Relax, It’s Just Dating

It's Just Dating

The reason I have to ask every guy I talk with online, “so, what are you looking for on here?” is because most people are incredibly stupid dating websites make things incredibly difficult.  In some areas, they offer too much specificity, in other areas, not nearly enough.  For example, I’m still waiting for Plenty of Fish to get back to me about what exactly the difference is between these dating intents.


FYI, there is no difference.  These two things mean the same thing and whatever distinction could be made between the two is so complex and intricate that it could only be clarified with further discussion between the two people involved.  So, honestly, what are you even doing Plenty of Fish??

And yet, as hard as I am on Plenty of Fish, I understand the impetus.  Because most people are ridiculous haven’t put much thought into this, they have a ridiculous understanding of what dating is.  And that’s where I come in, to break it down, real quick.

Why do we demand specificity from water (lake, ocean, sea, river, stream, brook, rapids, waterfall, rain, snow, sleet, hail, etc.) and yet expect the word “Dating” to encompass everything (and by doing so, use it incorrectly).

Dating does not signify commitment.  That’s what words like “relationship” and “boyfriend/girlfriend” and “significant other” and well, to restate the obvious, “committed” are for.

Dating is not sex.  Don’t make me have a correlation/causation discussion with you folks.  While they’re not mutually exclusive, they’re also not mutually inclusive.  You can have dating without sex.  You can have sex without dating.  If you’re just speaking about sex, use your words timmy.  This is when words like “casual sex” and “no strings attached” and “booty call” and “fuck buddy” and “random” and “strange” and “one night stand” or “hook up” should be used.

Dating is not friendship.  You could make the argument that friendship can form out of dating or that two friends could go on a date but the difference is essentially attraction and intent.  So if you’re looking for a pool-shooting-buddy, be clear.  You’re looking for a friend.  If you’re looking for a pool-shooting-buddy that’ll feel you up against the felt?  Well shit.  That’s dating.

And I know some of you might be sitting there reading this thinking why does it matter?  Let me tell you.  So so so so so so much of the hassle and irritation and fucking mind boggling rage surrounding Sex, Dating, Relationships and anything in between is caused by misinterpretations, misunderstandings or any other way to say getting-shit-wrong.  If we can eliminate the confusion, if we can eliminate even just the tiniest bit of the frustration involved, then I’m one step closer to making the world a happier, healthier, more realistic and logical, yet awesome and amazing place.

So the next time a woman says “this guy I’m dating” don’t go putting all your assumptions on her.  Either ask.  Or assume the very minimum that the word entails.  She has gone on a date with a guy.  She has gone on more than one date with a guy.  She expects she might go on a date with a guy again.  There is no reference to commitment   There is no reference to sex.  There is no mention of buddies.  Take her at her word (literally the one she used) and not one that is about to buckle under all the cultural bullshit pulled up on it.

Because the thing is, no one freaks out when I say that I’m running.  They assume it means that I like to run, that I will go running, that I might be running at that exact moment.  No sane person assumes anything else about my running based on my statement.  I say, “I like running,” and they say, “great”.  No one makes me clarify if this is a lifelong pursuit, if I will ever stop running, if I am willing to run with one or several other people. Dating (and most other words) should be treated the same.

And fyi, daters.  It’s pretty pathetic when a person is so terrified of the world as to be afraid to make the claim that she/he is looking for dating and quite frankly, it’s embarrassing every time I have to explain it to one of you that, in fact, you are not looking for “friendship and let’s just see what happens”, you are looking for dating.  Quit being such a fucking baby.

Crash Boom Bang: Disappointments Upon Disappointments

Crash Boom Bang

 

[dropcap]I[/dropcap] know that life is what you make it, that you have to decide to be happy.  I know that I’m privileged and lucky and fortunate and life really is pretty fucking beautiful for me.  But I still get sad, and things can still suck.  That being said, there can be a certain hilarity when life gets miserable all at once, when you’re piled up with disappointment after disappointment, in a very small period of time (picture a cartoon of me being buried alive by a landslide of rocks…don’t worry it’s a cartoon, I’ll survive).

And that is what happened last week.

Crash

So, I had finally started dating someone really smart.  And then he dumped me.  And I was sad.  And maybe I was sad because I had been rejected.  Or maybe I was sad because I had been rejected by someone I liked.  Or maybe I was just upset because he was smart and now that would be gone from my life.  Or maybe I was sad because of how he did it (rather than just ripping the bandaid he blamed it on academia and being busy) or maybe I was sad because I felt like I had been dumped before he’d even had a real chance to get to know me or maybe or maybe or maybe.  Who knows.  What I do know is this:  I felt sad.  I felt a huge sense of disappointment.  Like this was my one shot to hang out with someone who was seriously smart, who thought I was attractive, who wasn’t completely socially stunted, and who seemed interesting (if not hilarious).  And though my mother assures me that,

you’ll meet tons of smart people

I have to say, at 32 and in a graduate school program, WHERE THE FUCK ARE THEY???

Boom

Bummed about being dumped, I went to my first fiction workshop (up to this point the classes had been a lot of discussion of published works and writing techniques).  And that’s where my Professor repeatedly called my writing “Chick Lit”, and proceeded to drone on about how men are basically all super awesome and the narrator of my story is a judgmental bitch (more on this later but the gist of it was that he couldn’t understand how a girl wouldn’t want to hear a bone-head guy discuss his favorite muscle group…all the while never asking her a single question…or how a girl could possibly be upset that an old man had lied about his age [by ten years] and shown up to a date looking like a completely different person than the images on his dating profile).  Oh, and I should mention that many people in the class agreed (so we can’t just chalk this up to some fucked up Professor).  The only conclusion I could come to was that I myself was an idiot, or I was surrounded by idiots.  Either way, I pretty much wanted to throw myself off the balcony.

One student actually said “why doesn’t your narrator stop dating if she hates it so much”

*throws self off balcony as life is hard and that is apparently the answer*

But then things seemed to be looking up.  I let someone in emotionally (okay, admittedly, it was kind of accidental, but needless to say a man called me within hours of said horrible writing workshop and I burst into tears while on the phone).  But that’s something.  You see, it was Top Secret, from just before I moved to Montreal.  He had moved to Ontario and was now coming for a visit to Montreal and had called to let me know of his plan.

At Christmas, when I came home to Vancouver, we didn’t have a ton of time but he wanted to hang out and hang out we did.  We went out for lunch.  It was fun.  It was nice.  It was real friendship shit.  But then, just as before winter break, he went right back to barely having any contact with me.  Sure we’d quick message here or there but if you want to be friends with someone and especially if you want to be more than friends with someone you have to put in that effort to get to know them, to stay in contact with them, to keep their (and yours, presumably) lust alive.  But he didn’t, we didn’t.

