about that guy I did like a man

About eleven months ago…

A few days after returning from my trip, as I was reflecting on how thoughtful my one-night lover had been, I decided to send him a note.

“Anthony, it was lovely,” I emailed. Short and sweet.

“It’s been a week, and I’m still smiling,” he replied. Thus began another long-distance flirtation. We emailed or texted a few times a week, and even spoke on the phone.

I enjoyed the attention, and I loved crafting 140 or fewer character flirtations.

“Your messages are like haikus,” he texted.

“More like Zen koans,” I corrected.

One night, while out for drinks with girlfriends, I confessed to him that I barely remembered his name, much less what he looked like. He wrote, “I was your first kiss, the first lover’s poem to grace your ears, the first flutter of breath on your neck, the first touch of your breast… Lover, you know me!” The girls and I swooned.

I’d previously held a belief that casual sex was cold, awkward and impersonal. Anthony, with his musical accent and charming banter, had taught me that it could be warm and playful.

A few months after our meeting, at the end of one of our conversations, he asked me if we might meet in another city for a weekend. And that’s when I realized we were on completely different pages in our lives. I was living a flirtation, and it was enough for me. He was thinking of seeing me again. My daily life felt like a struggle to pay the mortgage and parent my children with almost no support from their father (who was, at the time, still trying to be difficult). This was no time to think about jetting off to see a lover, particularly one with whom I could envision no future. The only way I could have made this work at that time was if he were in a position to be a sugar daddy. Does is make me a whore to think that way — that I might have considered it if he were picking up the tab? Looking back, I think I really needed an escape, so I won’t judge myself too harshly.

Anthony and I continue to be in touch occasionally. I think he likes my coolness (cruelty?) or views me as a challenge. Perhaps, given its effectiveness, this is an approach I should adopt towards men I really like…

a few lessons in online dating

I’ve had an online profile for a little over a month now, and I’ve learned some things along the way that surprise me:

First, I was surprised at the quality of men I was seeing, largely because many of them were really quite unattractive. Still, I found someone nerdy cute enough to correspond with and decided to keep an open mind.

When an opportunity popped up for me to learn which of my profile photos was most attractive, I took it and was, in turn, asked to compare profile photos from men across the site. I learned which photo was recommended for me to use as my primary profile photo and, later, received some surprising news: I had been deemed — based on men across the site comparing my profile photo against others — more attractive than average, and would now be shown more attractive matches. Really?!? The surprise was not my own relative appeal, but that this blasted online site had been holding out on me, leading me to believe that most single guys were unappealing as hell! Thankfully, I’m now finding there are some men who are both single and good-looking!

Second: People are flaky. I mentioned before that I’d had a date and a second one planned, but nothing further has panned out with that fellow. His life seemed to be getting complicated before communication dropped off altogether.

I’ve been targeted by some guys who simply stop writing after a few messages or can’t hold a conversation, one guy who “needs” a woman, and a few who are all about whether my photos are current. And there are men who haven’t invested the time to fill out their profile or answer compatibility questions, meanwhile expecting me to give them the time for coffee. Some haven’t even uploaded a photo — and I tend to assume there’s a reason for that!

Third: You’ve got to roll with the positive feedback. It’s nice to hear that I have a beautiful smile, whether or not I’m interested — I’ll take it! There is a really cute guy I’d love to meet because he seems like a fun conversationalist and a good flirt. And now I’m being chased by a 20-something. I am mildly amused and flattered by this, and he seems young and eager and willing to do all the work.

mourning among my adopted family

It’s been a rough couple of days, and I find I have a story to tell. Seems I usually do. Actually, this might be more like two stories.

When I was in college, I dated a professor’s son (actually, I dated more than one, but let’s leave the others for another time). His mother taught writing courses and was known to be tough and opinionated. So, of course I sought her out. Academically, she liked me.

My boyfriend / professor’s son lived at home, so there was that inevitable morning when I walked down through the living room and had to say, “Good morning, Doctor, I’ll see you later in class.” Since it was a small school, everyone in my social circle had heard the news by lunch time. This counts among the three most embarrassing moments of my life.

