Monthly Archives: April 2012

Putting It Out There

I’ve heard from many people that they’re impressed with the way I “put it out there,” or, as Mermaid #2 said in response to my last post, the openness and honesty of my feelings. I write what I feel in that never-ending effort to achieve self-enlightenment. Or at least reaching for the truth.

I write this blog because no one’s paying me to write anything else. And trying  to remain in touch with my feelings helps keep me sane. Often it’s a case of over-sharing. I’m able to be so brutally honest because I imagine no one’s really paying attention. Of course, I obsessively check my blog stats and am aware that isn’t true. There are people reading my words. But in my mind they’re all strangers, random folks who’ve found me because they did a search for “heartbreak” or “online dating.” This delusion is shattered when friends respond and I’m often humbled that they take the time, both to read and to respond.

In my efforts to combine honesty with diplomacy, I attempt to spare peoples’ feelings — with the obvious exception of the poor shlubs unlucky enough to wind up on dates with me. Yesterday’s post included a fairly specific reference to someone who was subsequently offended. Which of course was not my intention. But I will offer this warning: if you’re in my life, even tangentially, you have an affect upon me. We are all interconnected. So please don’t be surprised if you see yourself here. And be aware that, as hard as I strive for empathy, I am only capable of seeing things through my jaundiced shades. While I’d prefer that those around me not be collateral damage(d), I also don’t plan on mincing words or compromising the honesty that people tell me they appreciate. I appreciate you all, too.

Done with Dating

So I did it again. Yup. I went on a date. And perhaps there’s no way dates will ever go well for me ever again. I don’t know if that’s because I subconsciously  crave disaster in order to create more content for you, my dear readers, or if there’s something seriously wrong with me. I’m pretty confident it’s both. Anyway, back to the date. ‘Cause I know you’re dying to hear all about it.

I met this man sorta randomly, even for an online dating situation. I was planning on meeting friends at an event and found myself a little early with some time to kill. I checked out the “Locals” feature on OKCupid and a bare chest emblazoned (okay, Photoshopped) with the Batman logo caught my eye. I pinged him that I’d “like to meet” and he responded almost immediately. “Ha. Do you mean like right now? This might be good timing…” Turns out he was on another OKCupid date that hadn’t gone well. Within a half hour we were laughing over beers at 2A.

I don’t know if it was my mood or the circumstances but it went amazingly well. I thoroughly enjoyed his company and the conversation never flagged. Batman has been to Burning Man, which automatically establishes common ground. Plus we have a mutual friend. He admitted to three different profiles: one semi-kinky, one kinkier and yet another kinkier still. I was intrigued. Because his kink happened to be one with which I’m fairly well acquainted: the splosh fetish.

If you needed to click on the link to find out what that means, you’re definitely in the majority. The fact that this guy wound up on a date with someone who was not only knowledgeable but actually experienced with it is nothing short of a miracle! I appeared in the British magazine Splosh! ages ago, in a spread shot by Porno Jim: a group of girlfriends having a make believe paint fight. And I was hired for a pie sploshing video shoot once upon a time. It took place in a tacky New Jersey no-tell motel. Jamye Waxman came along for moral support and to document the afternoon. I was washing coconut shreds out of my frilly panties for weeks! But I digress…

Anyway, though I wound up blowing off the event I’d planned to attend, we parted after only a few beers. It went so well I expected to hear from him again almost immediately. I mean, given that I was game for indulging his fetish — and the rarity of that situation — I assumed he’d be eager to see me as soon as possible. I was, of course, sorely mistaken. The date took place on March 23. We emailed back and forth a bit that night, post date: a bit of splosh-centric teasing. By April 5 I hadn’t heard a word — no invitation for another date, nothing — so I prompted him. He responded and I inquired about whether he’d be interested in attending a sex party and perhaps engaging in a sploshing scenario. I’d come up with a novel idea that he was initially enthusiastic about but he seemed reluctant to try something new in such a public forum. Another week passed and I asked again about the party. We decided to merely meet and save the sploshing for another time.

