So last year, after the divorce, my roommate at the time bugged me to start checking out an online dating site. One too many glasses of wine in, I did. And it sucked. Hard. I went on a LOT of bad dates (Some elements of them are in The ABC’s of Dee, though I’ll never tell which ones.) I did NOT want to go through that experience ever again. Sure, I met a decent guy and we dated almost a year but that ended and now I’m suck back in the talking to people thing. People I don’t know and don’t really know if I want to know, ya know? (See what I did there with the knows? Hehe)
Time passed. More wine was consumed and no single guys crossed my path, sigh. So I am at it again, only this time, you get to share the pain with me. I’m going to blog about my process so you too can live the horror that no single woman wants to face:
Apparently I was that desperate, I logged back on with the same sort of feeling one has knowing they have to prep for a colonoscopy. You know it has to be done, but the process sucks. I blame Outlander for making me believe there is a Jamie out there for me too, just waiting to come through some rock. What? It could soooo happen.
But I digress (I do that a lot). As I’m updating my info from a year ago on my profile, I get my first message of the evening. Oh boy. Here we go. I was hoping to ease into this, but I guess head-first is the only way this pool party works.
He seems harmless enough, not bad on the eyes presuming the pic is real, but then I look at his profile. He likes, gasp, nature. Like all kinds of nature. He goes out there. Into nature! On purpose! I know! Clearly he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. I kindly told him that the outdoors was trying to kill me and the conversation sort of fizzled from there. Not to worry, I had another message waiting.
A 28 year old. Really? Dude, just no. Call me in 10 years. I think young guys don’t really understand what a woman’s body looks like. They have these ideas from the media, but a real mom doesn’t have photoshop. We have lines, sags and bumps. I was tempted to just take a picture of my stretch marked belly, complete with a now outty belly button (thanks boy for giving me a herniated belly button when you dropped) and be done with it all, but I was nice and shooed him away.
After that came messages from guys I didn’t want to answer. Why not? Scary profile pics. I don’t want to see you flexing your bicep or in your swim suit trying to look buff as your profile pic. I’m not that kind of gal.
(Me thinks I’m sensing why I’m still single now….)
Anywho, I went about my evening, playing on facebook, doing some writing, and checking back with the site every now and again when, well, then nothing happened. Then there were no more messages. Not that I was expecting more, necessarily, it just felt weird that I was looking and waiting for more. Waiting for that person just meant for me. Just waiting for me to upload my profile. On a dating site. At my age. In my area. (Yes, you can start laughing now while I grab a doughnut and cram it into my face.)
Tomorrow is a new day. Perhaps I’ll check the site again, or perhaps I’ll check out what’s in the freezer.