift.

And I conclude with this…

I may have met her…

I think I met her…

Ya…I met her…

And all I can think of is…her…and…

What the fuck am I going to write about now?

-k

 

Lana, the Horny Librarian on Tinder

First:

 

Okay, so it took place between 4am and 5am, but that was the closest one I could find, so deal.  Oh and:

 

With that, lets begin.

Funny how our days can and will start the same way, but are never the same.  For me, I wake, check my emails and then check to see who has, and more often than not, who has not contacted me on match.com.  This is of course followed by me having to see who swiped right. (We will dive deeper into this in a bit, but first)

TINDER TALES: The story of Lana the Naughty Librarian. 

She looked innocent enough, real, (we’ll dive deeper into this in a bit), and had me laughing with excitement due to her creativity when I read her profile, which read as follows:

Director

University of ACME, SUNY.

19 Miles Away

“Tind her?!? I barely know her…

Swipe right immediately if you often find yourself missing 3D Doritos

Dog lover/owner

Crazy to hot ration= within a desirable range.

Terrified of a Trump Presidency

Newly out of a torrid affair

MA in English, MS in Information studies. Typos make me swipe left.

I’m on here for the sport of it. I don’t really believe I’ll find my soul mate on Tinder…That’s what a paid Match.com account is for. :-p If there’s a dead fish or gun in your photos…no go. “

And she goes to Planet Fitness, which confirms she’s real. Because nobody “goes to Planet Fitness”. Why? Name another gym that has buckets of tootsie rolls at the counter as you walk-in and out? Exactly!

Anyway, she’s cute. Not gorgeous, not all dolled up to make herself feel a little better about her existence by taking god knows how many selfies in her car…

 

 

But she had pics with her dog, pics of a South Park “lookalike” of her, and one of her hiking.  This was some pretty legit shit.  So, of course I swiped right.

She had me at 3D Doritos.

Then, shockingly enough, we matched.

Authors notes here: For those that have no clue how Tinder works, first, we landed on the moon!  Second, for me, a girls picture will appear.  99.9% of the time it’s a pic of some model, from some country, that looks like a Kardashian or Beyonce.  No shit. If you swipe right to one of them, and we all have so go fist yourself with your pretentiousness. You more than likely will match.  From there, now you communicate.  Because on their phone is you, and if they swipe right, they like you, swipe left, no. No one knows.  You don’t know who swiped right (I guess you can now if you pay) but you don’t know who swiped left.  But you get a pretty good idea of when you see someone you know and they don’t live more than 10 miles away, and she doesn’t match with you after you just swiped right…  Yes, I’m talking to you, and YOU know who YOU are… All of you.  Anyway, the moment you both swipe right to each other, the communication lines are open.  And remember the Guatemalan Kim Kardashian I mentioned earlier? Well, she will instantly engage you with this dialogue that is programmed.  Very generic questions which will cause an automatic human response.  What do I mean?  “Hey, there, what’s your favorite tv show?” You answer The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, and then what do you do? You ask them theirs.  So, boom, now she has an answer already pre-loaded and every fucking putz living in their mom’s attic is giving himself “The Stranger” to the prospect of meeting Asian Mariah Carey.

 

Asian Mariah Carey

This wasn’t one of those.

Instead, I commented how hysterical her profile was and asked what she directed? She revealed that she was a librarian in town for a conference in Toga. She was staying at this crappy motel, and lived a couple hours downstate.  However, she did indicate she lived here for about a year and a half.  I have no clue why she mentioned it, but she did.  While I wondered why she said that with thoughts that she would relocate here if she met the right guy? On Tinder? Well, those daydreams didn’t last long because her mercurial nature presented itself in a, well, excited manner:

“Whatcha doin here!”

Of course, I had to make some idiotic, douchebag, clever “move”:

“What am I doing here? Is that on a deep, existential level or Tinder?” Wink smiley face, hi, I’m a desperate asshole.

The things we do when we think we’re so goddamn suave.

However, her response is when things, as they say in the movie biz, “took a turn”.  I don’t know if they say that in the movie business.

“Do you want to come and playfully make me cum?”

