What if we were able to calculate online dating trends?

Well, given that online dating all happens on the most mathematically sophisticated platform known to mankind, it's possible.

I can't believe I never thought about this but I'm glad someone did. Last year, OKCupid.com completed a study analyzing 500,000 first email messages for open rates and response rates and was able to come up with some rules for the perfect first message.

The basic points were -
-Men: don't tell a woman that she's sexy cause it's skeazy and (I loved this part) chances are, "you're not";
-Everyone: Typos and netspeak are toxic in a first message;
-Everyone: Use an unusual greeting (although, the best result based on this study is "how's it going" which, I'm sorry, is not "unusual"); and
-Everyone: Invoking the name of the Lord is a turn-off... indeed, mentioning that you're an Atheist scores big points.


Some of the results are obvious like this one suggesting that male self effacement makes a man seem less threatening (duh):


And digging in deeper on other obvious notions like "mentioning something specific about a profile," I was kind of surprised by which specific references seemed to be the most popular:


REALLY? Tattoos outranked LITERATURE? Both of which were eclipsed by "ZOMBIE"?

The nerd in me wants to export all of the first messages I have received from online dating sites and run them through a pivot table to see the trends. Which would be a lot of work... but the real deterrent is that opening all of those messages to copy them into the spreadsheet would signal to these guys that I looked at their profile after we communicated and/or went out and it didn't work. And there's some mind-game element in that exercise, I think.

Zipped

Last night, I went to a FREE performance at Mannes (The New School). Let's start with why this was free - the performers are students. Don't get me wrong, they were quite talented but they were also young and so while they could technically play the music, it didn't have the same passion as performances by more accomplished musicians. And, the "hall" had seating for 20 - 25 people. It was cozy.

The first piece included a guitar player. After the first piece, some of the performers sat with the audience (all 8 of us), including the guitar player (who looked all of 15 years old, complete with acne, bad style, and a dopey haircut) who was greeted by what I assume was his girlfriend. He had just finished his performance and was sporting a giant smile and a SWAGGER.

It's a performance, in a small space, and it was QUIET. Every single sound in the room was amplified. As the second performance started, the guitar player and his girlfriend sat behind me and started making out. Which I heard because like I said, you could hear everything in this room. Oh and by the way - we weren't in the dark, every light in this room was on. So, I'm sitting roughly 2 feet in front of this young couple who I can tell are making out when I hear a new sound... the sound of a zipper. A ZIPPER! I tried to tell myself that one of them was wearing a jacket? Or a hoodie? Or something that would not be horribly inappropriate to unzip in public... That worked until a small moan escaped one of them....

So then I sat through the rest of the performance leaning my head on my hand, covering my ear and watching the clock, waiting to get out of there. An eternity later, I left at the intermission, and didn't look back.

I guess I understand that the performance high might make you feel more amorous and at that same time, alter your sense of what is and is not appropriate behavior... But YIKES!

Uncle Fester

Just how strong is the power of suggestion?

Well, on Sunday, I was telling my sister about how I hate going to singles functions that don't have any formal structure. Why? First, because while I'm professionally very outgoing, I find floating through a room of complete strangers terrifying.

And second, because I am overwhelmed at these functions, I'll allow anyone to latch on to me so that I don't have to be alone, minimizing my anxiety but often creating a whole new set of problems.

Case in point - Uncle Fester. I met Uncle Fester at a speed dating event I went to with a friend. At the halftime break of a marathon of thirty, 3 minute dates, there was a breather to get a drink, food, and catch up with anyone that you really wanted to chat with for more than 3 minutes. I actually did have someone in mind to chat with but wasn't prepared to make the first move. And in the time it took me to consider this, Uncle Fester made his move.

As the nickname implies, Uncle Fester was a dead-ringer for Christopher Lloyd's portrayal of Uncle Fester Addams in Addams Family Values . And I mean serious look alike - the face, the body, the gait. Even if this man spoke with the prose of Vladimir Nabokov and shared 100% of my political and cultural interests - which he absolutely did not - I would never be able to desire him physically.

It was the longest 3 minute date that night and then, when he cornered me during the dating halftime, I was challenged to stay cordial (he looks like a psycho! If you didn't know that Uncle Fester Addams was scary looking but actually a decent guy, he'd freak you out, right?).

Suffice it to say, I didn't list Uncle Fester as one of my matches and thought we'd never see each other again.

WRONG.

Monday was a beautiful night. I took my book club read to a bar near my apartment with the intention of sitting outside with a glass of my favorite Malbec and an order of churros y chocolat when I see Uncle Fester. He's on a date and that's cool because I assume it means he won't talk to me, so I take a seat at a table ~10 feet from him and start reading.

He definitely recognized me. Every time I looked up from my book (which was frequent because it was dragging), I saw him staring at me. And without saying a word to me, he made himself known by bumping - more forcefully each successive time - into my table every time he walked by to frequent the men's room. And I mean "frequent" (Jesus, Uncle Fester, I'd get that checked out!).

The last time he walked by my table was on his way out. Hoping I might order more food, the waiter left my menu on the other side of the table, hanging over the edge. A dozen people had walked by my table prior without incident but Uncle Fester managed to...

walk straight into the corner of the menu,

pushing it across the table,

knocking over my half full glass of water (yeah, I consciously chose to write "half full"),

onto the candle that was actually a tea light in a glass holder with a roll of white paper around it,

that CAUGHT FIRE,

that was then extinguished in the pool of water from the fallen water glass.

And if it sounds like it was a scene, you're right. It was.

The live Spanish folk band stopped playing.

I was at an NYC restaurant sitting outside which meant that my table was actually on the sidewalk of a moderately trafficked street and pedestrians stopped to see what was going on.

The bartender with whom I have had a rapport for two years, LUNGED OVER THE BAR to my aide before joining me in hysterical laughter.

And Uncle Fester flushed, in horror.

It was so comical, so crazy, if Uncle Fester didn't repulse me, I would have kissed him.

Why didn't you write?

Most online dating sites have a feature that allows you to see who has viewed your profile. You can choose to block people from knowing that you looked at their profile but in the online dating world, I kind of think of this being the equivalent of making eye contact in a bar. You're sending a signal that at a minimum implies some interest in knowing more about this person.

