Recently, a guy conducted an experiment. In short, this guy put up a fake profile pretending to be a very pretty 23-year old. He wanted to see how many men would still try to date her even when she came across as completely bat-shit-crazy in her written profile and during communication.
It’s not the first time someone has done this for “anthropological” reasons, and it certainly won’t be the last. Nothing revealed was a surprise. It was predictable. Some men (but not all) will put up with high levels of “crazy talk” just for a pretty face or to get laid.
Moving slightly away from this experiment, there was a comment on Gawker that put into words exactly how most of us who are online dating and hoping to meet someone real for something (hopefully) serious feel. It started out with a man commenting that he was on OKCupid and he felt like he was having a tough time because he thought he was “plain looking” though he didn’t consider himself “that ugly.” He marveled that this fake profile of a hot girl got so many views and emails in the first 6 hours it was up. He said he averaged a few views a day and a couple of messages a month and wondered about the gender dynamics and experiences of OKC. A woman replied to his comment and it really just sums up how I (and many others) feel when it comes to the messages I receive and how I’m trying to deal with the online dating experience.
Here it is:
“As a woman who was on OKC and will probably go on again, yes, the women get bombarded. It sets you up to not really even have the time to go perusing guys’ profiles and reach out to them–you’ve got eleventy hundred messages to reply to, weeeee.
Here are the dealbreakers, if you are looking for someone who knows which end is up: every guy who said “yr hot” was deleted. Every guy that made a transparent critical jab in order to play the insecurity game was deleted. Every guy that only fawned was deleted–if you like someone that much without knowing them, you don’t know much and you cannot be trusted.
The second and last of two guys I met with was neither fawning nor critical–just curious in his first message. He asked me a question. The question was drawn from something I had said in my profile, meaning he had carefully read and thought about what I wrote. And because it seemed like he was actually curious about understanding me better, I was compelled to respond.
That is what women want–for someone to “get it.” So a conversation was started–not about attraction–just a conversation. From that conversation, it was easy to check in one night and find that we were both in the mood to get a drink.
So the best advice I can give you is to try to read the women on the dating site as you would like to be read–as a complex real person, not a free dinner, or a gym-goer, or someone that will “treat her like a queen.” None of that is real at all. You will only hook idiots if they respond to such things.
You’re not ugly. The guy I fell for was, but it didn’t matter because of the confidence. I don’t have advice for getting girls to pursue you–they won’t on OKC. I am just telling you that your looks have nothing to do with it; you absolutely must be patient and persistent if you think you have the seed of a conversation starting, and above all, take it lightly. 90% of the people in the world are dumbasses. Don’t sweat it. You MUST NOT sweat it. Don’t smell like fear. Smell like you are curious about the world, intrigued, secure with yourself and looking to expand into really “getting” another person. Easier said than done, I know, and frankly if someone told me this shit, I’d be like, “Okay you have fun with that.” So I don’t think it’s fair in the least. But this is how I think things work in that venue.”
It’s simple, guys and girls, engage the person you are messaging. The obvious generic copy’n'paste jobs show no real interest. It doesn’t show me that you even read my profile or care to know anything about me beyond what I look like. All you have to mention is ONE thing. If you are super lazy, pick the one section out of the whole profile that has the fewest words, read it, and mention it. That will at least give you a better chance of initiating communication, which can lead to a date, which can lead to friendship, sex, dating, marriage, whatever you are looking for.
P.S. The young man who started this string of commenting and insights received mostly positive feedback. He wound up caving into one request that he post a pic and he did. He was cute and a far cry from many of the kinda creepy looking guys on OKC. People were encouraging and hopefully he takes the sound advice and doesn’t let the disappointment of fewer views and messages bring him down.
The Doorman – aka the weasly, parasitic, washed-up douche on a power-trip
Here’s a funny little story from last Saturday night. Bestie and Second Mom were in the city for a family shindig. I met up with them when it was over at 3PM. From there we went to the bar area of a nice restaurant. We enjoyed some tasty wine and apps and talked and cried and laughed and got drunk. Afterwards, we went to a nearby hotel bar and had one more beverage. While there, we decided that we wanted to dance and lo-and-behold, an old college friend was going to be in the city to celebrate his birthday at this “hot gay club”. We want to dance, what better place than at a gay club?
Here’s where the real story starts. It’s early, only about 9:45/10PM, and we get in line behind the velvet rope [GAG] of this club. There’s hardly anyone else in line, so we pretty much walk right up to the doorman and this is what transpires. Not verbatim, but a pretty good representation of what was said:
Doorman: You can’t get in unless you are a member or have a white card.
Us: Huh? Really? We’re just meeting someone here for his birthday. How do you get a white card? Really? You won’t let us in?
Doorman: Step aside.
