Jim asked me a reasonable question. I responded reasonably. Andy and Karen? Ditto.

Then n.c. weighs in. I’m already at a disadvantage. Is n.c. a man or a woman? Old or young? Single or not? Since everyone reading knows (almost) everything about me, it might be nice to have some context. As in, “I”m happily married and therefore in a position to give advice or cast aspersions!” But I really don’t know who I’m corresponding with. When n.c. said, “Surely in your absence you’ve had bar stories, boy stories, valentine stories, st. patty’s stories, millinery stories that are far more compelling than these misbegotten attempts with online pablum,” it’s tough to know where he/she is coming from. Is he/she really that bored with my dating complaints? If so, why not disregard this particular post and tune back in when I write about my travels or nightlife? While most of what I write about is the sad state of dating affairs, it isn’t the only thing I write about. Does n.c. read every newspaper and magazine from cover to cover? Wouldn’t it be simple to be more discerning? Read only the topics of interest to him/her? But in response to the question, no, n.c., I don’t have any stories about the bar or boys. My Valentine’s Day was pretty fun and I do believe I blogged about it, albeit briefly. I went to a Kostume Kult party and then on to Marquee, where I was packed in with a million gay boys and drag queens. At that point I didn’t have any St. Patty’s stories since the post was on March 12. And millinery stories? Well, I’ve been posting pix of my hat making adventures on Facebook. There are dozens of millinery blogs by people far more skilled and experienced than I am so I didn’t really feel like competing. Anyway, I hope that addresses your concerns, n.c.

Next up is Gregor, who often has valuable insights. Good to know that when “a man is not interested in a woman, there’s nothing more for him to say.” But it didn’t quite answer the “why” of his being so rude. As in, WHY respond rudely? Why not just not respond at all? It’s all really conversational anyway, but…

Then we have a new contributor to the mix, “dude.” He immediately assumes I have 800+ readers, which is far from the case. On my best day every, I topped out at 350 views. Most of the searches that dump people off at my site are for “Le Trapeze” or “penis pix” or “panty boy.” No, not dating, but also nothing any of these thoughtful commenters would be interested in either. Dude is incredulous when I tell him that my negative, depressing or disastrous date posts receive more viewers than my upbeat, cheerful posts do. Sadly, the stats don’t lie. And when he suggests I write about something “interesting,” citing n.c.’s request for a post about millinery, I am compelled to ask, would you all be THAT interested in reading about my hat making? Cause, ya know, I can certainly describe the hours of hand sewing I’ve spent over the past week or so. I can easily explain the rapture I experience while shopping in the garment district, fondling trims and notions. If, you know, that’s your…thing. And the “shrewish” jab? Well, whatever. I’ve called myself a cunt so many times I’m surprised anyone even reads my damn blog. But he didn’t stop there. Oh, no. He has a LOT to say to me. Aw, go read it if you want. Moving along.

Last night, while in bed reading, my phone went “bing” and, oh look! A new comment. It’s Kath. But she’s responding to…my latest tweet. Huh? Um, okay. Here’s the tweet, for those of you who aren’t hanging on my every social networked word: I cannot believe anyone wants to watch D list “celebrities” dive into a pool. What’s next, “D Listers Sitting On Their Couches”?  #splash It was an off the cuff remark after far too many commercials for “Splash,” the new ABC reality show about, yes, D list celebrities (more like former celebrities) diving into a pool. A ridiculous premise for a TV show, don’t you think? But I’m betting Kath has NO idea what I’m talking about. Our back and forth here:

Kath
you have the temerity to talk about D-list celebrities when you pander the same bullshit (“controversy?”, yeah, right) here?
nice try.
Abby
Hahah! You’re comparing my blog with a major network’s reality show? That’s hilarious!
Kath
no abby, i’m coming the d-list bullshit of which you speak with your own bullshit. it seems to be endless.
Abby
Huh? Fuck off.
Kath
typo. urgency to respond created “coming” when i meant “comparing” [the d-list bullshit which offends you] to your own oft-written bullshit about men and dating and their apparent inability to find a noun, verb, adjective and cogent thought.
apparently it’s contageous (not the typos.)
as for fucking off, how sweet you’ve composed the cyber equivalent to “i know you are but what am i.”
grow up, stop writing, or stop complaining. you made your “controversy” (readers love it!) now sleep with it.

