Are You Trying to Make Me Like You?

17 08 2012

Over the past year and a half, I’ve recounted my dating adventures, but I haven’t written much about the hundreds of emails I have exchanged with men in order to set up these dates. It’s kind of ridiculous. I would have a panic attack if I actually started tracking the numbers on the emails and texts needed just to set up one date.

It’s like when you’re in sales. You need 200 prospects a week, 60 contacts, which might result in 10 appointments, and hopefully, if all goes well, 2 sales.

It’s fucking exhausting is what it is.

Then you get these guys who want to send a hundred one-sentence emails or texts, and it starts to feel less like dating and more like work.

Case in point:

The Characters:

Short, Italian Man (SIM) – a real Italian, from Italy, not one of those Jersey Italians who don’t even pronounce their Italian surnames with the correct Italian pronunciation. (Yes, I’m talking to you, Teresa Giudice.)

Tall, Buxom Woman (ME) – a Viking, blogger, and mom, short on time and patience and long on sarcasm and expletives.

The Scenario:

SIM originally started sending me messages in April, but because I was mostly unavailable due to my MBA coursework, I put him off until after graduation. Then, with summer activities, work, and time that I wanted to spend with my kids, I put him off some more. I have to give him credit for perseverance.

A couple of months ago, he emailed me and asked me for my phone number so we could text. I sent him a message and said,

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. I don’t like giving my number out to men I haven’t met yet, and texting is the fastest way to piss me off.”

Yes, this is how straightforward I have become. Rather than let these men fuck it up on their own I like to give them a warning. I’m a busy woman, and I don’t have time to play with my phone all day long, and when men can spend all day texting, it makes me wonder if they have a job.

Fast forward to the other day and SIM asked me for my phone number again, so we could “flirt” through texting. This is apparently his idea of fun. I wasn’t too excited by this idea at all since the last Italian who flirted with me through texting made a surprise reference to his c&%k, but since SIM and I have finally scheduled our first date for Wednesday next week, I figured it was time to exchange phone numbers.

I like to get a guy’s phone number just ahead of a date in case one of us is running late or can’t find the other at our meeting place.

I felt the need to warn him a second time about my impatience with texting. I basically said I don’t like it so don’t abuse it.

The Result:

Last night I received a text while I was meeting with my wine club (I mean book club.)

SIM: and this is my number. ciao

This morning…

ME: Ok. Thanks. I didn’t see your text until really late last night. I didn’t think you would want me texting you at 11:30 p.m.

This afternoon…

SIM: yep. it s you…sorry your number was not iny phone, and didn’t memorize it 🙂 …

ME: That’s ok. My phone doesn’t know who you are yet either.

SIM: then i guess we are two strangers

ME: As far as our phones are concerned, yes.

SIM: is this Wilma?

(WTF? Who the fuck did he think he was texting? Apparently, I am one of many…and so is he. He has no idea. Mwah ha ha. )

ME: As tempted as I am to fuck with you and say no…yes, this is Wilma.

SIM: lol…(I hate when men use lol. Actually, I hate when anyone uses lol. What are you? Twelve?)

SIM: listen to you so innocent looking with hot legs 😉 and using the f word 🙂

(Oh god, just stab me in the eyeball with a sharp stick, please.)

ME: You just don’t know me yet.

SIM: sweet and naughty is a good mix 🙂 (Insert Beavis and Butthead laugh here.)

ME: Does dropping an f-bomb make me naughty? I thought it just made me foul-mouthed.

SIM: you got a point 🙂 …let me hope 🙂 lol

(Ok dude, enough with the fucking smiley faces already.)

ME: You can hope, but you should never assume.

SIM: well assuming is ok when you hope to bw proven wrong 🙂

ME: So you’re hoping I’m not naughty?

SIM: no! i am hoping you are 🙂

ME: Then wouldn’t you hope to be proven right?

SIM: i can see you have been paying attention!

ME: I”m very detail-oriented and it’s hard to not pay attention when my phone keeps beeping at me.

