Internet Dating

I’m the first person to admit that I’m probably not ready to start another relationship right now, but that doesn’t mean that looking hurts. This means that browsing profiles online (without applying to any of them, just peeking) does no harm to anyone, including me and the men on the sites.

In the course of my online browsing I have been occaisionally amused, sometimes annoyed, and seldom intrigued or tempted. Perhaps I expect a too high level of physical attractiveness, or perhaps the packaging is just all wrong.

If you happen to be a man considering creating an online profile, perhaps you might want to keep these impressions in mind. I can’t be the only woman to have them.

First, y’all have a lot of problems picking good pictures.

By any means do not post a picture of yourself and a woman, even if most of her is cut out of the picture. We can tell. It does not matter if this woman is your sister. It does not matter if this is the gosh-darn most flattering picture ever taken of you in your life and you look like a three-footed troll with a purple complexion in any other picture. (If this is the case you have my permission to photoshop her out of the picture as long as you leave no clues. And you have my sympathies.) By posting a picture of yourself with said female most of us automatically assume that you are still hung up on that former girlfriend- or have had no life outside her.

Do not post a your senior picture from high school, or a picture that looks remarkably like one. This might actually be slightly forgivable if you are 18, but those of us that are looking for men older than 18 can get concerned about one of two things. First, we may be concerned that you never really left high school. Emotionally, mentally, high school was the high point in your life and you want to relive those glory days. Second, have you lost all your hair and gained a potbelly since high school? What other reasons really might a 30 year-old man for posting a photo taken of him when he was seventeen?

Please put on a shirt. Unless perhaps you are an underwear model, and maybe not even then. On an average dating site, this just makes you look a little skeezy. You dress up for a first date, at least put on a nice t-shirt to make a first online impression.

Do not post fifteen photos of yourself, that’s just overkill. What better way is there for the average browser to assume that you are a narcissist? I can understand the appeal of offering more than photo. There are pictures that can show different sides of you. I appreciate that. But post three photos tops.

So far, these are my biggest gripes other than the traditional ones. Don't lie about your age obviously is another good standard.

Man, the dating world sucks.

There's a certain comfort in touch. The smoothness of the back of a neck, the smell of sun tan lotion and chlorine mingling with the scent of someone's skin, the warmth of a familiar callused hand on the small of your back in an unfamiliar place, guiding you in a crowd can all make you feel known and cared for.

I am not a touchy feely person. Barring with puppies and small children, most kinds of touch including hugging and even shaking hands leave me somewhere from mildly disgusted to entirely grossed out. This drives my handsy mother crazy, though she says that I've always been like this. As an infant she said she knew I was sick when I wanted to be held.

The only other exception to this rule really is men to whom I am romantically involved with.

It's been a long time since I've felt the simple comfort and protection of an arm around my waist or a larger hand in mine. I'm too smart to seek temporary comfort- I know it creates more problems than solutions in the long run.

Instead, I snuggle my dog closer if she'll let me.

There are different brands of lonely. Tonight I wish I could be held while I drift off to sleep by a man that cares about me.

It Comes at Night

The events of the past year sometimes feel a bit like a nightmare to me. Possibly because they sometimes are.

Every couple of weeks I dream about him. In my dreams I continually try and convince him to work on our marriage, that divorce is not the first thing we should try. Once I dreamed that he held me comfortingly. Last night I was chasing him around, trying to convince him of the logic that you have to try and change something before you just throw it away. I remember not wanting to sign divorce papers in my dream. In the dream we were divorcing, but still living together and hanging out a lot. I know there was something else in the dream, but it faded as I woke up.

Not everything fades when I wake up. After one of these lovely dreams I usually find myself depressed for a few hours to a whole day.

Hope the beginning of everyone else's day is happier than mine.

The Number People

I don't really like math all that much. I much prefer the characters, people, and events found in the humanities. This interest in people may have influenced my ideas about numbers.

I think of numbers as people.