Oh, Kath, Kath, Kath! Sooooo many things are wrong with this picture! Firstly, is my blog THAT important you feel an actual “urgency” to respond? Wow, my writing is more compelling than I thought! And far more compelling than n.c. and Dude have been finding it recently! Secondly, I’m not “offended” by ANY D list bullshit. I just think the premise for the show is a bit weak. That’s all. None of it is bullshit, really. But hey, thanks for “comparing” my “bullshit” about men not being about to string a sentence together with Louie Anderson (who?) being unable to climb out of a pool (a big crisis on the show, apparently, although there was a fucking ladder only a few feet away) or Kareem Abdul-Jabbar bellyflopping. I fail to see the comparison but I certainly can’t control what other people think! I will say, however, pardon the FUCK outta me for preferring men who aren’t functionally illiterate. I don’t believe I’ve ever had a relationship with a man who didn’t know the difference between “your” and “you’re.” The temerity, indeed!

Her admonition to “grow up” falls on some seriously deaf ears here, my dear. Je refuse! If I’ve made it to 53 without growing up, why would I start now? Stop writing? Uh, no. How about you stop reading? There are, literally, millions — MILLIONS! — of blogs! Why the hell do you (and all these other nutjobs) insist upon reading mine if it annoys you so? Oy motherfucking vey! Breathe, Abby… Okay! Stop complaining? FUCK OFF! Oh, that’s right. Saying fuck off is “the cyber equivalent of ‘I know you are but what am I’.” I AM A CUNT. A cranky old, jaundiced, jaded, shriveled up, bitter CUNT! Are you fucking NEW?

As for “making my controversy,” I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you mean what I was saying in my response to Dude (and that I’ve mentioned in the past) about readers enjoying the bullshit, well, um, yeah. So I’m so grateful to you for providing more of it I’ve devoted an entire post to the subject! Now, let’s see how many views it gets! I’m ready to sleep with it. Which is a damn good thing, because ain’t nothing or nobody else sleepin’ with me! Bwahahaha. Oh my! Thanks, Kath!

On a related note, can someone tell me how people like Kath find me? And why?

One guy has his location listed as Yonkers when he is, in fact (or says he currently is), in Portland, with plans to move to New York in the future. We exchanged a few pleasant experiences and his last note to me ended with his email address and this: let’s stay connected via email if you leave the sight. yep, my nickname is chip.
I can tell i like your personality and you are fun and chill. 

Okay, so the fact that the guy can’t spell “site” might be a deal breaker but I’ve loosened up on my…standards. It’d be nice if he’d just either make a date but I suppose that’s not so easy when you’re 3,000 miles away.

I mentioned Parrothead in my previous post. He mentioned St. Patrick’s Day in his profile as well as bemoaning women who are so old they barely have a pulse. (Man, don’t I know how that feels!) He sounded…reasonable. To refresh your memory, our complete correspondence history:

always nice to hear from a fellow parrothead, I get into the city every once in while, but am an island kid at heart, I have outfits for st patricks day also, tux for our parade which is alway the 2nd sun in march , take the train out one year you’ll love our parade there are so many bars along the route.
bob

Thanks for replying, Bob.
Best of luck in your search.
A

But then after I’d posted about it, I thought that maybe perhaps this was his shy (awkward) way of inviting me out to his parade. I decided I’d give him another try:

Okay, sorry to bother you but I had to ask…
Was your last email an invitation or a blow-off?
It’s so very difficult to discern what people mean here. I don’t want to misunderstand.
Any insight would be greatly appreciated.
Abby

to be honest with you I don’t remember ever conversing

Well, that pretty much says it all, I guess.
Best of luck to you!
Abby

Now, is it me, or would it have been SUCH A BOTHER for this guy to LOOK IN HIS MOTHERFUCKING INBOX? To perhaps, oh, I dunno, READ THE EMAIL I SENT HIM? Maybe refer to what I’d sent him? So he could SEE our “conversing?” HOW HARD IS THAT? Did he grow up in a fucking test tube? Has he had NO interaction with women? Ever? Okay, granted, he probably isn’t my type. He 56, lives on Long Island and likes to golf and, apparently, never comes into the city, even though he lists “museums in the city” as one of his interests. So no, not the man of my dreams. But how could he so easily — and rudely — dismiss me? Does he have NO feelings at all? Jeebus. Should I write him and tell him what a rude asshole he is? Yeah, I think I will!

