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:
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.
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.
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.
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!
It’s weird. I always try and keep my blogs about my current life and funny. Because, well, generally my life is always a hot mess pretty fucking funny. Let’s face it, the last few years have not been easy on me (or my grey hair for that matter), but you know what, your ex-husband gets engaged to his mistress you realize you are WAY fucking stronger than you ever thought, you get through. You just do…. First and foremost for me, is always my minimuffin tops (shout out to my fellow fat kids)….. They are really my whole heart and soul. They remind me the things I am good at (laundry) and the things I am not (cooking, Bigs told me the other night his dinner smelled like “Beaver food” which brings in the question “You eat fucking beaver food dude?”)….. Anyholla.
I knew, in my heart, I knew I would never be ready for these upcoming weeks, but now, I just have this heaviness in my heart and pit in my stomach (it’s not even because I am hungry, which I always am)….. #peewee is starting school….. Interesting fact, he has actually gone to a “special needs” program for 3 years now. Three fucking years. When he started, he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t walk up stairs. Couldn’t even consider walking down stairs. He couldn’t run. Well, now, he doesn’t shut up, he has a candor about him when he speaks that is nothing short of hysterical, does not even consider holding my hand walking up stairs, and actually runs (although, he sort of looks like a cartoon character when he does, still)…..
But here I am, filling out his back to school paperwork, for him to go to a different school than his brother, because as amazing as our town is, they can’t service him with his needs in district…. So, the little puff pastry will go into a class with 15 other kiddos he doesn’t know. He will be “that kid” you know, the one who has his own teacher, because he still can’t write, he can’t hold a pencil, he can’t go to the bathroom alone, he gets confused. He’s scared.
Selfishly, I’m scared. I’m so scared. I’m proud of him that when he was able to run, he no longer had to wear braces on his legs. I’m proud of him that he hardly has to use sign language to speak to me anymore. I’m proud of him that he can try and play with other kids. I’m so scared. I know he’s different. His brother knows he’s different. Deep down inside, I feel it in my heart that even he knows he is different. So I lay awake at night, scared. Scared he will get picked on more than he already does. Scared more people will ask “What’s wrong with him.” (Sidebar, props to me for not cold clocking the bitch outside of Dunks the other day who asked me that, I just said “Him, nothing, you, appears as though quite a bit is.”).
So, as I fill out his paperwork, I wonder questions that no parent should ever have to wonder. Will he be able to go on field trips? Will he go to gym class? Will music class be too loud for him? Will someone help him carry his pizza to his desk on pizza day? How am I going to get him to understand that his beloved “guys” can’t go to this school, and that there is no “school boo” to snuggle if he gets scared? What will happen if he needs me, but doesn’t know how to say it? Mostly, what happens when he gets picked on? Because he already does. And I know he will. Just because he is different. He doesn’t love any less, he likes the same things as other 5 year old boys, but he is different. And different isn’t “cool.” What will happen now? What will happen in one year, or three or five?
So my beloved friends and family, if (when) I am bitchy (ier) than I normally am, it’s just because I am scared.
For starters…. I just feel like we all need to clear the air on something. Yes, I blog. No, it isn’t about you… Don’t be so vain. You think if I didn’t sign on the dotted line to write a book about the Former Mr. Nara for cold hard cash, that I am going to write about the potential Future Mr. Nara??? I say this, because I get a lot of inquiries that go something like this:
If you won’t write about me, I want to date you
If you won’t write about my friend, I will introduce you
If you promise TO write about me, I want to date you
The fuck? THE ACTUAL FUCK? Ah, I said I am not writing about Mr. Nara now not, “ever.”. Just gotta wait for that court order to be lifted. Anyjolla.
Anyway, just needed to get that out there….. So, here we are again, recapping my hot sexy dates….. There have been so many it is actually hard to keep track… Did that sound real? Yes?
Some updates, because I have been a biiizzee lil beaver. OMG, don’t get gross. I dumped Tinder. I feel like there is legit not a single person on there who is not crazy. Wait, maybe I should be on there? Maybe Tinder IS my thing???? I have spent a TON to time thinking that my expectations are WAY too high…. So, I took a look at my ole Bumble profile….. Ready….. Because this is ACTUALLY what it says. Oh, and be sure to send me your edits / enhancements.