At least the first ten. The rest of them are a little fuzzy in that direction. Most of the odds are male, and most of the evens are female. There are a few exceptions. 6 and 9 are tomboys, and 8 is male as well. Eight is also a bit of a stuck up prick.

I don't know why I think this way. It's not as though I believe they are actual people, I just think of them like I think of characters in books or in movies. 8 is an uptight guy in the same way that Mickey Mouse is a talking mouse who wears gloves.

Either I am just weird, which is entirely possible, or there was some educational program that I watched far back in my youth that made a big impression in that I can't remember the program but I still think of numbers the way that the program portrayed them.

I've always thought that being weird was more interesting than being normal.

Reading: The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova
Listening: Million Colour Revolution by the Pinker Tones
Doing: Ripping up my kitchen floor

Aviary Update

Yesterday marked the occaision of the third bird I had to chase out of my house this year thus far.
Dumb birds.

My Crazy Twisted Fantasies

I have a problem, I must admit. When I give myself over to a daydream I have to force it into semi-practical constraints. I can’t imagine farfetched scenarios for very long before the Spock in me forces my psyche to mold that fantasy into something that is more attainable. Hence my fantasies take the short bus to school.

I’ll give you an example by explaining a little game I sometimes play in my head when I’m bored at work or the victim of that pernicious fiend, Sunday night insomnia- Hollywood Boyfriend.

Hollywood Boyfriend operates under a variety of rules and guidelines. Some of them include:

1. Hollywood Boyfriend must, of course, be good looking.
That’s fairly obvious, though there are special points given to men who have made me laugh so hard I cried somewhere in their body of work.

2. Hollywood Boyfriend, in most cases, cannot be married in real life.
This rule is a little bit crazy, seeing that I’m only seeing Hollywood Boyfriend in a daydream capacity only. I once revealed this rule to my sister, who replied to me that Hollywood marriages generally don’t last very long, I should still be able to have a presently married Hollywood Boyfriend that is unmarried in the fantasy… I still can’t seem to break this rule very often, though. I wouldn’t want the fantasy guilt of being the fantasy cause of David Boreanaz’s fantasy divorce. He has a kid!

3. Hollywood Boyfriend cannot be a cheating louse- no matter how pretty he is.
Sorry Jude Law! You can’t change a man in real life, so even my fantasies don’t include magically making a cad into a Clio-worshipping, overly-respectful new man.

4. Hollywood Boyfriend cannot be too close in age to my parents.
That is, unless I have a time machine. In that case, however, I’m far more likely to be a young starlet in the 1930s or 40s dating Cary Grant (one of those years when he wasn’t married, of course) than hanging out with John Travolta in the seventies. I do have my time-travelling standards.

5. Hollywood Boyfriend is far more likely to be a television star or a B-list movie actor than an A-List star.
Why is this, do you ask? Because how likely am I, a normal though fairly attractive and intelligent midwesterner, to get the attention of an A-Lister? Sure, this question is just as likely for the slightly less famous set as well, but somehow that doesn’t matter as much. Then again, rule 4 above eliminates a great deal of men in the A-List set so maybe this rule is superfluous.

I know that laying bare my weird daydream rules will reveal me as the nutty and sometimes perfectionist freak that I am. Eh.

So, who is my present Hollywood Boyfriend? After discovering that Tom Everett Scott and Jason Dohring are both married, I’d have to say that I’m presently looking for a new one. Does anyone know if Brandon Routh, the new Superman, is married?

Update

I'm a little uninspired as to what to post, but I haven't been posting much lately, and for no apparent reason. I've done a lot of packing and cleaning this week. I ran some, watched some television. Nothing big.

The job search continues. I keep applying and applying, and I keep getting those polite letters telling me that they found a better fit. Of course, there are also jobs that I've applied for that I'm overly qualified for and I never hear back from at all. I have another interview on Monday for a position that seems fun and interesting, but it pays less than I made last year as a graduate student. Not a good sign.

I think my dog (the chubby one) has lost some weight. We've been running the park almost daily, and her waistline is starting to be a little more visible. She'll always be a bit of a chunk since she's built wide, but I'm glad that she's getting in shape.