You wrote:
“to be honest with you I don’t remember ever conversing”
I’m not sure if you’re aware, but it’s fairly simple to check your inbox for previously received correspondence.
Or did you mean to dismiss me so rudely?
Online dating is so difficult. We’re all bravely putting ourselves out there. It isn’t that hard to be polite. A simple “I’m not interested” suffices if you are, in fact, not interested. You complain right in your profile about women looking you over and moving on to someone else when they could meet you, a “nice funny guy.” I haven’t met you but thus far you haven’t been very nice.
Again, best of luck to you in your search. Perhaps YOU will continue to pass over “nice, funny women” and wind up dating women who’ll treat you like shit.

There! Hah! The pathetic cyber equivalent of throwing a glass of wine in his face!

Even more troublesome than the (somewhat expected) assholery and social awkwardness is the phenomenon of disappearing dudes. They “like” a photo or send me a “wink” and by the time I notice and go to check out their profiles, they’ve vanished. What happened? Did they visit my profile and then miraculously find true love? Chicken out? Or maybe their subscription expired mere moments after finding me? I guess I’ll never know about Kindman from Kentucky or OUTSTANDING in New Jersey. Not a huge loss. I suppose you’ve guessed by now that I’ll be allowing my subscription to March.come expire…

In the three weeks I’ve been a “member,” my profile has been viewed by 244 potential dates. I’ve received seven “winks” but “favorited” by only  two. I’ve sent out 78 emails but received only 36. That’s less than half. In the “Daily Matches” section, I’ve expressed interest in 21 men while only four are interested in me. So the numbers aren’t exactly encouraging. Any of them.

I haven’t been “overreaching” at all. I swear. I’ve approached men who are age-appropriate and less than movie star handsome. I’m not searching specifically in Manhattan and Brooklyn, even if I somewhat believe that where you live says a lot about who you are. I send innocuous messages. Many men don’t reply at all. Yeah, I know; don’t reply if you aren’t interested, it only makes it worse. Frankly I’d prefer a brief “I’m not interested” to nothing at all. It at least lets me know that my email was received. One man’s reply was “This is least scary.” I was reading it on my phone and wasn’t sure what he meant. When I looked on my laptop I discovered he was referring to one of my photos, finding it “least scary.” Wouldn’t it have been more polite to say he wasn’t interested? I emailed “Parrothead” in Huntington (which is about an hour from the city) because, yes, I’m a closet Buffett fan. I divulged my secret, inquired about his sartorial choices for St. Patrick’s Day and asked if he ever gets into Manhattan. His response: “always nice to hear from a fellow parrothead, I get into the city every once in while, but am an island kid at heart, I have outfits for st patricks day also, tux for our parade which is alway the 2nd sun in march , take the train out one year you’ll love our parade there are so many bars along the route. bob” Gee, thanks, Bob. I guess he’s hoping to find the woman of his dreams within a 10 block radius of his suburban fortress. Perhaps I should’ve pursued his somewhat obtuse invitation? Who knows…

My profile is rather bland, as compared with my OKCupid profile, which perhaps said a bit too much. I dialed back my effusiveness and didn’t post anything that could be construed as negative. Mind you I didn’t go overboard and talk about romantic walks on the beach or not having any baggage. Why people waste their bits and bytes blathering on about that shit is beyond me. But I digress…

There are many differences between OKCupid and Match, most importantly that it seems men are more serious about a “relationship” than merely shopping for sex. The interface isn’t as much fun, though ever since Match.com bought OKCupid the two are slowly becoming more alike. There are way more “I’m laid back and easy going” self descriptions on Match, which is a reflection of fewer creative types. There are also more men using ALL CAPS or Capitalizing Every Word that may indicate lower IQs or less tech savviness (or both). Match’s annoying IM pops up constantly and not once has there been a photo of the guy trying to “chat” with me. They all say the exact same thing, which makes me think they aren’t real people at all but some sort of bot/scam.

I’ve gone out on two dates from Match, both of which were what I would call successful. I’m not sure if that’s due to my scaled back expectations or a higher quality of man. Or if I’ve simply become a better dater, which I think I have. Anything’s bound to improve with practice, right?

One gentleman was better looking in person, a rarity, and he was…interesting. I spent most of the date nodding, smiling and asking questions, which is what “they” say to do. Over the three hours we spent together, he hardly stopped speaking long enough to express much interest in my life. Not a good sign. And when the check came for his cocktail and my two beers, he expected me to pay for my drinks. I didn’t have enough cash for both beers and asked if he minded paying for one. (?!?!) As I emptied my wallet, he said it was fine and that it gave us an excuse to  meet again, which he seemed excited about, since I now “owed” him one. Ummm… He picked the place, which wasn’t cheap. Am I being a diva to expect to have both my beers paid for? Is chivalry completely dead? I do my best to be a cheap date. Anyway.

