Multifaceted

This was date two with The Archeologist. He was surprising-- in a very good way. The sushi thing went okay. We ate slowly, and thus I wasn’t able to eat the gargantuan amount of raw fish that I usually do. That’s probably a good thing. As soon as we sat down, a group of my good friends from high school sat down at the bar next to us. I was very excited to see them. I was the kind of excited girls get when their voice goes up an octave and they just squeak and hug. I don’t do this often-- these girls are some of my all-time favorite people.  I’m not sure The Archeologist was so excited to have company... a second time (refer to “Remember Shawn” from June 16^th). Poor guy. Bad luck; but we enjoyed dinner and I don’t think he was too distressed.

It was exciting to get to know him. He’s the type of person you think you can pin down, then you learn something new and have to shift your whole perspective. Here, I’ll simulate it for you. Build a picture in your mind of Shawn from Boy Meets World. You got it? Here we go...

So he looks sixteen, but you’re wrong-- he’s actually in his late twenties. 

Okay now you’re picturing an old Shawn, but make him cultured and slightly rugged like an archeologist...because he is an archeologist. You with me? 

Next you learn that he owns a house and a Mercedes. At this point, you’ve got an older, rugged, cultured Shawn that is also very stable and grounded. Good. Nice work.

Now how does he finance his outstanding stability you ask? He wins poker tournaments. 

I told you. Full of surprises.

I really appreciate that about him. I feel like I’m a little bit the same way: multi-faceted. I think it’s a good thing. He’s kind of the whole package I’m looking for: intelligent, loves his job, grounded, cultured (he’s from the East Coast so he’s practically a foreigner), has a little accent (only a coowutuh of the time), and he plays poker. Matt Damon plays poker. It’s pretty hot. Then he used the word "morpheme" correctly. Wow. Huge bonus points. I love morphemes. 

He might be my favorite. This makes me feel really bad for The Hunter. Not bad like “awww, poor guy”, but bad in the pit of my stomach, like I ate sixteen mountain rolls at sushi-- but I definitely did not. It’s the guilt. I ate too much guilt. 

I don’t know what I expected from this whole challenge. I guess I expected to just know on the first date whether it was meant to be... or to not...to be. I need Shakespeare on my dates, evidently. There have only been a couple of dates that were immediate no’s. Readers, you know the two. I expected the internet dating guys to show up with some obvious trait that would eliminate them from a possible second date. I thought they would have missing teeth or greet me with a Vulcan salute. I also thought that most of the men would meet me and think “she’s nice” but wouldn’t want a second date. Nope, they’ve been pretty skilled at recognizing my awesomeness (again, I never wrote “modest” in my profile). In my mental image of the Try Twenty-Five Mission, I thought I would have a clear favorite. In reality, there are a lot of guys that have several traits from my “Ooh” list and it’s harder than I thought. Maybe I’ll start my own church that allows reverse polygamy. That may end up being the easiest option. It’ll be just like this picture in a blog I found about “polyandry” (thethinkingblog.com). Genius.

Too Comfortable for Comfort

I suck at this game-- and it’s my own game. I went out with The Hunter for the fourth time. Four is way too many. I’m beginning to get comfortable. Not comfortable like I would burp in front of him, but comfortable like when I see something funny on TV or have my car die in the middle of a parking lot (I hate you, Pathfinder), one of my first thoughts is to text him and tell him. 

The problem is that once I get comfortable with one guy, it gives him a completely unfair advantage over the rest. I will be comparing each of the next nineteen dates to him without even being conscious of it. This “comfortable” thing is just a sneaky form of settling that I didn’t see coming. I don’t want to stop seeing him, and I can’t undo “comfortable”. I can’t be like “Oops, sorry. This really nice, relaxed thing we have going here is just not what I’m looking for. Will you take your flowers back?” 

I’m going to have to come up with some sort of solution for my inner turmoil. Maybe I’ll tell him I have multiple personality disorder to scare him away. At least it would be a guilt-free, clean break.

