Review: Stir by Match.com - Part Deux

After the last Match.com Stir event, I had reservations about going back. Nothing about it was terrible, except for the fact that I saw my friend's girlfriend there and confronted her. On the bright side, I now had a newly single friend to bring along.

(Side note: These events are SO much more fun and easier when you bring a wingman along with you.)

My buddy and I made our way to another bar in the Grand Rapids area and entered the event and surveyed the landscape. Much like the last gathering, there was pretty much a 50/50 male/female split and it really covered all age ranges.

(A quick note about my buddy: he is in his early 40's and tall. Like 6'5" tall. As I would soon find out, his size brings out the aggressive nature in ladies.)

As we stood there with our beers and checked out the scene, we were approached by two ladies: Amanda, 34, blond hair, built like a butt plug (that's not a compliment) and Marie, 51, rail-thin, pathetic and REALLY likes tall guys. After 10 minutes of polite conversation, Marie turns to my buddy and offers "I bet I could climb you, mind if I try?" No one laughed. My buddy looks at me with confusion and then we all look at Marie, who is smiling. This chick was serious.

(Stir lesson: Know when to leave. If you aren't interested be polite and pull that goddamn ripcord.)

After a less than gracious departure from Buttplug & Marie (Worst morning radio show ever), we were soon corralled by a collection of five insurance agents. They were a pretty forgettable group (three of them were married, so that was....confusing) except for Sandy, who was short, stout, and aggressive. She fired questions at me like I was in a job interview: "Where do you work? What do you read? Do you travel?" Instead of allowing me to answer, she answered and then offered her take on her question. Example: "Do you watch TV? I think TV is for dumb people. Successful people looking to climb the C-Ladder do not watch TV." When I told her that I love TV she actually responded, "So you don't want to be successful?"

I will deal with a lot but I will not let anyone besmirch the good name of television.

(Stir lesson: Don't insult people. Just shut up and move on.)

At this point, I made the decision to literally turn my back on this chick, without knowing who or what was standing behind me. The who, as it turns out, was Kristen: cute, funny, friendly and knowledgeable about Detroit Tigers baseball. We started to talk and it just flowed; she asked me questions and seemed to care about the answers. What "it" is, she and I had it.

Meanwhile, Buddy was caught up in the circle of insurance agents, fighting for his life.

(Stir lesson: Again, don't be afraid to politely cut bait. Buddy learned this the hard way.)

My night drew to a close, I asked to see Kristen again and she said yes.
That was two weeks ago and we have hung out as much as possible. We find the same things funny, are both laid back, have drastically different tastes in music BUT...it is going really well.

So, for those considering a Match event, there are all kinds of people out there: tall, short, nice, aggressive, young, old, fat, skinny, and buttplugs. Ideally, there is one who will click.

But for the love of Baby Jesus, watch out for the climbers...

Review: Stir by Match.com

I'm a member of Match.com and lately these motherfuckers have been bombarding me with emails for their "events" to meet others known as "Stir". I decided that I needed something to do, meet some people and frankly, I needed something to write about...so I signed up to go.

The idea is this: Match rents out the room of a nice bar, fills it with single people, gets them hammered and calls it a success. Tonight I made my way into the nice bar to find a partially crowded section of people and surprisingly, it was not all dudes. (Fear #1: Sausage Fest! Sure there will be single people but it will be all weird dudes). Actually, as the night went on there were many single women. Or should I say, packs of single women (Yes, I get the irony of using "packs" and "single" in the same sentence).

I made my way to the bar and surveyed the scene: everyone had broken off into small groups and was chatting, so the "7th Grade Dance" theory I told Kat about was immediately out the window. But the first thing I noticed was the two people in wheelchairs. Ok, I'm seriously not a shitty person but it was funny because it was a man and a women, opposite sides of the bar and I distinctly heard some lady ask the guy "Are you guys here together?" I don't care, that is comedy at its finest. Outside of the two showboats, there was the normal collection of characters: drunk college chicks, drunk college dudes, the aforementioned pack of women who grilled every guy who dared talk to one of the pack, and everyone else who was drunk.