But here we were, visiting in his hotel room, eating pizza, watching youtube videos and getting reacquainted.  Or so I thought.  Because before I know it, he’s trying to kiss me.  Which, in theory, is fine.  But, honestly, I wasn’t really feeling it yet.  I didn’t, however, want to shut things down permanently, I just needed some time, because we had gone back to zero and I might need a couple hangouts and conversations to get back up to 60.

The next day I had to finish an already late scholarship application, and he seemed busy with work stuff, so I stayed in and said that we would meet up the next day.  Friday came, and I was running late to meet him for his show so I skipped the bus and jumped in a cab.  I made it to the show before him and when he arrived we went in.  Given that he was in the show, I was seated at a table by myself, at the front (WHY DO THEY ALWAYS MAKE ME SIT IN THE FRONT!!).

After the show we talked a bit, he basically insinuated he wanted to bone but didn’t want me to feel pressured and I finally had the balls to say, at this moment (and because of the reasons mentioned above), I just wanted to be friends and we could just see what happens.  He seemed to take it pretty well.

Because we were at the show, they told us we could go upstairs and hear the rest of the Motown show that was happening, and though I wasn’t super keen at that exact moment (I had developed an excruciating migraine) I went anyway because he wanted to go (plus I had just taken some excedrin so the headache would foreseeably dissipate).

The show turned out to be AMAZING!  I had an absolute blast.  The music, the dancers, the fact that it was free, what more could a girl ask for?!  We were joking and having fun, things seemed great.

SPOILER ALERT:  they weren’t, apparently.

Bang

After the show wrapped up, he asked so how are you getting home?

I was baffled.  Home?  It was only 11:00pm, I had assumed we’d go get some food or at least hang out and do something.  I mean shit son, I was in full hair and makeup, I’d even worn a brand new dress with uncomfortable shoes!  I said the bit about food and hanging out.  He said he wasn’t hungry and that maybe we could meet for lunch or something tomorrow.

Was he fucking serious?!?!  He expected me to wake up and do my hair and makeup for a lunch date with a dude sending me packing on a Friday night???  This dude was nuts.

I tried to convey this sentiment nicely.  I tried to convey that I thought we were friends.  After all, he’d just spent the evening telling me how awesome I was, how much more awesome it was to have a girl to hang out with and write jokes with than to have a pretty girl to just fuck, how much of a lousy lay he was to begin with…blah blah blah

(sidebar:  If I let you take a joke I wrote and then you treat me like shit, you have to take it out of your act, those are the rules)

His response:  I have enough friends

Interspersed in this dialogue was some bullshit about him being a gentleman and wanting to put me in a cab rather than have me take the bus home (which had been my original plan).  I declined and declined and declined.  However, after he said the thing about having enough friends I thought well fuck him and took the $20 he was handing me (I am a broke grad student after all, I can’t even see the poverty line let alone live above it).

Plus, I figured, as I walked for 6-10 blocks fueled by pure rage and disappointment, I would just take the bus anyway and that $20 would reimburse me for the cab I had taken earlier because I couldn’t fathom being late to his show.  I mean…

FUCK HIM

FUCK HIM

FUCK HIM

FUCK HIM

FUCK HIM

FUUUUUCCCCKKK HIM.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the end of the week of shitty things.  Almost as soon as I got on the bus (a packed bus no less, given that it was 11:30 on a Friday night), a group of fine young gentlemen proceeded to talk loudly (though mostly in French) about how fat I was and whether or not all black guys or just some black guys dig that.  The discussion included hand and arm gestures.

And before anyone gets all well don’t listen to them and they’re idiots etc.  I know this.  This conversation didn’t ffect how I feel about myself or my body (I’m lovely).  It did, however, make me feel very uncomfortable and admittedly a bit unsafe.  You see, I’m rarely scared of being raped or murdered, however, it is a very real fear that a teenage boy might spit on me or something.  Also, it made me sad because while I’m able to block out this kind of despicable behavior, I know that there will be other girls, who will experience this, younger girls, more fragile girls, girls who don’t yet know that they are entirely enough and absolutely beautiful, and for those girls I felt the hurt a bit more.  Not wanting to give these boys the attention they misguidedly and desperately sought, I put in my ear buds and pretended as if the conversation didn’t exist.

And thus ended my week.  Undateable.  Isolated and alone in a writing program that fits like a wet wool bodysuit.  Having lost all faith in the ability of men to not be the fucking worst (hyperbole, I know, some of you are fucking wonderful, even if I’m currently having a difficult time remembering this).  Spiraling into sadness.  Blargh.

So to sum up…Dumped Crash!…Writing trashed Boom!…all faith in the male species dashed Bang!  Sorry for the downer post.  Let the disappointment really sink in tho.

 

 

 

A New “Something”: Skinny Jeans

Dating Nosedive

 

The older I get, the less birthdays actually seem to matter.  That’s why, this year, when the opportunity to go on a first date fell squarely on my birthday, I didn’t really see it as a big deal.  It just seemed like another day in an already busy calendar, and after all, the time was finally right.  I had managed to find my way through a hard year of getting my bearings in grad school (read: I didn’t go on a single first date since France and The Comic), I had finally transferred over to the creative stream and excepting an academic conference in October, I was basically done with academia and ready to focus on the Creative Writing side of my degree (read: I was happy, I was less busy, life was ripe for the picking)

*cue raucous applause and several minutes of elated sighing*

Needless to say, your girl was ready to have some fun.  So when Skinny Jeans asked me out, I accepted.  Plus, I was planning to have my party the next night anyway so it wasn’t like I was some lonely singleton just trying not to spend my day of birth alone, I had a busy schedule of fun (and work) things, and Thursday night was just when I could fit him in.

He had messaged me on POF, nothing too thrilling, but he seemed normal.  He was pretty good looking: 5’10, black, English Speaking (a thing I’ve really come to find necessary with my ever failing ability to speak French), and he seemed cool enough.  We added each other on Facebook and everything was a go.  He lives in a sort-of-suburb of montreal and since he’s from here we figured it would be easiest if he came to my pace (don’t freak out, not my apartment, just picked me up downstairs, it’s a very busy place, no chance of being murdered etc.).

Thursday rolled around, he texted that he was here, and I went down to meet him.  I was already a ball of nerves for two reasons:

  1. I hadn’t gone on a date in over a year
  2. I hate first dates.  Well, not the whole date.  Once I meet the guy and he’s normal and we get along things are awesome, great, wonderful.  But the few hours before we meet, I’m near vomitting at all times.  I just hate it.  I don’t even totally know what I’m afraid of, but needless to say, I’m not calm and relaxed.

We greeted with a hug, and though I wasn’t super jazzed about his fitted pants, I was pleased.  He, however, may not have been.  He didn’t smile a whole lot in the beginning, though I’ve also met guys who didn’t smile a lot at first and then we’re all over it later so who knows, I’m probably too sensitive about the smiling.  But then again, this is my blog, and I’m trying to make dating better for everyone, so really what I’m saying is Boys, more smiling, smile right from the beginning, big warm welcoming smiles.  I get that you’re nervous but she is too and nothing quite says, I’m so pleased because you look exactly like you’re dating profile photos like a sunshine smile.  

