Winks are for Wimps

I "un-hid" my profile on match about a week ago, and I've gotten quite a bit of attention since then.  None of it is the kind of attention I want.

What I want:  a charming, successful, funny, nice, smart, cute, follically blessed man to send me a personal email that sweeps me off my feet.

What I'm getting:  winks.

I hate winks.  I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with a wink.  If I wink back, we just get stuck in this endless wink loop.  If I write back, I come across as too aggressive.


So, last night, I changed my headline to "Winks are for Wimps."  Since then, my wink rate is picking up speed.   Here's a chart to illustrate:

Yep.  This is the best graph I could come up with.  There's a reason I'm not a statistician!

For those of you not well versed in obscure graphs, I'll do the simple math.  Before I changed my headline, I was averaging one wink every 26.3 hours.  After I changed my headline, I got three winks in eight hours.  Seriously.  Can no one follow instructions?

Other things I did not miss on match.com:

1.  Photos with Attitude (a.k.a. Putting your best chin forward.)

Seriously?  Who told you this was attractive?

These guys seem to want you to know that they're the boss.  Either that, or they're really concerned about hiding their double chins.  They all sorta remind me of someone...

In case you were wondering, this is *not* a compliment.

2.  Photos that Require Interpretation (a.k.a. Is that your house or your neighbor's?)

Okay, here's a hint.  I want to see photos of you.  Not your kitchen.  Not the house you want to own someday.  Not your dog who died 3 years ago.  Not your art project from senior year.  And not the beautiful place you went on vacation 15 years ago.  Here are some examples:

Do you own this?  Do you want to own this?  Do you want me to want you to want to own this?

Am I supposed to be impressed?  By what?  Your fantastic kitchen in your basement apartment?  The fact that there are no dirty dishes in your sink?   The fact that you clearly need an interior decorator?  What?

Dude.  If I was going to hire a nature photographer, you'd be it.  But, I'm looking for a boyfriend.  Different resume.

While we're at it, please don't post photos of your kids.  Or your friend's kids.  Or your sister's kids.  Let's just keep the children away from potential predators on internet dating sites, okay?

3.  Illiterate assholes.  (And by that, I mean, illiterate assholes.)


Today's candidate:  Svett!

Are we to take this to mean that Svett is good at something?  Clearly those medals aren't from spelling bees!

Svett wants you to know many, many things.  First:

"I like to hang out with my frined dont like to read much like going to the movies you know the clasic stuff ...."

Oh good.  That's useful information.  What else do you have for me?

"i realy dont know what to write so im just going to use the random words. "

Oh...well...at least we can praise Svett's honesty?

"actualy i a real nice guy but not looking for anything special just some fun. I would realy like to some ones buty call hehe so just call me ;)"

I had to stare at that for a good, long while before I knew what Svett is looking for.  I'll save you the trouble.  He wants to be someone's "booty call."

Now do you get the crack about the spelling bees?

Escaping the Past

Two weeks ago, I stood up in front of a group of strangers (and my boss) and told the story of the Doctor Who Bit Me.  If you remember, the Doctor was the 12th man I dated after my best friend's husband challenged me to go on dates with 20 men before I stared looking for "the one." 

The crowd was suitably amused, and my boss was suitably horrified.  I walked out of that room feeling pretty darn good, with a free t-shirt under my arm and an invitation to come back to compete again for a really cool prize.  It was awesome.

I got home and checked Facebook.  I thought I'd go ahead and RSVP to the invitation stuffing party for a charity event.  When...horror of horrors, I notice that the Doctor is also RSVPed to attend.

But, the drama doesn't end there.  #8 - Pee Boy is also on the RSVP.  I haven't thought about him for years!  (Nor have I wanted to.)

Also helping out with this charity event are #3 (The Republican) and #17 (The Man.)  Seriously.  Four men I've dated are helping out with this one charity event.

Four.

F-O-U-R.

This is not four men out of hundreds.  That would be statistically strange, but not beyond belief.  This is four men out of 20, in a city of 4.4 million people.  (The always accurate Wikipedia puts the population of Boston "proper" at just under 650,000, but since neither I, nor many of these bachelors actually live in the city, I'm using the numbers for Greater Boston.)


As far as I know, none of these four men know each other.  (I suppose that's a silver lining?)  None of them dumped me.  (Also a silver lining.)  One of the four is now a good friend, who might be willing to defend my honor should the other three get out of hand.