All of our communication was very businesslike with little or no passion. I’m not sure if that was my doing, if I set a tone or something, or if his casual manner was just his default setting. Either way, he didn’t seem too terribly excited to see me again. Whatever, we made plans to meet at a bar and venture to the sex party venue together.  [Editor’s note: Desire is sexy. When someone really wants me, it’s a turn-on. Thus far, I didn’t exactly feel desired. I was hoping, I guess… Or was I?]

The bar meeting was okay, if a bit awkward. I don’t know if I’ve lost my touch or simply no longer remember how to conduct myself on a date but I was uncomfortable. Not great, given the circumstances. But after a drink a piece, we strolled up Lexington to the space. It was nice to know a good chunk of people upon arrival. But what began as discomfort with my date soon escalated to annoyance. For no real reason. I could feel myself becoming cranky. And rude. Uh-oh. It didn’t help when I wound up chatting with M., who has been regaling me with her peri-menopausal sexual conquests. I told her that I, too, had enjoyed a period of “last hurrah”-like sex but that those days were over. Her earnest reassurances, translated through my fucked up filters, became condescension. Grrr. And when she began asking other people if I was “fuckable,” well, any chance of my remaining pleasant — with anyone — went right out the window.

Perhaps a sex party wasn’t the best idea for a second date. Was it the female equivalent of taking a woman to a strip club, the way Dustin Hoffman’s character did in “The Graduate?” A sort of trial by fire? Or act of aggression? If so, Batman behaved admirably. He was pleasant to everyone he met, conversed with whoever I abandoned him beside when I wandered off to chat up someone else and, apparently, handled my escalating irritation with a sense of humor. In other words, he was a great guy. Ack.

My departure is somewhat fuzzy; I’d been hitting the vodka pretty hard. (Not that that’s an excuse.) I had a feeling it wasn’t pretty so I asked my friend, who was working the door. Our email exchange:

Hey there, that party was pretty great! Kinda wish I hadn’t dragged that guy along. I bailed…was I a mess when I left? I really shouldn’t drink hard liquor…oh my. And I hope he behaved himself after I left him there. I think he was hooking up with M. Happy birthday to her. Sigh.
wow.
I didn’t realize you were so crocked! 
um you were really kinda mean and rude to him on his way out, if you wanna know the truth
I dunno, maybe he’d done something to deserve it?
m. left long after he did
they didn’t click
to his credit, he seemed to take the stuff you were giving him and just roll with it and headed out with some other folks, went and got coffee…he invited you to come w him
I’m glad to hear that you actually enjoyed the party!
Oh dear. It was worse than I thought. Really? Shit shit shit…What did I say? I totally thought I’d left him with M.!
heh
he came out, you were on the stairs talking w us and he was just talking politely about how it was nice to meet you, thanked you for bringing him to the party and would you like to join him and that other couple for some coffee…and you were all, “JUST. LEAVE. BYE. BYE. GO. AWAY.” and stuff
I’m sure you had your reasons.
Oh I don’t think I did. I’m an ass. I think there’s something wrong with me. Shit. eh like I said, he rolled with it

I have no specific recollection of why I would’ve treated him that way. Aside from my irritation with M. I’d felt a certain edginess with him that I can’t quite put my finger on. Could it be that I was annoyed by his politeness with me? His casual jocularity? I can say that I’m sure the alcohol amplified my feelings. Which, at this point, are obviously those of insecurity and sadness. Aggression is usually a result of those emotions and, for all my bluster, I’m really just scared shitless and sad. This may be obvious to those of you who’ve been reading me here but the casual observer of me live, moving through my day-to-day life, well, I may have them hoodwinked. Anyway, my behavior was indefensible. And embarrassing. The culmination of all the accumulating irritation I’ve felt on every date I’ve been on over the past two years.

Now I’m starting to worry that there actually may be something wrong with me. And that I may be done with dating.