From there, if you do not write to the person, there are a few reasons why:

1. You read the profile, looked at the pictures that the person posted, and are not interested in knowing more and definitely not signaling to communicate;
2. You accidentally clicked on the wrong thumbnail;
3. You saw that this person was checking you out and you wanted to know who it was;
4. You're a woman and much as every man invites you to write to them in their profile essay (indeed, just posting a profile on the site is an invitation for messages), they really want to be the ones pursuing you. So, you just have to wait and see if the "I looked at your profile" move will push him to contact you; or
5. You are interested and need some time to think of what to say.

Yesterday, I looked at loads of profiles. Some fell into that #4 category but many fell into #1. The result? I got seven emails from men this morning; 1 from someone I'm interested in and 6 from people that I have no interest in pursuing.

What's funny to me is that the majority of those 6 messages were just as unappealing as their profiles. Check out this one:

i see you stopped by and did not say "what's up."

i know it can be intimidating to be in the presence of such a sexy attractive man.

so, tell me some interesting things about yourself that would make me want to get to know you better.

Yeah, that is an actual message that I received from a man that, presumably, is interested in me. Now, I didn't write to this guy for several reasons but I'm considering whether or not a reply to his message presents a "teachable moment." Doesn't have to be cruel but could just say:

Dear WhyDidntYouWrite,
Thanks for your note. I didn't write to you after viewing your profile because I didn't think we had much in common. But your message to me was so bizarre, I couldn't help but respond.

I'm not sure what you hope to accomplish with your message. First, you rebuke me for looking at your profile without taking action ("i see you stopped by and did not say 'what's up.'"). Then, knowing your profile didn't encourage me to contact you, you compliment the features of yourself that didn't impress me to begin with ("i know it can be intimidating to be in the presence of such a sexy attractive man"). And finally, after looking at the profile I wrote which presents several things I believe to be interesting about myself, you want me to come up with more to entice you ("so, tell me some interesting things about yourself that would make me want to get to know you better").

Is it safe to assume that you didn't read my profile and that this is the form message you send to everyone? I hope so because if this is an original attempt at flirting with me specifically, it doesn't make much sense. Ordinarily, I'd just not reply and even now, I should be clear that I am not interested... but I wanted you to know that this is not an effective message. And if it is the standard cut and paste job that you're sending to everyone, you're likely going to attract someone super insecure and dull that will feed your narcissism until you tire of them. Maybe that's the kind of relationship you're looking for - if so, continue sending this message to women that visit your profile - but if it isn't, I feel like you'd be better to send a note that follows this format (in all lower case, as you seem to like) - hey, i noticed you cruised by my profile and so i took a look at yours. i really liked what you said about (insert something specific from the woman's profile). (insert follow up question about that specific thing)? look forward to hearing from you.

Doesn't that seem like a less jack-assy message than the one you sent me? Try it out! I bet you get more responses. Seriously, find a bookie and I would put money on it. Well, before I did that, I'd want you to correct the typos in your profile essays because I can't get behind that sort of sloppiness... But once that was fixed, yes, I'd stake money on the effectiveness of this message. Much luck to you!
-me

I'm going to think about this longer but I kind of want to send that message...

Cuffed

Cuffed took me to get a drink at this really fun board-game-themed bar by NYU. I was having a much better time than I had expected I would. Really, I wasn’t so sure a second date with Cuffed would be a great idea, so my expectations were low. And whether that made me more pleasantly surprised or not, Cuffed is much more attractive tonight than last time. And, I’m also enjoying at least an hour as the queen of Backgammon (either this guy sucks or he’s figured out that letting me win at any board game is the Express Way into My Pants).

So when we got to my apartment, I invited him in. Not thinking we were going to have sex, but giving him the signal to make a move. And it was freezing outside. So Cuffed comes in. And he’s sitting on the side of the couch next to an end table with a drawer that I have just jammed random things into for a long time… he OPENS THE DRAWER… and pulls out a set of handcuffs.

Not just handcuffs, but handcuffs with leg irons that I purchased for some stupid reason years ago and evidently, never threw away. Leaving aside the fact that it is so wrong to open up anything that is closed in someone else's apartment, not to mention, IN FRONT OF THEM, I was mortified. I think my heart stopped; I was acutely aware that I hadn’t exhaled in a long time. Frozen, I watched him fully appreciate the weight of the handcuffs, the fact that there were leg irons. In slow motion, I watched him slap one of the cuffs onto his wrist… And I exhaled into a giant laugh when I realized I did not know where the key was.

I mean, I kinda knew where the keys were but wasn’t positive and I guess I thought that me laughing would mask my panic. Guess what? That can only work so long because about a nanosecond went by before he smiled and asked where the key was.

And I did my best to look sure of myself when I opened the drawer to fish out the key. Wouldn’t you know, the key wasn’t there. And now we’re both aware of the situation and first-date-Cuffed is back and I remembered why I wasn’t feeling it with him.

Several - as in about 30 - tense minutes elapse before we find the key and release Cuffed... My mind weaving this nightmare situation about calling a locksmith that would need to come take them off... with an electric saw... that didn't work nights...

But we found the key.

And, we're done for the night.

'Cover' Boy

He saw my guitar, sat down and played Blackbird, which i loved... then, he played it again slower and called it a "Watson Girls cover of Blackbird"... Then, he played it again with a different picking pattern and called it a "Bright Eyes cover of Blackbird"...

Then it occurred to me that he had played this entire song 3 times at 3 different speeds and i was like "is he trying to impress me because i just said i loved this song OR is this the only song he knows how to play?"

It's got to be the first one, right?

CreepyOnlineGuy

So, there's an option on the online dating site that I use that allows you to IM other members if they are also online. I tend to avoid it because the conversations typically go like this:

(for context, he said he had many stories about "crazy women" online:

Me: ok, CreepyOnlineDater, let's hear it
CreepyOnlineDater: I hesitate to tell you because you might conclude I deserved it
Me: i'm a woman. i learned in PE that no means "no"
Me: i'll trust you weren't asking for it
CreepyOnlineDater: Hmmn, they taught you that in PE.
Me: public school, you know
CreepyOnlineDater: well, let me preface this by disclosing I have cybersex on Jdate with a fair amount of frequency

Me (clicks “exit”)

Cheapo

Let's start at the beginning - I liked Cheapo's profile. Through the service, Cheapo indicated that he liked mine, as well. A couple days later, I got an email from a woman on the site that I did not know with the subject line "Message from a friend" and the opening line was "Don't be afraid."