So, now we are standing to the side trying to figure out our next move. Bestie is texting the bday boy. And we’re talking and pretty incredulous about how they won’t let us in, but we’re not really making that much of a stink. We talk to some man with one of those wannabe Secret Service wire ear-pieces. He tells us that he can’t help us, it’s all up to the doorman who gets in, but basically as a woman you need to be accompanied by a male to get inside, being as it is a (male) gay club.
We move down the street a bit near the entrance to the line and talk to more bouncers down there. They basically said the same thing. So we tried asking random guys getting in line if we could go in with them. After 15 minutes of talking to the bouncers and random club-goers, we find three men who are willing to take us in with them.
We get up to the doorman and he lets the three guys in, but tells us that we are not allowed in.
Us: Umm, but why? We are going in with three guys. Those are the rules, right?
Doorman: You are not getting in.
Doorman: One of you called me an ass.
Us: What?! When?
Doorman: When you were standing over there [he points], one of you called me an ass.
Us: Are you serious? None of us called you an ass. [And none of us did, he just made that shit up.]
Doorman keeps going on how we’re not getting in and we’re arguing that we never called him an ass, when I’d finally had it.
Me: You know what? We never said, but if we did, and we didn’t, then fine, it was me. I called you an ass. Cause you know what? YOU’RE A FUCKING ASSHOLE! There, now you can say that I called you an asshole.
I proceeded to walk away, but Bestie and Second Mom were still arguing with him. I came back and kept on screaming that he was an asshole. And I wanted it on record that I was calling him an asshole. I wanted the bouncer dudes who were standing there to hear that I was calling him an asshole.
It wasn’t one of my more mature, finer moments, but it was so called for and now I can laugh about it. If I wouldn’t have to face legal consequences, I would have beat that insufferable, whiny little bitch into the sidewalk. I swear if I ever randomly see him around the city, I will throat punch him.
In retrospect, I’m glad we didn’t get in. I read online reviews of the place and most were negative with complaints about the doorman. Plus, it would have been a $30 cover for each of us and if we had to throw down $90 for just the three of us to step foot in that gawd-awful place, I think my head would have blown.
Here are some more of those awesome generic emails:
“Hi there, how r u” (YAWN)
“You re looking good, i would like to be your lovely friend.” (He’d like to be my lovely friend…no, no, no, no, no.)
“Hello baby …. Love your eyes … Want meet you” (Do not call me baby, you don’t know me – UGH.)
“Hello i’m keith, you look lovely Girl ” (Girl with a capital G, yet he doesn’t capitalize the K in his name.)
“Lets swim for it !” (Swim for what???)
“hey good evening how are you doing today” (Punctuation. Such a small thing. Periods and question marks are your friends. Your lovely friends, even.)
“I looked at your profile and I’m feeling it. I’m thinking we should get to know each other, what do u think?” (Ooo, he’s “feeling it” – yippee! Too bad that I’m not.)
“Do you enjoy mutual masturbation?” (What the??? Seriously? Jesus.)
“Hi. My name is Leon. I read your profile and thought it was really interesting. You are a very beautiful and sexy women. I would definitely like to get to know you better.” (Gee, thanks for all the compliments, Leon. But this is so obviously a copy’n'paste job and it won’t get you anywhere. At least not with me.)
This one is just a portion of a longer email he sent to me. He did actually read my profile and mentioned a few things that I had written. Points there. However, then came this doozy of a paragraph. Now, I appreciate the candor, but not quite the way to introduce yourself if you’re looking for something remotely serious, which I gather from this he most certainly is not. Just a FYI, he did not have pictures in his profile, so obvi trolling anonymously for sex. Which is his prerogative, but not what I want. Well, not what I want with someone who I don’t know what they look like.
“I am a 37 year old D&D free single white male. When we meet I will stand in at 5’11” and an athletic 185lbs with sandy blond hair and deep hazel eyes. My interests run the gamut from exploring new food to long runs or bike rides to impulse trips both local and far and to intellectually stimulating conversation. I am looking for both a person I connect with (a witty ironic sense of humor) and a relationship of mutually highly satisfying sex. One of my faults is that I love to give and satisfy my partner more than I like to be satisfied. I love to give oral and truly love when my partner tells me never to stop (although I do have to, it is hard work.)” (Hi, I don’t know you. TMI!!! But seriously, save that little nugget of information for the first date at the earliest. Crikey. Also, it is not a “fault” and don’t bitch about it being hard work, cause that’s really lame. I’ve dated guys who loved giving more than receiving before and it’s awesome, not gonna lie. But it’s far better to find this out in person, during “sexy times”, rather than in an email. Just sayin’.)