Bachelor #2 was way more fun and far more chivalrous. So much so that I won’t go on about it here. (And no, he didn’t come home with me!) However it did give me hope. I’d like to meet more men, if only to get my $80 worth, but thus far no one seems terribly enticed by me. I’m leaning toward giving up on the whole online dating thing. And yes, I know I’ve said that before. It will be easier in the spring, when things start to get busy and I travel a bit. The summer is even easier, when I head back out to the desert. I think maybe it’s time to leave love to fate rather than trusting the interwebz. Le Sigh.

February is consistently a difficult month for me. Whether single or coupled, Valentine’s Day is an irritant — or more accurately, its aftermath. Picking up half-off heart candies and gobbling them down by the bag full probably doesn’t help matters. But this is the time when winter seems to draaaaaag on and we hit the “burnal equinox,” or mid-point in the year between burns. I find myself yearning for more open space, warmer weather, a change of scenery in general. Though this year I have been so engrossed with projects that it isn’t as intense as it usually is.

Fortunately February is over and March is the beginning of the end of winter. There are fun parties and colorful holidays right around the corner and I’ve been marshaling my ensembles. I’ve also been despairing my overstuffed closets; it really is time for some serious purging. I admire those people who own, like, one pair of pants. How do they do it? Shopping has always been a sport, of sorts, in my family so spending money on things I don’t need is in my blood. Sometimes I wish there were a cure…

This damn millinery class is threatening to bankrupt me! I’ve spent more on supplies than the class itself cost, which was a lot! Mind you, I’m enjoying it, but, whoa, this is not a cheap hobby! Hopefully someone will buy one or two of my chapeaux and assist with the subsidizing.

Anyway, I was feeling guilty about being absent so here I am, still crafting away. I promise to post more soon!

A while back I was almost banned for “soliciting.” I can’t seem to find my post here about the incident but one of the men I’d been emailing with let me know. Apparently he’s one of the site’s “judges” and his opinion was that I was not, in fact, soliciting. Which I wasn’t. I was corresponding with a guy who was interested in being dominated and I let him know that while I’ve dabbled, it wasn’t really something I was all that interested in personally. The way I put it included the words “for money” and he took that to mean that I wanted him to pay me. What it meant was that the only way I would consider what he was looking for was “for money” and that therefore he should look elsewhere. He reported me, I guess, and I came close to getting the boot.

This time I was actually asking for money, but not in exchange for sexual favors. Or a spanking. Many of the men I correspond with seem nice enough, even if they hold no interest for me romantically, and I often inquire if they might be interested in attending one of my singles’ events. Most say yes. I mean, why not, right? And since OKCupid’s “Events” are designed primarily for younger members, I figure I’m offering a valuable service. Seems OKCupid doesn’t agree. I had sent out details about my upcoming Heart Palpitations event to a bunch of guys, inviting them to attend. There’s a $10 cover charge. I guess that somehow this translated to solicitation. Or some such. Ah well…that’s really a shame, since it seems like many of these men don’t get out much. It would’ve been a perfect opportunity for them to meet a bunch of interesting new people — not to mention me! — and maybe learn a few things about love. Sigh.

Maybe a few of them will Google me and find this. In any event, it might’ve been nice if OKCupid had let me know that I have, indeed, been banned, rather than just making it seem like the site isn’t working. It’s pretty crappy customer relations. Guess it’s time to get serious and join Match.com. Double sigh…

On Friday, my millinery class was cancelled due to “Nemo” so I got my Mardi Gras on and headed over to NYC’s Most Authentic Mardi Gras Party, a fundraiser event coordinated by my friend Wylie. Brother Josephus, a band I first experienced at the same party a few years back, was the headlining act. I’d been, um, charmed by one particular band member. He performed in a white tux with tails, purple gloves, a king crown and goggles. Quite a fashion statement. This year, however, he wore a white t-shirt (like, an undershirt t-shirt), a red scarf and no hat or goggles. Or purple gloves. I didn’t recognize him at all. It left me wondering why he’d, well, let himself go. Maybe he got married. Har-har-har! Anyway, Pinky and I got smashed on hurricanes, stopped for a nightcap and photobooth pix at Double Down, then bumbled home in the snow.