But the real story here is that, when the boyfriend went off to grad school, his mother, my professor, adopted me. I wasn’t her only adopted student but, because I was close to her son, I think she liked having me around as a way to feel closer to him. She fed me elaborate meals and played the piano and we talked about everything from art and politics to gender roles and sex. I met his two brothers, his nephews and niece, his grandparents… After college, I moved closer to his grandparents and would take his grandmother shopping, since she no longer drove.

The boyfriend and I had an off-again, on-again long-distance relationship filled with the usual yearning, expectations, longing and heartache. People around us sincerely believed we would one day marry. For a long time, I think we did, too. In the end, I lost the boyfriend but kept the family. My former boyfriend married. To this day, I call the boys my brothers.

We lost the doctor recently and, over the weekend, I celebrated her life with my “brothers” and “nephew.” A common theme at family occasions is the closeness I share with the eldest of these boys. Apparently this chafes the youngest, my ex, as noted by the middle son who remarked, “Yeah, I’ve heard all about it” not long after I walked into the house over the weekend.

I suppose there may be rules and boundaries that one ought to consider in relationship situations like this. But I’m not going to analyze them here and now. I simply want to share the reason you haven’t seen a post from me in a few days — I’ve needed some time to process a great loss for me personally, but even more so for these wonderful brothers from another mother. And I’ve needed to absorb and recognize that, however young and dumb and unable to articulate our feelings or negotiate our relationship at the time, I broke someone’s heart — without ever really realizing it.

I suspect there may be more to come on all this…after I’ve had a little time to put it into perspective.

cheap sex? on my terms

Slate recently published an article called Sex is Cheap: Why young men have the upper hand in bed, even when they’re failing in life. The article, written by a man, is based on research and data from around the world.

My colleague and 20-Nothings author, Jessie Rosen, followed up with her astute commentary here.

And still I think it’s worth exploring whether the equation changes as we get older, specifically for single women approaching or into their forties. First, let’s acknowledge that, by this time in life, some things have changed for women:

Our libidos are more active. While men are alleged to peak in sex drive at 19, women’s libidos allegedly peak at 30. I say allegedly, because most women I know would argue that we’re even more libidinous at 40. (And because I’ve experienced 50-year-olds with as much energy as any 19-year-old.)
For many of us, sex is no longer about our biological clock and securing commitment, DNA and a provider for our children. Many of us have already met that need, more or less.
We’re more confident — this means being more comfortable in our bodies, more assertive about getting our needs met, more able to be direct and more able to walk away (after all, by this time in life, we’re likely to have acquired more toys — a.k.a. The Elite Sophisticate, Doc Johnson or simply BOB, for Battery-Operated Boyfriend).
We’ve gained a lot more relationship experience, whether we’ve been married and divorced or not.

So…is sex still cheap? A quick look at the dynamics on online dating sites or in any bar will assure you that, yes, sex is still cheap . Men, it seems, are able to find willing partners whatever their station in life. As are women.

But, based on my own experience and some anecdotal evidence from my contemporaries, the balance of power has undergone a nuanced shift: the women I know who are serious about seeking a mate date multiple men — and they wait to sleep with any of the serious contenders. They’ve learned a thing or two about how to develop a relationship and they know that sex can complicate their emotions when they’re exploring whether someone is right for them. Instead, they enjoy steamy liaisons with a hot guy who they’ve already concluded is Mr. Wrong.

By forty, most single women can walk into a bar, pick up a man, take him home, sleep with him and forget it. And they can communicate to men they really care about that they’re looking for commitment and not willing to get sexually involved without it. They know how to respect themselves and, thus, demand respect from a man. (And if you’re a single woman and this doesn’t resonate with you, you’ve at least got to admit to having learned enough to know what you’re getting in to.)

