Sorry for the brief delay and hope I didn’t lose any readers! It was a tough week and and I had to find my Ellie-spiration again. (I can thank Marley for that). Today “swiping up” is on my mind. The guys you swipe on that may be a little out of your league. The hot, fit, gym rat that you say, why not? You get the match and then are terrified he’ll actually want to meet you and realize you have a pronounced FUPA. Actually, that he’ll realize you can’t even see your own FUPA sometimes because you’re bloated from the night before alcohol. That’s physically swiping up. (live at home guy was actually best body I’ve ever seen. Just wondering if he has to worry about his mom seeing it as he walks down the hall. ew).
I’m now on a new way of swiping up. I actually had to think this if I should include two songs in this post… (I ain’t sayin’ she’s a golddigger…….). I was always told by my mom that’s its just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is a poor one. Cheers mom, I’m listening. While I”m not charming a king, a congressman, and an occasional aristocrat, my chat box is full with an attorney, a surgeon, and a financial advisor. And I support myself thank you very much, but what’s wrong with being a little spoiled every once in awhile? And basing my feelings on just attraction is not getting me very far at all. Plus, these guys swiped on “me”. Meaning, I tried an experiment where I put all new profile pics not necessarily sexy as hell.
In a small way, I feel guilty for being superficial. But it’s fun to play on the other side for a bit.
Yes, I am being unoriginal. The inevitable online dating blogger post on ghosting. Obviously it’s an issue. Such an issue that I think I’m going to do a starving children type commercial to aid in treatment. “For less than what you pay for a cup of coffee, you can help a man get treatment for this terrible affliction affecting women’s egos everywhere.” On a side note, did you know that ghosting is now a term in the actual fucking dictionary? Look it up. I’ll wait.
You’re welcome, you now know more useless information than you did two minutes ago.
Earlier in the summer, Lorna and I did extensive research to look for any excuse why we weren’t getting a call back. Many online sites suggested to take a step back and determine if you were really getting ghosted. Most sites give the reason that you probably are not because he’s too busy (most common) or he’s stranded in Antarctica without a cell signal (ok, I made that one up). Reality is, if he wants to talk to you, he will. (You better put a note in a backpack and put it on a penguin that you’re thinking about me from another continent).
At what point is it considered ghosting? When someone simply stops chatting with you? After you’ve had sex? After a date? I have three examples of my worst ghosting.
T was a little strange. I met him one night in a popular area in the city. He lived in the area, I drove. We went to dinner. It was pleasant enough, certainly not really sparks flying but it was okay. Dinner ended and he asked was I ready to get out of there and hit another bar for a drink. I agreed and went to use the restroom. I texted Lorna and Marley that I was having a good time and things were good. Imagine my embarrassment to have to call Marley not ten minutes later to tell her he’d paid the bill and disappeared. I cried, again not because I wanted him but rejection sucks. The woman part of me imagined him walking out of the restaurant and getting sucked up by a UFO.
J seemed different. We had great conversation by chatting. He called me on lunch and we chatted for an hour. We clicked and agreed to meet for a drink after work that day. I scrambled around in my car to find something to wear (yes, I have that kind of shit in my car. If cleanliness is next to godliness then my car is the portal to hell.) Our drink went well. He walked me to the car, kissed me not once but twice. Tongue and everything. Told me he needed to stop or he wouldn’t want to. Again texted Lorna immediately to tell her it went well. Looked down on my phone not five minutes later and I was unmatched on the dating app and Snapchat. WTF happened? I know! His phone probably got stolen on the way to his car from mine and this evil person went and unmatched every cute girl he could find on J’s phone. Yep, that’s it. So if I run into him in a bar, I probably really shouldn’t pour a beer in his lap. (Definitely a Natural Light but not an IPA. Not into that much alcohol abuse.)
R. What can I say about R? We were involved in pretty much an online relationship for almost a month. He told me tales from his terrible childhood. How his cereal came out of bags instead of boxes. I opened up to him about my online dating woes and how I often let myself feel like a piece of ass. There were warning signals with R flashing. One being when he asked me “does size matter”? (Lorna and I decided I should sleep with him just to find out what he meant by that. ) He was actually a little possessive and “broke up” with me for a few days. Until one day, he asked me to meet him at a hotel and gave me a room number. It was hot. Quick but hot. We even cuddled after (Ew). Never heard from him again.
By the way, these last two are what prompted me to ask RG if I was a good kisser.
Maybe the reason they don’t want to see us again is us. We got too drunk. Talked too much. Sometimes it is situations out of our control we will never have the answer to. No matter what (well, unless you find out that they are a serial killer) no explanation vanishing is not okay. Give us a reason. It may hurt that you have a weird eyebrow fetish and ours are drawn in a little too dark but that’s okay, tell us. We move on.
Same goes for the fade out, the one where they slowly stop talking to you. Generally this means that they haven’t decided about you but still need you in their pocket for the nights that they need a booty call because another chick stood them up to save their masculinity. (Ok, us women do that too. As Marley says–gotta have dm, or dude mentality).
Now that I am writing this, I need to listen to myself. I gotta get rid of GK Ultra. He called me FIVE times yesterday. And then asked how my mom was doing.
I matched with a guy tonight who has on his profile “only into way above average looking woman… and that it’s not going to work if you can’t pull off a bikini bathing suit convincingly.” He and I engaged in a lively conversation. I told him my favorite expression was “don’t trip, we all ugly to somebody” to which he replied “doesn’t matter how hot she looks, there’s someone out there who’s sick of her shit.”
An hour into chatting once, I had a guy ask me if I gave good head. I told him I think so but why? This Prince Charming responded “Because you’re not pretty enough to fuck but I will let you suck my dick.” Wow. Sting. Again, tapped into my insecurities as a woman. Dude had never met me yet was already judging me as a butterface (see http://www.urbandictionary.com n. A girl who is hot, except for her (but her, butter) face.)
The concept of the cards we swipe left and right on comes down to window shopping for humans. Being judged on pure physical traits. While women can chat for a guy for awhile and overlook the slight beer belly, men cannot seem to do so. All that deep intellectual conversation and laughing seems to not exist if he finds one thing wrong. RG made the statement to me once that you date, and seem to more often than not get passed over for the next puppy in the window yelling “pick me! Pick me!”
TLC sings “at the end of the day, I have myself to blame. I’m just trippin'” I’m not to blame that one jackass says a remark to make me think I’m not pretty enough. I am however to blame on how it makes me feel inside. And the best thing I can take from that is to not make anyone else feel that way.