On the Chaco front, things are looking up. He looked up a few dance studios and emailed me their schedules. The only time that worked for both of us was Saturday evenings, which will seriously interfere with the overall goal of The Mission. But I love to dance. I love to dance like Nathaniel loves to dance (if you did not get that joke you need to youtube “Nathaniel loves to dance” immediately). So I’m going to spend four Saturday evenings learning to west coast swing with Chaco. I wonder if he’ll wear the sandals to dance class. That would be epic. I might step on his naked Chaco toes. Here’s another interesting factor: we have not touched... at all. I hope Chaco knows that you have to actually touch your dance partner. 

My date prospects are waning. I’ve been sick and have let a couple of emails and texts fall through. I’ve decided that today I’ll be a little more proactive and try to add a couple of new dates to the calendar. Tonight I’m going to sushi with The Archeologist. You remember, the one that used to look like Shawn from Boy Meets World? Sushi is a tricky date. The more I think about it the more I realize it’s a bad idea. If I eat as much sushi as I can, I risk scaring him. If I eat too little, I appear incapable. I’m hoping I decide I don’t like him. Then I can eat six orders of upside-down shrimp, get sauce all over my face, and not give a shit.

Spotted

One of the greatest reasons to internet date is that I get to meet all kinds of people I’ve never met, and will probably never meet outside of our double-blind, top-secret codenamed online dating universe. Online dating doesn’t just expand my pool of prospective partners, it gives me a whole new pool. Or it’s supposed to. 

I just checked my email and found that a classmate from my high school had found me. I was discovered-- exposed. Now someone from the real world knew that I was looking for dates in the digital world. It felt like running into an acquaintance in the “family planning” section at WalMart. Eek! Stay calm, I thought. Reno’s a small town. It makes sense. I probably just came up in his matches-- it happens to the best of us. He probably just enjoyed a little chuckle and we will both pretend like it never happened. It’s all going to be okay.

Except that it’s not-- because he saw my profile and clicked “Yes, I’m interested!” 

Holy hell. I really don’t think it’s possible he didn’t recognize me. I’m not one of those people who has changed since high school. I look exactly the same as I did when I was eighteen. And my screen name has a recognizable section of my first name in it. Nope, there’s no escaping it. I’ve been spotted.

Self-Supremacy and Antiseptic

Chaco and I went on a second date. It was horrible. Not because of him-- because of my stupid cough that I have. The whole time I was either coughing, or wanting to cough. He was justifiably grossed-out and it was hard for me to even contribute to the conversation. And there was no touching. We could have been on a school field trip. We stayed at antiseptic distance through a thai food dinner and two beers.

Needless to say, this second date was not as promising as the first. It wasn’t entirely the cough, though. The night started off with him pointing out the tan line on his feet from his Chacos (see? The name totally fits). The kid IS his shoes. Then there were little points in the conversation where he seemed like a self-supremacist. This is a term I use for people who think their opinions and insights are superior and more worthy than the opinions and insights of others. These are the type of people that would argue something like “mixed berry muffins are better than blueberry muffins” and be truly devoted to the belief that their opinion is the all-knowing truth. I’ve been guilty of this on occasion, but I find it irritating even in myself. Chaco wasn’t that bad, either. He had just a hint of self-supremacy-- a sprinkling, if you will. 

So the night was not awesome. But we still managed to talk and get to know each other better. At one point we had talked about taking some dance lessons. When he walked away at antiseptic distance towards his car, he said he would look into it and give me a call. I’ll have to try not to cough into the receiver when he does. 

Ninja Style

You remember in “The Mission” how I explained that somehow I automatically go from first dates to long-term relationships? I can see that happening here already. Crap. In the last week The Hunter has definitely had his suitor A-game going. First of all, I’ve caught some sort of plague. I was pretty sure I was dying: fever, cough, phlegm balls, general misery. I decided to keep my dinner date with the Hunter. An elk had sacrificed its life for this date-- I felt like I couldn’t possibly cancel. So I warned The Hunter that I was feeling under the weather the night before the date. His text back was  “do you want me to grab and drop off some gatorade and soup? Or medicine?” How cute is that? 