Saturday we donned our matching sparkly pink snakeskin spandex pants and our light-up headpieces for Ominous City’s First Date, a celebration of Chinese New Year and Valentine’s Day. I tended bar and had a blast while Pinky hobnobbed with the other revelers and helped me out as barback. That bash lasted until 5:30am. Gah. But it was the warmest, most wonderful assemblage of humans I’ve experienced in a long time! I can’t wait for the next one! Johnny joined us for a slumber party and Sunday the three of us ordered Chinese in further sobered-up celebration. Then, if you can believe it, I got called into Double Down. I dragged my exhausted ass into the bar at 8 and actually managed to remain vertical until closing time. Thank goodness for the birthday party group that kept me awake.

Ordinarily I would’ve spent Monday sprawled on the couch in recuperation but, alas, I have an upcoming event to promote so I headed east a block for Poly Cocktails. I didn’t last long, but at least I made an appearance! I also met the manager and got to chat up Kat, Larissa, Carin and Dicie — many birds with one stone.

Today I very much wanted to celebrate Fat Tuesday but there just didn’t seem to be an easy way to pull it off. I had an afternoon jewelry making lesson in Brooklyn with the talented Anne Arden McDonald and my party partner Pinky was in class all evening, making planning problematic. Oh well. This holiday passed us by. Though we certainly roullez-ed enough bonne temps on Friday!

And speaking of my party partner, Pinky and I are combining creative forces to form PINKITRIX, making “whimsical costumery and colorful headpieces” as well as offering “party planning for special occasions.” Perhaps our works will soon include my newly acquired (though not quite yet honed) skills of millinery and jewelry making! Wheeeeeeee!

Yeah, I know…not the most exciting blog post. But I’ve been busy! I shipped two tiaras last week in between everything else! Oh! And I think OKCupid has banned me. Probably for promoting my Heart Palpitations event coming this Sunday. The site won’t let me log in, citing “technical difficulties,” but I’m the only person I know who’s experiencing them. Oh well. Maybe it’s time for Christian Mingle. Haharrrahahahhah-aackk! Anyway. Off I go to bed to watch another episode of Downton Abbey on my iPhone!

The first one, I’ve been hired as sort of a “celebrity bartender.” I’m
very flattered and want to make sure they think they made a smart
choice! The cover is crazy high but they’ve offered MY FRIENDS a
discount!

The second event is one I’m producing myself. It’s the first event
I’ve put together in a LONG time. I’d love to see you there! And if
you can’t make it, any help promoting it, letting friends (or anyone
you think might be interested) know about it, would be greatly
appreciated!

This Saturday, February 9, I’ll be bartending at Ominous City, a
burneresque celebration of Valentine’s Day and the Lunar New Year.
The cover is steep but you’ll get in for a reduced price if you enter
this discount code: @bbiluv
For complete party details, check out their Facebook page:
https://www.facebook.com/events/534643026553612/?fref=ts

On Sunday, February 17, I’m producing my first event in ages: Heart
Palpitations, an enchanting evening of interactive lessons in
love…and more!
Complete details are below, but here is the link to the Facebook page:
https://www.facebook.com/events/127226280785561/?fref=ts

HEART PALPITATIONS
Valentine’s Day has blown over and you’ve gobbled down all your
conversation hearts. Now what? Dating Blogger and nightlife empresaria
EditrixAbby presents Heart Palpitations, a post-Valentine’s Day event
for couples, singles, seekers and students of the heart.

Recently fixated on all things LOVE, Abby has assembled an eclectic
assortment of experts on passion. Whether you’re suffering from a love
hangover or you’re blissfully coupled, this enchanting evening offers
lessons for everyone.

The evening begins with a tantalizing appetizer by Ebonie Little, who
will combine the two interests in a guided “eating meditation”, We’ll
learn to re-engage the senses to savor what we put into our
bodies–and in effect, remember loving self-care. Ebonie creates
chocolate delights through Miss Little’s Jars. She will be offering
sensuous treats like Moussexy, a chai-spiced, sugar-free confection,
and truffles in many flavors, for sale in the cocktail lounge. Ms.
Little also founded Eating Consciously, a grassroots online dialogue
on mindful nutrition.
www.ebonielittle.wordpress.com/miss-littles-jars

Author, sex educator, video producer and relationship lecturer Jamye
Waxman will facilitate an ice breaker to help you communicate more
effectively about sexuality.
www.jamyewaxman.com

