Profilese

I've never considered myself much of a linguist. Four years of high school Spanish left me with the ability to ask for a beer (Thank God). However, I have recently become fluent in the newest of languages, Profilese.

Profilese: I like a girl who is not afraid to be treated well.
Translation: I will smother you.

Profilese: I'm very focused on my career.
Translation: I'm rich.

Profilese: I'm looking for a partner in crime.
Translation: I use cliches on a regular basis.

Profilese: I'm young at heart.

Unfortunately, this statement does not translate literally. Possibilities differ depending on context.

Possible Translations:
I'm old.
I'm immature
I'm the same guy who used the other cliche.

Oops. I Did it Again.

Sometimes I think I'm better off reading dating advice than writing it.

My latest discovery: Know your audience.

I met "Ben" out for drinks at a local bar. Kind of a straight-laced guy. Put together, High-tech, successful. You name it. We had a fairly good time. Good enough for me to agree to give him my number...

"So, I had a good time. Think you'd like to go out again?" Ben asked.

"Sure. That sounds good." I said.

"Ok. Let me get your number." he said.

"Ok."

At this point, Ben took out his blackberry and proceeded to fumble around with the teeny tiny pointer and the teeny tiny buttons.

"Oh Shoot. Damn! This thing...." he remarked.

At which point I chimed in (think flirtatious smartass), "You know, if that was a pencil and paper, you would have had my number by now."

"Yeah. So what is it?"

I gave Ben my number, but he never used it. I guess he was thinking bitchy snob instead of flirtatious smartass.

So, in order to prevent your joke from bombing like an IED, know your audience.

Holy Sh*t!

Sincerity is rare to be able to pinpoint online, but "Matt" seemed to have it.

We agreed to meet for a drink at a local coffee shop. Following my own advice, I reread his profile before going out and noticed that he was in graduate school, but didn't list what he was studying. Perfect. I had a go-to conversation starter.

In person, Matt's sincerity and kindness were the first things I noticed. So far, so good.

Then came a lull in the conversation.

"So I saw you were in grad school?"

"Yes. And you're a teacher, right? How's that?"

Oh no you d'iint just avoid my question.

"Oh, it's good. You know. Rewarding, but sometimes a pain in the ass. So what are you studying?"

"I'm getting my Master's in Divinity."

Huh?

"Oh? And what do you do with a Master's in Divinity?"

"You become a priest."

WHAT THE???

"Ahhh. Hmmmm." Think. think. "Wow." Think damn it! "That's certainly interesting!"

"Yeah. I'm going to become an Episcopalian priest though. That's why I can be out on a date."

Hey man, a priest is a priest.

The date proceeded with my learning more about God than about Matt.

As I left the date in a giggling state of shock, a thought suddenly occured to me, Shit! If he ends up calling me and I have to turn down a priest, exactly how many Hail Mary's do I need to say for that?

Sincerity and kindness are great traits, but so is being upfront and honest.

Premature E-clickulation

GASP! Uh oh. Oh no. What did I do? This is so weird. What do I say? Should I apologize? Do I act like there's nothing wrong? Ahhh!

I had the above conversation with myself while shopping for a boyfriend just a few minutes ago.

I was checking out this guy's profile and started clicking on his pictures. He looked alright, so I started reading his write up. Engaged in the reading, I tried to scroll down, but had no luck.

Scroll the f' down you mf'er!

I was not in the best of moods.

Oh, you have to click back on the profile to read it, you dumbass.

As my multi-tasking female brain began to find where I left off in the reading, I clicked on the profile. Then it disappeared.

What the?

And this appeared:

IT'S OFFICIAL! YOU HAVE WINKED AND HE KNOWS YOU'RE INTERESTED!

Premature e-clickulation. It's never comfortable and it's always a problem.

Read Up On...

third grade grammar and spelling. It's never good when your recipient is thinking, How did my little brother get on this site?

Unfortunately, this post was too late for one of my suitors...

"Hello and good after noon to you. I am new at this so I am not sure how to start off about what to say about my self. I am a single white male, 30, non-smoker. I Have no kids but would like to have some oneday when I meet the right person. I do have a phone that I can send you if you like. Just let me know what e-mail you would like me to send it to."