He said he didn’t mind if I was sick and would make me dinner anyway. The elk was yummy-- like beef but lighter and less dense. He had also made a mushroom sauce,  artichoke leaves, and broccoli with cheese. The artichoke leaves were carefully arranged. He must watch Emeril. After dinner we curled up on the couch to watch  a movie. My fever was so high I felt like I was on fire. He half-jokingly fanned me with a pillow. He kissed me despite the fact that I was a festering diseaseling. He said he didn’t care. 

Then later in the week he dropped flowers off at my doorstep. He said he did it “ninja style” (his words) so I wouldn’t see him. It was the day of a performance I was doing and he had written me a little good luck note to go with my flowers. And he came to the performance, too. He just sat in the back by himself in this crazy little bar... to watch me dance for less than two minutes.

Last night he texted and said that I was “the most interesting and enjoyable person (he’d) met in years” and that he wasn’t “going to stop dating me just because (I) am dating other people.” Wow, see? He’s already dedicated. But it’s not just “other people”. It’s twenty-four other people. I still have nineteen more to go. His “ninja style” does not fit with The Mission. It’s trouble.

Chacos Say it All

This date was with my sister’s favorite from match.com. I’ll call him “Chaco” because that’s what he wore on our date. I’m actually not sure I need to write any more description of him than that-- the Chacos say it all. They are environmentally friendly sandals you can wear in a stream or hiking up a mountain. You may be picturing Tevas, but don’t confuse the two; Chacos are much more modern-cool-hipster than the Tevas of decades past.  I'm hoping this advertisement from the Chaco website is true:

                             

I met Chaco at the same bar as I met the Biologist the day before (thankfully it was a different bartender). It has an outdoor seating area overlooking the Truckee River. The conversation was easy and free-flowing. We talked about traveling and music and television shows and corn (he’s from Iowa, hence the corn). Chaco is very liberal and opinionated and animated. He’s also intelligent and has pretty eyes that remind me of ice. My favorite thing about him was how, by the end of the night, we had four or five inside jokes that we both weaved into the conversation. It made me feel like we knew each other well. At the end of the evening we squished his bike (yes, he rode a bike-- I know-- he’s very environmental) into my car and I drove him home. I was a little disappointed with our non-romantic, friendly goodbye. I’m hoping I get a second date to see if he can be as flirty as he is funny. 

Public Service Announcement

When creating an internet dating profile, consider these points:

1) The most over-used and meaningless terms you could possibly have in your profile are: laid back, fun loving, adventurous, easy going, outdoorsy, and "likes to try new things." If you write any of these it really means, "There is nothing outstanding or original about me at all."

2) The body type "athletic and toned" should only be chosen if you can do at least six push-ups in a row.

3) Your whole personal quote may not show up by your thumnail picture. So if your quote is "looking for someone to ride shotgun," what actually appears as your first impression is, "looking for someone to ride."


Just so you know.

Beaverology

I went and had drinks with a guy who is studying mountain beavers in his job as a wildlife biologist. You can laugh--it’s okay. I laughed a little, too, when I heard the word “beaver”. He he... “beaver”-- see I just did it again. It’s not just beavers that live in the mountains, though.  This is a specific type of rodent that has not evolved for a very long time. I thought they actually sounded pretty cool. I found this picture at http://www.paws.org/archives/WildAgain/html_2007_05.htm. There are other ridiculously cute baby animals on this site as well. I highly recommend taking a look. 

Anyways, the Biologist was friendly. We talked about his work and mine over beers. He lives with roommates (actually, all of the guys I’ve met live with roommates, I think-- it stinks). We played shuffleboard. I was relaxed and had a good time. I bet a second date on a round of shuffleboard and lost, so there may be a second date in the future. I wasn’t disappointed. I find it really ironic that I’m dating The Biologist and The Hunter at the same time. It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke: “So this girl decides to date two guys: one studies wildlife and the other one kills them...” 