Now, I’m not going to lie, yes…Yes I did.  And if you saw her, you would too. Nonetheless, it’s 4:30 in the AM.  Oh by the way, I did ask her earlier if she too was a victim of daylight savings? I’m such a fucking asshole.

My retort? I let out one of those comic book villain laughs of “HA!”

Then she told me she had toys and wanted me…Anyway, yeah, we had some bi-polar back and forth for a bit. The “Pit of Despair” is my soul.   She told me she was drinking, bored, lonely, and horny.  Your mind flutters and flaps like a flag atop Yankee Stadium in September. It races from one sexual daydream to the reality that this is fucking crazy.  And honestly, it’s mental fun.  Why? Because, and I hope this was the case, her mind was having fun too.  Almost therapeutically being someone else.  A character in a late night in Cinemax movie.  Where this mysterious stranger that drives a 50’s muscle car and has a three day old beard, comes to the hotel room of the runaway bride looking to explore her deepest, forbidden sexual desires… As long as I bring polyurethane condoms and not latex because she is apparently allergic.

Authors note: Imagine finding out you’re allergic to latex from wearing a condom, or being the recipient of said condom?  I’d rather have my eyes taped wide open and forced to watch every episode of “The View”. That is NOT MISOGYNISTIC. It’s called having good taste.

Remember how I mentioned the mercurial nature of this “young lady”? Well, she would be engaging, on a human level.  Which was the funny part. For example, her auto-correct was fucking with her, so she had a very “Keith Hannigan” like meltdown about it.

“Inelegant

*idiotic

*intellect

Goddamn it I’m trying to write intelligent!”

Yeah, you could see how I was drawn to her.  Until, well, then:

“I have to warn you I have bruises.  My Semi-boyfriend for the last three years kicked the hell our ( not a typo, just keeping it real) of me last week. In places people wouldn’t see.  run”

The lower case “run” creeped me the fuck out!  In that whole little “revelation”, it was “run” which set me off.

Before I could “run”, or address said “run”,

“Now, come play with me now”

Authors note: Yes, this was in response to my question of “When do you want to do this?”…By all means, judge.

As interesting and exciting as this was first thing in the morning, it wasn’t my “first rodeo” with this type of dialogue. For you see, I’ve been the recipient of  someone making an outlandish statement, such as this, on my overly eager Tinder screen.  One time a girl told me she had HIV. True story. And no, I did NOT entertain her by saying, “That’s cool, if it’s not full blown AIDS, we can work around that.”

Nonetheless, this morning, my patience was dissipating, and I needed to eat breakfast before I went for my run. So, I cut to the chase.

I asked her if she was having fun? Which was followed by me telling her to Twitter her Yahoo using one of her toys while watching some late night HBO.

Her response was obvious, as it was about how I was making a mistake and how attentive her oral would be.

But what followed next, well, she wrote:

“This is my life”

That is the moment I realized I needed to sit down and start writing about this.

What we must wonder, in a case such as this, who exactly is the person on the other end of that phone?

It can be anyone from a guy in Zimbabwe trying to relieve me of my burdening bank account.

It can a couple of teenage guys that have done more blow than their parents can afford on a Wednesday night. Possibly trying to fuck with a girl they both what to have sex with but lack the intellect or maturity to attract her.  So, instead, they will make her life an eternal hell.

Or, and this what I think it is, the sad loneliness that many of us feel yet have no idea of how to escape. Instead, we choose to become something that is fictitious.  Someone or thing that you only read about or see in a movie.  A person trying to entertain themselves because life just doesn’t fill that empty hole.

I genuinely don’t know. All I do know is, I’m going to find out.  Because you can be sure as shit I followed up with:

“Don’t go, I want you to tell me what you mean, this is my life”?

-k

Dating Diaries: Vol. 2 Wait, you know who?

“A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn no other way.”

-Mark Twain

 

It’s a matter of time. It really is.

It’s inevitable that someone is going to come at me for these tales of promiscuous online behavior.  Wouldn’t be all that surprised if “GreenEyedSusan420” was waiting for me outside my office with an expandable baton…

 

It’s inevitable that ladies, and maybe even some sensitive dudes will call me either malevolent or sanctimonious or both for sharing these innocuous tales.

