So anyway, I am kind of an asshole….

Here’s the thing about me.  I am kind of a dick. Wait, I don’t mean it that way.  Actually, yea I do.  Maybe I mean skeptical? Is that being a dick? Idunno.  At any rate. I figured that after posting about some of my potential suitors, it only made sense to follow up with some of the completely fucked up conversations that happen, so that you can really understand how why I am dedicating myself to the betterment of cats and therefore will be adopting 12 online dating works.

Now, I should preface this by saying, I just swipe right.  I am not going to read profiles ahead of time, I just swipe until I can’t swipe anymore.  And then I “match” with people like this:

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Look, in real life, if I was actually paying attention and not sedated blindly swiping, I would NEVER EVER swipe on a guy who has better boobs than me in four out of five of his pictures,  forgot to put a shirt on.  Because honestly, that is really fucking forgetful! But, alas, I do, and I end up with Jeff, the karate kid. Guarantee we have zero in common.  Including I don’t forget to wear shirts nearly as often as he does.

So anyway, the point being, now you know, I have no method in my “swipe” other than “Meh, go for it until you have carpel tunnel or run out of candidates.”

Which leads me to the messages I get.  Honest to fucking god, I do this to myself, because, (above) I am an asshole.

There was Andy.  The guy who totally didn’t use stock photos for his profile pictures, except, yes, yes he did.  He also said he went to Stanford,  (Man, I am so dumb sometimes, I should have asked him “Real quick, Andy, tell me! What is the Mascot?” because no one would guess it is the flying rabid pine trees.) but his grammar says otherwise.  Then, he wrote me a small biography on what he is doing now, INCLUDING, living in Africa, but not to worry, he has figured out the distance.  Only thing he needs is my SS#, DOB and bank routing # and we will be ret.to.go.

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So, as you can imagine, based off of shirtless Jeff and Africa Andy, I am feeling pretty fucking confident about my candidates! And letmetellyou, my ego was a boosted by this guy.  Who in ONE HOUR messaged me FOUR times AND told me I have a nice chin.

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lemmetellyou, nothing boosts the confidence the way that “Great chin btw” does.  Nothing.

But here is an example of one of the messages I had, that makes  me think to myself “Yolanda Squatpump (you don’t think I really refer to myself as “Nara” when I am talking to myself, how fucking lame would that be? I can be any name in the world when I am talking to myself, today I pick Yolanda Squatpump) you can’t rip on online dating and then do the below. It is not indicative of a princess, which you clearly are not are.

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So, there you have it. 24 hours in, and I am feeling pretty confident that Mr. Nara 2.0 is not anywhere close to the fucking interwebs and likely doesn’t have a computer in his prison cell due to spring up any time!

 

 

 

And on this day, cupid moved the rock and rose from the dead. Wait, no?

mature-cupid-fat-bearded-hairy-bow-heart-arrow-peace-sign-victory-his-hand-48936734I have been reminded quite a bit lately that I have not been blogging. And, ja know, it is true. It’s because I have mostly been snacking, drinking wine and shoveling. And petting my dog. Dear fuck I am a loser. So really, what better day to blog about my love life, than the day Cupid moved the rock and rose from the dead. Wait? Was that this holiday? What the actual fuck did cupid do?

Anyholla. I decided I wanted this blog to be two part (now, let’s see if my ADD allows for that). Part 1. How my incredibly busy dating life has been, and Part 2. My perfect online dating profile.

So, Part 1. The end. No, really. NOTHING HAS FUCKING CHANGED.

Part 2. Lemme tell you married people something. It is REALLY HARD writing an online profile of yourself. You have to “sell” yourself. But thing is, when you are out of a marriage, you don’t always feel super fucking awesome about yourself. Especially when you have been dealt some of the blows I have. Actually even just one. Just get dealt one of mine. Not a gigantic confidence boost. (except the formers new lady, according to sources, looks just like me AND has the same last name. Creepy, or stalky?)