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 am super skeptical of online dating, but having trouble meeting “the one” when sitting at home watching Bravo TV. You: don’t play Pokemon go.
Honestly, my only expectation is that you don’t play fucking Pokemon? THAT IS IT? I didn’t even put in there “please have a job and not live in mom’s basement” because apparently I don’t even give a shit about that anymore?????? My best friend in the entire world keeps telling me to slow the fuck down. (I don’t know why?)…… But then I realize my expectation is just that you don’t glue your phone to your hand??? To backtrack. Mr. Nara 1.0 moved on FAST. Like, SO FAST that we were still happily married when he moved on. Wait, I should prolly omit the “happily.” But her point is, don’t settle for some DB who lives in moms basement.
So then, I went through some of my “matches” and what their profiles said, really analyzing them…..
First, EVERY guy puts their height on there….. So I am starting to be concerned that my total lack of height is going to be a problem. Is it too late for those growth drugs? Or, that I am going to end up with a guy who is the same height as me. And that is a nope.
Second, I noticed that quite a few people take selfies in some filthy setting or sitting on furniture from 1968. Not kidding, so if you are supposed to “show” what you like, these people like burlap and dishes. Noted.
Third – Is there a SINGLE – LITERALLY – Single fucking guy out there who doesn’t fall into one of these categories: 1. A pilot, 2. Into rock climbing (can’t make this up), 3. Shirtless, 4. Rides a motorcycle, 5. Says “no drama” (sidebar, you ARE drama, if you are saying “no drama”)
Fourth – The expectations of people are really a bit weird (not “weird” like “don’t play pokemon”) but like a little creepy. Expectations I have seen:
must have long hair
must act like a lady at ALL times
must be petite and VERY fit
must be ready to be a woman
To which I respond:
only if you pull it
what does a lady do ALL the time
very fit? but, but you, are not very fit at ALL.
as opposed to?????
And last, there is this whole new level of sexuality out there now. I don’t mean like the profile is like “I like sex” No, that would be way too easy, I mean, I have to google this shit. And not from my work laptop. Androgynyous, Androphillic, bicurious, intersex. Ok, look, I am a “be who you want to be person” but at least make it easy for me and say what it means… Because, guess what, “intersex” doesn’t mean “intosex” Made that mistake once.
Then, went through some of the messages I have gotten:
Hi my name is Chuck how’re are u?
Today – 9:20 am
Morning. How’re was your night?
Well Chuck, I am not sure what you do for those hours between MIDNIGHT and 9am, but shit sure got crazy around this fucking joint. The first thing I did, was work on basic grammar and spelling, you?
I should mention that “chucks” name on this site is “ihave1hummer2” Anyway you look at that, it’s fucked up.
Chris2phaa (am I the only one who wonders what that means?) said “ello punkin, how u?” WHAT FUCKING SCHOOL DID YOU ALL COME FROM????
From X2mcx2 “Into younger guys? You’re beautiful.” HE IS NINETEEN… NINE + TEN. Isn’t that illegal????
From ResMedian “Best profile in the business, but I hate dogs, but you have some kick ass lines.” I asked him to marry me. He disabled his account. Too much?
From Arthur045, WHO, I might mention is a 12% match….. “Hi goodmorning sweetheart how are you sweetie so beautiful.” Is this an actual thing? This can’t spell, run on sentences? Like, are people like “OMG Arthur045, take me out now and talk to me in runons.” Is that what I have to look forward too? I’m not saying 1.0 was all that smart but jesus.
Brendan, 39 – “Hi, I don’t eat bread.” I’m sorry, now I just think I am getting fucking punked.
BillieBoris (which is it, Billy or Boris?) – What award did the police give you? (On the picture of me getting sworn in)…. So close Billdo.
Cas_09 “Hi there how are you? Stopping by to say hi. Can we be friends?”
Stopping by where Cas? My profile? You stop there? That doesn’t even make sense?
So then, some quick stats.
Opening messages that I comment on a dog, 2. Responses that the dog died, 2.