I can't promise that my next post will be any more interesting, but I certainly hope it will. Maybe I'll blame this one on my recent lack of a decent night's sleep. Or my general listlessness. Eh.

Days of Yore

Today was a long day. I took my dog for a run, then ran another several miles at home, then did some yoga and showered. Naturally after that I was fairly hungry. So I decided to have a snack.

There was a long, cool glass of lemonade waiting for me, and some pretzels that I'd picked up last week. As I was savoring the salty, sweet, and tart all at once, I was reminded of my not-entirely-distant youth.

When I was in grade school I attended Vacation Bible School at my church one week every summer. We'd meet in the sanctuary, sitting in groups by grades, singing hymns and pledging allegiance to the U.S. and Christian flags and the bible.

It was an honor to be chosen to hold a flag or bible, one that the older children particularly clamored for. Mr. Brandt would work with kids before the assembly, showing those lucky few the way to hold them in procession, at rest, and when your particular item was the object of a pledge.

After the morning assembly we parted into a variety of rooms where we learned songs, bible stories and bible verses, and made craft items like matchstick crosses or cross-emblazoned puffy paint t-shirts.

The day lasted until noon, but around eleven the building would stop for a half an hour while the kids lined up in the hallway near the church kitchen for the daily snack. There was a running list of snacks- one day was sandwhich cookie and Kool-Aid day, another was chips and (generic) cola day. The most popular day was always snow-cone day, usually Thursday. Snow cones on Friday were generally too much of a mess, since it was the last day and things were already a little hectic. Adding the messiest snack of the week to the mix didn't usually work.

Friday was often reserved for pretzels and lemonade. The lemonade was usually too sweet in that off-brand Kool-Aid way, and it usually tasted more like lemon cleaner than actual lemons. I never ate the pretzels myself. They were usually stale and unappetizing. Instead, I would often sit by myself, my mouth pursed in a perfect "O" and scrape the pretzel sticks clean of salt with my teeth in between sips of lemonade.

It was a simpler time. The memory evokes a kind of nostalgia- but not the kind where I wish I was still nine and reliving those events. Though I may just seek out a snow cone stand this summer.

Update

birds in house this year: 2
reading: Newcomer's Handbook for Moving to and Living in New York City
listening: Moby (Play and 18) and The Raconteurs
this week's mileage total: 22.53 miles run
dishes washed this weekend: 3 loads (I'm beginning to think that there's a dirty dishes gnome who drinks out of my cups and uses my bowls when I'm gone....)
papers I should have written before right now: 2
things I'd rather be doing: about 150
days since I last saw Darcy: 51
job applications I've sent in and not heard back on: 8
hours I'll probably sleep tonight: 5
cool new t-shirts I got this weekend- 2 (one has a Fraggle Rock design on it, the other has a picture from Sixteen Candles that says "I love Jake Ryan" underneath it. So cool.)

P.S.

The stupid bird came back today. It took me twenty minutes to get it off my ceiling and outside,

He he.

I've been researching real estate, neighborhoods, and etcetera about New York and I and excited. I've been fantasizing about my new life and let me tell you, it makes me happy.

Right now I like Jackson Heights, Queens. Bear in mind, I may change my mind. So right now I'm looking at apartments and restaurants and other things in the area and imagining how my new life might be. I imagine walking my dog down the street or in one of the private parks. I imagine, instead of going to Taco Bell after work, stopping at one of the taco carts or Indian restaurants on the way home. I can decorate my place with neat little pieces from the Indian shops in the neighborhood and go to Bollywood movies on weekends when I'm not taking the subway to Manhattan to see a play or concert. I can buy a share in the community garden, and brush up on my Spanish and actually use it. I can teach a summer class at one of the many community colleges. I can spend my summer writing at cafes and haunting the public library system. And I'm going to get a digital camera so I can post all sorts of neat photos of my goings- on if not for you then for my family who will miss me very much.

June is busting out all over- she must need a bigger girdle.