I made my way around the room and found it was easier just to go up and talk to women because I knew they were single. This sounds simple but it does something for your confidence knowing that person is available. And when it doesn't work out, you are oddly okay because you just start talking to someone else. The one anomaly of this event is that there is always someone else to talk to. Yeah, you are having a great time as is the person you're chatting with but you are both kind of looking around and wondering if there is someone else better suited for you. From what I could tell from the people I spoke with; there is a lot of talking and moving one but few connections. And if there are connections, the question becomes, "what do I do now?" because that person you've been talking to is watching you talk to another person.

This was all fine and fun until I run into someone I knew. Sure, we would all fear seeing a co-worker or relative but it ended up worse for me: I saw my friends girlfriend. I ended up meeting and talking to their group of friends and she made it clear that: a) she did not remember meeting me and b) that she felt she was single. It's worth noting that this event was 45 minutes away from where I live and where my friend lives. As we all chatted, she told me she was excited to be there and meet so many "new guys".

Fuck.

I stepped into the bathroom and texted my friend,
"How are things with your lady?" 
Him: "Good. Why?"
Me: "Fuck. I'm at a single event, she is here."
Him: "Tell her I said hi."

I emptied my bladder and contemplated my next move. I left the bathroom and found her again.

"Hey, I remembered where I know you from...I'm Joe. We've met..." And before I could finish my sentence, she remembered me.

She uttered a few expletives and then stammered "You aren't going to tell him, are you?"
I said nothing.
She said "I'm just here for moral support for my friends."
I said nothing.
She said "I told him I was in Grand Rapids, I just didn't say why..."
For once in my life, I got to have my movie moment when I said, "You're fucked."

I paid my tab and left.

Did I meet the love of my life? Nope.

And while I had to deliver difficult news to a friend, it was nice to remember that I was a good friend and maybe a decent person. All in all...a solid outing.

I hope the wheelchair people ended up fucking tonight...

The Art of the Setup

Sometimes you write things because you have something important to say. Other times, you write something because you feel it is informative or entertaining.

I have written before about some of the failed attempts that friends have made in setting me up with others. From the male perspective, these setups fall into one of three categories:

1) The Buddy Setup: 99.8% of the time this is about one of your friends wanting to hook you up with a chick that: either shot his weak game down or is the friend of a girl he is trying to fuck and knows that you can be an ass(et) to him getting some. These are great for most dudes because your brain works in a similar fashion to your buddies: you like to fuck and you really like women who like to drink and take their shirts off. Everyone wins. And in the event the Buddy Setup fails, you still win because your buddy understands why the setup happened in the first place...to get some sex for his friend.

2)The Couple Setup: Damn, this one happens a lot and actually happened to me tonight. I have this friend who I'll call DJ (because that's his real name, I'll sell you his address and Social Security number for $23). He sent me a text tonight asking if I was single and if I was interested in meeting his wife's sister. Listen, I have known DJ since middle school and love him dearly. We played high school football together and I have seen him naked more times than I can count. With that said, we don't talk a lot. We offer each other trades in fantasy football but we don't talk just to say hi, and we are both cool with this arrangement.

So did DJ suddenly start caring about my dating life? Shit no. But you know what he does care about? His wife fucking him this week. So when she asked him if he had single friends to date her sister, motherfucker started caring a whole lot. And I don't blame him, I would do the same. Sure, it could get sticky when it doesn't work out and it means any exit will have to be graceful, but DJ is my boy and I'll take one for his cock so he can get laid this week. This setup is appreciated but we all know what the real driving force is here.

3) The Crazy Setup: This happens with people who think they know you, but really don't. Or people who know you, but have extraordinarily shitty judgment. John's wife wanted to set me up with her co-worker, Amy. Other than the fact Amy had zero personality, was morbidly obese, and never made eye contact... it would have been perfect. Her rationale was, "Amy is single, Joe is single...it might work!" I love John's wife, Connee, she is a dear friend but this setup proves women are delusional. At no point did she consider my personality, likes or dislikes, or the fact we had nothing in common.

(Side story: Part of her thinking was that I'm athletic and so is Amy and she specifically cited the fact that Amy loved to skydive. Standing at the edge of a plane at 10,000 feet, leaning forward and letting gravity do the work doesn't make you athletic. Actually, it means you're lazy as shit. But I digress...)

Here is the thing: Connee meant well. She saw two single people and wanted to get them together. Her heart was in the right place, sadly it was nowhere near logic. These setups are always well-intentioned but poorly executed.