Yeah. That should have been sketchy enough for me to not pursue Cheapo. But...

I liked his profile and according to his friend, Cheapo "couldn't" have an account on the site. Don't ask me why but I found that intriguing, I concocted a sordid tale of this bad boy that was denied an account in my head and fully committed to that idea, I emailed Cheapo at the address provided by his friend.

My first question was - why can't you have an account on the site. The answer? Hold on to your hats... he can't have an account because he finds full (i.e. PAID) membership overwhelming; he can't stop himself from logging in and the membership is entirely too consuming.

Or... he's cheap.

Anyway, we begin an odd email exchange. Sometimes he offers a witty remark and other times he says something lame; in either scenario, his messages are riddled with typos.

We decide to meet for a drink. I don't know why. I plan to go to the grocery store next to the bar after I spend an hour with him and leave. But many hours later, I'm interested. And surprisingly attracted to him. A couple days later, we went out again.

Then nothing. I had no indication that he wasn't interested so I invited him out. He accepted then cancelled and I decided to let it go. Really, truly let it go. Like, I forced myself to forget what Cheapo looked like and what he did for a living. Which became a problem today when we ran into each other. Well, "run in" isn't quite right. I showed up at Cheapo's work for an event and didn't remember that he worked there until he turned on his microphone and started talking. I was stuck... I sat through a two hour film and then planned to duck out but then there was a Q&A with the director led by... Cheapo.

Finally, finally the event ended and I got up to leave. My friend ran out ahead of me to catch the film Director to ask him a question. So, alone, I walked down the stairs, following everyone out, passing by Cheapo who I'm certain saw me, and made the split-second decision to not acknowledge him and walk out.

I don't know what's more shameful - that I avoided him or that I ever went out with him in the first place.

Care Bears, Stare!

I had a dream last night about a guy I recently went out with. We were sitting on my sofa, drinking wine, when I decided that we were friendly enough for me to ask him why things hadn’t worked out between us. Yeah, it sounds as painful as you’re already, cringingly thinking about.

“I have to ask you something and I want you to be completely, brutally honest with me.”

“OK.”

Insistently, “I mean it. I don’t want you to hold back at all.”

Slow and reluctant: “Um, OK.”

I could tell at that moment he was so not going to be cool with me asking this question, and that it looked like his heart was about to beat out of his chest. And you couldn’t force me to ask what happened between us, because I thought I’d rather die than ever allow something so ridiculous to come out of my mouth. Holy smokes, I can barely process the stupidity of addressing my question to HIM.

So I changed gears and with my well-honed, quick thinking Improv mind said the first thing I could think of:


(Seriously and with a completely straight face)"Did you ever watch The Care Bears on Saturday mornings?"

Yeah, that’s what I said. In my dream, that is. And I think the subconscious experience was all that I will ever need as an answer.

a Lover AND a Fighter

Another intriguing profile... See if you can resist this personal essay:

I often make people laugh and can be loud at times, and can be perceived as somewhat cocky. But i have a softer sweeter side too, i just need to feel comforntable with someone before that side of me can surface. I love the sport of Boxing, its one of my many passions, been knocking fools out with one punch since the lunch line, and the chow line, like a Jewish Mike T. However I do love walks on the beach with someone special, but i really like traveling and having wild adventures. I'm somewhat like Indiana Jones in that way i always find myself in crazy places full of danger. I'm for the most part a fun adventurous guy to be around, i really enjoying goofing around and can be awfully silly. I'm really a good catch, i'm unlike anyone you'd ever meet on Jdate or even the street. Here are some of my finer bullet points • Youthful, and handsome good looks.• A fat pocket. And I am liquid.• A suit collection, second to maybe, Ozwald Boateng.• A name that carries mad weight like a coke scale on the street, the beach, nightclubs and dope restaurants. Internationally.• Great genetics.• Put girls in a deep sleep from Grape Street Watts to Watts Street, Soho.• Class, Style and Dash.• Since age 10, my team played to win.• Strong Ambition since the days of Kahane. And some time in reform school to prove it.• Undefeated in the bedroom. Somewhere around XXXX-0. Give or take a few hundred wins.• Came out on top of The Ecstasy Wonder Gang Wars of the 90’s.• Street smarts and flow multiple languages.• A positive, down to earth, humble attitude.. I even volunteer to feed the homeless on Thanksgiving.

I think this must be a joke, right?

Whatever happened to...

...these guys?

Sweet talker...

So, I'm totally not interested in this guy and he's made several attempts to get my attention online. His latest flirty message:

i guess it depends on how often youre hungry but you seem far from obese can you lift up the guitar so i can be certain? i can always arrive at store beforre you and buy up all the haagen dazs

Seriously. I didn't edit that at all so first strike, the typos. Second strike, he's a jerk.

Third strike, his description of himself:

I'm left handed, edgy. never sarcastic, with excellent kissing-lips. Although im not all that psyched about "changing the world", i'd much rather change a disturbing dynamic than to pseudo-helplesssly ride its tide. I find myself ultra-witty, with notes of oak and genius. . .. Born leader, decisive. Not a wise guy -punster type. Have been on both sides of the proverbial tracks, even been On the tracks a few times, which provide[s] me with invaluable perspective and empathy. I'd have to say im primarily an intellectual, but the feeling of working up a good physical sweat is sublime. Fine food, fresh air, witty banter, all are pleasure inducing activities.

Ew.

What would you say about yourself in 1k words or less?

You have 1,000 characters in which to sell yourself. GO!

Willing to chat and have a laugh with anyone!!
Easy going tall dark and...well you decide!! I love having a good time and always having a laugh and a nice wine to match. Im easy going and love to share cuddles and a beautiful meal with the right person, i am interested in meeting a easy going amputee with similar interests looking for a laugh and an easy going time with maybe more to follow!!...

Amputee? Well, he had no picture so who knows?

Trader Joe's - Deal-breaker?