Stacy Rapp, “Head Witch” at Enchantments, the East Village
headquarters for all your Wiccan and witchy needs, will lead a
goddess-based confidence and beauty spell to increase your attraction
factor!
www.enchantmentsincnyc.com

Be Wild Woman founder Kiana Love will incorporate dance and chakra
exercises to help you become more receptive to passion and abundance.
www. bewildwoman.com

Closing out the evening, Elf Girl Reverend Jen will prove that humor
is a key component to passion. Proprietrix of The Troll Museum,
producer of The Anti-Slam and puppetmaster of the Mr. Lower East Side
Pageant, Rev. Jen has been a fixture of the underground East Village
arts scene since there actually was an underground arts scene.
www.revjen.com

Katie Hotaling is an amateur baker who whips up creative concoctions
to satisfy your sugar cravings. She will be sharing her pastry
decorating tips with you as you embellish your own baby cupcake.
‘Cause who doesn’t love sprinkles?
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Katies-Konfectionery/274713385984706

DJ Douggie Style will provide the sensuous soundtrack for the soiree,
from conversation-conducive subdued to a more electrified ambience
after 11. Monday is a holiday, so come out and play!

EditrixAbby will be your emcee, sharing anecdotes and advice for
dating in the 21st Century.

Show up early for your Goodie Bag, including a free porn DVD, cookies
by ThisChickBakes.com and more!

Affaire Downstairs is a cozy venue with a cocktail lounge for
conversation and a dance floor with plush nooks perfect for absorbing
lessons in romance. You are free to opt in (or out) of each
presentation.

FAST FACTS
WHAT: Heart Palpitations
WHEN: Sunday, February 17
TIME: 7pm
PRESENTATIONS: 7:30-11
WHERE: Affaire, 50 Avenue B at East 4th St.
COVER: $10

Which, you might think, is a good thing. It is, in fact, a bad thing. A VERY bad thing. It means I respond to men I don’t find appealing. Men who probably copied-and-pasted the same overture to me and about 100 other women. Men who are 25 years my senior. Or junior. And men who live in Alaska. Worst of all are the men who are encouraged by my reply, even if I say, as politely as possible, that I’m not interested.

Such a cyber-courtship unfolded today. After a number of “No, thank you”s, G. persevered. This time I was less polite. He wrote “Let’s talk” and gave me his number. I envisioned this exact two word directive sent off to dozens of unread profiles and replied, more curtly than in the past: “Not interested, sorry.” And then got roundly chastised. I (stupidly) backpedaled and suggested that if he was that interested, he was welcome to come visit me at work. Which he did. And he was as unappealing in person as he had been online. But he eyed me salaciously and told me, “You look goooood.” Uh, yeah, thanks. I think.

Let me tell you, gentlemen, that though women are almost always flattered to be flattered, basing your “interest” in us on looks alone reduces us to a slab of meat in a deli display. This particular gentleman made no references to my profile when he emailed me or when he showed up in person. He did, however, make reference to my photos. I felt like an ice cream sundae. Which, I will admit, would’ve been awesome if the ogling had been working both ways. But it wasn’t.

I had asked him, after his chastisement, “And you are interested in me, why? Our match percentages are pretty low. Do we have anything in common?” His reply gave no indication of what he saw in me. And aside from appearing to be pleased with how I looked in person, he didn’t share any of his reasons for choosing me when he sat across the bar from me, either. So when he leered, “Now that we’ve done the look-see thing, how about a real date?” I painfully, politely declined.

Now, you don’t need me to tell you that rejection is more easily taken through the ether. It is what makes online dating so appealing. Everyone gets to do the rejecting from the comfort of their own home. In person, ouch. So I wasn’t surprised that he left abruptly, before I had a chance to say goodbye. And I was even less surprised when he immediately sent me a flurry of rude emails, culminating with “You are not as hot as I had hoped.” Ah, good thing. How sad if he’d been rejected by someone really hot!

Okay, I know what you’re thinking. Abby, you callous cunt. The guy came all the way to your bar and you shut him down! Well, I tried, repeatedly, to dissuade him. Would it have been better if he’d spent $50 on dinner? I guess the next time I’m not interested, I’d best not respond. Soon I will be branded with the fearsome “Replies Selectively.” So if you don’t hear from me, you’ll know why!