The implication for men at this juncture in life is that, especially if they are finally looking for a life mate, the tables may have turned. If a woman sleeps with a man right away, it could very well be a relationship death knell. It may mean she’s already ruled him out.

post-feminist dating

I was a staunch feminist in college and beyond. My serious papers took on sexist language and such things. I’ve been called a femi-nazi on more than one occasion. So let’s relate this to dating…

If I don’t come across as particularly adept at dating now, you can imagine what an idealistic (in all the wrong ways) fool about it I was in my twenties. One of my more memorable boyfriends lived hand-to-mouth. Much of the time he didn’t have a dime to his name — but when he did, he was sure to buy me gifts or treat me to an amazing night out. I went dutch with lots of guys, too. I remember reading an article that promoted the notion that couples should contribute equally to relationships, and should strive to date at the level that the lower-earner of the two can afford. But let’s get real: very few couples are composed of equal earners or equally motivated partners.

Frankly, I now wonder whether not allowing a man to buy dinner when dating could have landed me in a decade-long relationship in which I supported an entire family. Perhaps there is such a thing as too much self-sufficiency. And I’m through supporting a perfectly capable man!

Contrast my past approach with a sassy widow I know. She recently revealed that she asks men who ask her out to pay her sitter.

Damn, girl! The last time I was in the dating game, it was common to split the tab. It was only the older, wealthier men who you knew with confidence were buying dinner. Either that, or I was just too dumb or too feminist. (And, no, I don’t believe they are the same thing.)

At this point in my life, I’ve developed an appreciation for receiving male attention in many of its forms, including gifts, meals, etc. In other words, it’s pretty unlikely that I’m going to pull out my wallet on the first couple of dates. Still, I’m not sure how that conversation goes…

He: “So, wanna go out for a drink sometime?”

She: “Sure, if you’re willing to pay for my babysitter.”

Which brings me back to my point: If we get what we expect, then I’m okay with expecting a lot. I’m a successful woman; I deserve a successful mate. But I have yet to master the language of high expectations — i.e. the language of asking or negotiating for something I know I can provide for myself.

My friend puts it this way: “We pay for the manicure, pedicure, brow wax, facial, we get made up and do our hair — look at the investment of time and money we’ll put into looking and feeling good for a date! And all he’s gotta do is pay for dinner and a movie?! No. I let him know that if he wants to go out with me, this is part of it. Maybe on the second and third dates, I’ll split the cost of the sitter and, if I like the guy after that, I may leave my children with my mom or sister. But my reality is that I have children, and he might as well understand that now.”

This woman has set the bar high. I can respect that. There are some dating experts out there who might refer to this as “Degree of Difficulty,” as in, a woman should have a high DoD in order to attract a guy who is willing to work hard to make her happy.

In any case, if she can rock it, I’m gonna learn to rock it, too!

ah, memories

Occasionally I look back on the time in my late 20s when I dated a millionaire and wonder what the hell I was thinking letting him go!

We enjoyed taking his private plane (he had a pilot’s license and a small twin-engine) to his Caribbean home, being treated to meals and gifts, never having to worry about a thing. Let me paint a picture of one of my most fond remembrances for you:

I was on the phone with this wealthy older man, a friend who had not yet told me he was interested in more. He was planning a trip to New York and I asked if I might join him — I could use an escape and New York is beautiful in the autumn.

“Yeah, for sure!” he said. And then, to my surprise, he paid my airfare and gave me the address of where we’d be staying: a tony address on the east side of the Park where some friends of his had an apartment.

I took a cab from JFK. When I told the cabbie the address, he did a double-take in the mirror and asked, “You goin’ home?” I told him I was visiting with a friend, and the apartment was owned by friends of my friend. He said, “You got the look. Someday you gonna be rich enough to buy a place like that, too.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” I replied.

The cabbie dropped me off across from the park and I gave the doorman my name. I was the first to arrive. The doorman carried my luggage up to the 7th floor and let me in. I put some Nina Simone on the stereo, pulled out a New Yorker and relaxed on a chaise near the windows overlooking the park. I was completely relaxed and in my element. After my friend arrived, we took a walk, stopping at Bulgari so I could buy some perfume and asked that it be delivered to the doorman in “our” building, then we bought some nice bottles of wine, also having them delivered. We went out to nice restaurants, watched the US Open of Tennis and window shopped. New York in the autumn is so lovely!

