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I’m (Almost) Speechless

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Today I received three messages. Good, right?! One of the guys is in Los Angeles. Another is in Texas. I’m in New York. WTF!

The third?

Since my words couldn’t possibly do his justice, here’s a quote from his essay: “If your (his improper grammar, not mine)  searching for an attractive, kind and funny soul–who’s also sincere, suave and sexy…” blah blah this, blah blah that…good in kitchen “…I’ve been told I’m fairly accomplished in some other rooms of the house as well.”

Suddenly, Texas and LA are lookin’ pretty good.

A Man’s Perspective*: The Invisible Woman

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I’m pretty new to all this. But I’ve noticed a disturbing phenomena in the online dating world. Women just evaporate. One minute, they’re there. Then poof, they’re gone.

I don’t know if it’s the same for everyone. But here’s how it’s happened to me, on two different free sites, with what I thought were a couple of promising connections: A woman reaches out. (Yes, in both cases she initiated contact.) I peruse her profile and reply. We start with small talk, then move on to deeper stuff. When I sense it’s a good time, I suggest we meet in person and offer my phone number. Then radio silence.

When I go online to follow up, she’s gone. Her entire account has been deleted. So it’s not just me that she doesn’t want to meet? She’s giving up online dating completely?

The first time it happened, it was like watching Claude Raines disrobe in “The Invisible Man” with every browser refresh. First the woman’s additional photos came down, then her main profile photo, followed by her written profile, and finally the official notice that the account was deleted. Until that last one I thought there was something wrong with my computer.

Now, these are not bots, or Russian prostitutes, or foreign-exchange students with expired visas looking for a green card. These are women who live in my area, who know the neighborhoods and schools and, up until that moment, are available.

But who are they? Excruciatingly shy and/or grotesquely deformed women?  Lonely housewives trying to find out if they still have “it”? “Catfish” afraid of being caught? Cheating housewives who’ve been caught?

I haven’t the foggiest. But I take it as a blessing. I’d rather know they’re not invested before I invest my time, energy and emotions into developing a real relationship.

Of course, re-entering the dating pool can be scary. I’d be lying if I said I felt any differently. All I ask is that if you’re in it, please be in it. Otherwise it’s just one more distraction for those of us who are.

How have your experiences been? I’d  love to know.

*Welcome to my guest contributor, who will offer occasional insight from a man’s point of view.

Can You Hear Me Now?

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Written communication has its flaws, especially when you don’t know the other person. It’s hard as the reader. It’s hard as the writer. Sometimes it requires an interpreter. Like one sequence of messages in which I was recently engaged (more like ensnared).

I read his profile, assessed his photos, took the leap, and favorited him. He responded with lyrics, and asked me to identify the artist. I googled the answer and wrote back, admitting that I’d done the search (and earned props for the effort). He wrote back…normally a good sign.

With each successive message (and there were a few back and forth), I became more confused. I wasn’t sure if he was still quoting songs. I didn’t know if he was being philosophical or snarky. I said I was “confused, but curious.”  He was confused by my confusion, and curious about my curiosity. I felt like he was talking in code and I didn’t have the key.

He messaged me a couple more times, but he’d lost me by then.

25 years ago I invited a mom and her daughter (I hardly knew them) over for lunch and a playdate. I’ll save you the details and tell you the afternoon was an awkward disaster. Such an awkward disaster that, by the end of the afternoon, we had bonded over it, and we’re still sharing the laugh.

The relevance of this tale? We were face to face and committed to an afternoon, and we found our connection. I’m resolved to go back to my earlier dating resolution; once we’ve connected online, it’s time to meet. Or not. But no more mysterious pen pals.

Later…I Promise

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I favorited him. He messaged me. Likes my photos. Likes my profile. Do I want to chat or, better, meet for coffee? OK! Here’s my number. I prefer meeting to phone date…awkward and counterproductive. Call or text and we can set something up. Or message me back on site.

You, readers, already know where I’m going with this…nowhere. Right. Is it out of the question I’ll hear from him? Of course not. Sitting by the phone? Definitely not. But our phones are generally sitting by us, so we keep checking. Like waiting for college acceptance or that million dollars from Publishers Clearing House. Refresh.

The problem, according to me, is that getting in touch feels more like making a doctor’s appointment than something we optimistically anticipate. We’ll message later. Remind ourselves to follow up. Just…not right now.

More On Organic vs. Virtual

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Let’s say you meet someone; let’s say at a friend’s party.

When you’re introduced, your host tells each of you about the volunteer work that the other does. Some common ground. You talk about the personal experiences that led you to your causes, and about the ways each of you contribute.

One extraneous comment sets conversation in a new direction, and you learn that you’re both super-fans of the same team. That you grew up in the towns right next to each other and hung out at some of the same places way back when (you probably never met back then because of the 2 year age difference).  You rescued the same breed of dog. Did I mention that he went to grad school at an esteemed university and is well respected in his field?

Now, let’s equate that initial conversation with viewing each other’s profiles. The basic profile formats provide the same types of information regarding background and areas of common interest (education, tennis, movies). Call that a wash (or close enough).

In one of my earliest posts, I mocked the not-so-humble essays that tell us about the well educated, fit, adventure-seeking connoisseur who loves his family and the beach. It’s time I reconsidered. What, after all, are our options?