We walked and talked for a few blocks until we came to a coffee shop.  We went inside, and that’s when things got awkward.  Well, for me.  He wanted to get something to eat and there was a really long counter so I kind of ended up ordering my own coffee and then paying for it.  And what I mean by awkward is really that internally I began a conversation whereby I attempted to defend the action of not paying but honestly…honestly…honestly?  We all know I’m not a fan.  But even more than not paying as a literal thing bothers me, it’s also what it says about him as a person, and most important of all, I think it says a lot about what he thinks of me (which if we’re being real here is that he doesn’t think spending time with me is worth $4.00).

But, not one to jump to conclusions (er…uh…at least not mid-date), I made the best of things and sat down for a chat.  We ended up talking for 2.5 hours, until the coffee shop was closing down.  I admit, I was a tad confused, this chatty behavior seeming very contradictory to the paying of coffee, and thus started to think maybe he had his own reasons for not paying and that maybe I should let it go.

We had been talking about a local pool place and suggested that maybe we could move on to there, at first he said yes but then followed it up quickly with oh, I can’t, I have to go set up for a video shoot tomorrow.  It made sense, after all, when we’d originally booked the date he’d asked for earlier rather than later.  But still.  But still.  I’m not a fan of being double booked on.  I get that there was a huge possibility that I could’ve been a dud, but still.

Nonetheless, he walked me home from the coffeeshop and then proceeded to chat with me for another 45 minutes outside of my apartment building.

Was he waiting for an invite up?

Was he just having a good time?

At some point I could tell what was happening.  I could feel it in the air.  I could see it in the way he was standing.  He was working out to a goodnight kiss and I guess all that chatter was a good way to fill the time.  Eventually he worked up to it and planted a big kiss on me.  It was nice.  I probably pulled away too soon but there were so many people around (it being a high traffic area) and I’m not a fan of PDA with new boys, with a boyfriend sure, but first kisses should happen in dark sexy places, not orange lit doorways with people coming and going.

Eventually we said goodbye.  And *spoiled alert* I won’t make you wait on this one for a second blog post, because it really was goodbye.  We texted back and forth a few times, but after a few messages it became clear he wasn’t interested.  He was a confident, aggressive fella and not asking for a second date was indication enough, if not the fact that his responses to texts were often only a few phrases.

Do I know what happened?  Nope.  Maybe he didn’t like how I looked or thought I was dull.

But why did he kiss me?  Honestly, no idea.  I don’t really understand sexual activity with someone you’re not at least interested in seeing again (not to be confused with drunk goggles etc. because we were both stone cold sober).  And it seems unlikely that the kissing wasn’t good or something because he went out of his way to mention that I was a good kisser.

Did something happen between the date and now?  Again, no idea.  Like I’ve said before, as much as I absolutely fucking hate not having any answers to dating questions, sometimes they just never come.  And you just have to be okay with that.  So I am.  This is me, being okay with it.  But then again, it might have something to do with the fact that a week later, I already had another first date booked 😉

**********

One final note about Skinny Jeans before I move on, because we all know I LOVE a teachable moment.  I know that guys are often worried about being an asshole when it comes to rejection and so I feel the need to point out how Skinny Jeans was, in fact, an asshole, and how he could’ve easily avoided it with little to no effort.

The key to rejecting a girl, besides all the obvious advice I’ve given before is clarity.  Don’t push and pull.  Don’t give and take.  Just reject.  Pick one line of attack and follow through.  With Skinny Jeans, the texting was…sporadic.  He responded on and off.  And when he responded, it was enthusiastic and then it wasn’t.  But not in a tapered off way, the attention was misleading.  What he should’ve done, assuming he wasn’t comfortable with just saying hey look, thanks for meeting me and stuff but I’m not interested so all the best, was to ignore all messages.  Just stop responding.  Girls aren’t idiots, we get the message.  When it becomes clear is when he responds to some messages and then nada.  And then texts, so I respond, and then there’s texting and then nada.  And the fact that hadn’t unfriended me on facebook was weird too.  Now obviously I got the message, after all, like I said, I’m not an idiot, but he could’ve saved me several days of excitement, and then several more of confusion, followed by the eventual disappointment, if he’d just be more clear (or more silent).

And before you all get up in arms in his defense, let me say this…we are all assholes sometimes.  Doing something assholey doesn’t make you a monster, but that doesn’t mean we should pretend you aren’t a jerk for doing something that causes another person distress (AND COULD BE AVOIDED).  Learning is good.  Self-awareness is good.  So ya know, go out there and date up a storm, but try and be considerate of the time and feelings of others along the way.  That’s a cool thing to do too.

Online Dating: The Art of Writing the First Message

How to Write a Dating Profile

 

 

How to Write a Great First Message:

1.  Read her profile.  I mean honestly.  This should be the easiest thing in the world, but I can’t tell you how many people have written to me in French when it clearly states that I don’t speak French (apologetically) on my profile.  But seriously, I know this seems obvious and straightforward but I can’t express how important this is…even if by the end, you’re still only messaging because you think she’s a babe.  That’s fine.  If you’re not reading it for you, you’re still reading it for her.  And I know this seems tedious because you might message 10 chicks and only get 1 response back but it matters, and it’s probably what got the 1 chick.

2.  Mention something from her profile.  Did she mention she loves Bon Jovi?  That she’s not from here?  A love of Medieval Fight Club?  A Favorite TV show?  An expectation she has about dating?  Her favorite word?  It doesn’t really matter what it is.  But mention it.  The best possible scenario is if you can say something about it like “I’ve been rocking out to Bon Jovi since my dad gave me my first tape of them when I was 8 [true story btw]” and then ask a question like “what’s your fave song?”,  “who do you think would win in a fight JBJ or Sambora?” or “Have you ever seen them live?”  By stating and then asking, you’re showing her a bit about yourself (and how you two have something in common) and asking her a question, thus giving her an easy way to respond back to you (and taking all the pressure off).

3.  Ask her something.  Assuming you weren’t able to parlay whatever you mentioned about her profile into a question, now’s the time to ask her something.  Keep it light.  Keep it easy to answer.  I know people tend to shy away from “Get up to anything fun this weekend” but if you really can’t think of a single thing else to ask and her profile gives you no clues, go with something safe like that.  At least that way if she deems you cute it gives her something to respond back to with ease.

4.  Proofread.  I know you’re thinking…well I wouldn’t date a girl who’s so judgmental about a couple typos but while you say typos she sees idiot.  Nothing makes you look stupider than simple spelling errors and not knowing the difference between your and you’re.  You don’t need to split atoms, but try not to split infinitives either.  After all, you wouldn’t show up to a first date in your pajamas, so try not to look like you’re asleep in your first message.