SIM: i should stop …you specifically asked me not to flood your phone

ME: Yeah, I can understand the excitement, given that is has taken over four months for us to get to the first date but it would be a shame to mess it up now.

SIM: yep. ok, i will be mindful don’t worry. enjoy the weekend 🙂

ME: You too.

I’m supposed to meet him next Wednesday. Is it wrong of me to feel intellectually superior at this point? I’m a little worried that he was beating off while telling me he hopes I’m a naughty girl.


Man #27, The Flavor Saver

3 07 2012

They say that a woman has to kiss a lot of frogs before finding her prince.  I would add that it also seems that the more a woman doesn’t want to kiss a frog, the more likely that frog will expect a kiss at the end of a first date.  A case in point being the Italian Grandpa I dated last year.

Man #27 found me on OkCupid.  He sent a rather intelligent email, and we started a volley of missives discussing movies, books, teenagers, chess, ethnic backgrounds, genealogy, and baseball.  It all seemed rather promising, so when he asked me out, I was excited to meet him.

In his picture, he looked “professorial,” brown, tweed jacket, mustache and slightly outdated hairstyle.  Ok, I’ll call it what it was.  He had a comb-over, but still, he didn’t look bad.  After dealing with the illiterate tools on Plentyoffish, I was happy to finally have an intelligent dialogue with a man.  It was restoring my faith in the brainpower of the male gender.

Since he seemed to possess more sophistication and intelligence than my average date, when he asked me where I would like to go, I suggested we meet at the Seattle Art Museum.  I happen to like art gallery and museum dates.  You can talk while moseying through the exhibits and usually find out a lot about a person by the way they react to the art.  I was excited and nervous, in a good way, about my date with Man #27.  I told him I would meet him at the museum at 6 p.m..

I arrived and found him in the lobby.  He looked rather nice.  He did, in fact, look professorial in real life, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.  He was in jeans and a black sport jacket, which he informed me he understood to be the most appropriate attire for a gentleman on a first date.  He had gleaned this information from an online article on the subject of first date fashion, which he confessed he had researched due to first date jitters.  I found this to be rather endearing.

The thing that threw me off, and almost immediately grabbed my attention, however, was his facial hair.  In addition to a rather long, shaggy mustache, he also sported a flavor saver, sometimes also referred to as a soul patch.  Now, you may recall my discussion of body hair from almost a year ago.  To put it plainly, I’m not really a fan.  I have a low tolerance for body hair.  I don’t like when a man has nappy chest hair that looks like crumbles of ground meat on his chest.  I don’t want to nestle my head into the shoulder of a man whose armpit contains little white chunks of deodorant stuck to his armpit hair.  I will not even consider giving a man a blow job if his pubes smell like sweat and it appears as though I have to use a brush cutter to find his penis.  AND, I don’t like the idea of kissing a man if it appears that I will be lip to mustache instead of lip to lip.

Exhibit A: Flavor Saver gone wrong.

Plus, in general, I have never been a big fan of the flavor saver.  A flavor saver is hard to pull off, especially for white guys.  A flavor saver only works if a man is committed to the maintenance required to keep it looking neat and tidy.  There used to be a man who rode the same commuter bus I did who had a flavor saver, and he never trimmed it.  It hung there loosely from the base of his lower lip, and every time I saw it I wanted to scream, “Shave that shit off!”  He would have looked so much better without it.

I will present for you Exhibit A.  Note how the flavor saver is sort of bushy with strands of hair hanging down from the lower lips.  Not good.  Apollo Ohno is a good-looking guy.  There are some really nice pictures of him, naked, in skating poses out here on the internet, but I remember watching the Winter Olympics and being totally distracted by his flavor saver.  I wanted it gone.

I wish I could say that Man #27’s flavor saver was even half as tidy as Apollo’s, but it wasn’t.  No.  The Flavor Saver’s flavor saver was thin with just a thin layer of hair hanging down from his lip.  But, wait; there’s more.  It didn’t just hang there.  No.  It hung down for about a half an inch before curling back up again so that the whole thing looked like it was horizontal.  It was like a scoop.