I look back at this time in my life and recall how much I enjoyed the intellectual connection and conversation with this fellow, as well as the lifestyle. Early on, his friends would ask how long we’d known each other — time that could be counted in months — and remark that we seemed so comfortable and friendly as to have known each other for a decade. It was a lovely compliment. Perhaps I was just so relaxed about it all because I never took the relationship seriously.

After all, he’d had children who were then in their teens and had been “fixed.” And I was certain I wanted children of my own. His lifestyle of excess caused some discomfort with me, an eco-conscious “awakening consumer.” He drove a sports car and frequented “gentlemen’s clubs,” so I thought him a bit of a pig and teased him about it. And some control issues began to appear in the last days of our togetherness. Yet sometimes I wonder if any of those differences or issues would have been any more difficult to handle than the things I dealt with in a relationship with the man who I truly loved and with whom I ultimately shared a decade of my life.

In hindsight, what was excess to me then may now be abundance. And all those other things, if we’d really loved each other, we may have been able to communicate through. Or am I just wearing rose-colored glasses?

Actually, probably the main reason I recall this time in my life and this relationship with fondness is that I never lost myself in it. I didn’t take it too seriously, I wasn’t working (over-functioning) to get my man; he was working to woo me. And I could take him or leave him. He adored me for me being myself. And when it seemed he didn’t, I let him go…and that’s a great lesson for me to carry forward into future relationships.

doing it like a man

About eleven months ago…

My counsellor had recommended I go out and “have sex like a man.” But with full-time work and parenting, I couldn’t find the time or opportunity to make it happen — even if I had the skills or guts.

But there was a possibility coming up…a work trip — without any co-workers. While on this trip, I would be going to an evening event celebrating creative people. It all sounded quite promising! Among the usual toiletries and clothes, I packed a nice dress, heels and condoms.

My trip began with aircraft maintenance problems, flight delays and diversions. I was lucky to arrive at my destination city and check into the hotel with barely enough time to dress for dinner. Thus, I hit the open bar with a vengeance. I’ll spare you the dinner highlights in favor of the after party. I was excited to see some attractive men milling about; unfortunately, most were accompanied by women, gay or oh so young! The one person I knew joined me at the old-school arcade games and, after a short time, a man approached. He was unremarkable, but attentive. Meanwhile, a beverage company representative struck up a conversation and brought a steady stream of wine and bubbly.

Anyone who’s seen me around an old-school Ms. Pac-Man game can imagine the scene. I’m completely obsessed, sucked into round after round of play, meanwhile holding conversations, drinking drinks, saying goodnight to the woman I knew, etc. Finally, I had to pull myself a way. The gentleman who was playing with me joined me at the bar. It was beginning to dawn on me that I’d consumed many more drinks than I could handle (and it was way past my bed time), so I asked for water. We moved to a cocktail table. He was blathering on about some event he’d been to the previous night when I put my hand behind his neck and planted my lips on his. We must have made out, there in public, for a complete 30 to 45 seconds before I asked him if he’d like to come to my room.

Without missing a beat, he said, “yes,” and we proceeded down the elevator, through the hall and into my room, where we continued to make out while undressing each other. I discovered at this time that he had a rather big paunch. In fact, he had the type of distinctly British body that might suggest he’s never seen the inside of a gym nor donned any type of athletic gear. Even tennis shoes. No matter. We were in it now. And what the hell kind of undies were those? Not very masculine. (Marks & Spencer, I later learned.)

So this is how it went: he was safe and attentive and creative. He took time to prop pillows in the right places. His eyes were kind. He licked my foot. We had a bit of naughty fun and then passed out. When I awoke in the middle of the night with a splitting headache and need to empty my bladder, I thought, “Oh shit. He’s still here.”