5.  Make a good subject heading.  Assuming you’ve done steps 1-4 this should be a breeze.  Using the example of Bon Jovi from earlier the title could be anything like “Bon Jovi” or “80s Rock” or “Similar Music Tastes” or even something unrelated to your message but from her profile.  The key is really just to have something other than everybody else’s Hi, Hey, Hello without shooting too far and hitting her with Hot Tits or something equally stupid.  So now that you know how to make it work, let’s have a look at a few things you’ll want to be weary of.

 

 

Things to avoid:

1. Compliments.  Do not use compliments that are body related in any sense.  For the love of god don’t say curvy, sexy, hot, tits, ass, hips, legs, or anything in this realm.  If you’re a risk taker you can compliment her hair which goes over amazing about 50% of the time…but has also been known to completely bomb.  Your call.  Eyes and smile (not mouth or lips) are okay and if you really feel compelled you can use words like beautiful or stunning (which I get all the time, and I guess it goes over well, at the very least it doesn’t work against).  But the truth is, girls assume if you’re contacting her you think she’s attractive so it’s best to stick to compliments about something they said in their profile (or what you gathered about their personality ie. smart, funny, etc.)  BUT BE WARNED NEVER compliment a girl on something you can’t back up from her profile.  (see #2)

2.  New girl, new message.  Don’t use the same message over and over again.  The truth is, girls are smarter than you’re giving us credit for.  And we can spot a re-usable message a mile away.  And even if we would’ve given you a chance, we likely won’t now since your lazy message tells us you think we aren’t worth it.  And thus, you’re done.  The same thing goes for saying anything that demonstrates you didn’t do step 1 above.  Don’t talk about how she seems super fun and upbeat if all her pictures are posed and straightfaced and her profile is laced with emo references and Twilight slang, etc.

3. Keep it short, keep it simple, do not go over the top.  This is so so so vital.  I don’t know what romantic comedies lead you boys astray but come on.  No chick wants to hear that you love her in a first message.  That’s not endearing, that’s fucking insane.  And the same goes for anything mushy, poetic, artsy, creative (unless funny) or that shows you wearing your delusional heart on your sleeve.  Try to remember, you don’t even know this chick.  So settle down, send a calm message, and hope for the best.

4.  Do not focus on yourself.  While it’s okay to mention a quality/characterisitc/hobby/skill/interest/etc. of yours, do not give her a list of your latest accomplishments, a copy of your CV and the entire menu of your last night’s meal.  She doesn’t give a shit, I promise you!  The truth is, the first message is more about expressing your calm relaxed, attentive but not overly eager, totally normal interest in her.

5.  Do not say anything sexual.  period.  Seriously dudes, fucking stop this.

And that’s all she wrote guys.  Now go forth and prosper.  Take what I’ve said here and put it into action.  She’ll thank you for it, trust me.

 

Online Dating: Hot Tits and Other Boob Mistakes

Boobs

 

The messages.  They flood in.  Like poetry.  Heart crushing.  Mind-numbing.  Pure drivel.

One giddy gentleman informs me

oo my god i like it big boobs i want to watch your boobs a day why not

 

Another lusty lad lets me know

amazing big lovely great boooooooooooooooooooobs i love them badly.

 

Then it’s Milk Man Mike talking dairy to me

wow waking up to see your jugs in the morning amazing

 

And let’s not forget the chap who chooses to see me for my character

with your cleavage and pretty face you are sooooooooo amazing!!!!

 

And don’t even get me started on the numerous Hot Tits and the one guy who simply messaged with

Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooobs

And I shit you not…the o’s took up two whole lines.

 

And the thing of the thing is.  I just don’t fucking get it.  What is the goal here?

 

Are they trying to flirt with me?

Is this a form of internet tourettes?

Are they drunk and cruising the net?

Is this a test?

 

Dear Boys,

Wrong.  You’re wrong.  You’re just fucking doing it wrong.  No girl ever, LIKE EVER reads this type of useless message and thinks fuck yeah, I want this dude.  No seriously.  NEVER.  And the thing is I kind of think you already know this.  Which makes me wonder what the fuck you’re doing?  Unfortunately none of the scenarios I can come up with in my head make you come off well.  They all sort of just end with…boys…are fucking idiots.  And so far that’s all anybody has offered when I ask them this question that plagues me so.

 

They’re idiots.

 

Boys are stupid.

 

Guys are lazy.

 

They’re just bored.

 

Only.  urgh.  um.  is this excuse actually good enough for anyone?  We’re part of a species that turned wind into energy and walked on the moon.  We write poetry and cure diseases.  We found a way to put planes in the sky and read entire books on our phones.  And you’re telling me I’m just supposed to accept it as a fact that the average guy doesn’t know that contacting a woman stranger to tell her of the positive impression her tits make upon him is neither an uplifting compliment nor a means to his probable sexual/ emotional/ companionship end?  I won’t accept this.  And neither should you.

And I’m fairly certain that the majority of these boys are not sitting home alone every moment of the day.  I know them.  You know them.  Hell some of them are probably even your friends (though I’m looking at you here, fellas, because I’m pretty sure dudes who say shit like this aren’t big with the ‘female crowd’).  So here’s what I think.  You should expect more from your friends.  You should expect more from people in general.

 

Think it through.

 

Put some thought into it.

 

Take a moment and work it out.

 

These should be the slogans of our generation.  We’re an intelligent fucking people, you know.  And I think it’s high time we all expected more from our societies.  So fellas, tell your friends and ladies, the next time a guy messages you with bullshit like this, respond with a link to this post (or another from the blog depending on his particular offense) because that’s what I’m going to do.  From now on, every boy who contacts me with messages like this will be getting a response back.  One that calmly and kindly explains just precisely why his approach is so so wrong.

The Rules According to SSDated: What Is My Online Dating Body Type?

Body Types

Something She Said

Stories about sex and dating, screenshots of sexist online dating messages, murder jokes, elaborately long fruit puns–you never quite know what you’re going to get.

 

While guys seem to misrepresent height the most on dating profiles, the ladies seem to most often misrepresent body type (or at least that’s what the boys tell me).  Now on the one hand maybe they’re doing it on purpose (like the dudes about height) but I have hope that a great deal of the misrepresentation is because they just simply don’t know how to categorize themselves.

Side bar:  Save all the bullshit about we shouldn’t be categorized and I’m more than just my body and blah blah blah.  Yes.  I know.  These things are obvious.  But writers are more than just their name.  And clothes are more than just their size.  But at some point the library and the sale clerk have to fucking pick a location or the world would be chaos.  So sit down.  Pay attention.  And find your category.  At least for the moment.