I suppose if you’re going to have a flavor saver, it might as well be able to catch something.

And yet, that still was not the most distracting part.  One side was trimmed shorter than the other.  It looked like he always trimmed it using his right hand, pushing everything to the left as he went across.

It was all I could do to keep from staring at it.  I wanted to take a comb, comb it down, and cut it even for him.  As we walked through the galleries, I kept stealing glances at it in profile, little lopsided scoop that it was.  I was enjoying our conversation immensely, but I kept getting distracted.  I kept looking at it and wondering if I were to kiss him if I would end up with upturned flavor saver in my nose.  How would my lips ever find his without the rude, ticklish interference of the flavor saver?

Exhibit B: Flavor saver maintenance. Good.

He was so intelligent and nice.  I liked his personality.  I started to wonder what the appropriate amount of time was for a couple to date before asking one’s partner to get a makeover.  I tried to shake it off.  I told myself I was being shallow, but I kept looking at the flavor saver and wondering how on earth he could look in the mirror everyday and not see a problem.

We went and had a bite to eat after walking through the galleries, and we talked until 11 o’clock at night.  He was a great guy.  How could I let this issue of lopsided, curled up, scooped strands of facial hair be so off-putting?  Perhaps if we ended up dating I could eventually drop hints to get rid of it.

At the end of our date, he walked me to my car, and, of course, he wanted a kiss.  There it was, the moment I’d been dreading all evening.  It should have been a good thing, considering the evening we had just had.  Instead…

Ahhh!  Ppfft.  Ppfft.  Ppfft.  Oh.  God.  Why?  Why???


Photos here, here, and here.

Man #25, The Karaoke Kripple

15 04 2012

At the end of my date with The Leading Man, he suggested we go out again, and I was totally willing. I liked his laid back vibe and I could definitely see myself hanging out with him again. I know my game theory calculations say I should reject the first 37 men outright, but Man #24 was a good one. Let’s face it; most dates are sort of a drag. So, when you have a good one you want to double down.

While I waited to see if Man #24 would ask me out again, I commenced email correspondence with Man #25. I found him on His online profile made him sound fun and musically inclined. In his profile he mentioned that he enjoyed going out to karaoke with his friends.

Well, what do you know? I also love karaoke. I’m a sucker for a man who knows how to sing or how to play an instrument. In fact, years ago, I used to say I would marry the man who could sing “Let’s Make Love” by Tim McGraw and Faith Hill with me. I can play it on the piano, and I need a partner.

Didn’t happen.

Anyway, Man #25 was also tall, 6′-3″ and good-looking. I don’t usually email men first, but in this case, I did.

He got back to me right away, and after a couple of emails back and forth he sent me his phone number. I called him and the conversation flowed pretty easily. When he asked me what about him I was attracted to, I confessed it was the karaoke. Basically, he just sounded fun. We talked a little more about singing and before I knew it I was doing something on the phone I had never done before…

…I was singing the duet, “Just A Kiss” by Lady Antebellum, over the phone with Mr. Karaoke.

Now what’s not to like about a man you can make beautiful music with??? Let’s just say that sealed the deal. We had to meet in person. It went something like this:

Mr. K: “I think I’d definitely like to meet you.”

Me: “I think so too.”

Mr. K: “Where should we go?”

Me: “Well, maybe we should go do more karaoke if you’re up for it.”

Mr. K: “Absolutely. That’s sounds fun.”

That’s it in a nutshell. We met at Rock Box and spent a couple of hours singing as many songs as we possibly could. He had a nice voice, and could hold his own with a mic. While there, we also had a drink and had a nice conversation. After the date, he walked me to my car, gave me a hug, and said we should go out again soon.

I agreed. It had been easy-going and fun.