Like those big words?  Trying to not say fuck so much.  Got this app that teaches me big words to make my vocabulary bigger.  It’s great.

Truculence means the tendency to fight.

When the boss confronted Aaron about his earlier remarks, Aaron responded with utter truculence, simply throwing a glass of water in the boss’ face and walking away,  

Or if the “love interest” of this adventure and/or her friends just so happens to stumble across this post and deducted this is about her and I, well:

People from the birthplace of the U.S. Navy responded with utter truculence, simply holding Keith (that’s me) down and tweezering every hair out of his 50% Italian body and walking away satisfied…

“So, how did you meet?”

You ever see a couple truly in the most authentic form of love respond to this question?

Don’t get me wrong, I have friends that I used to drink beer balls of Bud with that would laugh and call these moments “gay”, “pathetic”, “whipped”, and of course, “aesthetic”…

Can that be used there? This app is most certainly going to cause this “Tourettes”  like behavior.  Except, instead of spewing out vulgarities, I will be blurting out 6 syllable words that I have no goddamn clue what they mean.

Anyway, the aforementioned couple, they gaze into each others eyes, almost as if they are portals into their past. Suddenly this almost out of body like moment happens, where they hover above their younger selves when they first crossed paths.

The smile they share is the definition of love.

Unless of course they met online and you hear:

“The grocery store.”

You will notice how they don’t even look at each other prior to. They only look dead into your eyes trying to convince you, as they are also trying to convince themselves, that this is the truth.

It may not be the case for all.  But when I recall this young lady, this if the first thing I think of.

To backtrack, at this moment in time, I had just moved out of my house, and all the paperwork had been filed for the divorce.

There were a couple failed dates between the time I met the most recent lady on a site called OkCupid.

No, it’s so much worse than it sounds, and it sounds pretty fucking awful.

Folks, this quite perplexing to describe.  Not because I’m having difficulty articulating the story.  If you think that is the case, then just go.

I hurt this girl.  I hurt her. Not like beat her.  I mean, if you think that is the case, then just go.

This is the ugly part of dating.  All the other stuff is shit.  It’s a distraction. It’s part of the process that is discovery.

This is the unpredictable nature of human behavior.  This is not knowing how you will respond to the situation until you are smack dab in the eye of it.

This is expecting one thing, and not only experiencing, but feeling to your core, the antithesis of it.

“You know who?”

You really want to know why people keep coming back to online dating, even though they continue to be subjected some of the worst that humanity has to offer?

selfie-fail-white-trash-mom-1

Because there is a rush. A high.  Not like sucking on a can of Reddi-Whip…But seriously, when you meet someone whose look you dig-and to tell you the truth, there is something painfully attractive about the above, kidding (not kidding)-when you meet someone who you think, “I’d like to know what they smell like”…

Well folks, it’s kind of exhilarating.

And while you’re in the middle of a divorce, it’s also quite refreshing.  Looking back, I should have had a Fresca instead.  Zero calories, delicious, and thirst quenching.  So much better than dropping $80 on dinner with some gal you wouldn’t let your dead great grandmother meet. What do you do? You go home, see that some other woman you wouldn’t introduce to your other dead great grandmother just “winked” at you.  Imagine her being perfect while you whack off into the work sock that has a hole it the toe…

This one didn’t go like that.

When you first meet someone that has an equal amount of interest, the emails are flying.  Some are a few paragraphs, and unfortunately, some are, “lol”.

Now here is the thing, have you noticed that I have this innate ability to say quite a bit in a limited amount of time? I can write a paragraph in seconds.  Imagine me now excited about meeting someone attractive that I may have the opportunity to insert myself into.

I become a goddamn stenographer shotgunning Red Bull.

And what do I get back?

“lol”.

She can’t even capitalize the l. Which clearly would indicate a good laugh.  A loud laugh.  An actual fucking laugh.

She may even be jovial.

And no, there isn’t a chance as to what I wrote wasn’t funny. Hence the lower case l.  I’m really friggen funny.  You know it, I know it, and you can be sure as shit “lol” knows it too!

Nonetheless, there were a significant amount of emails.  There is no set amount of emails a couple must exceed to exchange phone numbers, but we got to that point rather quickly.