It is a struggle to write our essays. I mean…of course everybody’s talking themselves up. (For today, I’m not addressing liars.) We do, after all, have interests that are important parts of who we are; we all participate in the world in different ways. And if their tones were more modest…well…mightn’t they seem insincere? We wouldn’t look twice if he presented himself in negative terms!

I’ve championed the less-is-more essay. On the other hand, I find it difficult to message a man who hasn’t included something specific in his profile for me to address. I’m going to try a new approach.

I learn the most about myself by looking back over decisions I’ve made and how I’ve spent my time when it was mine to spend. I’m going to apply that to a new set of profile essays and let my recent activities speak for me. I’ll include events I attended and TV shows I watched. Work I did. Restaurants. Movies. Books. Maybe some silly anecdote.

Groundbreaking? Doubt it, but will let you know if it has any impact.

How You Doin’?

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Saturday:  I was just chatting on one of the sites. I signed off without letting him know I was leaving; he was freaking me out. Not in a threatening way. Can’t even say he was creepy. Too persistent…catches me every time I’m there. On the particular site, I don’t think there is a way to sign in invisibly.

I did start chatting with him after he made a third request in as many days…gotta admire his tenacity. I hadn’t responded earlier because I think he’s skimming more than a couple of years off his age, based on photos. I understand vanity, but, also enough already with the liars (there are way too many of them). We get it. You want to attract someone younger. Guess what. Us too.

What sent me running, though, was the series of lines. A compliment is nice. He reached out, so I asked what he was doing. He answered that he was thinking about a date with me. I asked about his weekend plans…hopefully spending time with me. Stop it! Don’t tell me you’d like to have a conversation; have a conversation! Ask a question (and not “where’d you find the fountain of youth?”).

Sunday: Today he asked why I stopped chatting and said he’d like to get to know me. Nope. Then I feel bad about not answering (since I feel bad when I don’t receive a response).

Tuesday: He’s still messaging me, this time with a question about my weekend. I can say with certainty that he’s not “the one.” Begs the question, is it nice or mean that I responded to his question/message? I really don’t know (and am very interested, reader, in your take on this).

A Picture Paints A Thousand Words

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Here’s my thousand words on profile photos. (1000 words is a lot of words. Forgive me when I fail to live up to the adage.)

Profile photos. Our photos are the first and most prominent parts of our profiles. We all know it. I consider how I look, where I am, how I’m dressed, and what I’m doing. I want to project who I am, and in the best possible light. This is where our narratives begin.

The scuba-diver is telling us he’s active and adventurous. The award winner on the podium wants us to know he’s respected for his achievements. He’s a skier…runner…musician…biker (either racing or gang variety).  Boater. Traveler. Trainer. Pet Lover. These types of photos tell us something, presumably something important, about a person. More, they’re telling us what they want us to know, first and foremost. This makes sense to me.

What doesn’t make sense? Blurry photos, dark photos, low res photos. We carry cameras with us at all times (if you don’t, everyone else does); you can come up with ONE decent quality photo! And, do yourself a favor, don’t shoot it into the bathroom mirror.

For those who have succeeded in obtaining a photo, congratulations. But you’re not there yet. Don’t post the photo of you winking and toasting the camera; ick. Clearly naked (even if we’ll never really know for sure)? Ick. Just your dog (or car, or boat, or sunset)? C’mon. A very popular setting that I don’t get…selfie in driver’s seat of car. Why there? Were you bored at a red light?

Next, there are the photos that tell some story, but I’m not sure what that story is, or to whom he hopes to appeal. The face-painted sports fan; frat boy? One in which the guy appears to be wearing his school band uniform (or shooting the cover of Sargent Pepper’s). Huh? One guy is wearing a foot-wide, floppy bow tie, really. One is dressed head to toe in his (I’m guessing) favorite team’s gear. Not odd for my nephews, but I’m looking at profiles of men in their 50’s and up!

You get the point. I may not be your type; you may not be mine. But a little more thought might go a long way.

Speaking of long ways…I didn’t make it to 400 words. Better this way, right?

Small World

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A week or so ago I signed up for my first swiping site. It took me a few attempts to get the hang of it. When I meant to be looking through photos, I was actually accepting and declining. Next mistake, I didn’t realize that it automatically updated for my location.

I’m down in Florida for a quick visit with my parents. I opened the app. At first, it didn’t register with me that the men I was viewing were Floridians. Once it did, I decided to go with it; I’m down here enough if anyone turned out to be interesting. Someone has.

Someone just like me, who didn’t realize when he landed from the UK that he was viewing locals. Dumb luck. We texted for a day. Then we talked on the phone. Naturally, this call was the easiest of my calls so far (the accent didn’t hurt). With only one possible time slot that we’re both in town without commitments, we’re meeting later for a drink.

As always, details will follow for you, my voyeurs.

For Mature Audiences

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One of my friends takes full advantage of the internet and its offerings (wink, wink). He was a pioneer in the field and I value his expertise (if not always his judgement). His casual, late night encounters would, no doubt, rival any others.

Going into my first Saturday night date (guy who subsequently met his true love, and is, duh, back on the site now), he gave me advice, “bring condoms.” My reaction, “I am not having sex tonight.”

Him: Listen to me. If you think there’s any chance of something more with this guy, then don’t go too far. But, if he’s hot and you’re not going to see him again, get a hotel room and fuck the shit out of him…break the ice.

Delicate, prudish me must admit that he makes a good point.