My next date is my Sister’s favorite. He is not conventionally super attractive, but he is definitely cute. He’s traveled to some crazy places and is a grad student. His writing makes me literally laugh out loud. I can tell he’s smart and witty so I’m looking forward to getting to know him better. 

Nerdy Hunter and my Cowboy Friends

The Hunter and I went to the Reno Rodeo tonight. I tried to buy our tickets, but he had already bought them and picked them up. Wow. That’s serious preparation. I was a little nervous because I didn’t know how The Hunter would react to me feeling very much at home at the rodeo. Most people are sort of rodeo tourists, but I am pretty comfortable in my Ariats and sparkly belt, which I wore, of course. I also brought my flask of Jack Daniels in my purse. He didn’t seem to mind; in fact when he saw it he said I was hot, and I agreed. Hey, neither ‘modest’ nor ‘classy’ are in my profile for a reason. I was also nervous because I was meeting up with some friends that brought their horses in for a barrel race. I wasn’t sure how nerdy Hunter and cowboy friends would mesh.

The Hunter and I maintained a friendly banter through the rodeo. It seemed like he enjoyed just being with me and sharing our flask. After the rodeo, we hung out with my friends while they rode (see friends on the right). He had no fear of horses. He just walked right up and started petting them on the face. I was starving so we went for some late night food with one of my girl friends. He bought her dinner, too (so nice of him). She said she appreciated that he didn’t try to be overly friendly-- he was just laid back and didn’t seem to need to prove himself.

She also said, “He obviously really likes you.” That makes me worry a little bit. The whole point of this was to break my habit of jumping into a relationship, and I also feel mean or dishonest dating other guys while I keep this one hanging. It’s very unlike me. But I’ve warned him and he’s well aware of the situation and keeps asking me out. He’s going to make me a dinner of elk next week. Yum...elk...nothing brings up serious doubts like unique game meat. 

Remember Shawn?

I had initially ignored The Archeologist when he contacted me for two reasons: 

1. He was divorced and is still in his twenties-- I’m not sure I want to know that story.
2. He had a picture with terrible hair in his profile. He looked like Shawn from Boy Meets World. For those of you who missed out on that epic coming of age drama, you can see Shawn on the left here.

In the days of Boy Meets World, every girl was in love with Shawn, including me. We all just outgrew the terrible pouf of hair. Then, one day last week, The Archeologist cut his hair, updated his profile picture, and became dateable; so I emailed him back. 

Our date was short because I was going to a baseball game with friends afterwards. He was a genuinely nice guy and he seemed to really be happy with his job. On the humor scale he was a 5.5 out of ten-- I think he was nervous. We didn’t have any trouble finding things to talk about. He seemed like a guy that enjoys life and is a little bit adventurous. Then my friends showed up at the bar to pick me up. Being my friends, they pulled up some chairs, ordered a couple of beers and joined us on our date. Poor Archeologist-- he was blitzed. And he definitely was nervous-- I would have been, too. 

So I left in the hopes of getting a second date to really get to know him. It definitely wasn’t a bad date, but it didn’t have an opportunity to be good, either. This one’s pending.

Well Played

No deer. Whew. We went to a comedy show. We had drinks first and I learned that The Hunter took calculus when he was a sophomore in high school. This means he had to ride his bike to the high school when he was in 7th and 8th grade to take his math classes. This was a major nerd card-- well played. I like nerds. This could be us:

                                 

The first comedian made a couple of jokes about getting picked on, then singled The Hunter out and said, “This guy over here. I bet you never got picked on. You’re all tall and good lookin’. No, no one ever messed with you.” So you can’t tell he’s a nerd by looking at him. That’s good, right? 