Reason being…She knew someone…

cute me and mom

For those that don’t know who that pulchritudinous lady is or the cute as fuck boy laying one on her…please just go.

And for those of you that may have noticed…yes, for every time I say fuck, I will use a grandiose word.

Next will be goddamn, just no fucking, unequivocal way is that happening today though.

So anyway, ya, she knew my ma. Which assured that this was going to end quite well…

Please Leave

If you’ve been following along with me, or am new to this, you know I retired from drinking and drugging some time ago.  Since then, I’ve had many of a night with a lady that has had anywhere from a glass of wine to being completely muckled after killing a box of Blush flavored Franzia.

Don’t judge me.

This lass had a tolerance though. I’m not saying this led to what you can imagine it led to, but it undoubtedly assisted.  The main culprit though, my insatiable thirst for feeling desired.  If you’ve been on the receiving end of a divorce, your empathy is infinite.

Nonetheless, that wasn’t an excuse.

For you see, afterward, even with the only light being the twilight coming from the bedroom window, you could see my mind was gone.  For you see, I do not possess a “poker face”.

poker face

I’ve only been married once.  So, to assume this is true for all would simply be conjecture and/or speculation; however, I’m going to throw the spaghetti against the wall and see if it sticks, sex with your husband or wife has to be pretty fucking good to marry them.

Right?

So, with that being said, the first person you enter other than your estranged wife, especially if you are the aforementioned recipient of divorce papers, doesn’t stand a goddamn chance.

And I was shortly told to:

“Please leave”.

The day and days that followed were a tipping point.  Within only a few short months, my psyche, my heart, and my soul had all been through war twice.  Both totally opposite in nature, yet the outcome was the same; I was eviscerated.

And here is the rub, the latter was worse than the former.

Yes, this was worse than my divorce.

Why? I didn’t hurt anyone in my divorce.  I was the lone casualty.  Well, I think Clover was pretty torn up too, but a can of wet food later and he’s probably good.

clover

Whereas in the case of this latest online encounter, there were civilian casualties.

And her only mistake, her only mistake was finding me arrestingly handsome.

And if you’re reading this…

I hope you take this as the longest winded letter of apology in the history of long winds and apologies.

I have since atoned for my sins and I promise you that.

And I don’t know if you found me to be “arrestingly handsome” but…

Be alot cooler if you did

Because despite volume 1 and volume 2 being the definitions of stupidity and self-destruction…

I was about to experience first-hand the opposite end of a date with me…

-k

 

 

 

 

The Pit of Despair, the World of Online Dating

In a world where you are desired, you are wanted, you are flooded with compliments about your smile, your eyes, your sense of humor; Only to find out your admirer  is a mother of four, could be an offensive lineman for the Jets, has 17 homemade tattoos on her tits,  and is a firm believer in her lord and savior Jesus Christ.

Which she has plenty of time to worship, since a job seems to interfere with that.

fat woman with tattoos

 

Welcome to online dating.

You ever notice when someone asks, “do you know what the definition of insanity is?”, you always answer yes; yet they continue to tell you it’s the act of doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result?

Fun Fact, you know the first time it ever appeared? Not Einstein, or Twain; Narcotics Anonymous!

DRUG ADDICTS, REJOICE!

 

Online dating is now the definition of insanity.

Everyday, you open the page either on your computer, tablet, and/or phone and expect to find something different. But there they are. The same people from yesterday, last week, last month, last year.  And here you are tomorrow, next week, next month, next year.

Whether it’s a free site: Plenty of Fish or OK Cupid. And I’ll let you guess what type of people parade and stalk said free sites.fat woman with tattoos

What makes it free is the ability to create a profile and email someone.  That’s it.  It’s having the ability to contact someone with an actual message.

As opposed to:

A site where you have to pay to contact someone: Match.com, EHarmony, Meet Mindful.

This helps somewhat weed out the sketchy ones.  However, once a day, someone that is breathtakingly beautiful, lets say her name Makayla, and she is:

29 years old

5’7

Slender

Doesn’t Drink

Doesn’t smoke

Doesn’t do drugs

Doesn’t have kids

Never been Married

Has a photo that makes her look like she was Miss Cambodia.  And who is she looking for you may ask? Well, guys between the ages of 40-75 years old, the height of 3’0 and 7’0, with any body types, and doesn’t care if you have a job, have kids, drink, smoke, do drugs, or live at home.