Unfortunately, the real Mr. Karaoke did not appear until after the date. The next thing I knew Man #25 was calling me in the morning when he woke up, texting me throughout the day, calling when he got off work, and again in the evening before he went to bed. I started to wonder if he really had a job. I know some women find a lot of phone calls flattering, but anyone who has been reading this blog for a while knows I don’t. To me, it felt like a red flag.

I would just like to find a happy medium, someone who would call every couple of days or so. Instead, I either get the guy who never calls or the one who calls and texts several times a day. For crying out loud. Isn’t there a middle ground?

I played along for a while, but his calling and texting started to feel controlling. He didn’t seem needy in a pathetic sort of way, but, instead, it seemed like he was trying to keep track of where I was, what I was doing, and who I might be with even though he had no rights to this information. It started to annoy me to say the least.

Then during one of our phone conversations, Mr. Karaoke started talking about how he hadn’t been able to work because of he had injured his knee. Add to this the fact that in a previous conversation he announced that he didn’t think he would ever be able to retire, and I deflected the subject and asked him a related question about his work instead of asking him about his knee.

Avoidance? Yes.

I’m not good at dealing with other people’s maladies. After too many experiences in my life where I have had to be the responsible one, I’m leary anytime something starts to feel like someone might NEED me for something they should be able to do for themself.

Even my sons know that my answer to an injury is usually, “put some ice on it.” Don’t get me wrong, if there’s blood, I’ll jump into action, but, with my boys, I always found that if they put ice on an injury, it would either keep the swelling down while we got to the hospital, or they would magically be all better and ready to play again within minutes. One result I didn’t get was children who cried MORE as soon as they got my attention.

If The Karaoke Kripple was trying to get me to take care of him and his knee, again, it felt like a red flag, and I wasn’t biting.

The next night, he called me again, and again mentioned his knee and the fact that he had not been able to work. Since it seemed like the subject of this knee was not going to go away, I asked him, “Well, do you have disability insurance?”

“I have an L & I claim,” he said.

“Well, I guess I can understand why you feel you’ll never be able to retire then.”

I don’t remember exactly what happened next, but it involved a grown man acting helpless, and a smart ass remark on my part, followed by The Karaoke Kripple exclaiming, “that wasn’t very nice.”


Whaa fucking whaa.

This is where I decided there was no sense in beating around the bush with The Karaoke Kripple. I said, “Look. In the past, I’ve made the mistake of taking in men who arrived with only a bag of clothes and a pickup truck, and I’m done with that. I need to watch out for myself. I WOULD like to retire someday, and I’m not about to take care of another grown ass man who can’t take care of himself.”

As you can imagine that was the end of that.


Finally, before you start thinking that all I listen to is country music, I’ve been working on singing “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga. Seems fitting, doesn’t it?

What Happened to The Suitor?

6 11 2011

I don’t know if anyone has been wondering what happened to Man #22, The Suitor, or not, but I will fill you in on the latest and then ask you to weigh in on my perceptions of how things transpired after our first date.

When we last left The Suitor, he gave me a kiss goodnight and wanted me to text him when I arrived safely at home.

I did.

While on our date, I had told him that I was just getting back out there and not really looking for anything serious, and he had agreed that this was where he was currently at in his dating adventures as well. I had also warned him that I am terrible at texting. I try to warn everyone that I’m really not into texting. I would rather get to know someone face-to-face.

I have also had all of this cancer stuff going on, so I’ve been a little pre-occupied, to say the least.

Anyway, in the days that followed the date, The Suitor found random reasons to text me. Nothing specific, just random things like, “[did I] like chocolate covered macadamias.” I DO happen to like chocolate covered macadamia nuts, but the question was still kind of random. I took it as a sign that he was thinking of me, participated in brief texting volleys, and didn’t let it annoy me.

Not too much anyway.

Then one morning I was jarred awake by an incoming text message just before 6 a.m..




Are you fucking kidding me???

Who does that? Why would someone think that after one date they know me well enough to text me at 6 o’clock in the f^&%ing morning?