The lesson? Start including a line item for "escorts" into your monthly budget.

Scenes from a shitty Italian Restaurant

This one took the majority of my workday but I managed to remember a few memorable things said to me during a first date and/or one nightstand. Believe me, you'll be able to tell which is which. 

"Can you finish soon? I really need to smoke."
- See, Debbie liked to smoke. A LOT. As it turns out, she liked smoking more than she liked me.

"My mom is a serious cunt."
- Hey weirdo, I happen to like my mom. Again, this was 13 minutes into date number one.

"Well, I have enough credits for a degree which is exactly the same as having a degree."
-Umm, no, it isn't. And those pictures you posted were WILDLY misleading.

"We can go back to my place but we need to be really quiet because my kids are sleeping."
-Boner Killer 101. I have no issues with you having children but the fact that you're letting some drunk asshole (me) into your home to fuck while they are asleep is revolting. Pass.

"You'll need to pick me up for the date because I can't drive...umm, because of the seizures."
-That was three years ago. I'm still not sure how to respond. I did pick her up and we had an awful time. On the bright side, she didn't shake uncontrollably on the ground and shit her pants...which was nice.

"You and I can go see my church counselor and talk about how we can grow together."
-This was the FIRST FUCKING DATE. Creeped out doesn't even begin to describe what I was feeling.

"I would let you come in, and we would have fun, but I haven't shaved in a while."
-And here was my cogent, rational response, "Ummmmmmmmmmmm.............."

"Could you finish soon? I have an exam to take in 45 minutes."
-It was a community college. She failed the exam, blamed me, and we never spoke or humped again.

"We aren't divorced yet, but I'm sure we will file soon, so this isn't really cheating."
-I didn't. I really wanted to...I mean, really wanted to...but I did not.

AND FINALLY

"The last time I had sex? Two days ago, it was with a guy I met on Craigslist."
-Honestly, how the fuck do you respond to this? She had asked me that question first so I decided to be polite and return the favor. Big fucking mistake.

In closing...what the fuck?

Online dating tips: For the guys

Since I offered unsolicited advice to the ladies, I figured the fellas could use some equally useless dating advice:

-Don't plan a bunch of shit for the first date. When I first started dating after the divorce I would plan nice dinners and multiple activities, only to realize I was spending ass loads of cash on women I had little in common with. Stop it. For a first date plan for drinks or coffee, nothing more. If at the end of either of those, you want to continue the evening, go ahead. But in the event she is a royal rag, you can cut your losses after a few drinks.

-Be yourself. There is no point in spending the first few dates pretending to be something other than who you are. At some point, you are going to be the real you and it'll be in stark contrast to who you've pretended to be. Knock that shit off. When you meet that right person, be it for the night or forever, it will be because of who you really are...not who you pretend to be.

-Be polite. Hold open doors, buy drinks, be polite. Maybe this will never get you laid but it will mean you aren't a dick, which means something as far as karma is concerned.

-Shut the fuck up. Smile a lot, ask questions, and let her talk about her. Throw in funny comments when you can and talk when it means something but by in large...realize that she doesn't actually give a fuck about most of what you have to say. Don't be rude, smile, ask her about her, listen, and don't one-up any of her stories (in fact, don't do that to anyone, lest you be an asshole).

-Be honest. but not too honest. Say things like "You look great" and "It was a lot of fun to hang out with you". Avoid statements like "Your pussy stinks" and "I think you're a bitch". These sound funny and obvious but asshole dudes get a few drinks in them and decide to be cute. See rule #4: Shut the fuck up.

-Be confident. This is hard for many of us because it may not be in our nature. If you aren't confident, follow this rule: act as if...Meaning, act as if you were confident. Believe that someone sometime is going to find you attractive. Maybe it isn't the girl you are on a date with, but someone will be into you for being who you actually are. It's the law of averages, man. Dude I went to high school with was a total stroke, moved to Korea, and has a hot Asian wife...I mean, I'm just sayin...it happens. Be you.

-Finally, don't be pushy. There is a fine line between taking a chance when you think she is interested and being a pushy douche. If you think she is into you, and you're feeling the moment...take your shot. Maybe you missed (aka got shot the fuck down) but take solace in the fact you took your shot. Now, if you get shot down and keep pushing...you're probably a creepy dude. Maybe it works with some women but it probably means you're a shitty person.