What a fucking catch right?  However, none of them can ever “afford the memberships”, which is totally justified given her standards. So, they leave their gmail address by writing: “Hit me up at, se7endirtysecrets at G AMall dot com” either on their pics or profile.  This profile usually has a shelf life of about 20 minutes.  Which is all the time they need to send you about 2 message, like all of your photos, and crush any hope you have for finding love.

One or many may ask, “why would they do that?” It’s typically a financial scam to get you to come to some site that probably has videos of donkeys getting sucked off by the aforementioned woman with the 17 tattoos on her tits, with her four kids watching, as she quotes scripture damning homosexuality.

fat woman with tattoos

Another may ask “who falls for this?” I don’t know, but like an old friend said to me about going around to every hot girl at Flubberbusters at 3am and seeing if they want to go home with him: It only takes one.

Lastly, the apps.  Now, the aforementioned sites all have apps.  But only some are purely app. based.  The one we all have heard of and should experience, Tinder.

There are other ones like Coffee Meets Bagel which tries to be “classy” and indiscreet about it.  Which means they are new and yet to be invaded by the mass amount of online predators.  Predators meaning serial daters. Spac Profile Pic

 

On Tinder, you either say yes or no to someone, we all have heard the term, “swipe right, or swipe left”.  All in search of our Tinderella. And if you say yes, and they say yes, then you communicate.

Yet, you must swipe through about 37 girls that wouldn’t live in Hudson Falls, travel through Hudson Falls, look up Hudson Falls, or care to ever know of Hudson Falls.

Adriana Lima

Pretty sure Andriana Lima isn’t sitting at Phat Chicks Diner on Main St. wondering who’s between the ages of 20-80, within a 5-mile radius of this quaint, blue-collar America town.

As opposed to:

fat woman with tattoos

 

And there are many, many, many others. That I choose not to go into for simple sake of pride.

Here is the root problem of online dating: It is the definition of insanity for many of us.  Why? Because Chris Rock said it best, “A man is only as faithful as his options.”  And when you are conversing with someone on a mechanism that provides multiple options that consist of the “unknown”, it is most assured to die before it ever has a chance of living.

Online dating causes you to abort the chance for potential.

I know that is a strong phrase, as I hope I’ve displayed some semblance of intelligence.  But, when you’ve participated in it, lived it, and am living currently through it; you really start to question yourself: Is it me? Why can’t I simply meet the right one?  Why does everyone I like, not like me back?

And even worse, why do the ones I don’t like, seem to be the ones that like me the most?

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve met some absolutely esquisite, breathtaking, and amazing women.  Some have lived too far away. Some have had too many children for a 38-year old divorced man with a fitness and writing obsession…who owns a plant.

And some, and this is the most heartbreaking of them all, some have had either one or no child, and you think, you really think you’ve finally found them.  And then you realize that dating at this stage in life is fucking hard.

Why do these relationships fail?  Because one or both of us says: “I’m set in my ways”.

Really? Because I have a feeling that in about 40 years, I’m going to have to piss 40 times a night and won’t be able to eat sugar or salt.  So me being “set in my ways”, may require a bit of adjusting.

I don’t know if it is me.  But what I do know is that meeting someone online, unlike me, the opposite of me, isn’t going to be easy.  And meeting someone online that is like me, is going to be excruciating. For you see:

Variety is fun, yet dangerous.

Complacency is comfort, yet we never grow.

The unknown is frightening, yet a tease.

And being alone isn’t so bad, yet is so very lonely.

I don’t know if I will ever find “love” online, yet I will continue to try.

Why?  Because I’m insane?  Little bit.

Why? Because I’m bored? Little bit.

Why? Because I’m masochistic? Little bit.

Why? Because trying and failing is better than doing nothing at all?

You bet your sweet fucking ass.

And if you’re a female with an athletic or slender body frame, between the ages of 28-43, with zero to two kids; then look up Athletic Hippie on any of the sites mentioned above.  🙂

-k