Messages from men CLEARLY wearing wedding rings: 5
Times I have swiped “Yep” when I meant “no no”: uncountable. Literally. Sausage fingers.
Times my phone has defaulted my location to New Orleans: 3
Guys who were totally 2.0 material BUT based in NO: 3
And a few discoveries:
I attract MUCH younger men. I am very concerned about cougar / mommy complex at this stage of the game
I gravitate toward people who have animals in their profile pictures. I actually “yupped” a guy holding a bunny. Truth.
I notice that people change their age constantly. There is a guy I know who has gone from 37 to 49 in just a few days.
So, I suppose I will just keep up with my real life. You know, the life when Bigs tells all of his friends I am a professional bacon tester, and pee wee has so much speech therapy he speaks like an exchange student. No really “Oh, heeeo. You, you, lok beatfil on this day.” Thanks Hong Li. I mean, pee wee. You know, our normal life, when pee wee goes and JUMPS OFF THE DIVING BOARD ONLY FUCKER CAN’T SWIM. Our life when Bigs is like “I will only answer you if you talk to me in a dog voice.” And I do. Yea, that life.
They say to not judge a book by its cover, but there is nothing said about not judging people by their online dating profile picture (let’s face it, they also say if you don’t have anything nice to say, and lookie lookie me).
There is some rule, like, the first picture may be bad, but you need to look at the first three. Lemme tell you something. I am ridiculously judgmental, I know if I don’t like you right away. I know that I don’t like the smell of dog shit on the first go around, no need to sniff 2 more times? So yes, I am a quick swiper. Before I dive into what I would refer to as “instano”, lemme outline for you what an online dating site looks like (I know, SOME of you may be blissfully married and only have that one secret Ashley Madison account not on dating sites).
So, the anatomy of a profile picture – Tinder. Now, I will start by saying, Tinder is weird to me all around. That is actually a very bad statement, it should be “weirder than other sites.” If we were rating on a 1-10, the creepy factor is a solid 18. Anyhoo.
Please note, I had to download the app, because I am NOT shitting you, I will have 9058 cats before I online date again.
OK, so you put your “best” picture here. Seen here, is a lovely fellow gazing off for his future wife.
Name, age, occupation, etc.
Down at the bottom are the “yup” and “fuck no” buttons as well as a “super like” – here is the thing, super like is very sensitive, and there have been plenty of times I accidentally hit it, then got a message like “Wow, thanks for the super like” and I had to be all “Sorry, I have pork chop fingers, didn’t mean it, but best of luck to you, I am sure you will do great on here.”
The obligatory spelling error
Supplemented with a little bit of POF. To be honest, all of these sites are the same exact thing, there is not one that you are like “HERE HE IS! IT IS MR NARA #2” (Pause real quick… I say “Mr. Nara #2” quite a bit, like I will actually get married again, however, the reality of me finding someone who understands that they can come MAYBE in the top 50 things I give a shit about, are slim…. They need to understand that they would come after: My critters, my family, my friends, my work, my eating, my wine drinking, my Bravo TV watching. You get it.)
Then you break it down a bit more…. Some of these sites encourage you to talk about a bit about yourself. This guy and I could never date bc he already gave me a headache. (Last line, “I am a lil choosey I suppose). Fucker, that is not why you are single, it is because you all cap type. People hate that. Which means they hate you.
What? Just? Just what the fuck is he saying?
They say to be honest, this guy, well, he really did. Love the purple hair, fyi.
Oh, ok, I see, you are on a dating site because you want to go to the movies with someone because your partner from your open relationship doesn’t feel like going to a movie. Absolutely. Sign me up. I am here looking for a pen pal.
OK, so you can see, the profile is really the place where these folks shine! So, once you have breezed through that, you may want to check out a few extra photos they have, you know, doing something super fun, or whatever. Remember folks, these are my “matches” I didn’t go hand-digging for these psychopaths with really strong future careers in modeling people…..
Some mathematical equation believes one of these gems is the next Mr. Nara.