I ran the scenario past one of my colleagues and he told me it was my fault for having my phone on at 6 a.m.. What he doesn’t seem to understand, however, is I have teenage sons. I have to leave my phone on, because I never know when I might receive a call from emergency personnel or law enforcement. (Not that this happens on a regular basis, mind you, but you never know.)

Now, I don’t know about you. Maybe I’m old school, but I grew up in an age when you didn’t call someone before 9 a.m. or after 9 p.m. at night. Generally, I still try to stick to these rules.

Am I wrong in thinking that The Suitor’s 6 a.m. text seems sort of disrespectful? Ok, so it’s not a midnight booty call/text, but it seems similar.  Also, considering my recent experience with the Italian Sausage only wanting to text about stroking his c%&* during early morning messages, I was afraid I was in for the same scenario with The Suitor.

Anyway, this time, I let him know I was annoyed. He apologized. Apparently, he was in Chicago on business and had forgotten about a little thing we call time zones. I accepted his apology, but, to be quite honest, I had a hard time getting past it. I don’t like being disrespected or taken for granted. I also don’t like it when guys play dumb. If you’re going to play dumb, I’m going to assume that you ARE dumb. And, as I’ve stated before, I like my men with intelligence.

Whew! I feel like I’m ranting. It feels good to get this off my chest.

Anyway, some other random texting volleys followed, and then there was a long pause where he must have realized that he was the only person initiating the text messages. The ironic thing is that I would have gladly accepted another invitation for a date had he thought to pick up the phone to ask me out.

Then one day, a few weeks ago, while I was sitting in the hospice facility with my uncle, I received a text from him that read, “Haven’t heard from you in a while. Don’t know if you’re interested in going out again but I feel like I’m bothering you.”

I responded, “Sorry. I have been extremely busy helping my uncle who is in hospice because of his prostate cancer.”

The purpose of this message was two-fold. First, I was legitimately busy and wanted to let him know the reason why. Second, it was sort of my way of letting him know that the world did not revolve around him, and dating him was not particularly forefront in my mind at that moment. In other words, “My uncle is dying. This is no time to get needy with me, asshole.”

He responded with a text saying, “I’m sorry to hear that. If you need an ear, let me know.”

Maybe dealing with my uncle’s cancer has made me cynical, but, although the thought of The Suitor lending his ear seems nice, I just couldn’t imagine calling him to talk about my uncle’s cancer or anything else for that matter. I barely know the guy. It felt like an attempt to build false intimacy to me. If I need to talk to someone about anything as serious as the stuff I’m going through with my uncle, I’m going to turn to my family, my friends, or my wacky therapist, not some guy with whom I’ve had ONE date.

He probably meant well, but I just felt overwhelmed by the thought of trying to develop a relationship in the midst of prostate cancer and pain meds. I told him, “Thanks,” but left it at that. That was a few weeks ago.

Then we jump to last week. My uncle is now at home, with a hospice team coming in once per week to make sure that his pain is managed, and I was there to help out as much as I could. One afternoon, while my aunt and I made a quick trip out for groceries, I received another text from The Suitor.

It was again saying that he had a really nice time, but he didn’t want to bother me and didn’t know if I was interested in him, so he was going to let me be.

I deleted it without responding. Call me a bitch. I have too much going on in my life right now to spend my time texting someone. The Suitor obviously had my phone number. If he really wanted to ask me out again, he could have done it with a phone call. I probably would have gone out again, but I’m not going to text someone just to stroke their ego.

So, am I just way too bitchy about all this texting stuff? Maybe it time for me to get with the times and start texting a million times per day. I’m curious to know what the guys think about The Suitor’s 6 a.m. text message. Also, am I the only woman who finds the whole, “I don’t know if you’re interested line,” to be a major turnoff?

I think the bottom line is that I just can’t take on any more work right now, and The Suitor started to feel like work.

Man #14, Bitter Boy

7 05 2011

Glass Half Empty Half FullI’m so f*#$ing pissed at myself.

Right on the heels of my declaration to stop being so nice, do you want to know what I go and do??  Yeah, you guessed it. I was nice again.

Damn it!!