So here’s the thing of the thing.  Or more exactly.  Here’s the reason I think a great deal of misrepresentation is accidental and confusion and not machination a plot to fool dudes.  I myself put Big & Tall/BBW.  But here’s the weird thing.  I’ve had more than one guy message me with something akin to You’re not a BBW, you’re just “a little extra”.  I, of course, disagree.  But that being said, I have more than one full body photo up so it was interesting to see this new perspective.  Not to mention the can of worms that is the very notion that this dude was…uh…flirting…I guess.  But that’s another topic.  And if it had happened only once I wouldn’t have given it a second thought.  But then it happened again.  And again.  Bizarro.  But worth noting.

And then another thing happened that made me question our ability to accureately determine either what terms mean or what were are within those terms.  I was at a party awhile back.  Talking about dating.  Which I always do.  At parties.  And my friend told me that her body type selection listed her as average.  My jaw dropped to the floor.

*Warning:  Purely Anecdotal Claims To Follow*

As far as I knew, the average size of women in North America is something like a size 14/16.  That being said (sorry my beloved Americans) but I would guess that if you narrow that down to just Canada it’s probably closer to size 12.  And then to be honest, if you narrow that down for probably one of the fittest cities in Canada (people here climb mountains before work…for fun…I mean what the fuck right.  Grouse Grind.  Pssshhh.  Fucking disgusting admirable.), Vancouver…that probably drops to a 10.  At best guess I would’ve said my friend was a size 2? maybe 4?  To be honest I’m not the best person to guess being that I haven’t worn a non-plus size since I was 16 and wearing XL at the gap but I’m just saying.  Either way there’s not a chance in hell that she’d qualify for average.

Side bar:  To be clear average is awesome.  So is thin.  So is chubby.  So is whatever.  Boys like all shapes and sizes.  And even if they didn’t.  Women come in all shapes and sizes.  And we became amazing the day we were born.  Finding the right category isn’t about judgement.  It’s about categorization.  It’s really that simple.

So like I was saying.  She was not average.  Not to mention she’s tallish like me…5’7ish.  She would definitely fit in the thin category.  And now to why girls don’t know how to categorize themselves because the designation definitions are so unclear.  She didn’t put thin because to her thin meant thin and super athletic or something akin to unhealthy supermodels.  Her logic was that *while pinching some skin on her belly* she had this *attempting to show me something she construed as fat around her middle*.

I was flabbergasted.  Uh…that’s just skin I said.  And then I went on to explain that while perhaps her doctor might have his own definitions based on BMI and heart health and stress tests…that’s not what body type means for a dating website.  As shallow as it sounds, body type is about one’s body…the outer exterior of it.  If you want to give your cholesterol stats and talk about your fitness regime…well…that’s what the about me section is for.  Body type was simple.  Should be simple.  Why couldn’t it just be simple!

And that’s where I come in.  To make it simple.  And to use context.  Because that’s what the world of dating needs.  A little bit of simple context.

 

(OkC) – OKCupid

(POF) – Plenty of Fish

 

Athletic (OkC)(POF),  You know who has an athletic body type…Athletes…athletic body type is about muscle…and whether or not you have it.  Sure, I play fastpitch softball in the summer, workout at the gym and play badminton (the good workout kind, not that wimpy shit for the no-skilled) but regardless, I do not have an athetlic body.  Or maybe I do, but it’s hidden under the rest of my body.  Either way I have a brain.  That tells me that in the context of dating and sex.  I do NOT have the body of an athlete.  So while not having toned muscles and 6 pack abs doesn’t change anything about your value as a person, it does kick you out of this category.

 

Body Builder  You’re probably thinking…Isn’t this the same as athlete?  And the answer is no.  It’s kind of like assuming a small popcorn is the same as the jumbo size.  And yes I think it’s clear that my food analogy discounts me from this category.  Yes a body builder is athletic but a body builder is clearly a special kind of athlete.  And to be honest, I can’t imagine anyone getting this category wrong.  Because the thing of the thing is.  If you’re a body builder, you fucking no it.  You’re likely chowing down protein shakes and spending every day at the gym.  But just a word of caution.   This is a body designation not a declaration of intent.  So if you’re only on your 4th shake in week 1, you are NOT a body builder.  The same way some dude taking science classes at University can call himself PreMed but isn’t in fact a doctor.  If you’re not ready to enter a competition, you are NOT a body builder.

 

Average  (OkC)(POF)  Now this seems to be the trickiest.  And unfortunately, unlike all the other body type designations will depend a bit on which site you’re using.  See if it was up to me there would be 2 averages.  Average and Average & Fit.  See the thing of the thing is, you can be a size 12 eating poutine with shots of vodka, heading outside for a quick smoke and then spending every afternoon napping (no judgment 😉 or you can be a size 12 doing yoga, playing soccer, eating lean proteins and lots of fruits and veggies, and a sober non-smoker.  Now of course there’s the possibility that Average & Fit should actually be in the Athlete designation but there is a big difference between being a normal person who works out and eats healthy and someone who maintains an athletes body of ripped muscle.

That being said…in a world in which there aren’t two designations of average.  What’s a person to pick???  And that’s where context comes in.  You’re going to have to look at the other options because they matter.  But before I get into how to decide let’s look at the other options.

 

Curvy  (OkC)  Now I know some people will disagree with me.  But in a world that has designations like Plus Sized, BBW, Full Figured, etc.  Curvy really shouldn’t be used as a fall back term.  While certainly, using a purely structuralist approach, Curvy could be used to describe anybody who wasn’t straight lined square shaped…let’s get real.  The point is to make these categories smaller and more precise, not be an irritating antagonist.  So seriously though.  Curvy is like Marilyn Monroe.  Or Beyonce.  Kim Kardashian.  Or these chicks.  Curvy means a decent difference in boob to waist to ass ratio (waist being smaller of the 3).

 

Plus SizedFull Figured (OkC), Big & Tall/ BBW (POF)  Now to be honest.  I find plus sized pretty simple.  Because it’s an actual thing.  Plus size.  It means anything size 16+.  Now to be fair some people might assume anything size 14+ and some might not think of it till 18+ but the truth is…now you’re just splitting hairs.  And sure some girls that are curvy may be plus sized and some that are plus sized may be curvy.  And that’s where it gets tricky.  The best way is always context.  You have to think about who this body designation matters to.  This isn’t a job interview.  Or a health show questionairre.  This isn’t a shopping guide and nobody is trying to buy you a sweater.  You’re answering this for boys.  Men.  Dudes.  And while you can take issue with that all you want, this is a dating website (and under the exception you’re a gay female) the only person who cares about this is going to be a dude so you might as well answer it how he would think of it.  So Plus Sized is what it is.  If you wear a size 14 or more, you are Plus Sized.  Simple.

 

Slim, Thin (POF)(OkC), Skinny (OkC)  This designation is actually incredibly similar to the way one figures out Plus Sized.  It’s about body shape/size.  There is no considering as to health or diet.  That isn’t what is being asked here.  Slim means thin means slim means thin.  It’s very simple.  It’s not about body fat.  It’s about actual size.  So if you have small/slim bones.  And the rest of your body reflects this.  You’re slim.  thin.  etc.  Simple.