This is what my actual profile says (can’t make this up, but it’s not online now, because I am burnt out from fielding marriage requests from men 15 years younger than me and am just going to work on stalking yoga or something).

Me. Was married for 10 years, but decided online dating seemed more fun. Have a great job, beautiful home and 2 mini-me’s. I’m skeptical of online dating, but having trouble meeting “the one” when sitting at home watching Bravo TV.

You. Must love cheese, bacon, dogs and wine. Be gainfully employed and not live with mom. Be active but not a Spartan. If your profile says things like “Hit me up” or “LOL” I am already annoyed. Gentlemen who have already claimed to be “the one” for me, so you need not apply: someone who asked if I like being slapped with bacon (no), a stripper (like, current, CURRENT stripper), someone who faked a dead wife, someone who sat down upon first meeting and said “My wife went butch, you gunna too?” And many men who are not “technically” single. If you support Trump, I assure you, we are not going to get along.

I mean, that’s funny, right???? Well, seems as though “funny” is not a quality people look for anymore. It also seems as though people don’t like women who own a home and are employed. And eat bacon. And drink wine. Otherwise EVERYONE says “hit me up.” (oh shit, maybe that is why I am always annoyed).

Anyjolla, I decided that I would write what I think my perfect online dating profile would be. Ya know, like the shit you want to say, but don’t.

Me: I dunno, I’ll prolly put some of the stuff from above in, however, here is the real me, lets give it a go.

Was married for 10 years, but decided online dating seemed more fun. Have a great job, beautiful home and 2 mini-me’s. Had my heart aggressively trampled on, but still believe (ish) in happy endings. Want an equal in life. You work, I work, I cook, you do dishes. Want someone to share the great (sunny days at the beach) and not as great (3rd grade recorder concert) with. Want someone who checks their phone in the middle of the night to see if I said “hi” and if I didn’t, you say it, because ya know, you are thinking of me. Want “easy” in a hard world. What does that mean? You understand that my life is chaotic, and even if I am not the fastest to respond to texts, it doesn’t mean I am not thinking of you…. It means, life. You don’t ever ask for racy photos…. Why, because you respect me… And really, who the fuck does that?

You: Understand that I had a life before you, but still want a life with you. What does that mean? I have two people who rule my every being. I never would have guessed I could love going to third grade basketball games, and doing science projects, and reading Octonauts every.single.night. They are actual parts of me (not like my old art teacher who had a sixth finger on both hands, but you know what I mean). You understand that I am a work in progress. Sure, I want to go to the gym more, and be the prettiest, smartest, fastest, but I’m not. And I don’t. And I won’t. Because life. I don’t really watch TV, but always have music on. You should be overly comfortable with a nightly dance party. I don’t believe in electronics at the dinner table. Or lunch table. Or breakfast table. I am right here. But the phone down, I assure you, nothing happened on FaceBook.

So, there you have it, the profile I would like to post, but won’t, because, eh, imma hold out and hope I meet someone in the produce potato chip aisle.

 

 

 

Why I will never online date, The Bad Match, Part 1 – Believe me, YOU don’t want to date ME

If you think back to my very first post, someone who I knew had commented on how lucky I was that I got a “fresh start.” That I got to pick my next (final?) lifetime companion (like, sorry first Mr. Nara, peace out and do over).   That comment resonates with me in so many ways.  Clearly, that was someone who is likely shitfaced or has no actual clue how divorce and / or life works so shut your fucking pie hole, this isn’t  a bad episode of “The Dating Game” like “Whoops, Chuck, I picked the wrong guy to marry, but I get to try again!” however, because you said that just shows how unhappy YOU are in YOUR marriage. Fuckers.  doesn’t quite understand how painful divorce is.  That person is generally someone who gives out bad advise on the reg, like “Sure, cross the street without looking both ways.” Or “You can TOTALLY have a second piece of cake, you are so skinny.” You know “That friend.”