Sometimes maintaining the eternal optimist stance is exhausting. Today I feel…depressed. I hate it when people talk about their depression. Everyone is constantly sharing their ever-changing moods on Facebook — along with their plates of food, pet antics and other annoyances — from elation to thoughts of suicide. Instead of making those emotions more immediate (or at least important) it merely minimizes them. How serious can your suicidal thoughts be if you’re broadcasting them to a thousand of your closest friends? Seriously depressed people don’t blather on about it. They just…are.

And yeah, no one wants to hear it. I certainly don’t. I don’t even want to hear about my own depression. Don’t want to feel the feelings or write about them. Yet here I am. So let’s try and turn it around, shall we?

The weather has been depressing. Dark and cold. But I love winter. Rather, I love seasons, as in the changing of. The same old sunny days, day after day, is maddening, which is why I find California so intolerable. But it’s the actual change that I enjoy. When all of a sudden you need to throw on a jacket. Or you can take out that awesome scarf again and rummage around to see if you still have gloves that match. A few weeks into winter and those gloves have gotten grimy. The scarf has been snarling your hair. And you’re ready for the next season. Well, I am. They have. And it has been.

I don’t have a stereo. So I turn on the TV for background noise. After a while the “Tena Twist” ads and the incessant insistence that THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOU implied by all these commercials really wears me down. I need a drug to get up and move, another to go to sleep. One to cure my depression and still another to augment that, since those damn antidepressants apparently don’t work all that well. My lack of need for prescription pharmaceuticals is a disadvantage in the random surveys I fill out, hoping that I’ll be called in for a paid focus group. Have I been diagnosed with this, that or the other? No. I am perfectly healthy. And evidently the only 53-year-old in the world who isn’t taking anything for…anything.

OKCupid has become a necessary evil, one populated with smiling, shriveled old men who “are lovin’ life” and “enjoying a good glass of wine” clicking on my profile. And not even emailing me. Is this what it’s come to? The emails that do come? They’re either from a 23-year-old who wants to live out his mommy fantasy, a non-entity with a grey heart where his photo should be or some walrus mustached truck driver from Montana. I. Just. Can’t.

Over the weekend I worked a checkpoint for the Idiotarod. It was the warmest, fuzziest shopping cart race ever, with the added feature of assisting businesses affected by Hurricane Sandy. There were dozens of adorable 20-somethings, possibly a few 30-somethings, all of whom I would’ve been seducing in my younger days. But, uh, yeah. I ran into a gentleman who friends have intimated “has a crush on you” and…nothing. After a few words in line for the toilet, he seemed far more interested in chatting up someone else, someone…younger. A week ago I was speaking with a woman who had spoken to a professional matchmaker. The most depressing part of our conversation? This quote from the matchmaker: “Women in their 40s don’t get many dates because men in their 40s, 50s, even 60s all want to date women in their 30s.” Uh-huh.

I am not happy being old. NOT. HAPPY. I do NOT WANT to be old. I know everyone says it’s better than the alternative but I’m not so sure it is. When I think like this I try to remind myself that I want to be around to see my sister’s kids get older. But do I? The eldest is already distancing himself. Will the next three do the same? What else do I have to look forward to? My High Holy Days? Let’s see: I can’t afford to fly to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Santa Con has become such a nightmare than no one wants to participate anymore. The Mermaid Parade seems to be moving in the same frat-tastic direction. Halloween was cancelled this year. And Burning Man has become nothing more than a job.

I’m working on an event and booking people is so problematic that I’m not sure I even want to bother. All for what? Being a nervous wreck the entire night, worrying about making enough cash to pay people. And maybe making, like, 20 bucks. Bah.

I have a job. One day a week. I barely make $200 for eight hours of work. I was hoping to land a shift at another neighborhood bar but I guess they went with someone else, someone…younger. I go 48 hours without leaving the house on a regular basis. The only thing that’s been saving me is a glue gun and battery operated tiaras. Ack. And fuckety-fuck-fuck.

Rather than type out the entire missive and then respond, I think it makes more sense to respond paragraph by paragraph, as though we were having an actual conversation. I’m not saying this will make it any more compelling but at least you’ll get to “come along” on the ride. So to speak. The phrases or words he has put in quotes usually refer to my words from previous posts.

“…is this day and age…” when a boy is interested in a girl (intended usage) a smart boy will revert — or make the attempt — in a manner that is not as prosaic as what has sadly become accepted norm. This is hardly “too much time on his hands rather, it’s showing the girl she’s worth it. In other word (sic), “wooing.”

So I guess you’re saying that sending me an email would’ve been “the norm” and, thus, too prosaic. Point taken. I’m flattered that you’re taking the time to “woo” me.