I actually have been in contact with someone from OKCupid. He emailed me a couple of weeks ago and referenced something I’d written in my profile, which is always welcome. I wound up writing him back on the Monday before Sandy hit and we went back and forth all day. The emails were nice. He never once tried to direct the conversation towards being sexual. A refreshing change from what transpired with LeDouche and Beefcake (speaking of, he keeps stalking my profile). He emailed me early on Tuesday to see if I was doing okay, which I found pretty sweet. More emails that day and then I gave him my number. We’ve been texting for about a week now. Again, it has been all normal stuff and I have yet to roll my eyes at what he writes. He seems like a good guy so far. He spent days last week and weekend volunteering on Staten Island. He has two very cute dogs. He’s pretty cute himself. He’s my age. He’s an artist, but has a steady job. We haven’t met face-to-face yet, so we’ll see how that goes. But so far, so good.
- It’s only Wednesday and it already feels like the loooongggest week in the office. I suppose that’s what happens when you’ve only had to work two days last week because of Hurricane Sandy. OK, I admit that one of those days might have been spent home with a hangover after excessive drinking on Halloween…BUT, going into work would have been useless since our server network was down the whole week due to the power outage and flooding downtown.
- I ate so much food during Sandy that I disgusted myself. Seriously. I was a gluttonous pig.
- I felt kinda guilty having weathered the storm without any real ill-effect (other than busting out of my now-too-small pants). I signed up for Volunteerathon, signed up with local food banks, signed up for various volunteering efforts. I heard back from Volunteerathon and was assigned to cleanup on Staten Island. Then I felt more guilt because I don’t own work boots (or any appropriate “hard, dirty work” footwear for that matter) and couldn’t go. I tried to quell that guilt by cleaning out my kitchen of any food I could donate, my linen closet of any towels/sheets/blankets, my medicine cabinet of any unopened toiletries and medical supplies. Then I went to CVS and Duane Reade and bought various medical, personal, and baby products to donate. I gave money to various sites. I did what I could do from the confines of my safe, warm, dry home for those without. But I still felt crappy about not being physically doing something.
On Sunday morning, I hauled my loot to a local church about 3 blocks away on Fifth Avenue, right across from Central Park. When I got there at 8AM, I asked the woman in charge of the intake of donations if I could stay and help. I’d help sort, load trucks/cars, whatever was needed. Luckily, she let me and I stayed on until 3PM, when they stopped receiving donations and the last car load of goods left.
Along with 4 girls from the NYC alumni chapter of their sorority, a few families who belong to the church, a random other person and me, we accepted and sorted through hundreds of bags of clothes. Received and organized hundreds of bags and boxes of food. Received and organized another hundred bags of personal products and baby products. Received and organized about 50 bags/boxes of cleaning products. A delivery truck dropped off about a dozen large cases of food/water. We were so confused where this sizable donation was coming from. Turns out it was donated by one of the Rockefellers.
The generosity of my Upper East Side neighbors was astounding. And this was a small operation as the church was really only receiving donations from its patrons or random people who passed by the church. I only happened upon the church via a tweeted picture of the sign out front asking for donations. I recognized it was the church on my street and upon further investigation saw that they were starting to accept donations at an earlier hour than other churches and synagogues in my area. The early hour was my main reason for choosing that location over others. Other more advertised/publicized receiving places were getting tons more than what we got and I was floored by what we processed in just 7 hours at the church.
I was also in awe of those who stepped up and volunteered to drive the goods down to the NYPD staging/distribution site in Queens. Gas is a limited resource with hours needed to wait in line to get a max of 10 gallons. People dropped off donations and upon hearing that we needed more cars to transport the stuff, went home and picked up their SUV’s and came back, filled their cars to the top, and made the trip out to Queens. Those people were awesome. One woman returned to the church after transporting stuff. She walked in with two big bags of adult diapers saying that they were requested by the folks at the distribution center and left them with us. Another came back to do a second trip.
When we heard that various sites put a hold on receiving clothes, someone contacted someone who knows someone and blah blah blah. We were able to transport and store hundreds of bags of clothes in the dining room of a (very nice, huge and expensive) duplex two blocks from the church. I walked into the place and my jaw dropped. The dining room was bigger than my apartment. On one of the walks over there and back, I met and chatted with one of the other volunteers. He was very handsome, very tall, very nice, and very age appropriate. Of course, he was very married with kids. Of course he was.
Three days later, I’m still a little sore from carrying and moving heavy bags and boxes. But it was worth every ache and pain. I’m pleased that in my advanced age and decrepit state, I can still carry a 50lb case of water about 25 yards without issue. I’m going to try to find construction boots, because they are probably a good thing to have anyway. You never know what kind of situation you’ll be in and Uggs, high-heeled suede boots, or well-ventilated (read: very airy and light) running shoes aren’t going to cut it.
My heart still breaks for those who lost everything and their loved ones. I hope my smallish contributions helped. I thank everyone who contributed time, money, goods, or warm thoughts to the recovery efforts. I hope that I can speak for those of us on the East Coast and say we really appreciate it! xoxo
If you can, those affected by Hurricane Sandy are in the utmost need of your help.