So that's what I got fellas. In short, don't be a cock.

Online Dating Tips: For the ladies

Since there is a 5:1 male to female ratio for online dating, the ladies obviously don't need my assistance in crafting a dating profile. I have read profiles that mention vindictive ex-spouses, veiled references to sexual abuse, and in one case, a woman who said, "I don't trust men and won't trust you." What do they all have in common? Plenty of emails, winks, and attention from the male folk (Yes, we are completely and utterly shameless). 

With this in mind, here are some random tips, hints, and things to avoid if you want to attract a decent human being from online dating:

-I like boobs. As does 99.887% of the straight male population. But if you put up a bunch of pictures of you in a bra or using only your hands to cover your ta-tas, we are going to assume you like to show them on a regular basis (Not saying it's fair, but it's true). So if you aren't interested in putting all the goods out there from day one, go ahead and rein in the boobage from your profile. 

-For the love of fuck, use spell check. If I am reading your profile and it's littered with misspellings and no punctuation, we assume you suffered a traumatic brain injury. Or you're dumb as shit. Either way, I'm probably moving on. 

-If your username includes any of the following: Princess, Baby, Hottie, Gorgeous, Bitch, Sexy or any variation of those spellings...I am assuming you're a massive pain in the ass who carries around a hefty sense of entitlement. There is nothing wrong with self-confidence but those all reek of someone trying to compensate for the fact that they probably developed early and never had to have a personality.

-In the event that a guy emails you and asks questions, that means he is interested. If you are interested, then you email back, answer those questions, and then ask some of your own. This is called a conversation. But emailing back to simply answer the questions you were asked is an interview; it gives the impression you aren't interested or that you're a dolt. If you aren't interested, don't respond at all. 

-Don't mention your ex or how he ruined your life. It comes across as sad and kind of pathetic. 

-If you aren't interested in dating, or you are "just looking for friends" then online dating is the wrong place. It's not fair to the guy thinking there is a chance of a relationship when in reality you're looking for someone to go to the movies with. Yes, yes...something could become serious but it means this poor bastard is playing against a stacked deck. 

-Finally, when you do get to the point of actually having a date and regardless of whether this is someone you want to see again or not, say "Thank you." I'm old-fashioned in that I always pay for drinks or dinner, even if she offers to split the bill. I believe that since I asked you out, the obligation is mine to pay. In the event that happens, just say thanks. I don't need oral pleasures in the parking lot because I bought your dinner but at least acknowledge the gesture. I can't tell you how many times a night has ended and nothing has been said other than "bye". And this has happened with women I have dated more than once. Maybe it isn't a dealbreaker but it is common courtesy. 

Ok, so that's it. If you follow these rules...umm, back to that last one...if you do blow the dude after dinner I think you can pass on saying thank you. I'm old-fashioned like that.

My Adult Dating Life: Barb

I spent a few months after Jill collecting my thoughts and trying to figure out why I was being an ass. That's when a friend introduced me to his co-worker, Barb. She was 29, a working professional with a serious demeanor and a bitcin' old school Mustang convertible (I'm not even a "car guy" and I had to admit that it was a sweet ride). So after the initial meet and greet we decided to hangout for drinks. And this where Barb wins the honesty award...

So we are two beers into the second time we have ever met and all is going well. I'm sober and I think she is too. Apropos of nothing, Barb blurts out "Umm, it's not like I have HIV or anything, but I do have herpes."

Hmm...

Listen, there is nothing funny about having an STD. Nothing. But...it was an interesting time to tell me, you know...over drinks when the only physical contact we ever had to that point was a handshake. And make no mistake, I am glad she told me...good on her. And I give her credit for the opening of "It's not like I have HIV..." because when you compare herpes to that, it doesn't seem as bad. Either way, no one ever really trains you how to respond to statements like this, especially when they come OUT OF THE FUCKING BLUE. So as I racked my brain of all the info I retained from health class in high school, I sputtered out the only response that came to mind, "That's cool, dude." Which I am sure was ultra reassuring to her...

