Dating websites are for suckers who don't know the meaning of value

I figured out what it is that I hate about dating websites.
Can I just be a shallow bitch?
They are way too much damn work.

I don't have time for these getting to know you "icebreakers" and answering some strangers asinine questions about my favorite literature.  Give me a break.  I could engage in messages with some schmuck for weeks and then finally meet him to realize he's not as attractive as those photos he posted that were taken eight years ago or that he has absolutely no social skills and can barely converse through an appetizer.

Dating websites should be set up to appeal to the average, lazy, instant gratification seeking person.

Hey, nice pics.  You're kinda hot.
Thanks.  You're pretty dreamy yourself.
So you into the same kinda crap I am?
I guess.  But they say opposites attract right?
Right.  So you wanna meet for a drink?
Sure.  Tomorrow?
Tomorrow.  Till then.

Now that's the kind of interaction that doesn't waste my valuable time.
Speaking of wasting my time, let's talk about eharmony for a moment.

The other night I saw a commercial about eharmony and how for This Weekend Only!! you could try it out for free.  Why not? I thought.  If nothing else it would be sheer entertainment and make for some great fodder for blogs. In fact I kinda hoped the guys who'd contact me would be gross because ugly guys make for much funnier stories than dreamy ones.

Speaking of dreamy-- what the hell ever happened to Mr. Wonderful?  That 35 year old, company owning, marathon running, charming sex god needs to come shop at my Nordstrom STAT.  I have a thing for men who smile at me like I'm irresistible.

Anyway.
Back to suckharmony.

The application process for this dating website is SO. FUCKING. LOOOOONG.
Does some cyber stranger REALLY need to know on a scale of one to ten how confident I think I am?
(That would be an 11, by the bye).

But I followed the inane questions one by one in hopes that the entertainment to follow, good or bad, would be well worth it.  The last portion of the application process is to upload photos which of course, was my favorite part because this girl has always loved having her picture taken.

I clicked what seemed to be the final step of this now nearly thirty minutes of my life process only to land on a subscription page.

It seems the This Weekend Only!! trying it all for "free" bullshit doesn't include photos.

You read that right.

I don't get to see any of these idiots pictures nor will they see mine.

Whose going to contact me if my profile has no pictures on it?!
What the hell??

Thanks eharmony for wasting my precious down time!
And don't think you suckered me in to wanting to pay FORTY FIVE DOLLARS A MONTH to get oggled by a bunch of cyber nerds who are so socially awkward and emotionally stinted that they need to hide behind their computer to find a date.

"Meet David someone as unique as you are."
Good god no.  I'm gonna lose my cinnamon sugar toast.
"Meet Sanjay.  And Samson.  And Troy."
These are not real people.  Nobody is named Samson.
"Brook requests further communication."
Well Brook can kiss my luscious ass.  I'm not dating a man named Brook.  That's just absurd.

Look, I'm not on some Dating in the Dark TV show that ABC is paying me bookoo bucks to be on.  So what kinds of connections can I make without pictures?  Guys who wanna talk about their feelings and learn about my personality?  Oh my GOD.  I don't have time for this crap.  I need to see your face to see if it's one I'd ever want to make out with.  Looks matter people!  Anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something.  Like a dating site membership.  Just as an example.

If I don't think you're man pretty I'm not gonna want your face touching mine.  And if I don't want your face touching mine what kinda boyfriend is that?  A craptastic one,  that's what.  And I'll have none of it.

I want my minutes back, free eharmony trial.
You're a big fat liar and your vapid questions suck!
Yeah! I said it! What?!

I knew there was a reason I avoided the psychosis that is online dating.

Son of a bitch.



.

I'm not that girl anymore

People are always saying to Be Yourself.  But nobody ever stops to take into account the fact that I'm not merely one person.  I am the me when I am at work.  And the me when I'm with my parents.  There's the me when I'm on a first date and the me when I know it's the last.

And anyone who wants to claim there is only One True You is a big fat liar.
And I've a mind to throw my martini in their face.

But it is oh so very delicious.


How then, I ask, am I to be this self that is Myself, my True self and dismiss the intrusive versions that claim to be the real me in those moments but are rather faulty impersonators?

And if I am so very layered and complex why does no one else understand or accept this?


I am many things.

I am both selfish and selfless.
I am stubborn and still forgiving.
I am independent yet needy.
I am aggressive and...yep.  Just aggressive.

I love you and I hate you.
But you already knew that.


I don't think most people give me the freedom to be who I actually am.  I think they want me to be who they feel I am, who they need me to be for them.  People don't even realize that they develop these expectations of me and when I change, when I no longer appear to be the way they've known, the way they've always understood it does more than confuse them.  It upsets them.  They don't like not understanding.  They need to know.  They need to know who they are in relation to me.  And when that shifts it is only the strongest relationships that endure.