Well, his grammar and spelling might suck, but I could certainly use a Motorolla.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell.

Yeah, yeah. I know the slogan's taken. But it's not really effective in the military, so I'd like to have it applied to dating situations such as this...

'Tom' and I have emailed a couple of times and he asks me if I'd like to go out.

"Sure. Sounds great. How about we meet up Friday evening?" Note the use of the term 'meet up'.

"Ok. How does Old Town sound?"

"Perfect."

"I know a great Italian restaurant we can go to."

A what? Italian restaurant? Do people really go out to fancy restaurants on their first date?

"Oh. Ok. How does 7:00 sound?"

"Great. See you then."

At this point, I'm still pondering what happened: A restaurant?

Date night

6:50: Shit. I'm gong to be late. I'll just park in this garage. $11! That's bullshit.

6:58: Whew! Made it. I'm glad he suggested meeting on the corner. It's always awkward walking in and looking around for the guy.

7:05: Uh oh. Is this the right corner?

7:10: What the hell? This is definitely the right corner.

7:15: For the love of God! Is my phone working? Maybe I should get out of here.

7:18: "Oh, hey Tom, how are you?" "Oh, no problem!" Lord, this date already sucks.

Tom and I proceed to have a very long and very awkward dinner. Eventually the check arrives.

"Well, that was delicious." Being polite, I begin to reach into my purse. "How much do I owe you?"

"Oh. That's ok. It's on me."

Putting my wallet away, "Well, thank you."

Tom reneging, "Uh, oh, well, if you want to..."

Me, irritated as hell, "No problem."

Now, don't get me wrong. I have no opposition to paying for my own dinner. I am, after all, the one who ate it. However, there are certain situations in which it should be clear who is paying.

Bottom line, don't ask a girl out to a fancy dinner on a first date. But if you must, then don't tell her to pay.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell.

It's ok if you're from another country,

but if you want to flirt with girls who speak English, please have a working knowledge of the language.

"hello baby, how are you and the out going things in your area?good look catch the eyes and personalty catch the heart and you are blessed with but,flattered dont be.am ______ by name.i think i really adore you and i really want to get to know you,cos i belive we could be of use to each other.i shall be glad if you could send me your email address.am looking forward to hearing from you.my id are..."

Sweet talker that he is, I decided not to write back.

Lyin' Lyle

When I first started dating online, I was told: ‘Be careful. The men on there lie about everything. Their height, their job, their income…’

As you can tell, I certainly don’t think all the men online are perfect, but I haven’t actually run into many liars. Until one busted himself.

About six months ago, I got an email from a guy who sounded on the up and up. But, he didn’t have a photo posted. If you’ve been reading this blog, you know I’m not much for men who don’t post their photos. They can only be described with one word, married. Well, this guy sent me a link to look at some pictures of him. In my book, that still means married, but I looked anyway.

Fast forward to an email I received last week. It’s from a guy who sounds pretty cool, but has no photo. At the end of the email he says, “Anyway, since I literally just signed up and my pictures aren't up yet, you can view them through the link below.”

Hmm. This sounds familiar. Copy. Paste. Enter.

Busted. It’s him alright. Lyin’ Lyle. Lucky for him, I’m not Bitchy Becky so I won’t be posting his link.

When Creating a Profile Name...

Avoid these common pitfalls men I encounter seem to fall into.

Cheesiness:

Fishing4U
Zeeonlynormal1

And creepiness:

Clbnfreak
Teaseroffemales
Thebluepill

And please, please refrain from comparing yourself to 50 Cent's penis, something

Magicstiq

was unable to do.

Bitter Bob

Bitter Bob. What a pain in the ass he is! And, he's easy to spot. He says things like...

'All the women I've met lately are in to playing games.'

And...

'Why do women say they like sports when they really don't?'

Or, my favorite,

'You won't give me your number? How are you supposed to meet anyone if you won't give them your number?'

After months without contact, the Bitter Bob I refused to give the digits to writes again and says...