 

Stocky  I don’t really know any girls who would ever answer this because well…it sounds kind of mannish.  So maybe it’s a category more specifically for the dudes.  Stocky is essentially boxy or thick.  Someone who is solid but doesn’t necessarily fall into either the A Little Extra or body builder categories.

 

Categories that should be eliminated.  The truth is some shit just sounds bad.  And while it’s one thing to be honest, it’s a whole other story to try and sell a car by giving it only a 50% crash survival rate, if you know what I’m saying.  Nobody is going to answer Overweight (OkC) also because again it’s too open.  Overwhichweight.  And while OkCupid and POF have slightly better options offered as A little extra (OkC), A Few Extra Pounds (POF), I think that my idea of 2 different types of averages could both eliminate these “undesirables” and make it more clear just exactly what type of bodies people have.  Additionally, if you already have Athletic, having Fit (OkC) is just fucking stupid and confusing.  Nuff said.  Additionally, is Jacked (OkC) supposed to mean something like Stacked ?!?! Which could either be a reference to big tits, a comment on body building, or implying an UP at the end thus making sure no one would pick it anyway…who wants to be looking jacked up?  Which is kind of like Used Up (OkC) also super stupid.  And finally, if these sites, and the people who use them listen to me and my wisdom (because as Joey says on Friends…I am wisdomous), the final categories of Rather Not Say (OkC), Prefer Not To Say (POF) will never need to be used.

 

The Rules According to SSDated

 

A Dating Rulebook

[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he sheer brilliance of it.  In theory,  I mean, can you imagine?  If there was a Rule Book for romance.?  A manual of mating.  A chart of courtship.  A pamphlet for partnering.  A fucking Dictionary to Dating.

Can you imagine the time you would save.  Instead of trying to decipher the difference between casual sex and hanging out or what each of those fucking body type selections actually mean, you could be out doing things??  I bet you would have enough time to cure cancer.  Or at least raise a couple bucks towards the cause.  Maybe sign up for a walk or two.  Grow a ‘stache.  Either way.  You’d have some time on your hands, I swear.  Especially you ladies.  Because while I can’t speak for men.  I know us chicks waste a gallon of time swimming around in the unclear waters of dating.  And those muggy waters are a serious pain in my ass.  Seriously.  And it’s not the spending of time that bothers me.  It the unecessariness of it all that drives me batshit crazy.  Bat.  Shit.  Crazy.

And thus, I bring you THE RULES.  That’s right.  I’m taking it on.  The task of clarifying dating.  er.  well.  Online Dating.  I’m not a wizard after all.  Kidding.  I’m totally a wizard!  But nonetheless I still can’t take on everything related to dating in one fell swoop.  So we’re going to start with online dating and go from there.

And you may have noticed in the title…that SSDated substitutes for the word RIGHT.  And though there’s always room for new knowledge, ways of thinking and general improvement; I think we can safely assume if I didn’t think I was right about this stuff, I wouldn’t be writing it.  But that’s almost not even the most important part.  Because.  And here I’m about to get a little saussy* with it, being that I’m such a cunning linguist* (insert additional-super-nerdy-linguistics-philosophy-critical-theory-jokes here).  The thing of the thing is this:

 

A means A.       B means B.       A does not mean B. 

 

A = A           B = B          A ≠ B

It doesn’t matter what means so much as that we can recognize it as different from B.  And dating terminology and discussion is like that.  It’s not that it intrinsically matters what hanging out means so much as that we can differentiate it from anything else.

So assuming I haven’t lost you with my nerdy approach.  Stay tuned for a series of posts where we can finally get to the bottom of what everything means.  And from there we can build our Utopian dating site world.  Okay.  So that might not actually happen.  But.  But?!?!  Maybe we’ll start a something.  Perhaps become the Wikipedia of wooing.  The Urban Dictionary of unsuccessful dating.  er.  wait.  that one doesn’t quite work.  But either way.  You get the idea.  In 200 years, they’ll talk about me.  SSDated.  The Samuel Johnson** of Sexy Jokes.  The Jimmy Wales*** of jutting…er…okay I’m all out of awesome alliteration.

 

The Rules:  More coming Soon

The Rules According to SSDated:  What is My Online Dating Body Type?

The Rules According to SSDated:

 

*Ferdinand de Saussure, French Linguist

**Samuel Johnson wrote the first dictionary, in English

***Jimmy Wales created Wikipedia, according to Wikipedia

The Comic: Kissing on the Docks in Old Port

Pearl Necklace

 

[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o, I had met a Montreal Comic, watched him host a show, and now we were at the docks in Old Port.

In all honesty, it was a pretty great idea for a first date-second location.  It was novel (he got to point out things because I’m new here, show me the river, there were boats – and who doesn’t love boats?!?).  It was private and one could argue romantic, but without being pressure-filled and presumptuous (like say, going to someone’s apartment might be).  And it was just kind of fun.

We walked along for awhile, hand-holding etc.  The first kiss came and went and it was pretty good (I’m starting to wonder about the science of race and kissing at this point given how few black men and how many white men suck at it).  I was wearing my magic dress (the one that makes my boobs look huge, my stomach look small, and my ass look great) and feeling good.  Things were going swimmingly.

The night wasn’t, however, without its flaws.  For example, he definitely got a bit too handsy out there on the docks.  I’m all for a secluded public makeout sesh at 2am when no one is really around but these DDs don’t make public appearances for anyone so it did kind of annoy me that he kept trying to get at ’em and even tried to put ’em on display.  Like, we’re on the docks here not out in the middle of the desert dude, people could come by.  Plus, he kept feeling all over my body, so I spent a lot of time petrified that he’d feel my spanx and it would be like that scene in Bridge Jones’ Diary.

After awhile, the night started to cool off quite a bit (my first respite from the 30+ humid heat of Montreal that had been constant since I’d moved there at the end of July) and so he took me home.  When we arrived at my apartment, I assumed that would be the end of our date.  A quick kiss goodbye and something about doing this again and I’d be off.  But, that’s not quite what happened.

Detour:  Do most men feel like only teenagers get pressured into doing things that they didn’t want to do?  Do most men think that it’s either black or white, you want to fuck immediately or not at all?  Because, I have to say I feel like that’s the case, and it’s just not true.

Because even me, this supposedly strong, bold, self-assured, take no prisoners, suffer no-bullshit no-nonsense, woman, gets pressured into shit from time to time and I’ll tell you how and why it happens.  It happens, because sexual activity can be a slippery slope.