I'm sure when this charity event arrives in early December, I'll be able to blend into the crowd.  I'll have a glass of wine and pretend that the Doctor isn't leering at me, and that the Man isn't sad, and that Pee Boy....

Well, there's nothing to do about Pee Boy except to wish that he didn't exist.  It's bedtime now.  I'll have to explain that one later.

How are you?

I am smart, funny, successful, and relatively socially adept.  I try to be a good person who treats others with kindness and respect.  I'm a girl who could stand to lose a few pounds, but I've been told I have a fantastic smile.  That's a compliment I have no trouble believing.

I have lots of friends.  Sometimes I worry that I have more friends than I can handle.  I gossip more than I should, but I truly love all the people whose quirks drive me crazy.  I'm not an angry drunk, or a sad drunk, or a just-plain-drunk.  I pay my taxes, contribute to charities, and vote in most elections (but maybe not every primary.)

When I'm not dating anyone in particular, I have no doubt about any of the above facts.  I have my good days and my bad days, just like everyone else.  But, I know that I am worthy of the space I'm taking up on this Earth.

But, when I'm dating someone, inevitably my self-worth starts to hinge on his opinion.  I start thinking... I haven't gotten as many emails from him today, there must be something wrong.  He looks distracted at the dinner table, I wonder what I said to upset him?  When I was married, I even found myself falling into the ultimate mental drama,  I've said "I love you" before him the past 3, 5, or 10 times.  Does that mean I love him more than he loves me?  (To that last point, if you never give a guy a chance to email first, call first, or say "I love you" first, the fact that you always beat him to the punch just means that you're being an incredibly insecure person who needs to take a breath.)

As I've mentioned here before, I'm a girl who tends to dive into relationships head first.  Is it any wonder?  If I need that constant validation, that continuous upping of the ante, can I really be surprised when I find myself behind the bars of a prison of my own making?  (Or, to be slightly less drama queen-ish, if I never take the time to get to know someone slowly, before falling in love, how will I ever know if the guy I fall for is worthy of my adoration?)

So, as you might have guessed, I'm sorta kinda dating someone.  It's only "sorta kinda" because things are currently moving at an absolute snail's pace, at least for me.  We were moving quite quickly for a while there, and then he asked if he could slow things down.  At that point, I figured I had two options.  Say "yes" and see where it leads.  Or say "no" and totally push him away.  I chose to say "yes."

I think it's probably good for me, to slow down and get to know someone before giving him my heart and soul.  But, every time it takes a little longer to get an email back from him, I'm sure he's pulling farther away.  The second that email arrives in my inbox, I'm convinced I was just imagining things.  I have even started to do math (and I hate math!)  For example, last Tuesday I got seven emails from him, but they were all one liners.  Yesterday I got four, and two text messages, but they were longer.  So, do I chart the "falling off of interest" by the number of emails, or by the length of those emails?

This is stupid.  How about I not chart the "falling off of interest?"  How about I focus on my own life, on my own self-worth, and on my own hopes and dreams?  If he turns out to be a worthy (and willing) participant in that life, that's cool.  If not, that's cool too.

It's tough, especially when I'm getting emails from friends who ask how he's doing, but forget to ask about how I'm doing.  I had a big week.  I got permission to take a fun work trip and came in second place in this really cool contest, and it's only Tuesday.  But let's not talk about that.  How's the boy?

I'm just as guilty as the next girl.  When's the last time I remembered to ask you about your job before I asked you if you'd gone on any good dates lately? 

Who are you dating?  Is he cute?  What does he do?  Does he want kids?  What's better, match or eharmony?  Where would you go for a romantic getaway, Vermont or the Berkshires?

The questions go on and on.  Can it be any wonder that we begin to feel like our self worth hinges entirely on our relationship status line on Facebook?  Is it any wonder that we put the needs of the guys in our lives ahead of our own? 

So, dear friends, when we chat, let's not make him the only topic of conversation.  When you email me, considering asking me how I'm doing, before you ask how things are going with him.  You know me well enough to know that you'll hear from me if there's anything to report! 

Note:  I wrote this post nearly two weeks before I published it.  Since writing, my recently divorced Romeo has decided that he's not ready for a relationship.  Since I'm really, really ready for a relationship (I mean, really, really, really ready already!) we've decided to part ways.  But, I still think my little ephiphany has merit.  

When next we meet, if I don't ask about you before I ask about him, feel free to bonk me over the head.  Preferably with something fluffy.  It can take a little while to break old habits...