"Have you ever met anyone? You've been on here for a long time with that same pic. Get some new ones!"

I almost sent him a link to this blog to show him that I have, indeed, met many men...it's just that most of them have been losers. And that he made the latest post.

God's Gift

I know my last blog was about Mass Mailers, but I just got this one, and it's too good not to share right away. And, for the sake of this blog, I'm actually contemplating going out with this guy to see how bad it gets.

Here's his exact email:

"It takes a lot to catch my eye; hence I hope you are flattered by my email. Should you feel any initial chemistry too, I look forward to hearing from you soon! Depending on your preference, we can talk and/or meet for dinner/drinks. Let me know what you think!"

I should be flattered? I am truly sorry dear reader, that you don't have the advantage of seeing this man's photo. To help you picture him, I want you to think of a Mr. Potato Head with his features in all the wrong places. That's him!

Guys, I don't care if you're looking like Clive Owen or Steve Buscemi, don't act like you are God's gift to me. He wouldn't send me something I'd want to return.

They're Baaack!

Remember the Mass Mailer? That little f'er who thinks he can send a hundred women the same 'personal' email and we'll never know it's a fake? Well, some man somewhere must be telling all his buddies about his brilliant idea, because it's spreading like the clap! Here's some of the best ones I've seen lately...

Mr. Maybe-insulting-your-town-will-get-me-in-your-pants Mass Mailer:

You have "a lack of pretense I find compelling (if not downright rare in this area)."

Looks like I'm the only one around here lacking any pretense. Delete.

Mr. I-swear-I'm-not-married-and-looking-for-a-one-night-stand Mass Mailer:

"I'm in from Australia for the next month or so...I'm happy to send a photo should you wish to see one. I have had problems uploading them onto the site, but should be able to send it to a yahoo account or something similar."

Please! Rapping Granny could upload a photo. Delete.

Mr. I'm-too-cool-for-school Mass Mailer:

"From your words alone, it sounds like you're someone who can more than hold your own on any level, conversationally or intellectually, which is actually a bit of a lost art these days."

The only thing that's lost around here is this email. Delete.

Mr. You're-definitely-the-0ne Mass Mailer:

"Hi. It is so nice to read a profile by someone that I really believe could be a true match for myself!" And later, " You are exactly why I signed up for this!"

This has to be someone f'ing with me! Delete.

This mass mailing has got to stop. Spread the know people!

Reread!

This next blunder was not the fault of any of the poor guys I've dated whose stories are now on this blog. No, the clueless offender was none other than yours truly. Yep. Shit happens.

Picture this:

"Todd" and I have been emailing clever little emails back and forth. He's very good looking and when he asks me out, I'm really excited. So excited in fact, that I show his profile to my girlfriends so we can talk about how perfect he sounds.

Finally, date night arrives and I begin my first date ritual. The normal routine involves playing with the dog (I feel guilty leaving her for some guy), getting showered and changed, and reading up on my date's profile and emails. This last step is important just in case we're in need of a conversation starter.

Unfortunately, a series of events lead to my rushing this particular night. First, the dog and I get caught up in a conversation with a long-winded neighbor. Then, I get a couple of phone calls while I'm getting ready. Finally, I'm able to dash out of the house looking presentable, but unable to complete my last task, rereading his info.

Miraculously, I arrive at the meeting spot with a couple of minutes to spare, so I mentally go over everything I know about him. Went to New Zealand. Check. Has a sister in Chicago. Check. Mother is a teacher. Check.

Todd shows up looking nice, apologizing for being so dressed up. Apparently he went right from work to see his friend's newborn baby in the hospital. Awww.

We get right to talking and things are going well. After the waitress takes our second drink order, it's time for a new conversation.

Me: So, your mom's a teacher, right?
Todd: Uh, no.
Me: (making it worse) Really? I could have sworn you said she was a teacher.
Todd: Nope. She and my dad own a clothing store. She taught for a couple of years before I was born though.
Me: (really making it worse) Oh. Maybe that's what I remember.
Todd: I don't think so. I don't think I've mentioned that in our conversations.
Me: Oh. Sorry.