I haven’t written in a while… but it’s not because I’ve been dateless. Indeed, I’ve been on what I’m calling a “man-blast from the past” for the past few weeks that we’ll talk about later. But last night, a new guy brought yet more issues to the forefront.

As I get older, I get more and more, howyousay, ‘particular.’ At first, it started innocent enough: I could not date redheads. I just don’t find redheads attractive. Then, it was more than that… I couldn’t date anyone that looked like they liked tuna. And then, I couldn’t date anyone named Josh.

At some point, I realized that all of these very specific aversions all come down to one really bad experience in sixth grade when we were forced to Square Dance (I don’t know why, either) at our culmination ceremony. We had to practice for weeks before and we always had a different partner. One day, my partner was a redhead named Josh who was a super duper awkward kid that ate his lunch in the boys’ lavatory and picked his nose constantly, followed by placing his boogers on a piece of paper in his desk. Anyway, we were at Square Dancing practice, my skin was crawling just thinking of touching Josh’s booger infested hands, when Josh suddenly went pale and threw up. Threw up a tuna sandwich. And crapped his pants. All at the same time. I can’t imagine what that did to this kid who clearly had issues but the episode has haunted me for 20 years now.

Last night, I went out with a perfectly nice guy. Smart. Successful. Funny. Doesn’t really look like a tune lover… We had a weird exchange, though, about the opening of a Trader Joe’s in our neighborhood. I LOVE Trader Joe’s. I don’t go all that often because the one in Union Sq is always crowded and then I’d have to drag all my stuff back uptown. It’s just not fun. But a location in my neighborhood? Sweet. I see myself there. Often. So, I was thrilled when this guy mentioned the news to me! Except, he doesn’t really care for Trader Joe’s. According to him “it’s just another market” and worse, “it smells funny.”

Is not liking Trader Joe’s a deal breaker? I don’t know.

BeachBum

BeachBum asked me out for a Sunday night date. Two days later BeachBum called again to say that he had to move the date to Saturday night because the surf was going to be particularly good on Sunday and he didn’t want to get up early and then have to go on a date later in the evening. At 8:37pm on Saturday, he called to say that he was running late and that he would be there at 10pm. At 10:15pm BeachBum called to say that he was lost and despite the fact that there are only a few dozen websites that can map the most unambiguous directions from your house to a ship in the Caspian Sea, he was on the wrong street.

At 10:43pm, he called to say he was out front, but by this time I was over it. I said, “No thanks, it’s just too late.”

He apologized and pleaded to get a “quick bite” and apologized again. I walked outside and saw a car parked in the front. I walked to the driver’s side window in the pouring rain like a hooker to make sure it was BeachBum(since he gave no indication) and for some unimaginable reason, I got in.

BeachBum makes no apologies for being late. Takes a stab at small talk, drives to a café a few blocks away. A sudden moment of chivalry comes over him and he offers to let me out of the car before he parks so I don’t step in a puddle when I get out. OK. He’s being nice, considerate… he’s getting out of the car, opening his umbrella… grabbing his crotch like bout of herpes is coming on.

Well at least he then proceeds to speed-walk as fast as he can about six feet ahead of me which is thankful because whatever is making him grab himself like that is likely contagious.

He had no intention of eating and just ordered tea (he told me and the waitress he drank 18 cups of green tea daily) even though the restaurant had a minimum. Knowing that I was from California and used to surf myself, BeachBum said that he never cared for female surfers, and that east coast surfers are much better than west coast surfers. "It’s a fact," he says. It’s not a fact, stupid.

I have never, ever walked out of a date before, but I was starving, growing increasingly frustrated and could see that the bagel shop across the street was open until midnight.

I looked at my date and said, “This is awkward but I’m having a terrible time, I’m starving and I want to go get a bagel across the street. Enjoy your meal and good luck to you!”

His mouth hung open in shock. While waiting for my bagel, I got a text message from the friend who set us up: “How was the date?!!!!”

Guy-I-Never-Went-Out-With-But-A-Computer-Thinks-I-Should

Every once in a while, I get an email from an online dating site of which I've actually never been a member. And each email contains a "sneak peek" at one of the profiles of a potential match via the site: one picture and the personal essay written by the guy.

Remember that part - WRITTEN, ALL OF IT, EVERY WORD, BY THE GUY THAT THIS SITE THINKS IS YOUR MATCH.

I think this latest ad is PROOF that they're getting lazy about screening the marketing messages:


GuyINeverWentOutWithButAComputerThinksIShould
I am kind, generous, creative, adventurous, sophisticated (but also still like to eat pizza at Otto with my hands), thoughtful, charming, physically fit (flat stomach and no love handles), NOT a gym/muscle head, creator, painter, scultptor, chef (i like to think so - you may not but that's ok as long as you can hang out in the kitchen and drink my wine while i pretend), fashion forward enthusiast, restaraunt maniac, skiier, wind surfer, cyclist, dreamer, funny, witty, down to earth (head in the sky), provider, leader, mentor, student and many more things.

WeJustMetTonight

We're 3/4 through a bottle of Merlot, it's been almost two hours, and the longer we sit at that bar, the more interested I find myself in WeJustMetTonight.

Finally, there's a lull in the conversation and it seems very likely that this situation is about to get intimate. And then he says...

(Brace yourself.)


(Seriously.)


"You know how there's this moment when you first meet someone and you're consciously presented with two distinct choices that will determine the future of the relationship? I have been wanting to kiss you all night and right now, right as it seems about to actually happen, I can't imagine what it will be like to do it after all this time."


Not kidding. Happened.

And I don't know why, but that very second, I made this split decision that I was NOT interested in WeJustMetTonight. I felt he had just elevated the pressure of that moment to a level that no mere mortal could reach. And just knowing that, I'd rather kiss broken glass than do anything to damage his little speech... and perhaps, my own ego.

Jury’s-No-Longer-Out

I went on another date with Jury’s-No-Longer-Out and, well, the name says it all.

We met for a comedy show at a bar in Chelsea. I got there early and ordered a glass of wine and settled in. We hadn’t planned on dinner – actually, I did mention it because the show was at 8pm on a weeknight, when I would have been eating dinner so he proposed getting a slice of pizza after the show which I was lukewarm on given that I’m quasi-South-Beaching – but I started looking at the tapas menu because I was starving.