Instant “Nope” #1
I feel like this guy would make me do Zumba and give up donuts. Instant “no”
Instant “Nope” #2
Who did this guy get to take this picture? Was he like “MA! Come take my profile picture for Tinder.” And was she all like “No, get up ON the dirty laundry. Perfect, now look casual.”
Instant “Nope” #3
Can’t you just see me with this guy? It wouldn’t be awkward at all….I’d be like “LOVE your thong, now, what kind of tape do YOU use to keep everything in place? And where did you get that giant size machete?”
Instant “Nope” #4 (I suppose and 5?)
I’m sorry, the ONLY photo you had of yourself, was from your wedding in 1971? As a side note, I super liked this guy just for the fuck of it. Didn’t even blame meat fingers.
Instant “Nope” #6? (I think, but I can’t count)
This next fellow really outlines what is wrong with these dating websites. See, they need to ask you more than like “What is your favorite color?” They need to be like “Would you date a guy with an eye patch? Could you do it with a straight face?” I mean, let’s just be honest here people. I also love that it says we both love basketball… I am 5 foot 1. There is no basketball that I like. At all. And he, welp. Just. Well, you know.
Instant “Nope” #Eh, no idea, 9, 10, 4000
My favorite thing about this guy is his giant WEDDING RING. Dude, at that point, just have your wife take it. Be all like “Listen honey, things have been a little rocky, would you mind snapping a few Tinder profile pics for me so that I don’t have to deal with mirror flash. Thanks, sweetie, love you.”
So, you can see, how I really consider myself to be one of the “lucky ones” who is “handpicking” next Mr. Nara.
Now. Some nopes:
Guys who do better back bends than I do
Guys who wear thongs
Guys who carry machetes
Guys who are married
Guys with eye patches.
And, our next blog posts……. Did. You. Really. Send. That. Followed by, the friends you need, and more importantly the friends you don’t need.
More often than not, I get emails, texts, etc that are like “Nooooo wayyy does this shit really happen in your life.” Listen, I’d either have to be an idiot or a genius to tell these stories. And I sure as shit am not a genius. So yes, this all happens.
My married friends bitch all the time, “Mr. Wonderful never helps out, he is constantly jerking off, he won’t change a diaper, he is busy hanging up tapestries in his man cave etc.” and know what, I never would have done that did too. Thing is, when times were really tough, I could call the former Mr. Nara and be like “Asshole, help out.” And at least there would be a 20% chance (being generous) that he would. Maybe, I mean, if he didn’t have something else going on, eh, ok, 10%. Well when you are single, that 10%, it’s gone. I use to get so annoyed at people who brought their screaming snot nose kids to the grocery store, and now, well, now I shop online, bad example. But you get it.
However, back to the 10% being gone.
I have had this cold for a solid 539 days now. It finally got to the point that I needed to go to the doctor. She was basically like “There is more snot in you than I have ever seen in anyone before, you are a medical miracle.” “Time for a dose of heavy antibiotics.” Ok, that’s cool. I’m down with drugs getting better.
She calls it into the local pharmacy and I’m all like “Shit, I should get sick more often, I am NAILING this!”
I figure I will give the pharmacy a bit to count out the drugs et all (ever notice it takes like a day to count out those pills, am I the only one who thinks it is weird?). so, off I go to get the minis. We take our standard 45 minutes or so to make it 100 feet to the car, baby brother only ALMOST gets hit by another car one time, but still, I decide I will give the pharmacy even more time (I am so fucking nice, huh).
So, the critters and I decide to go through the car wash. Scratch that. I was too lazy to brush the snow off my car (because remember, we live in MA and it snows straight through July), so we decided to go through the car wash (side bar, that doesn’t work, at all).
We make it through the car wash without anyone opening a window and honest to god, I am like feeling like I am a GOOD FUCKING MOTHER.
We pull into the local pharmacy, and the drive through (because, I am THAT lazy) has at least 11 cars in line. Because I don’t think ANYTHING through, there is not a moment that I think “Oh, it must be busy here.” I just think “OK, let’s go inside, because that will be easy.”