Text REDCROSS to 90999 to donate $10. If you wish to donate more, please call 1-800-REDCROSS. No amount is too small.
If you are in the New York area and are able and willing to volunteer, you are needed. Please check out the following link for numerous opportunities:
I have had many friends and family who have been affected, whether it be their towns devastated, their homes flooded and ruined, their power out for days on end, their inability to get to work, their fear and sadness and loss. Many of us have seen our hometowns and old stomping grounds leveled.
I count myself as one of the luckiest SOB’s on earth. I have been (physically) ‘safe’ throughout this ordeal. But millions of others have not been as lucky.
Please help if you can. Thanks.
I get into work today. I’m perusing all the junk, spammy, and legit emails when I come across a certain person’s name with the subject line “All is well”.
Now, most of you may know that I live in NYC and unless you live under a rock, know we had a hurricane pass by causing mass destruction to Jersey and many other areas on the East Coast affected by flooding, fires, high winds, power outages, etc. I was one of the extremely fortunate ones that lives uptown and kept power, tv, Internet, etc…
OK, back to the email.
It was from the Colossal Douche Bag!
Our breakup was the reason I started this blog. If you don’t know the back story, read it here. It’s one of my most popular posts.
Anyways, I open it and this is what I find:
Hey Amy, C**** and M****,
Things are good. We only had one down tree and it did not fall on my building. Lost Internet for 4 hours but other than than…things were good.
Just livin’ the bachelor life and will see you soon in Chicago!
Holy shitballs! Now, I know this was meant to be sent to his sister, Amy, and not me (at least that’s what it’s supposed to look like). Why the fuckity fuck does he still have my contact info in his address book? I deleted his shit the moment I was done ripping him 5 new assholes.
My mind automatically went to that he sent this to me on purpose, making it look like the intended recipient was his sister. Why? I just found it strange that I was bcc’d on it. He is sending this to his two sisters and brother-in-law. Why blind copy them? I also found it strange that he should mention “just livin’ the bachelor life” when he talks to them all the fucking time (at least he did when we were dating). Wouldn’t they already know that? The bcc and mentioning he’s a bachelor strikes me as a tad suspicious.
But anyhoo, I found it WAY amusing that he is just living the bachelor life, cause does that mean his shotgun wedding went down the shitter? Aww, that’s a shame! What a fucking douche.
And for the grand finale. This is copied/pasted exactly how it appears online. All disjointed. All over the place. No edits, except where I’ve added my commentary in green. Warning, it is profanity laced. I just couldn’t help it.
The myth of multitasking has spread to finding a mate. Reading while sitting in front your computer is less distracting than trying to focus on what’s not around the edges of your phone’s screen while walking down the street, dodging those pesky lightposts and obnoxious cars that always seem to pop up into your path. It’s rare to find someone with the presence of mind required to prevent the lifestyle ADD of the always-on, modern stimulus junkie mentality. Be good to your mind. Your brain will thank you (and reward you with clearer, stronger, better emotions and feelings leading to overall smarter decisions).
P.S. I write. Writing is enjoyable for me. This implies that you read. If reading is any more difficult for you than writing is natural for me, feel free to keep looking rather than reading.
P.P.S. Remember to mention my online dating name, and/or the super-secret password that you’ll easily find at the links above. This will give you an excuse to learn as much about me as you could possibly want to know before messaging me, while finding something to write about (or more likely, a few somethings worth writing about).
The journal is here, with a guide to the must-read entries: (click here) [I disabled these links. Contact me if you want them.]
Past profiles are here in case you want to see into the past: (click here)
Write me whenever you feel your fingertips start to move in this direction…
What I’m doing with my life
…wondering what motivates so many women to post their professional résumé in this box instead of their actual interests, hobbies, likes, loves, fascinations and curiosities.
Actually, I do know… at least, in many instances, their motives are crystal clear.
[So, you are pretty much doing nothing with your life. Ah, I see. But I suppose it would be against this site's policies to state that you are perfecting your skills in making a human skin suit.]
Paraphrased from past profiles, with embellishments for the present:
- I don’t foresee having multiple lovers in the near future, if for no other reason than intentional lack of free time. If you have enough empty space in your life to see your desired gender as a form of disposable entertainment, you may have more pressing issues at hand than picking the perfect beau for yet another bout of meaningless romance. [I don't see you having ANY lovers in the near or far future. At least not any that are still breathing. You don't lack free time? You sure spent a shit ton of time writing this drivel. And a big fuck you, Judgy McJudgypants, if I happen to have free time. I'd rather have tons of "empty space" in my life than waste a minute in your presence.]
- privacy is not optional. [So, your victims' heads will be on public display where? But seriously, what does this mean? I suppose there is no privacy when your head is in a freezer with a dozen others.]