Anyway, Barb and I dated for a few months but it got weird when things got physical. I wasn't 100% clear on the rules of having sex, given the circumstances, and neither was she  (I feel like I would be CRYSTAL FUCKING CLEAR on the rules and limitations of herpes sex, but that's just me). Anyway, our physical contact was limited to hand jobs...which I gathered she hadn't done much. I came to this conclusion (and believe me, it was the only time I came with Barb) because it was so fucking painful. She violently tugged and pulled on my dick like she was playing foosball. I would gently suggest "That feels good but...could you try doing it like this?" And this apparently makes you a world class asshole, or so I was told. She later yelled at me, "You should be grateful I'm touching you at all!"

Ah, now I know why Barb was single.

She later apologized but this rocketship was plummeting toward Earth in a hurry. Since neither of us knew the physical boundaries, and anything with our hands was off the table, we just dry humped a lot and were both left unsatisfied. The breaking point came when she suggested that we have sex and that life with herpes wasn't that bad...if I just got used to it. This was too much information for me to process, so I decided to put this one out of its misery...you know, since deciding to catch a STD seemed like a bigger commitment than I was ready for.

Maybe I handled this one incorrectly, but I learned one important lesson: those health classes from high school were fucking useless.

My Adult Dating Life: Jill

I began dealing with my divorce like any reasonable, mature adult would: by drinking excessive amounts of alcohol and locking myself in the bedroom. Ok, so it probably wasn't the healthiest way of handling the pain. A good six months went by where I would wake up, shower, go to work, stop by the liquor store near my apartment and buy some Mickey’s malt liquor and go home to get bombed. At no point did I even consider dating anyone else, even though I had heard through the grapevine that my ex had already moved in with someone.

(Side note: If you’re one of those assholes who feel the need to share painful, but essentially useless information like this with a “friend”, let me ask you…what are you gaining here? Maybe instead of being the first to break the news, you shut the fuck up…or kill yourself. And spare me the “good friend” argument. A real friend will avoid the topic at all costs and buy you a hooker.)

I was working for a Fortune 500 company, which sounds glorious until I reveal that it was a call center job and I was hauling in $11.00/hour. So each morning I would make the death march past security, hang my soul on the coat rack and suck on the corporate dong. One morning as I walked into for my daily shaming, I noticed a new security guard, Jill. She was tall, had curly brown hair and a great smile. For the first time since my ex left, I looked at a member of the opposite sex and felt something other than anger. As the days past I started to chat her up and found out that the security job is temporary and she had her degree in criminal justice. After a week of painfully shy conversation on my part, I asked her if she wanted to grab a beer sometime…with me. She smiled and said yes.

It’s amazing how after a split of any relationship the smallest things make you feel better. I liked Jill a lot but the one thing I liked best about her that was she liked me. I recognize how silly that sounds but after spending the last 5 years of my life with someone who didn’t really seem to give a shit about me; it was amazing to spend time with someone who seemed to dig me. One date became two and we started to hangout several times a week. There was instant chemistry…and it scared the shit out of me. Everything I ever thought I knew about being with someone was now called into question. I had serious reservations about my ability to be with someone and make them happy…and ultimately, that fucked me up. Jill was happy being with me and would come over and stay the night a few times a week. I would order Chinese food and we would watch episodes of the Daily Show…it should've worked.

Jill and I had lunch at work one day when she told me the big news: she had gotten a probation officer job in Wyoming. I did my best to act happy but I couldn’t hide my disappointment. I told her I was happy for her, and part of me was, but the other part of me saw this as someone I cared about bailing on me again. She suggested that we could make it work long distance and I shot down the idea immediately. Like any insolent child would do, I pouted and told her it wasn’t a big deal and that we were just friends anyway. She picked up her lunch, walked back inside and I never saw her again.

I tried calling and she didn’t answer. The next day I asked another security guard when Jill was working again and he said he was pretty sure he quit to move out West.

I obviously wasn’t ready for another relationship but I’ve thought about Jill a lot since then and wish that I had handled it differently. I could have really been happy for her and we could have tried to…I don’t know.

But I miss her. 

My Adult Dating Life: Destiny

I thought it would be interesting to chronicle my adult dating life...okay maybe more interesting for me than you. I'll exclude any and all relationships before I turned 18 because they were all short-lived, involved copious amounts of alcohol, and were full of the drama that only high school can provide.