The evening ended with another un-financial kiss. This time some rowdy observers stopped to cheer. That was fun. I agreed to a third date. I reminded him that I still have 22 more guys to meet. He said he was okay with that as long as he gets dates in between. I’m a little doubtful he can make it. 

I am meeting with an archeologist later this week. He had my favorite bar on his profile “hot spots” list, so we decided to meet there. He's divorced. I'm not sure whether to look at that like, "Hey, he's marriageable" or like, "Hey, he's extremely flawed in some way I have yet to discover." Hmm... scary. 

So "Uncanny"

So after my date with my “Favorites Twin” I looked up the word “uncanny.” When I used it in my previous post, I used it to mean “seemingly unnatural or superhuman,” like in a good way. The part of the definition that I’m using now is the part that means “beyond what is expected” and “severe, punishing.” I think it’s a perfect fit. This is a photo of MIke Kelly's exhibition titled "The Uncanny" from marynowsky.wordpress.com/2006/07/27. I think Mike definitely is going with the same meaning as I am here:

The date started with me not being able to find the coffee shop where we were supposed to meet. I was twenty minutes late and he was walking out into the parking lot to leave when I got there. I bought myself a coffee (I know, right? If it’s just a coffee he should at least offer) and we sat down. Our conversation was pretty forced. It was the kind of conversation that doesn’t build, or expand, it just starts over on a new topic when the last one runs out. Here’s a bit of dialogue for you:

Me: “So you said you like Mexican food. What’s your favorite restaurant?”

Him: “ El Adobe.”

Me: “Really? I love El Adobe. They have such great margaritas! What do you get when you go there?”

Him: “Well I like the mole. It’s pretty good. With the chicken. Or I get the number seven with two tacos and an enchilada. Or sometimes I like to get it with two enchiladas and one taco... (long pause, with him looking off into the distance)... or sometimes the tomales.

Me: "Oh. That's cool."

I’ll just stop there. Somewhere in the pause between the tacos and the tomales I realize this is not going to work out. We do have a TON of things that we both like or like to do, I just could never date someone I have to put effort into having a conversation with. It was exhausting. I wrote him a "let's just be friends" email. Wow. Two rough ones in a row. What if my first date was the only normal one out there? The next twenty-two dates could be excruciating. I might carve my eyeball out with a spoon or something.

Here’s what I learned: Having things in common does not mean someone is a good match. It’s more about how you talk, how easy it is to sit next to them and trade stories and laugh with them, than about having similar topics to cover. I think I could have had a better time talking with someone about slow-growing coral or the history of Swiss banks if they were confident and humorous and open.

My next date: Date two with The Hunter. He said he was planning it. I hope we’re not gutting a deer or something. Eek!

On the Rocks

Okay, The Runner had not been mauled by a bear. But the uni-picture was still a warning I should have heeded. There were other warnings, too. He hadn’t ever been to the restaurant I invited him to (which is extremely well known here in Reno). This screamed “I don’t go out...ever”, but I was so convinced this guy would be perfect that I completely ignored it. 

So I arrived at the restaurant with my hair flat-ironed, my hard-to-get-on hot-butt jeans on, and two coats of mascara. This is an amazing amount of coiffing for someone that will wear the same shirt three days in a row. I was thinking, of course, that I wanted The Runner to think I was every bit as great as I claimed in my profile. I wouldn’t want my unknown suitors to be disappointed. This is evidently not a universal concern in internet dating. 

A middle-aged-looking, completely gray-haired man opened the door of the restaurant for me and I thanked him as I walked in, looking around for my date. Then it hit me. The middle-aged guy WAS my date. The picture must have been an antique. 

Okay, I collected myself and decided to make the best of it. In truth, he was still pretty good looking, but more like George Clooney and I am really looking for more of a Ben Afflec. Damn. Despite my best attempt at being positive, the dinner didn’t really ever get better. My face hurt from fake smiling as we small talked. He ordered a Ketel One on the rocks with two olives, or maybe it was three-- either way it was a specific number. I think it might have been an attempt to seem authoritative. It didn’t work-- he just seemed sort of picky. 