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Man #14 contacted me through, and after what seemed like far too many emails,  he asked if I wanted to meet for Happy Hour at Tacos Guaymas.  He seemed nice enough.  Plus, they serve a convenient economy-size $4.50 margarita during Happy Hour at Tacos Guaymas, so I agreed.

I’ve mentioned before how I dislike one sentence emails, but I had found myself being a little lax on the 140 character email rule.  I’m going to dedicate an entire post to a rant regarding texts, emails, and men at a future time, but let’s just say, that Man #14 had sent about 5 or 6 too many emails before finally asking me out on a date.

For the record, I don’t typically ask men out.  I wait for them to do it.  If it takes too long, I get bored and stop answering emails.  Not only that, but I have an inbox full of potential blog fodder.  I don’t have time to waste on a man who’s too passive to ask me out.  I just don’t.  Believe it or not, I have a life and other shit that needs to get done.

In spite of the fact that I had grown tired of emails that didn’t seem to be going anywhere, when Man #14 finally decided to ask me out, I welcomed it and was looking forward to meeting him.  I try to approach each new date with a positive outlook.  Otherwise, there would be no point in going, right?

I arrived at Tacos Guaymas to find Man #14 sitting at the bar. He was sipping a beer and eating the complimentary chips and salsa. I ordered my margarita, and we ordered food.  I don’t remember much about the conversation except that it turned out that he knew a couple of friends of mine, and I could not quite get a sense of whether he liked them or not.  The general vibe was neutral to negative though, and a man liking your friends is a big deal.

The second thing about the conversation that I remember is that, despite the fact that I told Man #14 that I don’t like to talk about exes on first dates, he proceeded to go on about his ex-wife.  This in combination with the fact that he sounded like he didn’t like my friends earned him the name Bitter Boy.  Overall, Bitter Boy did not seem to possess a very positive outlook on life, his divorce, and moving forward.  His divorce was four years ago.  I realize these things can be brutal, but no woman in her right mind wants to date a guy who sounds like he still has anger issues in regards to another woman.  I didn’t want to be rude or judge too harshly, but I found myself struggling  to find interesting, positive things to inject into the conversation.  He probably thought I was boring.

It’s becoming very clear to me how important it is that the men I date have a sense of humor.

Lastly, we talked a little about the bad luck he had had meeting people online.  He had a random assortment of online dating horror stories, but one thing he said was that women just seem to stop answering emails.


I tried to be nice.

The date lasted a couple of hours, we walked outside, and I thanked him for the date.  As we were saying good-bye, Bitter Boy said, “Well, I’ll leave the ball in your court.  If you want to go out again, call me.”

I heard myself say, “Ok.”

What I was really thinking as I walked away was, “Like that’s going to happen.  You don’t tell a woman with 86 other men to meet that she needs to call you for another date.”  Plus, I’m not going to go out on a second date with someone I didn’t even enjoy on the first date.

But, I haven’t even told you about how I was too nice yet.

So, I send the thank you message that I always send post date via text, and this seemed to give Bitter Boy an opening.  (Perhaps “Thank You” now means “She wants me” too.)  The next thing I know, I am getting one sentence text messages from Bitter Boy.  I responded to the first few texts, but there were a few I chose to avoid like, “Have you ever been to Maggotfest?”

The texts continued to the next day when he sent me a text commenting on the weather.  He wanted to know if I would want to walk my dog to a neighborhood bar.  I didn’t have anything going on that afternoon, so I thought, “Sure, why not?”  Something inside me must have remembered LB’s comment regarding not ruling guys out until after the second date.  It was nice outside, I was in a good mood, and I don’t know what I was thinking, so I said yes.

See, too nice.

Then he sent a text saying that he was glad I said yes, and how does next Monday sound?


What was all that shit about the weather if he wasn’t talking about THAT afternoon?? Oh for fuck’s sake!

My saying yes to the second date was a mistake.  I’m not going. He kept sending me bullshit text messages, one sentence at a time…

…and I finally just stopped answering.

Photo here.

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