- The price of beauty is the amount of time a man is willing to waste chasing after it. Fortunately, I also have other things to do. [Like skinning your victims. I'm sure that takes time.]
- We’re off to a running start if you recognize that “curvy” is intended to mean “hips”, not abdomen. [Shut up. Just shut the fuck up.]
- beautiful physicality and attractive personality are, as I am continually reminded, completely unrelated traits. Feel free to bring the two together to whatever degree suits you.
- an athletic, fit body is an effortlessly sexy body. Everyone was built to be an everyday athlete, within reason — depending on your reason.
- There is no such thing as “crazy, in a good way”. Sanity beats vanity every time. [No, there's no such thing as "crazy, in a good way"...especially when it pertains to this fucking, bat-shit crazy profile.]
- be one of the few who can distinguish childlikeness (capacity to experience the fullness of wonder, emotion, and curiosity) from childishness (stubbornness, pettiness, the need to be “right” even when wrong — or when being right really doesn’t matter, blind following of authority figures and those have apparently higher social status).
- I’ve met more people who with deep psychological issues who were “sane” because they accepted themselves as they are now, than “normal” people who were obsessively striving for ideals of a happily ever after. [Of course, those with deep psychological issues think they're sane. Mental illness can warp the brain and logical thinking. Are you referencing your asylum-mates here? Birds of a feather...]
- self-acceptance is the basis for change, not the seat of self-satisfaction and personal stasis.
- occasional self-contradiction is healthy. as a person outgrows old habits and beliefs Self-contradiction as a lifestyle, though, might be more accurately called delusion, or self-confusion.
- calling yourself a set of antonyms isn’t clever, it’s meaningless and shifty: a cynical optimist, a stubborn open mind, a sanely crazy person. These (obviously) don’t fit together, and it says more when a person tries to evade a question rather than simply leave it on the table for another time.
- you might say that the only thing I’m stubborn about is my distaste for stubbornness. [Distaste...funny, you mention that. I find this whole profile in massive distaste.]
- be human, not a social robot. It’s not “just a preference”: anyone who evaluates another person’s value based on their race, is a racist. Racism sucks.
- social status matching is a poor substitute for the potential richness of personal compatibility. Live beyond your tax bracket.
- compassion for other people matters. Given that, social darwinism (i.e. “if you’re poor, you deserve it”), sucks. Your cat doesn’t know the meaning of unconditional love. It’s not smart enough. Real love is for humans, not social robots, search algorithms or deceptively intelligent housepets. [My cat understands unconditional love, you fuckwit. She's more human and intelligent than you and deserves more real love than you. People who believe animals don't deserve love are the first to turn into sociopathic, serial killers. Amirite?]
Real love between consenting adults is always conditional — stemming from the fact that we are capable of making choices. This is a good thing. [Thank god, because under NO CONDITION would I ever consent to anything with you.]
- those who screech about needing “honesty” are usually the most skillful liars. Those who whine about being “sick of the games” are usually the most avid players. Those who live “one day at a time” are often the most afraid of the future. [I'm sorry, but by reading this profile, I would think a little whiny bitch wrote it.]
Antidote: be honest about lying (we all lie; the liar spins ever-tightening fabrications around herself about being honest); play games that we’ll both enjoy; and know why you wake up every day. Simple.
I’m really good at
…not bothering to suppress a chuckle when I read that a woman’s favorite film or novel is Fight Club.
The first things people usually notice about me
I could completely amaze you by revealing the secret of what men are really looking at when they compliment your “eyes”, “hair” and “smile”, but you know already — hence, the invention of the push-up bra. [The first thing that people notice about you is that you're looking at their chest? Great, you're a pig. Congrats.]
Women tell me that I’m beautiful and smart. Really. [Really? Really? Really??? I doubt it.]
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Womanly qualities condensed into keywords for the Cupidbot:
science: physics/biology/etc., math/mathematics, music/musician, geek/nerd, athlete/athletic, fit
non-smoker no drugs
single not married not separated no kids
omnivore vegan vegetarian
Not sure if I mentioned athlete/athletic, fit. Well, right then: athlete/athletic, fit. These come first. [Do you want an athlete/athletic, fit? You mentioned it THREE times in this section alone, you fucking repetitive douche!]
[How in the fuck are any of these things "books, movies, shows, music and food"? So, I take from this section that you don't know how to read and follow simple directions.]
The six things I could never do without
art, science, music, learning…
…and answering questions, or not, however I choose. [I take from this section that you don't know how to count.]
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I’m fairly massively not into casual sex. Never was. To be as pretentious, presumptuous and sanctimonious (this is actually an inside joke once you’ve read the journal and past profiles) about it as possible: sex could be compared to a duet, or performance by two artists for the pleasure of the act itself. You find each others’ rhythms, skills, likes and desires over time. [Oh, your self-description of being pretentious, presumptuous and sanctimonious is NO inside joke. That shit is crystal clear for everyone to see. And it makes you a colossal dick.]