Here's a cartoon to capture the feeling of the date: 

http://www.toonpool.com/cartoons/toon%2018_77739#

Did you laugh? Did you get it? I didn't. Just kinda awkward, right? That's exactly how I felt for an hour and forty-two minutes.

I’m sure The Runner is somebody’s dream date. He was polite, gentlemanly and considerate, but I was really not comfortable being myself with him. I felt like he didn’t know me any better at the end of dinner than he did at the beginning; so when he asked me to out for drinks afterwards, I went home instead (insert sad tuba sounds here). 

Here’s what I learned tonight: I value self-confidence and a sense of humor way more than I value manners and politeness. Also, I have a strong distaste for deception-- but who doesn’t? I wish he had been a fun, confident, outgoing person that had just been mauled by a bear. 

Tomorrow’s date: morning coffee with my “Favorites Twin”-- we have so many favorites in common it’s uncanny. His quote on his profile is by my favorite (and not-so-well-known) singer, we both think San Diego is perhaps the greatest place on earth, and going to the zoo is one of our favorite things to do. At least we’ll have lots to talk about.  

Ahoy, maybe!?

I just got home from my date with The Hunter. I’m more of an animal lover than an animal killer, but I was willing to give it a try. He is very...financial. When I stepped out of the door and saw the hot little sports car the first thought in my mind was, “Oh my god, he rented a car for a date. Who does that?” As it turned out, he works at an auto-body shop, so the car makes sense. Sigh of relief. We went and had beers. He ordered a tall instead of a regular. This is good. He was easy to talk to and he did make me smile. 

We headed off to play miniature golf, but the outside course was closing. The place also had an indoor course so we decided to play anyway. Here’s where it got interesting. It wasn’t just indoor miniature golf; it was indoor, black light...wait it gets better...pirate!...miniature golf. Neither one of us was going to chicken out, so we grabbed our clubs and our glowing balls and headed into the dark. I can not think of a less romantic place anywhere on Earth. It was small and pitch-black except for the glowing, life-sized pirate cutouts and neon pirate props. There were pirate sound effects to enhance the pirate-y experience. It had the distinct feel of a haunted house and was equally as frightening. Then there were the children-- wild, free-range children that would plop their ball down and play right past you on the putting green. Or should I say putting black? The Hunter and I decided that this must be where parents drop their kids off for hours at a time while they enjoy a drink. The kids could run in circles and do the course over and over again. We agreed that it was a winning concept for parenting, but not for dating.


Here's a video so that you can experience this phenomenon for yourselves. Enjoy!

The Hunter earned serious points for taking pirate golf in stride. We went for another round of drinks afterwords at a bar with a live band and lots of middle-aged people. Pretty sure everyone in the bar was on an internet date, actually. He continued to make me smile and  the conversation was easy. The evening ended with a very un-financial kiss and the possibility of a second date. One down, twenty four to go. The second-date factor, which I really wasn’t even considering before this, could really create some complications. 

Tomorrow I have a date with The Runner. He has a grad degree and is tall-- both items on my “ooh” list. He is athletic and good looking, but he only has one profile picture. My irrational fear: what if he was mauled by a bear since then and now he doesn’t have a face? Hey, anything’s possible.

Jitters

I have my first date tonight with The Hunter. I have reviewed his profile and there are some definite highlights: he is tall, has a degree in finance, and wears a baseball hat well. In my profile I say I would like to mini-golf. He is the only one that has taken me up on it. My worries are, in this order: that I am going to get axe-murdered, that we will have nothing to talk about, or that he will have a third nipple. I’m nervous, so I’m starting the evening with some wine and Kings of Leon while I do my hair.  