I was 19 when I met my ex-wife, Destiny. I didn't know then that this is the person I would later be divorcing (would've been awesome to have that information handy). I was going to college in Louisiana and we had the same group of friends. She was beautiful, very quiet, and painfully shy. She was also dating a mutual friend of ours; so while I was interested, I also understood that she wasn’t an option. As the semester passed, we hung out more, and she actually began to open up to me but we remained friends.

At the end of the fall semester, my mom called and told me that she had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer and that she would start treatments the next day. She insisted that I stay in Louisiana and continue classes, but I ignored this and packed up my 1986 Ford Escort drove all night to get home. It wasn’t until I was back home that my relationship with Destiny really begins (Yes, this probably isn’t the best way to get to know someone). Through long-distance phone calls and chats on AOL Messenger (those fucks used to charge by the hour, does anyone else remember that?) we had begun to fall hard for one another. She told me about her domineering mother, her distant father, and how she wished to get away from it all. Six months later, I took a Greyhound Bus from Michigan to New Orleans to see her and visit her family.

It’s important to mention now that her parents immediately did not like me. They were upper class, Southern Baptists that viewed me as a “Yankee” who had come to defile their daughter (In fairness to them, all true statements). After her parents had gone to bed every night, we would furiously make-out and dry-hump on the living room couch, telling each other “I love you.” (Hey, I bet you’re thinking that it’s a little soon for that. To I say: Yeah, but still...). As I boarded the bus back home, she told me that she wanted to be with me forever…I was all in.

Over the next six months, as my mom responded well to treatments and got better; I would save every dime and drive down fourteen hours to visit her at school at least once a month. Over the course of time, things progressed sexually and we eventually became the “first” for each other (Her reasons for waiting were because her parents used Jesus to tell her sex was bad. My reasons for waiting were tied directly to the lack of females willing to touch my penis). Later that summer, I drove to Florida while she was on vacation with her family. As we walked on the beach one night I pulled out a $400 ring, which I paid for with the only credit card I owned, and asked her to marry me. I was barely 20 years old and she was 19. She said yes. Her parents, whose hatred for me grew as we fell deeply in love, were livid. I’ll never forget her mom saying, “This is all like a bad dream.” You’ll never know how right you were, Donna.

Over the next year, we planned a wedding that no one was overly excited about. I was living paycheck to paycheck as a bank cashier and beginning to realize that I didn’t know how to support myself, let alone another person. On June 21^st of that following year, we were married in Florida. I remember smiling a lot, even though I was scared to death. I also remember looking at my left ring finger and thinking “Forever…fuck...that seems like a long time.” We headed off to a forgettable honeymoon in Palm Springs, CA, where we spent the week fighting about money and not having sex. We then came home to begin life as a married couple but there was one small problem…neither of us knew how. Further compounding that problem was the fact that neither of us was equipped to communicate face to face. I’ll set the scene: two young kids got married, lived in a trailer with a 110 pound Labrador. They had one small income, no insurance, and neither had any sense of who they really were.

Other than that, how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?

As the months passed, the shy girl I first met a few years ago came back in full force. I realized that her mother had made every decision for her in life (minus one big one) and that she really had no sense of self. Exacerbating that problem was me, who didn’t know how to be helpful or supportive in any way. All I knew was my single friends were going out to the bars and having an amazing time. And there I was at home with a wife who didn’t speak to me, a dog neither of us wanted, in a trailer we could barely afford (you know it’s bad times when you can barely afford to live in a trailer). Little did I realize at the time that she had several very large limit credit cards in her name (Thanks mom and dad). I was blissfully unaware that my bride was racking up major credit card bills and not exactly disclosing it all to me.

More time passed and what were once small communication problems became massive issues that couldn't be ignored. It also became more apparent that Destiny and I had nothing in common (other than the aforementioned debt, trailer, and dog). It would be fair to say that we seldom had sex and spoke only when it was necessary. I was miserable but didn’t know what to do about it. She was miserable but tried to convince herself she wasn’t. In February, her mom called to tell me that Destiny was worried about the credit card debt. Go ahead and re-read that last sentence, my wife had her mother call me and tell me what she wasn't able to. She also suggested that we file for Chapter 7 bankruptcy. She told me that we’ll have a fresh start and it won’t hurt us as much because we are young. I spoke with Destiny and she simply said, “My mom is right, that’s what we should do.” Later that week, after we had officially filed for bankruptcy, I lay awake in bed and stared at the ceiling for a long time. I thought about everything: how unhappy we were, how I had just committed financial suicide, and how I didn't really have a wife...I had a roommate. 