In the morning, he was a bit chatty for my pounding head. But he was charming, engaging and intelligent, and his British accent didn’t hurt. I realized I could only recall his name because when I had moaned, “Oh God!,” he had corrected me. He had lovely brown eyes.

When he enquired for the second time whether I wanted to join him in the shower, I told him that I really just wanted to go back to sleep. I rolled over and he rubbed my back. He asked if he could get my email address or phone number and I replied blandly, “Why don’t you just leave your card on the desk and I’ll reach out if I feel like it.” So he dressed and left.

For the first time in my life, I had behaved like a complete slut — and I felt powerful!

Only later did I realize how vulnerable I had been and the risks I had taken. And I found myself feeling relieved and eternally grateful for having found this particular gent for my first post-marriage romp. Luckily, the only casualty was a pearl earring, which I never recovered.

Later, as I recalled the story to girlfriends, their eyes grew wide, jaws dropped (in recognition of how completely out of character this was) and, to my utter surprise, more than one exclaimed, “Oh my God, you’re my hero!” If they thought I didn’t have it in me…well, I guess I showed them! More importantly, I showed me. I had finally had sex like a man.

second date fail

I reported earlier in the week that I was to go on a second date with someone. We were to meet for brunch at a quaint bistro.

I drove there, parked and went into the restaurant. I thought I saw my date turn in to the lot as I gave the hostess my name, table for two. Strangely, my date did not come in for several minutes. Perhaps he was on the phone, I thought. When three minutes turned into five, I thought I must have been mistaken. At ten minutes, I ordered my breakfast and continued to read the newspaper.

Only after breakfast (remember, I quit my job and have yet to replace my mobile phone, and the restaurant did not have wi-fi) did I get the message that his ex had been called in to the hospital (hmm, a doctor?) and he had to rush back to pick up his children.

So…

What is a girl to do with this? We were about to have a second date. The first was an hour-long coffee two weeks ago, followed by some flirtatious emails. So let’s first establish that there is no relationship — it feels like a very low-stakes situation to me. And if my ex called and needed to be at the hospital, I would have done the same thing: gone home to fetch my children.

Still, because they could come to bear if ever a relationship were to grow, there are two rather critical questions that come up in a situation like this:

How hard would you work to communicate? Guy (not his actual name) knew I didn’t have a mobile phone, but he did know I’d have my laptop. Of course neither of us would have guessed the restaurant didn’t have wi-fi…doesn’t every coffee or breakfast place these days? There is also a city-wide wi-fi program here, but I don’t subscribe to the service. Guy sent me an email from his iPhone while in the restaurant parking lot (I later learned). He could have come in; he could have called the restaurant — in other words, he might have done more to ensure that I had truly received the message. As I said, the stakes were low…but hey Guy, how bad do you want it? Ultimately, if positions were reversed, I’d like to think that I would have had the courtesy to stop, walk into the restaurant and personally let my date know that something urgent had come up. The email wasn’t a total fail, but he could have done better…I say this not knowing whether his ex is an emergency surgeon or a nurse or an IT staffer or a PR person. Which leads me to…
How do you manage an ex? Among my wide network of friends, I’ve had several who are in the second wife / stepmother role. Having discussed these challenges before, the consensus has typically been that — more than being second wife or stepmother — the most difficult role is that which must deal with the ex-wife. The ex-wife can work to sabotage the relationships both between husband and new wife and with the children. If the man in this situation doesn’t have firm, well-defined boundaries with his ex, it’s hell on the entire family. But, according to my friends, the second wife / stepmother rarely gets very far when trying to address these dynamics — she’s often accused of being jealous, not wanting her husband to spend as much time with the children as he does or having other nefarious intentions. None of these are true, but they can appear true to a man who doesn’t see how manipulative his ex-wife is being or is generally unwilling to manage the situation. It sometimes seems that men respond with more empathy to an ex (perhaps out of guilt?) than to the current wife. In other words, ex-spousal management is critical to the health of any individual’s boundaries, and becomes even more important if one is to endeavor to have other relationships. Did my date manage his ex well? Not particularly. But there are still too many unknowns to determine how big a fail this is. First, let me say that Guy alluded to his children having some behavioral or development challenges, which may make it difficult for him and / or the ex to leave them with a neighbor or friend at the last minute. I have no idea how long Guy has been divorced. I have no idea whether the ex-wife wanted the divorce. I haven’t seen any history or patterns as it relates to this behavior.