In my experience, guys are almost always pushing for a bit more, for things to go a bit faster, and AS FUCKING IRRITATING AS IT IS THAT I HAVE TO HOLD  THE REINS AND GUIDE THE PACE, that’s usually how it happens.  It’s generally the girl trying to slow things down.  But, this isn’t to say she doesn’t want the same things to happen (as I often do), it’s that she needs more time, more connection, more whatever.  And it is this reason that she doesn’t just jump up and say fuck you and bolt.  Because she wants things to progress, just at a different speed, and so she doesn’t want to spazz out on the guy, but he keeps pushing and pushing for just a little bit more.  And he doesn’t do it in a scary way (usually), it’s mostly done in an annoying way, so that by the time I’m “making eighth grade love to him” (read: giving him a handy in the front seat of his – what I now think is his parents’ – car outside of my apartment, and letting him give me a somewhat sloppy pearl necklace, I’ve started to lose all that passion I had when we first started making out on the docks.  Suddenly, I’m thinking about how I’m almost 31 and just got pressured into giving a handjob I would’ve rather saved for our second date and cleaning his jizz off my collar bone (and silently laughing that he also got it on his mom’s upholstery).  Suddenly, I’m not so into this comic who seemed nice and fun and though he’s managing to smooth this over a bit by praising my digital skill set, I’m still mostly focused on the fact that I feel a bit icky for having been pressured at all and I’m feeling a bit sad because now I’m thinking about other girls who have really been pressured and even forced to do all kinds of things they didn’t want to do by shitty guys and how I’ll get over this but will they be able to get over the horrible things that happen to them and now I’m thinking about how I can help those women hurt by those shitty men instead of being hot and bothered for this weak guy who – and maybe it was just the way the street lighting bounced off the dashboard or the way the shadows fell but I’m pretty sure this guy – has the most terrifying O face I’ve ever seen.

So yeah.  That’s how our date ended.  A handjob in a shitty car on a brand new street under the lamps and the possibility someone might see you cum.  The lights of Montreal a little dimmer in my eyes.

A New “Something”: Dating a Montreal Comic

 

[dropcap]I[/dropcap] started this new website because I wanted to branch out from blogging solely about sex and dating because I have some bullshit ego that actually thinks I might have some important things to say that involve more than how I like to get fucked and the idiots who never get the chance to use this information and I needed a new place to do that.  But, that doesn’t mean I don’t still want to write about sex and dating, because I definitely do.  The problem is that it turns out it’s a bit hard (pun always intended) to get back in the fucking…swing of things.

Turns out, if you take a year off and rarely date, that you get a bit out of touch with sharing certain vulnerable bits about yourself.  Especially, when SPOILER ALERT: that shit is embarrassing

But enough of my insecurities and awkwardness – because I’m here right – so, obviously, I’m still planning to write and share and do this thing and mostly just hope you don’t find me tedious and boring.  And with that, let’s get to it…

 

The Comic

It was late August, and I had been living in Montreal for a few weeks.  The first week sucked as I tried to find an apartment.  The second week was so so as I tried to fill my new tiny apartment with furniture without having a car, family or friends to help transport.  And the third week was – well – you can read about it HERE from the very beginning.  Needless to say, things in Montreal seemed to really be working out.

So, the comic.  I’m not sure how we found each other.  (that’s a total lie, I’m basically the KGB and reverse engineered our meeting like a fucking pro – long story short, I saw his profile in tiny form on an acquaintances Facebook page, saw that he was a comic HURRAH! and that he lived in Montreal HURRAH! (A LOCAL MONTREAL COMIC!!) and then I looked for him on Twitter and there he was HURRAH!  The logic was that following someone on Twitter = normal, adding a stranger on Facebook = weird, and we all know I like to keep my weird to myself…well…and you guys).

Almost as soon as I followed him he started talking to me.  Nothing epic, just ya know hey, how’s it going, so I see you followed me on Twitter, etc.

Disclaimer:  I waited a year to write this so while some things are imprinted on my memory like hot iron to an ass cheek, other details are a little fuzzier, so conversations may be a little weaker than normal due to recollection limitations (ie. I’m getting old and forgetty).

We DMed for a bit.  Then somehow the talk switched to Facebook and him wanting to know what I looked like (I was still anonymous back then).  I did my usual spiel of so um I’m fat but sure if you want to see and we added each other to Facebook.  He came back with something along the lines of 

You look like you’re someone that would be great to cuddle with

I took this, of course, to mean that you look huge and cuddly and like someone I’d want to watch a non-sexual movie with and then braid each other’s hair.

Apparently though, that’s not what he meant.  While I think of cuddling as sweetness and comfort, to some people it’s more like foreplay, the thing that leads to sex and thus, very much, has sexual connotations.  Who the fuck knew?!?

We messaged back and forth for awhile (just because I thought he wanted to be buddies wasn’t a reason to stop chatting.  This was a new city, where I knew no one, I certainly wasn’t in the position to be tossing potential friends to the wayside, particularly friends in the “making people laugh” business – what are you, nuts?!?!).

And then, he invited me to a show.

It was kind of last minute and I already had plans to workout (I had already lost nearly 20lbs. since moving to Montreal), so I told him I’d be there but I’d probably be a bit late.

*skip to a couple hours later*

I show up to the address, walk in the building and find a practically empty bar.  Luckily the bartender is paying attention and motions me upstairs for the comedy club (Comedy Works).  I can hear laughter coming from inside and do my very best to open the door as silently as possible.  Once inside, I look around, and the place is fucking packed to the gills (bearing in mind it’s a small place, it’s dark as fuck, and I’m all nervous and awkward), so I just kind of stand in the back, plus I don’t really want to draw attention to myself by scrounging around for a seat when someone is performing onstage.

And then I see it, it’s him, the comic I’ve come to meet.

His act is pretty funny, a tad feminine for my taste but regardless, up there under the lights commanding the show he looks pretty good.  Out of the corner of my eye I spot one bar stool.  One singular tiny little bar stool, wedged between two grown men.  It appears to be the only seat in the room, and it’s calling out to me.

When the Comic (who I now realize is hosting the show) steps off the stage, I see this as my chance to dart across the room and snag this stool.  I quietly ask the two men if anyone is using the stool and could I steal it away from them.  Instead, though, one of the men jumps up to give me his seat (enchante).  

I accept, and sit down.  I assume he’s just being kind and that this will be the end of the exchange.  It is not, however.  He continues to talk to me, asks me questions.  Honestly, I don’t remember most of what was said, just that it was all harmlessly but definitely flirty.

The next comic goes up and the show goes on with the laughter caused from stage and the flirting caused by the man to my side.  Until, of course, the knight turns out to be the headliner and heads up to the stage.  Well ain’t that some shit!?!?

Around this time is when my comic, the one I had come to see, spotted me and came over for a chat.  I was expecting a new friend but lo and behold before I had enough time to bat my incredibly short eyelashes, his arm was sliding around my waist and hugs and a lot of close standing ensued.

It was around this time that the whole cuddling-misunderstanding started to dawn on me.