One thought ran through my head non-stop: This is the rest of your life.

That following May, Destiny had gone home to Louisiana to visit her mom for a week. At no point that week did she call. I picked her up at the airport on a Sunday and as we drove home she told me, “My mom and I decided that we need a divorce. She is going to be here Tuesday to move me home.” Her dad called me and said that if I agreed to sign an uncontested divorce agreement they would spare me the cost of having to hire an attorney. At that point, I didn’t care.

I stayed with friends for a few days and waited until I got word that they were gone and that I could go home. Later that evening I walked in and took inventory: minus a mattress and a couch, it was empty. Gone were the dog, all of the pictures, dishes, plates, chairs, most of my clothes, computer, towels, sheets, DVDs, books…it was all gone. For some reason, they even took the plastic shower liner (struck me as especially petty). I plopped myself down on the bare mattress and stared at the ceiling. I was divorced, bankrupt, and never more alone in my entire life.

It was May 24^th.

It was also my 25^th birthday.

The Stink of Failure

I now believe that timing is everything. I also believe that our "mentality" can be read by other people. Have you ever been able to tell that someone is sad, angry, or joyful without a word being said? I am a firm believer that our vibe and self-confidence (or lack thereof) is something that the opposite sex can sense. With that said, I have had times when it seemed that no woman would have anything to do with me. Why? They could sense that I was down, depressed, or lacked all confidence.

So with this in mind, there are a few pointers I found especially helpful when I was in a slump with the ladies.

1) Get out of the goddamn house (mom's basement, studio apartment..whatever). I realized that you will never meet anyone by hiding in your crappy domicile and feverishly masturbating (don't lie...sinner). Get your ass out there, meet people, even if it's only other dudes or people in relationships. Make friends, make contacts. You're miserable because you're choosing to shut yourself off and feel shitty.

2) Sorry but some women aren't going to like you. No matter how tall, short, fat, skinny, or anything else you are...some women, for whatever reason...aren't going to want ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU. This isn't because they are hot or better than you, they just won't. Accept this, it's nothing personal and move the fuck on.

3) Thousands...and I mean TENS of THOUSANDS of women (or men) will want you. Listen, I've never met you... but this is just simple math: statistically, some people are going to like you...(I know, I don't get it either, but they will). Do you know how? By stopping being a beta loser and living life. Meet some friends and do some shit that doesn't involve a computer screen.

4) Not to ruin the ending, but this is it. How many minutes do you want to spend worrying about things that may NEVER happen? How much time do you want to spend worrying about things which have already happened? Breathe in, breathe out...move the fuck on. Can you fix what happened? Hell no. Do you know what will happen? Probably not, dummy. So take care of this day and enjoy it.

Have some balls, take a chance.

Match.com Shady-ness

So I have been using Match.com for the better part of four years. Based on this fact alone, you can do the math on how successful I have been. There have been some doozies; for example:

-Girl who got drunk and cried (this one actually happened twice, two separate ladies)
-Girl who told me about her STD in the first 30 minutes (not making fun of anyone with an STD, but the timing was awful. Hey, glad you told me, but why then?)
-Girl who told me about being sexually abused as a child, then spent the rest of the time saying, "You're freaking out, right?" (Again, nothing funny about sexual abuse, at all. But why tell me on the first date? Of course I am freaking out!)
-Girl who texted during the entire date and then excitedly asked at the end when we could hang out again (still baffles me).
-Girl who told a story about her mom and referred to her as a "cunt" (This was kind of awesome. I'm not opposed to a chick using the C-word, it can be entertaining. In fairness to her, mom did seem to be a massive twat.)

But tonight took the cake. The girl I was meeting was a college cheerleader. She was cute, athletic, and talked about being "active"... this all sounded great, I was pumped.

I get there and see someone that kind of matches the person in the pictures, but there are a few issues:
-The person in front of me isn't 23, she is closer to 30.
-The person in front of me is approximately 75 pounds heavier than the college cheerleader shown in all the pictures.

(I'm really not a dick. Fat, skinny, thick, curves...I have dated them all. Just be fucking honest.)