Jury’s-No-Longer-Out arrived and one of the things that I like and at the same time don’t like is how easily affectionate he is. It takes me a little while to warm up to someone – particularly someone who instantly warms up to me – and I just wasn’t into it with him. I did hold his hand but that was where I was drawing the line.

We got our seat at a table – was a cabaret venue – and ordered more wine and tapas. The show was fun but not amazing. And we talked between performances. He asked me about my week, I talked about my week… I asked him about his week and he said, “well, it’s been a rough one. I had to put my cat down today.”

Sigh. I’m not a cat fan…

But I can empathize with losing a pet so I offered my condolences and invited him to tell me about the cat and the story about the cat’s illness, which was extensive. Jury’s-No-Longer-Out was very attached to this cat and even though he said we was really sad about the whole thing, he didn’t seem all that sad and the whole experience felt kinda awkward.

OK, at this point in the evening, it occurs to me that he looks like Jon Favreau and that’s now really distracting.

We leave the show and now have to deal with getting home. He lives in a different part of the city than me and is going to take a cab home. My subway is right next to us and that’s where I’m headed. So, we’re at the subway entrance where we’re going to part and he kisses me goodnight. Still kissing… Still kissing… STILL kissing… Now I’m feeling uncomfortable. I’m not frigid or a prude but I don’t care for making out on a street corner, or in public in general. It’s just not me. And I just said that. “OK, this isn’t me.” And Jury’s-No-Longer-Out’s not quite getting it. I said it again and this time it sinks in.

I get on the train, head home, and that’s that.

Mother-culler

Earlier today, I sent an email to pretty much everyone I know and have an email address for inviting them to join one of my client's Global Warming Day of Action events.

Yes, mass emails are obnoxious. I should have been more careful about who I included in the distribution list because, totally accidentally, I emailed Mother-culler, a guy I went on a date with like 2 years ago.

Mother-culler's a lawyer, divorced, attractive... A vegetarian, an introvert, and an amateur botanist. "Botanist?" you ask? Yep, he pointed out different varieties of trees as we walked down a MANHATTAN SIDEWALK NO WHERE NEAR A PARK where there were, like 8 trees per block and - I'm not kidding - they were all the same despite what Mother-culler said.

I thought the date was lousy and was relieved that he never called after it was over because I dreaded having to say - I'm just not that into you.

Anyway, you would think - given his crunchy granola leanings - that Mother-culler'd be into this email... or, just delete it. But instead, he wrote me back and suggested that I "cull my email list" and signed his name with a smiley-face emoticon.

J suggested I snap a photo of me flipping the bird as a reply to Mother-culler with a note saying "cull THIS!" But I thought this was enough of an outlet. Thanks for indulging me.

"My Very Worst Date"

My date with Schnitzel story was picked up on another bad date blog: http://myveryworstdate.com/

I love the picture they chose:

Little pig, little pig, let me in!

I live on the first floor of a brownstone apartment building. The front door to my apartment faces the building vestibule and is in between the front door to the outside of the building and the door that leads to the other units.

Over the years, I’ve learned to tune out the noise from the vestibule. Guests coming in and out of each door. Deliverymen getting buzzed into the building. Neighbors coming home at odd hours of the night. Drunk. Singing. Singing a tune that once got stuck in my head forcing me to look it up only to find it was a Hilary Duff song which made me want to invent the “do-it-yourself-home-lobotomy” to remove even the memory of the memory from my mind. But, yeah, I can usually tune it all out.

The other night, the vestibule show was – for the first time – quite interesting.

I heard the muffled sound of voices – male voice outside the door; female tenant – talking over the building intercom. Then the vibrating, buzzing sound of the wires connected to the door releasing the lock to let the guest in.

The sound of the guy walking through the first door.

The buzzing sound stopped which meant one thing – this guy was now stuck between the two doors, unable to get through the second door to the apartment they were visiting.

Loud sigh.

Front door opening and closing. Muffled sound of the intercom again. Vibrating buzzing sound. Front door opens and closes. Buzzing sound stops. Louder sigh. Front door opens and then slams.

Now I’m really paying attention.

I hear the guy outside loudly speak into the intercom, “hey, you know there are two doors, right? So you have to hold the button down longer so that I can get through both doors. Can you do that?”

Indistinct response on the intercom… But then, the buzzing sound again, releasing the locks on both doors. The front door opens. Buzzing immediately stops.

The guy in the vestibule lost it. Just completely let go, “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! What the FUCK?????!!!!!!!!”

I could hear him doing what sounded like a calming, breathing exercise in the vestibule. Then a slapping sound, like he had thrown his hands up in exasperation and, lowering his arms, crashed his open palms down against his thighs. The front door opened and closed again, and…

Nothing.

He left. He actually left!

No one can know what was going on inside his head but I’d hazard a guess that he was so annoyed by the ineptitude of my neighbor that he just gave up! Imagine being this guy. You woke up that day anxious but excited for a first date. When the evening finally rolled around, you showered, shaved, splashed on cologne, ironed a dress shirt, got cash from the ATM, took a subway to this woman’s place, rang the bell and….

My face was frozen in a wide eyed, hand over open mouth, “oh shit” expression for who knows how long… the trance broken only by that elusive second door opening and slamming and a woman exclaiming, “seriously?!”

And – you just can’t make this up – she got stuck in the vestibule, locked out of that second door. I guess I could have done it earlier, but decided to mercifully push the button on my intercom and let her through.

One of few men in the city worth dating...

... according to him, that is.

I didn't date this guy, I don't even know him. But I couldn't resist posting this:

Voicemail message from a self proclaimed "catch."

There were a number of red flags on THIS message but my favorites:

• I get hit on 6-7 times a day.
• I write movie scripts.
• I’m Greek.
• I don’t date timid woman.
• I’m good in bed.
• I give ultimatums but don’t play games.
• There’s nothing wrong with me.
  
• I'm a very successful professional.
  
• I’m one of the greatest catches in the city.
• I believe “passive aggressive” behavior is a personality disorder.
• "Call me when you have the courage."

Schnitzel

An oldie but goodie…

Several years ago, I became involved in the Orthodox Jewish community. But given that I was 25 years old (kinda old to be single in this world) and didn't grow up observant, I was confronted with several social stigmas about "people like me" when I started dating.