The next part of the night is a bit of a blur (and I’m doing my best not to make this story drag on forever – like you know I tend to do).  The show is over, he helps clean up the place, I make friends with other comics (so much so that later people think that I’ve come as a friend of one of them).  A little while later we all go downstairs to have a drink at the bar.  The comic informs me that his friend drove him (and that he lives in the ‘burbs) but if I wanted to stay and hang out he’d dash home and get his car and come right back).

At the time my thought process went like this…

Good…he obviously thought he might have to have an excuse to bail out and now doesn’t want one

Bad…how broke is he that he can’t take a cab home one time because of a sexy lady?

Goodlook at me going out by myself (sort of) in Montreal…life is fun…be a good spirit…smile…weee!!!

Bad…show some fucking forethought man. damn. bring your own car and don’t make excuses if I was lame.

Good…he invited me out, he made me laugh, his friends are lovely and think I’m fucking lovely, hurray.

Bad…how long does it take to get to the ‘burbs and back

 

The good won in my head and I said sure.  After all, I was busy making friends with the other comics, a lovely and interesting girl and the headliner (who as it turns out is married and thus felt he could safely tell me that I’m absolutely beautiful and while I don’t trust his judgment, truth or not who doesn’t have a good night when someone goes out of their way to publicly announce you’re beauty? I mean that’s some ‘night-making’ shit right there.

Because of construction, it took the comic longer than he had hoped to get back to me but get back he did.  We stayed at the bar a bit longer and then headed to his car, in order to go to a second location.  And before anyone gets all ON THE FIRST DATE?!?! and IS THAT SAFE?!?!  I assure you, unless he had a gun, I could take him and thus my safety was never in peril.

We discussed going for food but I wasn’t really that interested in eating and he didn’t seem to have any especially great places jump to mind (which I honestly found a bit weird – isn’t Montreal supposed to have amazing food and be the Canadian city that never sleeps?!?!).  Eventually, he suggested we go to Old Port (vieux port) or Old Montreal (vieux Montreal) or more specifically to the part we went to…the docks.

 

To Be Continued…

Dear Boys, You’ll Never Get a Mile if You Lie About an Inch

Is it okay to lie on a dating profile?

Rules of Online Dating

Is it okay to lie in an online dating profile?

 

Online Dating…it’s a tricky bitch.  There are few very certainties that all people can agree on.

Some want to meet right away while others want weeks of messages and texting and phone calls before they’re ready for a public appearance.  And then there are others who fall somewhere in the middle.

Some think your profile should reveal all your specialties and idiosyncrasies (in order to find a good match) while others think your profile should acknowledge the bare minimum of information required (saving the rest to be discovered during the dating phase).

And the truth is in dating as in relationships, there’s a lot of wiggle room and everybody can make an argument for wanting something different. However, I think it’s safe to say that nobody, ever, is hoping to be duped.  In fact, deception might be one of the single most upsetting occurrences in dating.

Has deception ever been a revered quality in a person?  Does anyone sit at home, looking at online dating profiles, and think to themselves…I sure hope this guy, who I’ve been messaging with back and forth, turns out to be someone completely different…I mean it would be down right boring if I made an educated selection about the kind of physical appearance I find attractive and the kind of personality I feel I’d mesh well with…and the person that showed us was actually like that!!  La-Ame!

So you have to wonder.  Why do people do it??  Why do people lie in their dating profiles??  Or as I’m sure they’ve rationalized it… fudge the truth.  And it’s not a gender thing because both women and men do it.  Albeit misguided fools, but both men and women nonetheless.  I apologize if the use of the word fool seems too harsh for anybody’s delicate sensibility but the truth is, if you’re actively being dishonest in life…honestly…I generally fucking can’t stand you.  Like, think you make the world a worse place.  As in, wonder where your parents fucked up.  Wonder how you got to be so awful.  Wonder why you deserve any happiness at all in this life when you’re actively sucking joy from the world of others.

But.  Like the judgmental person that I am, who though quick to judge is also quick to feel empathy and change my mind, I also feel a sadness.  Like, where did your life go wrong that you feel you have to make up who you are.  As in, why do you feel so less than that you’re writing a fiction of who you want to become rather than living the life that is yours.  How did you get to the point where you didn’t feel that you were enough.  Just you.  Enough.  And that’s more the person I write this for.  That misguided fool.  Who needs a helping hand.  Even if they don’t know it yet.

So before I get further into the recesses of just exactly why lying in your dating profile is so absolutely fucking ridiculous and idiotic (I mean above and beyond the simple fact lying is bullshit)…I want to mention the lie that I’ve found to be the most prevalent in my adventures so far.

 

Liar, Liar, Shoes With Lifts On Fire

 

Men lie up.  The more experience I have with online dating and the more I talk about it with other people the more I learn how astoundingly prevalent lying about one’s height is for guys.  Apparently the norm is something like adding 2 inches if you’re under 5’10 (if you’re above 5’10 it seems you’re less likely to bother though I still hear of its occurrence and if you’re 6’0 and over apparently you’re all in the clear…for this).

Women lie down.  Now unfortunately this is just anecdotal for me.  I’ve yet to meet a girl who lied about her height, though I’ve had people tell me it happens…and the logic (using that term loosely) is there…if a short guy would lie up, a tall girl might lie down.  So it could very well be possible, who knows.

But here’s the thing of the thing.  Boys.  When you lie about your height, you’re causing numerous problems for yourself.  Height isn’t everything.  Even for someone like me…who has a huge complex about the guy being tall because I’m big and otherwise I feel like the due and then nobody wins…has been known to have it not be any kind of deterrent.  After all…some of the best sex I’ve ever had was with a dude who was 5’9 (and I’m 5’7 so that’s pretty close).  But when you lie.  When you pretend to be something you’re not?!?!  Well fuck.  That says a few things to me.  And none of them are good.  It says that you:

a.  Think I’m an idiot

b.  Think I’m easily duped.  (that sounds a bit like a. but I think the additional aspect worth mentioning is that you think I’m naive and can be taken advantage of…and also that you’re the kind of person who would try to take advantage of another)

c.  Think that I have such low standards as to date a blatantly dishonest person

d.  Think very poorly of yourself and nobody wants to date someone with low self-esteem

 

So what I don’t get is why guys do it.  Is it a bit of the Bird Seed Theory and that you’re essentially throwing so much bird seed that you figure even if you hit 6 birds who notice you lied that there will be 1 bird who never notices and thus you get away with murder…the murder of honesty?  Is that the goal?  *puts head down on desk and weeps for humanity* I mean holy shit.  That’s some vaguely pathetic slightly pathological shit.  Eeek.  Ick.  Uck.  Gross.

That being said…I’d love to hear from anybody who ever fudges the truth in their online dating profile.  Whether about height or something else.  I promise to offer a one-time experience of immunity from judgement (though you should know I’ll be pretending you’ve seen the error of your ways and from here on out will be presenting yourself honestly)…either that or make a good argument (and prepare for a rebuttal) about why you think dishonesty is okay.

 

Dating the World a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time