That said, it’s important to actually start enjoying sex together as soon as possible so that you can: (1) start acting normal around each other without sex as some kind of forbidden topic or manipulative ‘lure’; and (2) find out how sexually compatible you really are. At least with me, that’s not a foregone conclusion. My eyes and mind might adore you while the rest of my body might not, and vice versa. [Skeeved. I'm 1,000% skeeved at the thought of sex with this person.]
Both (1) and (2) are necessary to build a satisfying sense of sexual tension, possibility and exploration that can last longer than three dates (any longer without sex and the attraction probably wasn’t there to begin with), six months (the ‘starting to get comfortable’ phase) or a year (the end of the ‘honeymoon’ phase where two people are no longer pretending to be the ideal romantic partner, in favor of simply acting like complementary individuals who enjoy each others’ mind, scent, taste and touch). [How long until you cut off their heads? Fourth date? And I assume that 'the starting to get comfortable' stage is simply when you have finished the fittings for the skin suits.]
My preference is to move through the honeymoon phase as quickly as possible while deepening our emotional connection and amplifying the pleasurable sexual tension… which is one of the purposes of having written so much upfront.
As written in a past profile, life is too short for a calendar full of first dates. The next step now is yours to take. [Life is most certainly too short...considering all the heads in your basement freezer and full body skin suits.]
I’m looking for
- Girls who like guys
- Ages 31–41
- Near me
- Who are single
- For long-term dating, short-term dating
You should message me if
…you realize that everything I’ve written here applies equally to me as to you.
…you can find something unique about yourself aside from your amazing freckles or the shape of your eyes.
…you’re not here for “friends”. When I signed up, the slogan read “the best dating site on Earth.” And that’s why I’m here. Re-read this paragraph if it’s not clear the first time around, before messaging me. I prefer to spend time, rather than waste it. [It's a pity all the time wasted by everyone who read this. And, dear readers, I am sorry for putting you through this.]
…you’re not a self-help junkie. Few things are more creepy than those who deny reality in favor of “positive thinking”, all day, all the time, in every situation. [Few things are more creepy? Like this whole profile?]
…you’re not stubborn. If you’re stubborn, re-read this paragraph until you realize that the word does apply to you, in a non-congratulatory way. Stubbornness is a flaw, not a feature [I'm pretty sure that your laundry list of expectations and wants from a woman make you pretty fucking stubborn yourself.]
And If it doesn’t apply to you, well… we’ll see. [So, even if a woman doesn't meet all your standards, her head will still suffice for your collection? Gotcha.]
…you’re an artist, scientist, and/or musician. This entails curiosity, playfulness and silliness, i.e. being childlike without being childish.
…you’re really single, meaning: not in a relationship, not married, not separated. Single.
…you know why you wake up every morning. This means that you have an emotionally compelling reason why, also known as a sense of purpose: one that fits you as a thinking, intelligent, creative individual human being. Compassion for yourself and others plays a role here.
…you honestly enjoy sex with someone you trust. You don’t need to “admit” this, because you know that sex is a normal, frequent occurrence among healthy human beings.
…you don’t have any unhealthy trust issues. In other words, you are (mostly) sane. [Ahahahahahahahah...he's looking for someone 'mostly sane'...hahahahahahhahah]
…you are as healthy as you can be and make time for your body — fitness and being an athlete in some way are important to you, as our bodies are made to move and you realize that.
…you are feminine: legs and underarms stay shaved, especially in anticipation of being touched… and you enjoy making healthy meals for yourself. I’m not looking for a man in a woman’s body… why would any man want that? From your perspective, I would imagine that you want a man in a man’s body. So I seek the same: a woman in a woman’s body. Fairly simple. [Right, he's not looking for a "man in a woman's body" because he will become a man in a woman's body...once he completes his skin suit.]
He did not write anything about himself. But you can glean all you need to from the profile…like he ended it, it is “fairly simple”…he’s a fucking psychopath!
And yes, I judged, judged, JUDGED this profile and person up and down and right and left and back and forth. I think he deserved it.
Here’s some more of the cray-cray behind curtain #1. Best part is that he issues a warning against TROLLS! I’m sorry, but when you start putting out shit like this, you are most definitely “feeding trolls” and you have to expect backlash. This isn’t even the worst of it. That’s yet to come…
My Nº.1 OkCupid superpower is forgetting faces, so I’ll probably visit your profile at least twice before clicking the “Hide” button to make room for new ones. I often give four-star ratings to assuage my dismay that most profiles offer precious little worth writing about. There’s also another reason that I mention further down.
My Nº.2 OkCupid superpower is Hiding profiles, so if you’ve visited before, I’ve probably hidden yours and will have no idea if you come back to finish reading before sending your first message (which I count as the second overall, in response to this profile)… cyberstalk at your leisure. Beware the fact that my profiles tend to disappear mostly at random, so message me sooner than later.