Minis and I load out of the car, and head into said pharmacy, which is fascinating, because I really don’t even like them leaving the house honestly, but, such is life. As we walk into the shit show that is about to be the next 2 hours of my life I realize that it might be slightly busier than I realized. As in, it was a fucking shit show there were people crawling off the god damn walls for their Prilosec. I was waiting for a bar to roll out, strobe lights and “Mr. Boombostic” to start to play and OH MY GOD JUST I JUST REVEAL HOW FUCKING OLD I AM!?!??!?!
Fine, that’s fine. We took our time getting here, there is no question my shit is reat – to – go. Still, even still, we wander back to the pharmacy a little slowly, grabbing the essentials. You know, Sour Cream and Cheddar Ruffles, a Kit Kat, a Reeses, some seltzer and 26 boxes of tissues. OK, we are good!
As we round the corner to the pharmacy, I realize that the line BASICALLY WRAPS AROUND THE STORE but hey, there is no one giving me 10% help, so I need to suck it up and be a good lil soldier (side bar, I would be an absolutely AWFUL soldier) and get my shit so that I don’t end up on day #540 of this cold
It takes almost FOURTY minutes to get to the front of the line, but yet again, because I don’t think jack shit through, I’mmma like “Clearly my drugs will be ready all packaged up with a preeey lil bow.”
Nope. At this point, my minis are playing sword fight with sleeves of saltine crackers that they found and I really don’t care because I can see the finish line. There is a guy SCREAMING at the pharmacy helper (does this every work? And he YELLS “This place fucking sucks” and Imma like “Right, THIS LONG to get a drink at the bar, is BS!”) This crabby old woman, says TO ME (pointing to my sword fighters) “Those kids are acting like animals.” And, because I am a really good mother, I say “I know! I wonder where there parents are! This is awful!” Mini one walks up to me as this is happening and is like “momma” and I am all like “I am NOT your momma.”
So as we make it to the sacred ground (front of the line) the lil gal is like “Oh, tee hee, there is nothing here in that name.”
I cried. I’m not kidding, I cried. And kept her sweet face as she was like “Um, do you mind moving over there.” Pointing to the side, and I look over and realize that is basically where the misfit prescription picker-uppers go.
Back forth, the pharmacist calls the doctor, they chat, mini one falls asleep on the floor (YOU CAN”T MAKE THIS SHIT UP PEOPLE – SEE)…..
So we are now shuffled over to the OTHER side of the pharmacy,
At this point, I am basically leaving a trail of tissues for my kids to find me, kind of like bread crumbs AND IT WORKS! I hear them like “OH, there is another tissue, mommy must be over THERE now.” Listen, gotta make shit fun for these guys when we are on hour like 19 of trying to get a fucking Z pack.
Fast forward, fast forward, I finally get my shit. We go home. And immma all like “Either of you two know how to make dinner, I mean, you are 8 and 5, aren’t you men yet?” cereal for dinner? And hit the couch. I realize I am EXHAUSTED. I send a token SUPER fucking ugly selfie to my Spirit Unicorn and don’t even care that I still have all of my work clothes on, immma gunna rest for five minutes.
FIVE FUCKING MINUTES IS ALL THAT IT TOOK. I hear the mini one saying something about going to go to the bathroom (fine). He still prefers that I wipe his butt (can you blame him? Everyone likes a clean whistle). He comes out telling me something about how he did pee pee on his socks, because his penis was pointing the wrong way, right, ok…. When I hear “GULP GULP GURGLE SPLASH.”
Oh, ok, apparently we are learning to wipe on our own, AND HE FUCKING FLOODED THE BATHROOM.
I dead sprint, ha, that’s funny let’s face it, I slow walk into the bathroom, and realize he used THE toilet paper. Not like SOME, or even A ROLL. I mean he used it all. And, I am one of those people, who likes to keep 4 rolls in the bathroom at all times, because you never know when someone is going to come over and have raging diarrhea and they are NOT going to want to be like “Ah, got more TP?” What can I say, I’m a planner. So there I am, fishing this shit out of the toilet, trying to gently explain “Brother, when you wipe your ding dong, you just need a teenie bit, not four rolls.” (because remember, he still wants me to wipe his butt, this is a simple tinkle). And he’s all like “But, momma, I want to make sure it is BERRY BERRY clean.”