So here’s what happened afterward:

I waited about a day before I responded to Guy’s emailed cancellation / apology. The tone appeared to have prioritized his “poor me” feelings over his “I am so sorry” apology, but it’s difficult to get a real read over email. My note to him said simply, “you missed a great breakfast — and even better company.”

He replied quickly, expressing his embarrassment over the situation and some suspicion that he had been manipulated or his plans had been sabotaged — along with a compliment or two.

I later replied, “perhaps you shouldn’t tell your ex when you make plans with a beautiful woman.”

Again he agreed and added compliments.

I clearly have the upper hand and can elect whether to see him again or not. In general, he seems decent enough, and flirts articulately. His profile shows cute personality. He is a sucker for The Sound of Music, as am I, and we seem to have a wide variety of shared eclectic interests. I have a mild interest in hanging out…yet I don’t like being yanked around. So I’m really on the fence here…

What would you do? One fail and he’s out? Or give him another chance?

an unexpected call

Yesterday, I received one of the strangest phone calls of my life.

A long-time male friend of mine called, immediately chastised me for not having called him in a long time and told me that he understood why: “I know you’re mad at me.” I’ll call this Mediterranean friend of mine Adonis — after all, most of my girlfriends do.

Some history:

I met Adonis well over a decade ago, before my marriage, while he was separated from his Midwestern wife. (They later reconciled; a few years ago, she committed suicide. He is now living with another woman from a Southern European country, who I’ll call Genna.)
Adonis and I went out a few times during his separation, but I soon stopped seeing him because I felt uncomfortable with the situation and his desire to move too quickly in our relationship.
I’ve never slept with him.
Without telling my ex how Adonis and I met, I had occasion to introduce the two. My husband thought Adonis was cool…so, from then on, our families celebrated children’s birthdays and other occasions together, socializing a few times a year. We were at his wife’s funeral.

After much small talk and some discussion of my ex and child support, he came back to the topic of my being mad at him. Again I insisted that I wasn’t angry with him. And then he said, “I know you like me…and I like you, too, but I’m in a relationship…”

I was flabbergasted! It’s true that I find Adonis attractive and, given our history, I feel comfortable being mildly flirtatious with him. I enjoy his attention. There was a time after his wife’s death when we talked a lot and I wondered if I might be the woman to whom he was most emotionally connected. I appreciate his sense of style, his DIY skills, his entrepreneurial skills…but (and it’s a big but) Adonis has a very black and white way of thinking: He has a temper, he can be argumentative, he is not often willing to consider other perspectives. He is remarkably non-judgmental, yet stubborn and resistant to change. I have often argued with him about parenting and other topics. In other words, I realized long ago we would not make a successful match.

Luckily, Adonis can go on about his point of view at length with no encouragement, so I sat stupefied while he went on: “…I can’t disrupt my children’s lives and make them live through another loss like that. We may yell and fight, but the children love Genna.”

“Adonis,” I had gathered my wits, “I like you as a friend, and I know full well that we could never have a successful relationship. I’ve heard you complain about Genna and I’ve seen the two or you argue, and I simply think that you deserve someone with a greater capacity for joy in your life.” Not to mention, I thought, that all this arguing in front of the children does not provide a great example or bode well for the children’s future relationships. This and several other thoughts I kept to myself.

He went on: “Well, the last time you were here, you said that you find me attractive and that you want to go out with me, and when you say things like that in front of her…” he trailed off.