The Obligatory Anti-Troll Notice
I do not feed trolls. Those who seek to brainlessly argue or offer unasked-for “critique” of this profile would do better for themselves (and a favor to the rest of us) by finding a new hobby. That’s about as many words and seconds as I have available for the multitude of desperately attention-starved souls who haunt OkCupid. Good thing that hungry ghosts can’t harm the living. And so, moving on…
Moratorium on “star ratings”: 99% of star ratings given in the past have resulted in… an ego boost for her, and not much else. I’ve never known what to do with four-star ratings, either. Thank her politely? Ask her what drove her to give me stars? Return the favor as if I owed her something? I mean, stars are stars. They’re shiny, bright, they live in the sky and they’re made of the Universe. It’s a big deal when someone gives you stars.
So, consider any further four- or five-stars as a test of your “self-inflation rate”, to extend the words of a certain young lady from not so long ago. Although I suppose that if people walked up to each other at random in real life and handed out yellow cardboard stars, it wouldn’t be any less or more odd than it is online… in any case, messages are better, in that they actually have the potential to communicate.
Consider this my first message to you: Read from the links above and message me when you feel the urge… given that your profile is mostly likely fairly empty, and probably receives a mailboxfull of generic “hi” messages, I don’t bother adding to the pile unless an idea spontaneously arises from something you’ve written. Don’t rely on being in my “Visitors” list and hope that I’ll write to tell you how cute you are (too many prettily made-up and Instagrammed faces on this site — they tend to blend together anyway). Read what I’ve left for you here and tell me one thing that comes to mind. There is more than enough material to play with and come up with a reply.
I prefer an uncensored ramble to an eloquent quotation, passionately scatterbrained and carelessly unspellchecked sentences in lieue of a carefully curated work of self-conscious prose, and an emotionally engaged page of thoughts rather than a couple of witty words meant to inspire awe or provoke a response. In other words, perfection is boring. Be you. And above all, don’t try so hard. Breathe. Read. Write.
Remember the picture of an eye that I posted? The picture that accompanied the most self-important, bizarre, ostentatious, and verbose dating profile I have ever come across…well, for your daily WTF moment, here’s a portion of it.
A Quick Personality Test
As you read this, your mind will start to slow down to take in the details and transport you into the scene. Then, you’ll feel something that I’ll ask you about afterward. Don’t bother skipping ahead because you’ll miss it completely if you do:
Graceful traversal of the winding path between tables revealed a sea of delicious scents and aromas, tastefully decorated walls, high ceiling and atmospheric ambience suffused with amber evening tones; the quiet background murmur often punctuated by the lilting sounds of private laughter. Drawing nearer and effortlessly moving to occupy the empty seat, their eyes met across the flickering flame of a small candle at the table’s center. Eyelashes softly closed for a long moment, resting lightly upon one another as a butterfly’s wings might touch for the briefest span of time. Opening slowly, the shine and shimmer of brightly sparkling eyes brought forth the darkness of two pupils whose slightly defocused intensity allowed the mind to take in the captivating sight only a few feet away, as a window might allow access to the brilliance of millions of stars in a clear evening sky… spoken evenly, calmly and deliberately, yet near-unconsciously: “hi.”
Although often said as a simple means of greeting, the word was intoned in this instance as a expression of far more intimate intentions… lips settled upon one another after a moment of reciprocal friction, moistened, warm and ready for the commencement of comfortably innocuous conversation while the far more important communication of sensual tension between eyes, minds and bodies had already begun…
Gauge your first reaction: A) How lovely; or B) My bullshit meter is beeping louder than a non-government-issue Geiger counter at ground zero in Fukushima.
I’ve noticed that many women play the “excessively ambivalent” game (“I don’t know about this scary online dating thing… I mean, it’s free; it’s anonymous (except for the advertisers who want to buy and sell your soul, but you’re probably strangely unconcerned about that); I can Hide/Block anyone I don’t like; I can message anyone without my friends finding out; and I can create a new profile if the old one accumulates too many creepy stalkers who flag my photos and visit repeatedly without ever messaging… you know, I don’t know, online dating is scary”). I would add boorish (“I’m a man in a woman’s body”, “I’m brutally honest at all costs”), and in full flight from their lives (food becomes a drug and travel becomes an addiction). That type seems to respond to my profile as if I were the Great Satan Incarnate, perhaps because I’m not the wishy-washy, awkward Nice Guy counterpart to their stubborn-and-stiff, conformity-needing selves.
In a previous profile, I noted that it’s fashionable for the modern American woman to advertise her sense of self to the world as being deeply layered (“it takes a lifetime to get to know yourself”, one woman prophetically announces), deeply complex (“I’m a swirling mass of contradictions”, every other profile narcissistically pronounces), and above all, deeply wounded on some etherically existential level (hence, the popular enslavement to the Cult of Positive Thinking).