I politely turned down the majority of suitor suggestions (40-something widowers, unemployed men that lived with parents, etc) until one matchmaker told me that I was being "difficult," that I should really try this one guy - Schnitzel... I decided to go for it.

The plan was to get coffee while I was in town. Schnitzel was 30-something, wore a full suit (seriously, with a matching vest), bald, cross eyed, short, stocky. Schnitzel wasn't able to "drive at night" (because of a vision problem) and picked me up with a Brooklyn car service. We went for "coffee" at Schnitzel's "favorite SUSHI bar" which, incidentally, did not serve coffee. He ordered chicken teriyaki, I ordered soup (I had already eaten... thinking that we were just getting coffee).

The conversation was OK until he started asking what I had thus far learned about Jewish laws regarding marital relations. Bearing in mind that this is a man that grew up Orthodox, is 30-something, and that Schnitzel is not only a virgin but has never even touched a woman (consistent with the expectations of the community), I was mortified that he wanted to talk about this subject in a public place, on a first date. Think I zoned out for a moment...

Then I heard him say, "...according to Jewish law, a man can have his wife anyway he likes..." – picks up a piece of chicken - "...kinda like chicken! BBQ'd, baked, filleted..." Schnitzel flashed me what was supposed to be a seductive smirk. But it just came off really creepy in the context my visualizing this man naked, in my bedroom, holding a filleting knife and BBQ sauce, waiting to attack me. In my moment of panicked silence, Schnitzel bought me one of the roses from a vendor in the restaurant, smashed it against his nose, closed his eyes and gave the bud a dramatic sniff before handing it to me.

An eternity passed before the check came.... We walked to the car service pick-up, drove back to my friend's house, and Schnitzel asked when I was leaving town tomorrow and if I have time to get brunch. "Early. I won't have time."

The matchmaker calls 30 min later to tell me this guy is in love! Schnitzel can't wait to go out again; can't I delay my trip back? I tell her what happened. She says, "well, Schnitzel was just trying to relate to you knowing that you grew up secular and are probably preoccupied with that kind of sex talk... You shouldn't be picky, what with your age and growing up outside the community..."

Last call I ever took from her. And a few years later, I finally left the community entirely.

Right-Around-the-Corner

On a quarterly basis, I go through an intense "I’m-just-going-to-make-the-first-move-and-email-the-male-online-profiles-I’m-interested-in" phase. In February 2009, I carved out a chunk of time to do just that and emailed a few guys that looked interesting.

That was the first time I ever corresponded with Right-Around-the-Corner. I liked his profile. Really liked it. He seemed thoughtful and deliberate in his choice of words – indeed, he’s a writer for a TV comedy show that I don’t actually watch – and had that tall, gangly introvert look that makes me swoon. No misspelled words in this profile. And, even better, he made a few humorous references that made me Laugh Out Loud. So, I dropped him a note.

Through the intrusive-bordering-on-stalker tech features of most online dating sites, I knew two things right away –
1) Right-Around-the-Corner had immediately opened my email upon receipt and
2) Right-Around-the-Corner either didn’t look at my profile or, more likely, blocks people from seeing whether or not he looks at their profile.

And, within a week, I knew a third thing – 3) Right-Around-the-Corner was rude. He never wrote back.

In May 2009, I get an email from Right-Around-the-Corner. Not a response to my message from months before but a new message entirely. He just jogged by a woman that looked like me but was on the phone so he didn’t say anything. But he makes a point of telling me that not only did he just, maybe, almost see me but that he also “turned to look back several times.”

Now I know a fourth thing – 4) Right-Around-the-Corner’s socially awkward.

Why tell me that you just saw me? I don’t want to know that you’re NOW interested because you saw me looking particularly hot on the street one day but weren’t intrigued enough by my profile and bold, first email to do me the courtesy of responding.

But, knowing that this guy is now interested having seen me in person is a turn-on.

Perhaps he doesn't appreciate my online profile, but he likes what he sees on the street. And while that makes me feel like a cheap hooker, it also makes me feel like a cheap hooker that’s just landed a John and that’s pretty fucking special.

After a couple awkward exchanges – and now knowing that Right-Around-the-Corner lives around the corner from me – we decide to meet. Hey, why not?

I’m not going to talk about the dates that we actually went on because it's "while not on a date Right-Around-the-Corner" that provides the most fodder in the context of GIMOTI (Guys I Met on the Internet).

Quite possibly the most awkward experience I've ever had – I ran into Right-Around-the-Corner on the subway after an awkward date a few days prior. We were on the same car. I had grabbed a seat and immediately busied myself with a book as I normally do on the train. I look up and see Right-Around-the-Corner standing 3 feet away from me. He looked like he was... absorbed in thought? I don’t know. I just know that he was at a vantage point where he would clearly have seen me before I would have seen him and he hadn’t said anything.

I said something. “Hello,” I think. And then rambled because I was inexplicably more uncomfortable in that moment than I can remember being with another person in recent memory.

Even though I obsessed on the awkwardness of that subway ride for hours wondering what the fuck just happened, we went out again… and in spite of myself, I had a nice time.

So, I invited him out again and Right-Around-the-Corner responded by telling me that he just wasn’t feeling it and that given the situation – i.e., that we went out via an online dating site with the intention of a romantic relationship (true, that is the intention of an online dating site) – the bar was higher for a romance to take off. And, I guess I missed that bar. It would be the first, ba dum dum…

But Right-Around-the-Corner can’t just say, “I’m not feeling it, good luck to you.” No. Right-Around-the-Corner makes a special point of telling me that I’m awesome and that he’d like to continue to hang out and see where things go…

While I might be quirky and obsessive, I am quite literal about most things. If you tell me you’d like to hang out, I think you’d like to hang out. And if I want to hang out with you, I’ll ask you to hang out.

I asked Right-Around-the-Corner to hang out. Once. Twice. Three times. He was always busy. By the third time, I decided to get out of the “invite Right-Around-the-Corner to hang out business” and decided to just let him make a plan if he was so inclined.