“you have a secret admirer…” is so banal, as is an anonymous valentine. That could be from ANYONE, and it’s been done to death (as has “secret admirer.”)

True enough. Though I’d have to say that these notes could just as easily be from “ANYONE.” Thus far, you’ve done nothing to set yourself apart from the thousands of other strangers out there in the city. I will withhold my judgement for the time being, however, given that you’ve indicated you’ll be sending more.

Before I go any further, I’m suggesting you not get too excited about this; I’m not your type for 2 very important reasons that I won’t reveal. How do I know? You’ve made numerous references in any number of blogs as you regale your minions of adventures in love[less]land.

I’ll be sure to check myself if I start falling in love with your typewritten pages. Since it’s evident from said notes that you’re capable of stringing sentences together (with proper grammar and spelling!), I’m guessing those two reasons are variations on the “old” and “out of shape” infractions germane to men in my age range that I regularly bemoan here. Sadly, meeting in the brick and mortar world — as opposed to the online dating universe — is always preferable, as looks become less important. Given that you are, regardless of your aversion to the term, both an admirer (of sorts) and secret (unknown to me), it would’ve been easy to just show up at the bar one day and hang out. No need to make a big deal out of it. Actually, you could still just show up. There’s no way I’d know…

Why bother then? Because you’re worth it; I get the sense that you like mental stimulation… and fun. (There’s NO stalking! Jeez! And no “ransom” intent. It was a graphic (font) device. “Ransom” suggest extortion and you’ll surely note I wanted nothing of you.)

Okay, first, let’s not get hung up on the word “ransom.” What I meant was that your “graphic (font) device” was reminiscent of ransom letters. No need to address that again.

Yes, you’ve got me wondering “Why bother?” I’m flattered that you believe I’m “worth it.” But worth what? Worth stimulating mentally? I’ll admit, there is a “fun” aspect to this, the curiosity and the time you’re taking to mystify me. Though then the question is, “To what end?” Will the letters just keep coming? Until? Until I lose interest? Because if, as you’ve indicated, we will never meet, then what is the intent?

So please accept what follows — and this may take some time — in the spirit in which it’s offered.

Agreed. Though I’m a bit wary of what’s to follow. Letter after letter, letting me know how I can be a better…blogger? Dater? Human being? Or perhaps merely have my ego eternally stroked? I’d say I’m game for anything but, well, that would be an untruth.

Also, a favor. Please don’t beat me up too much in Bloggedyville. There’s something to be said for “stirring the animals” (as H.L. Mencken referred to the masses), it’s another for your gangs (and you have them) to attack when someone, anyone, dares to ding the tiara of she that wears the crown. Frankly, I’m surprised you had ZERO replies to the “stalking” piece (thank god!)

Bloggedyville? Hah! I was surprised, too. I have no idea what motivates people to respond, though a catfight sure brings in the hits! I won’t make any promises I can’t keep. Thus far there’s no reason to beat you up. But given that I have no idea what’s to come, I can’t predict how I will react. I find it hilarious that you (and other commenters) believe I have these “minions” and “gangs” and “supporters.” On my best day, my blog had about 200 hits; only a few of my readers are friends. Sure, there are a rabid handful who defend me but they are usually coming from a place of not just knowing me better but knowing what I mean. Often the catfights result when my words are misconstrued. Besides, if they were to “attack,” what would it matter? You are — and will, apparently, remain — the Mystery Man. Is your skin that thin, even from afar? And from strangers?

And one last thing: in context of “which is worse, the ones that got away or the ones that never were?” the “never were” (implicit being “never gonna be”) was a simple “floated idea.” Go to YouTube and type in “the people that you never get to love” (the “mrquickryder” version.) It may be too sappy for you (the Susannah McCorkle version is the best; unfortunately unavailable) but I think you’ll appreciate the sentiment of the lyric. Or not.
Stay tuned…..

I still don’t quite understand your thought process behind these notes. The first one was a “floated idea?” A sort of “what if?” From reading the rather wistful lyrics of that song, I understand what you’re getting at. Though I can’t even imagine all the people I never got to love. I’ve loved (and continue to love) so many. Why waste time on regret? If you are including yourself in the group of people (men?) I never get to love, aren’t you counting yourself out of the game before it’s even begun? Do you believe in yourself so little?

I dunno…I suppose this will unspool in whatever way you choose, since you’re sort of in the driver’s seat. Or sender’s seat. Let’s just see, shall we?