I knew a friend who I'd always interacted with a certain way.  We had our own language, our own playful way of communicating and we understood one another.  And one day he changed the rules.  He shifted.  But I hadn't shifted with him.  And I was the one feeling unsure about who I was now to be.  I'd been cast in this role and now all of a sudden I'd been recast.  But no one gave me the new script.  So I was kind of at a loss.

And I thought about the friends I never talk to anymore.  And the old loves who couldn't stay friends after our stories closed.  And I wondered if the real reason people stay or people go is because either they can't accept how I've changed or I won't allow them to.

And I thought how exhausting it was to always feel like what others saw was what I must be.

So I decided to stop letting everyone else direct my story.
And I decided the only real Me was a girl who was always changing.

And those who liked all that now was and was no more?
They were more than welcome to stay for the second act.

Rumor has it it'll be swell.

The End. No. Really. The End.

It never ceases to amaze me the irony that is life.



I literally was just advising a friend not to let anyone steal their joy.
And what do I do the next day?
Let someone zap the sparkle right outta my day.


Why the hell is it so damn hard to practice what you preach?


And why do I have to care so much when someone is unloving?
You'd think I'd have grown accustomed to it by now.


No. Not like Woe to me! I am so continuously unjustly treated!

I just mean people are inherently selfish assholes.
So why then does it surprise me when their actions suck?


It should be more like, Wow your interaction with me was not entirely self serving?!  Awe, muffin!


I think I had this wretched flashback to a year ago and Mr. Volcano's inconsistencies concerning his affection.  It's like these men are standing behind me continuously poking me on my back to get my attention and when I finally turn around to ask them what the hell they want they're just standing there waving with this dumb grin on their face, declaring, I just wanted you to know I'm not interested in you anymore.  Just so you KNOW.

And I, growing increasingly annoyed at their persistence simply smile back and say, Yeah I know. I. Get. It.


But they never go away.
They never stop.

They act like I'm the intrusion and never look around to see that this is my story they're standing in.

If the waters too hot for ya, buddy, then by all means find another ocean to swim in!

I'm not going away.
I was here first.


So there.

Open your eyes, bitches

I would like you to take a moment with me.

And in this moment think of the women that you know.

And of those women that you know think about the ones who love their body.

And I mean worship adoringly are more than comfortable in their own skin embrace all they are completely women.

You don't know any, do you?

Why is it we can compliment strangers, and give thoughtful gifts to our friends and believe in the amazing capabilities of the people we know but we can't look in the mirror and smile at our own reflections?

I, for one, am sick to death of it.

There's a girl at my work whose like a size two taking some supplement to burn fat. And someone, equally as much a twiglet, encouragingly told her that was SO GREAT!

I almost drove a mascara wand into both their eyes.

Why? Why oh why oh why for the love of cheese fries why does no woman love who she is?

Do NOT attempt to convince me you're one to step out of the shower wipe the fog from the mirror wink at your naked reflection and declare, Damn I look good today!

But you sure as hell should!
Yes I deigned to use SHOULD.

What if when we put on our jeans and realized they still don't fit like they did in college we celebrated the curves we have TO-DAY and bought ourselves a rockin' pair that actually flatters our shape?

What if instead of waiting to love our bodies until they became everything other than what they are right now we chose to accept them in their entirety today?
Beautiful flaws and all.

What if we loved what we saw.
What if we merely loved.
And that was enough.

It's exhausting being around women who are so deluded they can't see how beautiful they are.
No I don't feel sorry for them.
No I don't pity their insecurities.
These are educated, savvy women who KNOW better.
These are women who remind their friends every day how amazing they are.
Turn that love around, sister.
You need it today more than anyone else.

So walk by a mirror look yourself square in the eyes and repeat after me, I. Am. So. Beautiful.
Because you are.
And the only person who needs to see it is YOU.

Sometimes the Sun is too Sunny

I don't like hot.

I grew up in the Rose City and am truly an Oregonian at heart.  And I am very much my Mother's daughter which means my ideal day is sunny but overcast with a breeze cool enough that I still need a hoodie.

There are a lot of little things that make me strange.

I like me strange.

I felt lazy today.  It may have been all the Russian juice I drank the night before.  It may have also been the wretched wake up call I had before my R.E.M's were done remming of some lawn contraption that sounded like a monster swallowing my bed.  Whatever the cause I didn't feel like doing a whole lot.  I wanted to rest, to write, to be alone. 

And then I looked out my window and saw the sun.
And I told myself, It's nice today.You should be outside.

So I took myself on several errands.  And I realized what I craved more than sun was isolation.  People can be so very draining.  They don't mean to be.  They just demand a lot.  And accept so very little.  And I can only give so much before I've emptied my reserves.  And I think I was kind of on 'E.' 

So I sat in the sun and enjoyed my delicious lunch. 
And I laughed at the black bird dumpster diving for crumbs and sipped in the blue sky. 
And I looked down at my hot skin and I'd had enough.