Now I have to make conversation with a person, who kinda looks like person in the pictures if she were stung by a thousand hornets. While I was nice and didn't mention it, all I could think was, "WHAT'S WITH THE FUCKING PICTURES, DUDE!?" At some point, she had to know I would figure it out, right? Was she hoping I was blind?

Faced with the decision of making conversation with someone obviously full of shit, I did what any decent, honest, up-standing guy would do...I created a fictional birthday I needed to get to.
I finished my beer, paid for hers and bailed like a motherfucker.

Who you ask was the winner in this ordeal? The hornets.

Online Dating is Fucked Up

It appears that last night I was all hopped up on Ambien and Miller Lite and I drafted an entire post about my life. Other than the fact that: 1) I have no memory of it 2) It made no fucking sense; it was literary gold. So let's try this again. In the event that someone does choose to date rape me (fingers crossed), the secret formula is listed above.

In the past five years, I've been on roughly 40 dates. Let that number sink in for a minute. I don't count the chicks I got drunk enough to go home with me (bless their hearts), nor do I count the drunken two-hour car trips in the middle of the night to get laid (Valparaiso, Indiana is lovely at 3am). Nope, I have been on 40-ish awkward, uncomfortable, ass-sweat inducing first dates. And I enjoyed none of them. Not that these women were ugly. Ok, some of them were ugly. And fat. And kind of bitchy. But the rest of them were nice and attractive. So where did it all go so wrong?

Name a dating site and I have tried it: Match, eHarmony, OkCupid!, Plenty of Fish...the list goes on. The one thing they all have in common: competition. The last article I read about online dating said there is a 5:1 male to female ratio, which makes sense. As a man, if there is a medium by which I can get laid while never having to leave my couch, I am in. So you pay your money, create an account, write a witty headline, post the three pictures of yourself where you aren't hungover, exaggerate your income, make up some fake interests, and hope for the best.

Did I mention the "Winks" sent to express interest? Or the random emails to strangers?

So the retarded dance begins...while some women are kind enough to completely ignore your interest, others have the audacity to tell you they aren't interested. Doesn't anyone have the common decency to lie to someone, or at the very least; pretend they never existed? Anyway, in the event someone is interested, you begin exchanging emails and hope to fuck they have something interesting to say. You ask about favorite movies, music, vacation spots, and the always popular "What do you do for fun?" More than once I've been tempted to answer "Orgasm. Nap." 

So the time comes where you decide to meet. Fuck no you don't offer to pick them up, rapist. You have to meet in a public place (preferably a dark alley but they're always apprehensive on that one) and it can't be food or a movie (if you read their profile, you'd know this). So the time comes and the date is set. You start to imagine all the different scenarios: if it goes well if it sucks...ok, those are pretty much the two options. Finally, the time has come and you wait, trying not to compare every woman who walks through the door to the one in the pictures you've seen. 

Then, she appears. And for whatever reason, good or bad, you both know. Sometimes it is because they posted a picture that was 40 pounds and five years ago. But more often than not, it is something unexplainable. All the time, emails and texts where it all seems to be right...and in an instant, you both know. You politely make conversation, sip your drinks, and re-hash conversations already had...but it's been decided. You share an awkward hug and go your separate ways...likely to never speak again. 

And the dance goes on...

Day One...

Honestly, I had forgotten that I had a blog. Four years ago I posted a few funny observations, sure that no one would read them, and I was right. In fairness to you, there was no reason to read them, as they weren't actually funny. So close to five years later, I've decided to go another direction with this, hear me out:

I spend most days full of anxious, nervous energy. Oddly, it generally manifests itself into apathy and avoidance of work. Unless of course that work involves masturbation, in which case I have reaching new levels of achievement. It has become clear that I need an outlet for all things rattling around in my mind. I don't know if anyone will read this but I hope so. I saw 61 people actually read what I had previously written...61! And a few from Vietnam, which tells me they have fuck-else to do there.

So I decided to blog about dating and my life as a 30-something in that world. Maybe it'll be funny, or interesting, hopefully not depressing. Anyway, if nothing else I hope it'll be fun to read.

Briefly about me: 30 year old male, divorced, no kids or pets. I'm college educated but I have the sense of humor of a derelict high school sophomore. Most of my stories will be crude, long and with marginal use of correct punctuation.

So this is Day One.