That being said, I suppose it is human nature to not be alone

.  I don’t mean that in like the “pack” sense. I mean, I don’t want to go get a flock of wolves and have them help me raise my mini’s, although, idunnno, I do really like dogs and all.  Wait, focus.  What I mean, is that, at some point I would like to not always sleep like this:

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For a small person, I have managed to figure out how to take up an entire bed.

Shit. I am looking skinny these days.

Anyhoo.  It seems like the new “norm” is for people to date online.  I dunno, it just seem so weird to me… I remember, isn’t that how people get killed on Craigslist? Wait, is that how they do? I mean, when the old Mr. Nara and I met, we met…. Literally. Like, as people, not as online personas.  Oh shit.  Look at how that worked out. Huh.

Moving on. I suppose all of these dating sites follow the same simple algorithm.  Are you tall? Do you like tall people? Do you like to smoke? Do you want to learn how to smoke? Do you like to date midgets? Do you think those shoes with the toes built in are ok? Do you have a tail? You know, the basics. I just find it so strange, that on EVERY SINGLE DATING SITE my “matches” come back into a few simple categories.  Today, let’s dive into category one.  We shall call him “YOU don’t want to date ME.”

Basic stats: Harvard (Yale, enter in here any really good school, those are just the only two that I know how to spell).  Works as some sort of a PHD, (is that how you write it? You know, those doctors, not like “Cough cough” but like “I am super smart so I get three extra letters”, them), avidly climbs rocks, eats kale and does presentations on the side about how diet coke should be banned.  You know, these guys:

Of course, we are a 78% match.  I suspect it might be the flag because  merica.  Big fan of the décor overall. I love the “shabby clutter” look.

 

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My, what nice jeans you have.

I was also a high match with this kind fellow. Who I am positive doesn’t live in his mom’s basement. I am also sure he is not nearly sedated enough for me to deal with for five fucking seconds.  As a side bar, are those the SMALLEST fucking hands ever? They are like toddler hands!

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No question, this guy has ferrets. Many, many ferrets.

Why so serious, Wayne?  That can’t possibly be your name, right? Is anyone ACTUALLY named Wayne? They tell you to put up profile pictures of you doing “fun” things. Is this your “fun” side, Wayne? Are you basically the most opposite of fun ever?

 

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I refuse to date anyone who has better hair than I do.

Why doesn’t “this guy” want to date me? Are you fucking stupid? Because I will make fun of him right away, duh.  Like, TO HIS FACE. Because I am not smart enough to carry on a conversation about ions (are those a thing, not IRONS, IONS?).  Because I don’t really give a shit about IONS, because I drink diet coke, swear, and tried kale once.  I will never be a rock climber. There is no question that these guys ALL wear Tevas and have gross feet.  See, they don’t want to date me, I have already ripped them apart and I have no idea who these fictitious unicorns really even are.

THESE ARE MY FUCKING MATCHES PEOPLE…….. And, to make it worse, these are just the ones I can’t date because they are nerdier than I am.  And that, that right there, is a lot of nerd.  These aren’t the ones I can’t date because their profile starts with “Yo, playa.”

I AM GOING TO BE ALONE WITH FUCKING CATS FOR THE REST OF MY GODDAMN LIFE.

I know, I know, right now, you are so jelly that I get to “start over” and “pick again.” I mean, back the fuck up people, because that is the cream of the crop.  I don’t feel like I am asking for that much? Oh, I know, at the end of every blog, I will state some of my basic “nopes.”

Next blog, Why I will never online date, The bad match part 2 – Is THAT a picture of what I think it is????

Nopes:

Pegged Jeans

Tevas / crocs

Bad toes

Nose hair

Bad Breath

Short

Thinks Kale is real food – PIZZA is real food, Kale is for bunnies. And Hippies.