Yeah. It's really bad when you skip the rereading. Obviously my good-looking date realized I had mixed him up with one of my other internet boyfriends. And, I was so flustered, I actually tried to convince him his mother was a teacher!

Todd was nice enough to walk me to my car that night, but he made no promises to call or email me. And he kept to his word.

Penpals are Cool...

In third grade! Come on guys. We're not online dating so that we can make out with a keyboard! If you're interested, you need to be asking us out after 2-4 emails. That's it.

Here are some examples of guys who truly need to be reading this blog.

Guy #1:

He winks.

I wink back.

He emails a paragraph with a couple of questions.

I email back with answers and some questions.

He emails three paragraphs.

I email back one.

He writes a NINE paragraph email telling the story of a prank he and his friend played on a couple of girls when they were IN THE EIGHTH GRADE. Look, chances are, we wouldn't be interested in that story if you were Brad Pitt and you left Angelina for us.

I don't write back.

Guy #2: (this guy is everywhere out there)

He emails a quick hello.

I email back a response.

He asks a couple of questions.

I respond with a couple of my own.

He asks a couple of questions.

I respond with a couple of my own.

He (yawn) asks a couple of questions, and ends his email by inviting me to (get this) EMAIL HIM AT HIS PERSONAL ACCOUNT! What?? Dude, are you that afraid to ask a woman out or are you trying to con me into emailing from my home account so you can get my last name? Either way, EEWWW!

I don't write back.

Online Dating is a Numbers Game.

So don't expect exclusivity on a first date.

After spending an hour or two on a Friday night with a certain self-proclaimed "Texas gentleman", I was asked what I was doing for the rest of my weekend. I told him I was visiting my parents, running errands, etc. Then he got to what he really wanted to know.

"Do you have a date tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about him."

"No."

"Why are you going out with him?"

"Because I want to."

"Why do the girls here go out with more than one guy at a time? It's not like this in Texas."

"Well, I think it's good to meet as many people as possible to find someone you really click with. It's not really a competition or anything."

"I don't understand the women in this area."

After the date, he emailed and told me that he'd like to see me again, but only if I wanted to blow off my Saturday date. Since I'm not much for ultimatums, I wrote back to tell him we shouldn't see each other again.

The " Texas gentleman" then wrote to tell me that he thought I was different, but really I was nothing more than a 'Washington cliché.'

The advice from this story is really three-fold. Don't expect exclusivity too early, don't pry, and don't be a jerk. Three things I think most men can handle.

As for you Texas, do the women in the DC area one favor. Go home.

105 minutes of the 120 I spent with him were great...

But it’s because of a three minute conversation that I won’t be seeing him again. Here’s the play by play:

7:30: Oh, he’s cuter than I thought he’d be. Yeay!

8:00: He’s nice. I like him.

8:15: Wow. Smart too. I love that he can talk politics. And that he has a job he loves with the Department of Defense. That’s hot.

8:30: He loves hockey and soccer? Yuck. I can get over it though.

8:45: Sounds like he has a good family.

9:00: I’m definitely going to see him again.

And then…

9:15 - 9:18:
Him: So, how do you feel about weed?
Me: About what?
Him: Weed. You know. Smoking pot?
Me: Um, I dunno. To each his own?
Him: Because I do…smoke weed.
Me: You do? Really? Couldn’t you lose your job if you got caught?
Him: Absolutely. That’s why I keep a can of that detox shit in my fridge.
Me: Oh. Don’t your neighbors smell it?
Him: No. I lock myself in my room and filter it through water.
Me: You take bong hits???
Him: Yeah. Only on the weekends though. It’s not addictive you know.
Me: Wow. Bong hits.

9:19: What? Bong hits? Did he really just admit to having a drug problem on the first date?

9:30: Smell you later Cheech.

Are you a Michael-Not-Mike?

Michael-Not-Mike is a bit different from the other guys I've written about, but only because I found him in a bar.

Like every other guy, Michael-Not-Mike seemed ok at first. Cute. Nice smile. Until I called him Mike. Here's how it went down.

Michael-Not-Mike: Hey, how's it going?