I came home and started doing what I'd woke up wanting, what I thought wasn't good enough.
And I finally felt relaxed.
And thought for today, the sun looked much more radiant shining through my window.

I was the only one on the other side.
And that was all the warmth I needed.

He didn't tell me I was pretty

My dating life defines sporadism.

It seems there will be a famine spanning for what feels like an unbearable length of time and then overnight, like Manna from Heaven, men, men everywhere!

I daresay the Dating Gods have smiled on me as of late.
Actually.
They've been smirking at me.
And yes, there is indeed a difference.

My dates have not been excessively bad or excessively good.
Rather, amusing.
And certainly excellent fodder for my blog.
So kudos to that.

Earlier this week I dined with Mr. Fabulous.
Good on paper, he came highly recommended, with great credentials, older, handsome, rich.  I swear we were taking part in a beer commercial- everyone was drawn to him, he talked with such charming ease that conversation flowed through the night and when he'd finish a story he'd flash a grin and a chime would sound as a flash of light glinted off his front canine.

Ok, so maybe I'm making that last part up.

He oozed charm and worldly sophistication.  I was out with a MAN.  Not like the mere boys of my past.  And I really did have an enjoyable evening.  It was.....nice.

But there was no Zsa Zsa Zsu.  No Sparkle.  No, Wow when he looks into my eyes it's like I'm the only girl in the room.  I wasn't anticipating a good night kiss nor was there any heat between us when he hugged me goodbye.  I had felt a mere accessory as if I could have been any girl, not the girl.  I may be old fashioned but I want my date to make me feel pretty.  And Mr. Fabulous didn't.

He didn't even say I looked pretty.
No compliments.
Nothing.

Boys, my darling, beautiful men, do you have any idea how much time we spend primping ourselves for your enjoyment?  I mean, I meticulously chose an understated sexy dress, modest yet form fitting, my hair had just enough body to be bold but not over the top and my makeup?  Well, let's just say if it had been my cosmetics interview I certainly would have gotten the job.


I know I'm beautiful.
I do not NEED men to tell me I'm so very pretty.
But it seems like one of those things that should just be instinctive.
Does it not?
They pay for my wine, they hold open the door, they tell me I look Oh so lovely in that dress.


Do I need to let my dates borrow my Cary Grant movies?  I mean.  Seriously.

This is not the first time this has happened.


Maybe he was playing it cool, Guy in the Beanie said.


Guy in the Beanie is stupid handsome, by the bye, and seriously needs to makeout with me.  But I digress.


Maybe that was his angle, you know, to not seem too interested and just be aloof, he continued.

I artfully raised my left eyebrow characteristic of my confrontational nature and just shook my head.
No, I argued.  Not acceptable.  Do you know how much time I spent getting beautiful for him?  He is not going to get to touch any of this if he doesn't first make me feel appreciated.

Guy in the Beanie's eyes met mine and he just flashed a sinful smile.
Now with a mug like his, he can touch it all whenever he likes.
His eyes complimented the hell out of me.

And those dates are the only ones worth having.

Say it with words, say it with looks.
But if you don't see the beautiful I see?
I'll drink this sweet wine on my own.

The ghosts of lovers past

I think my life is haunted.

And let's preface this by stating I don't like scary movies.
I'm that girl whose the only one screaming really loud in the movie theatre when someone reaches out their hand unexpectedly on the screen.
Even if the film is a comedy.

I don't do scary.
I don't do spooky or eerie or creepy.
And I don't do ghosts.
Especially not the most frightful ghost of all- The Dreaded Ex.


It's amusing to me that everything linked to Narcissus seems to be destroyed.  Three years ago my computer crashed and I lost everything on it including any pictures of him.  The road that led to his old townhouse has since been sealed off.  Even the old coffee shop we frequented has closed.  It's like life helped provide a memory vacuum for me without me having anything to do with it.

Mr. Volcano however won't get out of my life.  He is my ghost.  My tall, lanky, lurching around every corner ghost.  And it's starting to irk me.  It was amusing at first.  Hearing from Thing 1 and Thing 2 and still additional Who's from Whoville of the various disparaging remarks uttered from his lips made me feel honored to still be of such importance to him.  I even found humor in discovering he'd contacted Prince Charming, in hopes of securing some scandalous stories, no doubt.
But now there are actual dopplegangers of Mr. Volcano roaming about Portland and THAT, well, that just seems to be taking the haunting too far.

First his twin walked by my haven at Nordstrom.  And most recently he was spotted on Hawthorne clad in the same ratty old blue parka with red stripes on the sleeve.  I swear to God I nearly crashed my car into some biker I stared at the ghost for so long.
What the hell?!  Why is that slanderous coward everywhere??

I would like nature to see fit to casually delete all Mr. Volcano remnants from my life with the ease and thoroughness it did with Narcissus.

That would be KEEN.
That is my wish to nature.

Let's hope it reads my blog.