And, he was inclined… to speculate about plans. Several times he invited me to be in touch about hanging out. For a while after things had fizzled. He was even specific about what hanging out could mean – dining, an exhibit, an improv show…

And on at least one occasion after telling me he wasn’t feeling the sting of Cupid’s arrow in his ass, he walked by me sitting in front of my apartment on the street without my noticing him. I know this because he, again, emailed to tell me he had just seen me. Not within a couple hours of it happening like the first time, but a couple days after it had happened. He described what I was wearing in detail. Explained that he had hung back a little to catch my attention.

But, just like the first time this happened, I was on the phone and he didn’t want to interrupt. And unlike the first time, feeling like a cheap hooker sucked.

Jury's still out, but...

If you're not following the latest on Ashley Dupre (the high priced hooker that took down Eliot Spitzer), you might have missed her accusation that NYC women are essentially all whores that are looking for a rich sugar daddy.

Oh please.

But then, a week later, I went out on a second date with a guy that might have taken this note from Ashley too seriously.

He chose the restaurant (the *expensive* restaurant), invited me to go there, made the reservation. He proposed appetizers, sharing a bottle of wine, pricey entrees. And when the check came, he opened the little pleather holder, laid it on the table in between us both, counted out about 1/2 of the bill in cash from his wallet and... passed it to me.

OK. I'm down for going Dutch. But that is not typical of dates I have been on. In fact, the more common scenario is an awkward moment of me fumbling for my wallet as my date picks up the bill and tells me that "this is on me."

It's always awkward and uncomfortable and I end up feeling like an alien from another planet that doesn't understand the dating rituals of human beings. So, in the last year, I've tried to correct that by paying for the dates that I propose. And why not? I make a decent living. I'm not on these dates for a free meal or movie...

But riddle me this: the one common denominator with several of the guys that I have gone out with recently, where the interest from either of us just sort of fizzled, has been that I paid for the last (or almost last) date that we went on. Rationally speaking, I sensed things weren't going to work out with all these guys prior to inviting them out and paying for the date... and that I invited them out to "give it the old college try" so the data is kinda skewed.

I'm not sure what to think about "Jury's still out." And, bigger picture, whether there is another hidden dating secret in the question of "who pays." A mystery, indeed. But in the meantime, I think I might go out again with this guy... and I'll remember to bring cash.

Theorem

There is a formula that I believe holds the answer to meeting your match online:



I don’t know the exact variables, but I’m absolutely certain that finding them unlocks a door to a parallel universe. And overcoming the agonizing frustration presented by this formula would be spectacular and bizarre.

It’s remarkable, but I find myself in the EXACT SAME situation as a month ago where I have just met someone online (through MeetUp! I know, it’s a crazy story for another time…), we did the 1+ hour phone call, and because I will be going out of town, we won’t be able to meet in person within the next 5 days.

Yeah, that first date is going to suck, right?

Because now I’m totally attracted to your charm, your wit, your sense of humor… And I haven’t seen you in person yet, which means that there is A LOT riding on you not being a zillion shades of physically repellent, only a handful of which I have discovered thus far:

-Short;
-a rail;
-pear shaped with JUNK in the TRUNK (and under the hood);
-cross eyed;
-wears suspenders and a bowtie;
-blinks too much;
-really sweaty;
-missing teeth;
-laughs like a 6th grade GIRL;
-gnarled teeth;
-unibrow;
-wildly gesticulates; and so many more, I don’t think it’s a good idea to take this trip down Memory Lane between Zoloft® refills.

But there is hope.

This time, I will only be gone for a week, not two. This time, I know what will be waiting for me on my trip to CA. And, it’s like I get a shot to do the whole thing over again in a condensed timeline which all combines to make me hopeful that I have new variables to test that might unlock that door…

Dammit, I just over-expected it again.

A-Kizzle

I met A-Kizzle during a recent 3 week love affair with Bikram Yoga (1.5 hours of yoga in a room heated to over 100 degrees)… the affair is over and I don’t think I’ll ever enter the torture chamber (AKA classroom) so willingly again.

A-Kizzle is an attorney. From California, like me! But he’s not really from California, he’s from Bakersfield. And, if you’re not from California or are otherwise confused, Bakersfield’s probably got more in common with a place like Kansas City, MO than with any place you’d think of when someone says “I’m from California.”

Knowing that I’m from California, and knowing that I’ve lived in the cool parts like Santa Cruz and Los Angeles (which isn’t so much cool as it is iconic), A-Kizzle cautions me to not hold the fact that he’s from Bakersfield “against him.” Uh, OK. I don’t really care… but if it makes A-Kizzle feel better…

We make a date to meet for brunch in Soho.

Surprise, surprise, A-Kizzle does not look like his picture. And by that, I mean A-Kizzle is shorter, wider, and not currently in whatever magical lighting made his face NOT look like he likes tuna salad.

Say what?

It’s a distinct look that is as germane to me as it is difficult to explain to others. Famous people that have the look include Jerry Seinfeld. I don’t know what it is about Seinfeld but if we were at a deli about to order lunch, I’d bet the farm he would order a tuna salad sandwich. I don’t know why, I just would.

Immediately after our brunch, inspired by my feedback, A-Kizzle is going to go to his first ever Bikram Yoga class. Seriously. So, he explains that he’s got to find something on the menu that is “relatively healthy, full of carbs, and quickly digestible because you definitely don’t want some heavy meal in your stomach” before this class.

He didn’t order a tuna salad sandwich. It wasn’t on the menu so I maintain that he didn’t have the choice… Instead, sticking to the meal requirements he set himself, A-Kizzle ordered a yogurt/fruit/granola concoction and a side of sausage. No, two sides of sausage because there are only two links in each side order. I almost involuntarily gagged.

Recovering, I chose an omelette and coffee before handing my menu to the waitress and looking back at A-Kizzle who is staring at my chest with his mouth agape. I look down. Shit. The button struggling to stay closed across my breasts has lost its fight and my shirt is wide open in the exact wrong/ right spot. I’m wearing a camisole underneath, it’s still PG-rated… but I jokingly say something lame like, “wow, sorry about that… button down shirts aren’t always my friend!” as A-Kizzle forces his eyes back to my face…

A-Kizzle is an attorney. But his true calling is in entertainment. He’s 38 years old and only recently got his JD after “not being discovered” up until 5 years ago when he decided to enter law school.