Me: Pretty good. How 'bout yourself?

Michael-Not-Mike: Very well, thanks. What brings you here tonight?

Me: Well, my girls came into town tonight so we could go see the Cubs/Nats game. And we headed here afterwards.

Michael-Not-Mike: Oh yeah, how was the game?

Me: Sucked. The Cubs lost.

Michael-Not-Mike: Cubs fan huh?

Me: Yeah.

Michael-Not-Mike: I'm Michael.

Me: It's nice to meet you Mike.

Michael-Not-Mike looks at Me as if just having been called baby killer

Michael-Not-Mike: (fuming) No. It's MICHAEL.

Me: (caught off guard) Oh. Sorry Michael. No one ever calls you Mike?

Michael-Not-Mike: No. Exits stage left

All right. So maybe I shouldn't have taken the liberty of calling him Mike. But is it really that big of a deal? And if a little thing like being called Mike gets him all riled up, he's definitely going to be a Scott Peterson someday.

Do NOT make fun of your date's anatomy

Ok. I admit it. I'm no Pamela Anderson. Hell, I wouldn't even be mistaken for her second cousin. But don't remind me. Especially when you're trying to impress me.

Let me start off by giving you some background on my date: Chronologically, he was older than me by about five years. Maturity-wise, he was younger by about ten (I mean really...no one's made fun of my chest size since eighth grade! And yes Keith, that is why I still won't go out with you).

Anyway, the date doesn't start off too badly. But after a couple drinks, his annoying habit of saying something stupid and following with a "Just kiddin" becomes like a chapter out of a Tourette's Syndrome handbook. It sounded somewhat like this: "You've got food in your teeth...Just kiddin!" and "That guy's staring at your ass...Just kiddin!"

Well, for some reason, after about the third drink (Can you believe I was still there?), my date asks me if he can see my driver's license (Ladies, bad idea, I know. Only stalkers and morons ask to see your license. I got lucky with a moron). A buzz making me think nothing of it, I hand over the license. He takes a long look at it, looks up at me, looks at the license, and up at me again. At which point he asks,

"Oh my God! Did you have a breast reduction? Just Kiddin!"

With as much grace as I could muster, I picked my jaw up off the floor, chugged my beer, and replied,

"You know, I'd really love to go out with you again...Just kiddin!"

Assume your date is NOT a Lesbian

Let me just get right in to this one...

So we're sitting at the bar on our second date, having a fairly good time. I've got a couple of drinks in me, so I'm very much giving him the benefit of the doubt. That is, until the following takes place...

I'm answering some question he'd asked, when, behind us, he hears a girl (in her own conversation) exclaiming, "I can't believe she's getting married because she and I used to make out all the time!"

Well, at that tantilizing visual, my charming date interrupts me to turn and ask the stranger,

"Was she cute?"

After the girl gives him a mind-your-f'ing-business look, he turns back to me with another, more pressing question.

"Have you ever been with a girl?"

"Uh, no."

"Never? Not even in college?"

"No. It was college. Not porn school. Check please."

First Contact: The Form Letter Asker Outer

Yes, it gets worse than the Mass Mailer. It even gets worse than the Clever Mass Mailer. He’s called the Form Letter Asker Outer. Lucky for the fate of procreation, he is a rather rare specimen.

FLAO’s email shows only one sign of being a form letter. It’s generic. Other than this red flag, FLAO works hard to disguise his letter as a genuine correspondence to one woman. A. He keeps it short. And, B. He extends an invitation to coffee, even going so far as to include the time of day he is available.

He can certainly fool the recipient. As she reads, she’s probably thinking…Can’t be a form letter. He asked me out. So why is it so short? Maybe it’s because he is dull. Maybe he can’t type well. Maybe his mother called as he was typing, so the loving son finished his email and answered the phone.

Ladies, quit making excuses. He's a Mass Mailer.

How, you ask, with his cloak and dagger disguises, can I be so certain the FLAO even exists? Well, everyone who thinks he’s smarter than the rest of us eventually fucks up. I know FLAO is out there because the moron asked me out twice with the exact same form letter.