Workin' It

Okay, I thought I would get a couple of people interested every week if I was lucky. I’ve gotten twenty-four winks, eight emails, and a few people trying to IM me. I’m pretty much a secretary now: check the email, go through potential matches, email back any possibilities, repeat.  I’m excited-- I guess I’m getting my money’s worth. But it sort of feels like feeding the birds at the park. You really only need a few but what you get is a mob of waddling, swooping, flying stalkers and it can really be overwhelming. I’m learning to be liberal with the “no thanks” response option. This is good for me (as discussed in ‘The Mission’).

The hard secretarial work is paying off. I have three dates set up for this weekend. The first date I’ll call “The Hunter”. He has good sideburns (I should add that to my “ooh” list) and a tattoo of a dog on his shoulder. It promises to be interesting. 

The “Ooh” List

Looked at more profiles. Found some things other than the obvious athletic and attractive that I’m definitely drawn to. 

1. Nice shirts with rolled sleeves and good collars.
2. Grad degrees
3. Good teeth
4. Pictures of men with dogs (especially puppies)
5. Families mentioned in profiles. One guy said he has a “genius sister” and an “awesome” mom.
6. Men who like their jobs.
7. Men who are tall--  I like to wear heels.

This is progress. I’ve got an “automatic elimination list”, a “probably not” list, and an “ooh” list. 

By considering all three I’ve got a picture of my perfect guy: At least 6’2”, loves his job which he got with his grad degree, likes to go out on Friday night with his sleeves rolled and talk about how much he loves his family and his dog while drinking a microbrew in a way that shows off his good teeth. 

Because that’ll be easy to find. 

Why Choose Coleslaw?

After cringing at my first wink, I ventured out and explored the profiles a little. There are so many! At first, I didn’t want to over-eliminate them. I would see a picture that to me looked like an ogre and think, “well he might have a great personality...”

But this isn’t about settling. That’s what I did before. Internet dating is like a buffet: you pay a lot of money to have a thousand choices, so why would you eat coleslaw? I’m tryin’ for crab legs and creme brulee here.

As I flipped through the pictures I realized that I was actually repulsed by many. If I could just tune in to exactly what it is that I find unattractive, then I can create two lists. The first lit is my “automatic elimination” list. Just one of these traits means that I will delete their message and block their profile:

1. A flat-billed baseball hat, flashing a piece sign, or visible gold jewelry.
2. Punctuation, capitalization, or spelling mistakes. Ew. Nothing says desirable like a guy who “cant wate too meat me.”
3. socks with sandals (that’s always been a rule for me)
4. Taking the picture at an angle thinking it hides your double chin
5. Actually, just having a double chin
6. Wearing a trench coat. Creepy.
7. Having StarWars characters, a greek god, the word “dawg” (or any derivation thereof) in your screen name. 
8. A profile picture featuring you and a ferret. So. Not. Sexy.

Then there were other more subtle things that I realized I had a negative reaction to. I made a “probably not” list of these:

1. Guys who take pictures of themselves--especially in the mirror. Do you not have friends?
2. Hanging sunglasses on a shirt collar or pocket. I find this habit really irritating.
3. Guys who point out negative things about themselves, or things that they DON”T want in a girl in their profile. Some would say they “don’t want drama”, which made me suddenly think, “Would I be too dramatic?” No. I’m just a bitchy. It’s different, but the “don’t likes” made me feel insecure.
4. Less than a bachelors degree. 
5. Non-drinkers. Really? If you don’t love beer you can’t possibly love me.

Whew, that just about eliminates 90% of all male online daters between the ages of 20 and 76. My next mission is to figure out what I actually am attracted to. Ferrets will not be on that list.

First Wink

So my first “wink” was from a Mexican father in his forties. His profile began, “Hola. I am Luis.” I don’t think I’m open-minded enough for this. I’m glad I didn’t write “open-minded” in my profile. 

Selective Inclusion

Note to self: Set aside an hour and a half to make a profile. It’s laborious. What color are your eyes? How tall are you? What is your body type? What’s your astrological sign? How long is your big toe? Then they want pictures of you in specific situations: Outside, inside, with friends, doing a handstand, with family, with a pet, with a midget from Kansas. Okay, a couple of those aren’t really in there. 