In what part of the entertainment industry would A-Kizzle excel? You name it! Acting, editing, directing, writing, producing, marketing… Hollywood is kicking itself every second that passes without A-Kizzle. He’s got all kinds of ideas in the works, it’s only a matter of time.

But while Hollywood is missing its undiscovered pro, there’s plenty of (*all quotes here are things he actually said; references he actually used*) “legal shit” that “monkeys can do” that pays “bank” so that A-Kizzle will never be “ass out.”

Who would have thought a gangsta from Bakersfield would slam like that, yo?

As it turns out, the “girlie breakfast” A-Kizzle ordered isn’t quite what he expected and he’s PISSED at the waitress for leading him to believe that the yogurt option would be a meal. And he tells her. Loudly. Dramatically. Humorously (to him). Convincingly. We get a new waitress. And, scene!

I ate my entire omelette, drank maybe 8 cups of coffee. I don’t think I spoke at all for about 30 minutes which is an achievement, to be sure. A FEAT. Then, noting my silence, A-Kizzle fires off a slew of questions – what do your parents do? How many siblings do you have? What do you currently do for a living? Is your job lucrative (paraphrasing on that last one because he used some slang word I needed him to define. I don’t remember the word but it means “lucrative”)? Hopped up on caffeine, I shoot back my quick answers like an auctioneer.

I can see my subway entrance across the street and I’ve never wanted to get on the 2 train more. A-Kizzle asked me if I could recommend a “good beverage with electrolytes for Bikram?” No. “Think I should get Gatorade?” I don’t know. “What do you normally drink”? Water. “Ugh, not TAP WATER”? Yes, distilled tap water. “Ugh, how can you drink that shit”? It’s perfectly fine; we live in the fucking United States and have pretty decent water treatment systems. “Why are you so defensive”? Why are YOU forcing ME to defend WATER?

Our new waitress, two busboys, and our old waitress - who is now huddled with the other staff in this mostly empty restaurant - are all waiting for A-Kizzle to put his fork down, signaling that he is finished… Eons pass before that finally, thankfully happens and our new waitress swoops in with the check.

A-Kizzle immediately grabs the check when it hits the table. I appreciate that…

… but then he says, “’cuz this isn’t a non-profit salary kind of place.” I don’t appreciate that. Fuck you, A-Kizzle. You might just make it into a movie… as the guy that never recovered from me giving him a roundhouse kick to the face.

He “enjoyed our date” and wanted to go out again… umm, no.

7-Flag

We met at a vegetarian cafe for coffee/tea at 7pm on a FRIDAY because he doesn’t drink as of two months ago (I’m told to “ask later”). Red flag: 1.

At first, I don’t recognize 7-Flag AT ALL from his online profile picture but there’s only one guy sitting alone at the cafe that maybe, sort of looks like him. But if that’s 7-Flag, I’m a little pissed that he’s already ordered and is halfway through a coffee.

It’s 7-Flag.

He spots me, comes over, and gives me the weakest handshake ever. EVER. Like shaking hands with J-E-L-L-O.

Buys me an iced coffee and we then go back to sit down at a dirty table (you’ll remember this part later, as I have, and be a little confused). Dirty. Huge crumbs of a previously consumed meal at the table that are so large, you can narrow down possible items on the menu that would identify what they were when once whole.

He grew up as an Orthodox Jew – I’m 100% positive that I didn’t know that detail prior to that moment – and has now spent 11 years non-observant.

7-Flag’s “not bitter,” but he kind of is. Really is. He hates “these self-righteous rabbis.” Yeah, Earth to 7-Flag: “You’re fucking bitter!” Seriously, he proclaimed his lack of bitter-ness several times but, then again, he also remarked “the Nazi’s missed a few.” Red flag: 2 and 3

In spite of myself, I really like his eyes.

I disclose that I spent 8 years as an Orthodox Jew and eventually left because I couldn’t stand the racism and political conservatism of the majority of the people I encountered; I felt isolated with only a handful of the billion people I met in the community being people I’d want to hang out with; I couldn’t stand the sexually repressive culture that has the horrible side effect of making 30- 40- something year old men feel perfectly entitled to talk about a phony sexual escapade at a dinner party on SHABBAT with complete strangers. But I’m not bitter. I’m really not. Really.

He's got a professional day job that requires a graduate degree. He's also in a band. Plays guitar. Sings. That’s hot.

It’s a Jewish band that mostly plays weddings. Orthodox Jewish weddings. Less hot.

And, he’s got “adult onset OCD.” That’s rare. You usually are diagnosed with OCD in your teens or 20s but 7-Flag is 40. And as 7-Flag explains, “when you get it as late as I did, it’s most likely the result of some head trauma.” He had such trauma. A couple years ago, he walked into a glass window at a kosher pizza place and later had a huge bump on his head. Would have sued the place, too, but the head trauma has caused him to forget important details about the incident that would be necessary to his case. Like, the date it happened. He says he has “witnesses” but I guess they don’t remember that detail, either. I don’t know, I didn’t want to pursue it.

OK, his eyes are not only a nice shade of green, they also sparkle. And have a lovely shape.

So, how did he find out about the OCD? He had an episode. Red flag number 4.

7-Flag was at work and a colleague touched his keyboard – note, he struggled to find the word “keyboard” and kept doing that annoying thing bad actors do when they’re trying to remember something by snapping their fingers in a circular motion while looking up; could be the head trauma – and it made him really antsy. He went downstairs for air then came back, got really close to the this other guy’s head and said, “if you ever touch my keyboard again, I’ll fucking kill you.” Red flag number 5, 6, and 7. And, I think I almost wet myself.

This prompts a six month stint where he cannot leave his home. Except, that is, to go to therapy, which is required to get the prescription for the “meds.”

But going to the shrink means taking the F train. And to do that, he must wear two pairs of gloves and even then, can’t bear to touch anything. That means, that when on the train, 7-Flag plants his feet – spread about 2 feet apart – solidly on the floor and stands with his arms outstretched for balance.

Now, he’s OK.

He’s on meds but not drinking. Maybe alcohol mixes poorly with the meds? I’m too anxious to ask and not really thinking clearly because I’m imagining 7-Flag on the F train in the stance he described. Naked.

He wants to have dinner this week! And my first instinct is, “eh, it’s just dinner”… I’m so troubled by this reflex…