From their complainings and whinings in their profiles, that type also tends to attract creeps and jerks. No surprise that like attracts like — in the real social world, familiarity breeds affinity and opposites repel.
if your reaction was option “B”, get over yourself. Self-indulgence isn’t sexy. Each of us is different; the “normal” person hides her differentness under layers of self-persecution that extends out to attempts at control in the social world (other women and men, including — and especially — potential mates). Stop trying so hard to be someone else’s idea of the “average” (i.e. normal, generic, sheeplike) person. Be your weird, creative, different (though I dare not say “unique” in a world of seven+ billion) self instead.
Or you could spend the rest of your life trying vainly to make parts of yourself disappear under “flattering” makeup, “slimming” clothes and a blatantly fake social smile. Your choice. I don’t mind repeating myself in saying that self-acceptance, as part of the continual process of change that is life, is both rare and ridiculously sexy.
If your reaction was option “A”, keep reading. Feel free to respond with your own side of the story…
- While I was laid up this past weekend, I watched a marathon of The Walking Dead on AMC. I finally get the hype. I get the obsession. I was obsessed. I am obsessed. And I am not a zombie-movie, zombie-anything fan. Along with Breaking Bad, AMC just rocks. However, no, I don’t watch Mad Men and probably won’t ever.
- I saw Pitch Perfect Friday night. I’m gonna start calling myself Fat Amy…you know, so all the rest of you bitches don’t do it behind my back. But seriously, it was funny and I wanted to sing along with them. Take what you will of the fact that I’d consumed half a bottle of wine and a cocktail prior to the screening.
- Tomorrow night, the second season of American Horror Story starts. I can’t wait. It takes place at an insane asylum called Briarcliff Manor. If you know me in real life, that’s a little ironic.
- Last night on the crosstown bus, one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen got on and sat right behind me (on a nearly empty bus). He looked like Ryan Reynolds, except with grey hair and a beard. I couldn’t gauge how old he was cause the grey hair kinda threw me off. His face was really young looking. And he was tall and fit and just hot. Did I say anything to him, do anything except for trying to steal glances at him in the bus window reflection? No. Because I’m lame…L-A-M-E, lame.
- My tendonitis is getting better. I’m not at 100%, but in quick sprints crossing streets, I don’t have any pain. Not ready to run yet, but walking distances doesn’t worry me anymore. I bought some KT tape on Friday after work and taped it all up. I don’t know if it’s actually helping or if the inflammation is just going down on its own, but I’m digging the look. Also, I’m wearing sneakers at work – it’s quite the look.
- For the first time in forever, I polished my fingernails. I usually always have my toes done, but my nails are a whole other thing. Take a lookie. Blue on toes, hot pink on fingers.
- There’s this guy (I think) on OKCupid…the strangest profile I have ever come across. He emailed me a note that said “Random first impression – much cuter with glasses on than off”. OK, that’s not the worst email I’ve received, but then I opened his profile. First of all, the only pic of “him” is a close up of an eye. An eye that looks female (fully made up).
Now if the “dude” is wearing makeup, whatever, that’s his thing. But come on, that can’t be your only picture. Put another full face pic up. That wasn’t the worst of it. The written content was. I have no words for it. It was so bizarre and contained about a billion words (War & Peace had less chapters). There were links in it that led to his wordpress blogs – one a weird diary of some sort and the other a compilation of his past online dating profiles (the written stuff only, no pics). I would link them here, but I don’t want him creeping around my blog by seeing me as a referrer. If you really want to see them, email me and I’ll send you the links. Maybe I’ll do a separate post with some excerpts of it – I’m telling you, it was strange and really self-absorbed and self-righteous (I mean even more than me ).
- So, the other night I got a text from Beefcake. “Shut up!” you say? Yeah, me, too. And in typical ifUseekAmy fashion (aka, can’t turn off the bitch switch), I responded with a little sass and haven’t heard back. LOL. But then I didn’t think he’d contact me again after the email exchange and he did. This could be “to be continued”. Yes, I realize that I am using him as a pawn in whatever it is I’m playing.
- Tonight while waiting for my take-out order (Shake Shack, don’t judge), a little blonde-haired toddler went running by and right out the door to the courtyard…by himself. Uh, what the hell? The two guys who were standing next to me and I all exchanged looks, like “who does he belong to?” The guy by the door kept an eye on the little guy as he played on the handicap ramp. A few minutes later a guy with a stroller comes by, barely rushing. WTF? This jerk-off let his toddler run off by himself? If he’s running away, yell at him to stop or at least to someone else to stop him. Or how about leaving the fucking stroller and chasing the kid? And this guy has a kid and I don’t. Fuck me.
- Lastly…So excited to receive my Sephora order. Can’t wait to play with the eyeliner kit!