The hardest part is talking about yourself. You want to sell yourself, but at the same time be realistic and not sound like a pompous ass.  I teach English and in the end I decided to take my own advice-- show, don’t tell. So instead of telling my future dates that I am fantastic in every way, I told them that I “sing in the car” and “dance when I vacuum” and that I am a teacher who tries to “positively influence others.” I decided to leave out that I can eat a whole large pizza by myself, have long conversations with my dog, and I smell-check dirty clothes from the floor before wearing them. I think of it as selective inclusion of details. 

When I finished, I felt pretty good. I had to do some real self-evaluation and introspection in the process, but spending that much time focusing on positive things about myself reminded me that I am totally, completely datable. Wait, gotta go-- just got my first “wink”. I don’t even know what that is...

The Mission

So let’s get started. Here’s a little background that you’ll need to know to understand this journey. I am a serial monogamist. Since I was 15, I’ve been in one long term relationship after another. And I have the unfortunate ability to make a mediocre relationship last way beyond its natural expiration date. I am interested in so many things and can adjust to so many situations that guys just fall in love with me. Don’t laugh. I’m being serious. I can feel happy and right at home in the middle of the wilderness, or in a formal dress at a fancy restaurant, or at a rodeo, or at a Rush concert, or on a wildlife refuge in South Africa, or at a poetry reading, or drinking a PBR at a motocross race. It’s really a curse because I seem to fit...with anyone...anywhere. But it’s never a perfect fit, obviously, because I get to the two-year-are-we-going-to-get-married-or-not point and its always a not. 

I’ve made myself a promise. And I’m making it to you, too, readers, that I will go on dates with 25 men before making any... and I mean any... type of commitment. I also promise not to be too picky. This is all about being open-minded and expanding my horizons, right? But I have a feeling it will be a bit colorful, possibly tragic, and hopefully humorous. Are you with me?

Cats and Whisky

I finally caved. After months of being single, sitting on my couch on Saturday nights watching crime shows, drinking wine alone, and calculating the days until I turn 30, I made the decision. I had just finished my 100^th sudoku puzzle. It was the last page in the book. 100 puzzles, for those of you that aren’t addicted yet, is a serious commitment. And I was finished. I threw the book away and thought, “now what?”

I realized, in that moment, that if I did not do something about my lack of social life I may grow old and die with a cat (or six) on my lap, a stupid sudoku puzzle in my hand, and a whisky on the rocks on my nightstand. 

Let’s stop here for a second. I’m sure you are picturing that I’m less than attractive. I must be to have that kind of life, right? Wrong. I have the right number of fingers and toes. No speech impediments. No missing teeth. I have a college degree and some grad credits, too. I’m in decent shape. I hike. I run. I own a house. I have a career. I had just reached a strange point in my life where there was not much opportunity to meet new people. All of my friends are in relationships. They are paired up like penguins all happy and content. I work as a teacher--not many men in that field. And life is not like a movie. No one will walk up to me in the coffee shop or see me on an elevator one day to revolutionize my life. I’m never even in an elevator. I own a house. 

Okay let’s go back, now. I threw away the sudoku book and decided to start internet dating. Embarrassing? Not compared to the vision I had with the cats and the whisky. I also decided to write about it. I know there are other amazing women out there in the same place where I found myself. And I know internet dating is terrifying. Really, it is. I’m pretty sure Jeffrey Dahmer would be internet dating if he were alive. 

So I want to share my experience with you. At the very least I’ll entertain you, but hopefully I can be like a pioneer, leading the way for highly-datable people to log on and find what they are missing. Just take a minute to picture yourself in thirty years. Are you alone? Is there a bottle in the picture? Multiple cats? Maybe a weird hobby like building tiny ships out of toothpicks? If so, I’m doing this for you.