Okay, wow! I admit that I can be bawdy, inappropriate and say or do provocative things (always with humorous, not harmful, intent). It was true that the last time I’d taken the children there for a play date, I had indulged in some wine. It’s true that I was generally of a mind to have my physical desires met around the time of my visit (though not by Adonis). It’s true that the conversation between me and Genna became uncomfortable later in the day (which I mostly attributed to our cultural differences). But I cannot recall nor possibly imagine how on Earth I would have said such things! I racked my brain.

There was a time that day when Genna was saying some mean / disrespectful things about Adonis. I may have jumped to my friend’s defense with a playful, “I’d date him” or something, meant in an entirely harmless fashion (even if it is inappropriate), save perhaps to remind her that she’d made a pretty good catch. Also, later in the evening, I suggested we go out for sushi sometime. Perhaps this was the “wanting to go out with him” part of this confusion.

Finally, I owned my bit of all this, “You know it’s true that I haven’t given Genna the level of respect she deserves as the woman of your house and, for that, I’m sorry.”

As if all of this were not random nor awkward enough, Adonis next suggested that, even if we were to go out and do things together, it would get complicated and mess up our friendship.

Okay, I had mentioned sushi, but that was clearly not what he was talking about.

I cut him short, “I would never do that.” And shortly thereafter I ended the call, thinking “Seriously, did this conversation really just happen?”

going online

I recently went to a dating site, uploaded a few photos, answered a boatload of questions and filled out a profile. I confess: I’m on one of the free sites. I’m a bit ambivalent about the whole thing right now, so I’m just not ready to “invest” yet in one of those more “quality” sites. (I don’t even know if my assumptions are true.)

I wonder if men are the same way. In other words: Are the men who are really ready to commit on sites on which one pays for service?

I may revisit that question later. But in the meantime, here’s what I’ve discovered upon a quick glance:

A picture is, indeed, worth a thousand words! Or, for many of these guys, their photo might be summed up with one: ewww!

Midwestern men apparently don’t think it matters what they look like. For all the effort some of these guys have put into telling us how fabulous they are in their profiles, a great many haven’t bothered to find a decent digital photograph to upload. Note to online daters: Have a friend take a flattering shot with good lighting!
A high percentage of men have posted hunting or fishing bounty, as if to say, “Look! Here’s me holding a dead duck (or fish); me bring-um home dinner!” Do they really think an urban woman wants to be wooed this way?
And look at all the guys holding cats! I like cats, but there’s something inside me that just finds this not particularly manly. If I saw a great photo of an average- to good-looking guy and then later discovered he had a cat, I’m sure I would think it awfully sweet. Just don’t lead with the cat!
Groin shots. ‘Nuff said.
There are an awful lot of bald men with too much (i.e. not well-groomed, sculpted or manscaped) facial hair. Don’t try to over-compensate for a balding pate with a scraggly, unkempt goatee. Some girlfriends and I used to refer to ALL goatees as “woman repellent.” Few men can get away with something other than a well-shaped and trimmed beard on their face. God bless grooming products!

And then there are the sketchy profile details:

First, how do I get told I’m a 93% match with someone WHO IS MARRIED? Did I not clearly state I’m looking for SINGLE men? Can’t these fools be screened out immediately — as in criteria numero uno?! I’m looking for my future husband, not a threesome!
It’s positively shocking to me how many men are willing to wear their lack of ambition, direction in life or earning power as a badge of honor. You wouldn’t believe the number of artsy types whose profiles suggest they’re still trying to find their way in life at 40-ish. I consider myself creative and a writer, too, but I’m going to list my actual, income-generating profession first. Why? Not because I define myself by my career, but because it might matter to someone stable to know that I am responsible and capable of holding a job. (Um…so, does the fact that I recently quit make me a complete hypocrite?)
One guy’s profile brilliantly proclaimed that has given up his car in favor of using a bicycle for transportation. That may be very socially responsible and all…but, in this town, how the hell are you going to pick me up for a date, Genius?! I like to bike, too, but not if it limits my dating life to the warmer half of the year.

So please cross your fingers for me. I’m figuring there have to be at least a few gems out there!