Vows vs. Chocolate

It happened again. I actually met a man who made me think, ya know, I could actually fall into bed with him. He was tall, with a strong, broad back, a devilish smile that exposed perfect teeth, pale green eyes and a head of long, curly salt and pepper hair. I spent the afternoon with him, assisting my friend Gabrielle with her interactive art installation, “Till Death Do You Part: Marry Yourself!” Ordinarily I would’ve enjoyed helping strangers get themselves dressed up for their wedding, blowing bubbles and tossing glitter. And for the first few hours I did. But the more I thought about it all, the more depressed I got.

A wedding. I had a wedding once. I said my vows and meant them. As I assume everyone does. Though still, 50% of marriages end in divorce. That, in and of itself, is depressing. The fact that I rarely speak to a man I stood at the altar with and promised a lifetime together is even more depressing. I was Maid of Honor at my sister’s wedding, drunken toast and all. She’s still going through her divorce. I danced at my cousin’s wedding. Ditto. So I guess about, yeah, 50% of the weddings I’ve attended ended the same way. Sad.

And though I’ve been endlessly enjoying my solitude lately, ad nauseum, the idea of marrying myself was also depressing. I don’t need to make any vows to myself. I manage to maintain a reasonable level of happiness and do a relatively admirable job of following through with many of the promises that Gabrielle has included in her “multiple choice vows.” But the frosting on the wedding cake was realizing that I was, for all intents and purposes, invisible to this handsome man. Which made me think back on my many social forays over the past few months. I put on my costumes, glue rhinestones to my face and venture forth. Not once have I met anyone new, certainly no one who’s been even vaguely interested in me. Not sexually, not romantically. And if it weren’t for the fact that I am what some might consider “connected” in the extended freak community here, no one would even be interested in me socially. No one really wants to meet women of a certain age, regardless of how interesting they may be. And I am imminently interesting!

So yes, I could’ve married myself today. Yet all I could think was “Well, no one else will want to.” Which isn’t exactly what one is supposed to be thinking when the goal is self-empowerment. Gabrielle asked me if I wanted to do it and I said yes, but I didn’t follow through. Honestly, I was afraid I’d break down and cry. A few of the women who married themselves did get choked up. As ridiculous as the situation sounds, looking yourself in the mirror and vowing to love yourself forever isn’t all that easy. Given the mood I was in, I didn’t think I’d even be able to get the words out.

And here I sit, crying over a scene in this stupid Titanic miniseries, where a man didn’t want to leave his dead wife behind. Thank heavens there’s chocolate.

Flattery vs. Insanity

Chatting at the bar yesterday, I told a few folks (friends and strangers alike) that I was considering taking my OKC profile down. It’s been so depressing, between the old men checking me out and nothing coming of the men who do write. I had a date on Tuesday who cancelled, saying he was stuck at the office. Perhaps. But it’s just as likely that he chickened out. It’s also difficult dealing with insults from men who I wouldn’t even consider. That situation culminated with Mr. Meh, of Monday’s “A Meh-n of Few Words.”

And then, today. Mr. Military Nutjob, resident of Miami, Florida (but still “in war zone”), emails me:

hey long time do still have interest in me??

I respond:
Did I ever? You live too far away!

Our back and forth continued thusly:

yea i like you so much and i know we are going to be together forever i believe that so much just give me change in your heart and let me bring joy and hapiness and everlasting love i like you so much
can i have your IM so that we can chat and know more about each other

Are you kidding me?
How can you say that? You don’t even know me.
I don’t have an IM.
And you live in FLORIDA!

am telling you how am feeling about you….Am still in war zone but soon i will retired and i will be home to start a new life.so am searching for love so when am done i will be home to be with the one i love and get married.i want you can i have your email.

No.
You’re insane.
Look elsewhere.

i want so much in my life i want to start a new life i want your love
why are doing these i my not handsome cus of am far away thst why you are refusing me

No I am refusing you because you are CRAZY!

me okay you can say whatever to me i dont care i like u

Good bye. You are now BLOCKED.

Uh, yeah. And check out this gem’s profile:

What I’m doing with my life: military
I’m really good at: singing and dacing
The first things people usually notice about me: honest
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food: hip pop [awesome.]
The six things I could never do without: singing ,dancing shooting shouting ,eating [shooting shouting?!?]
I spend a lot of time thinking about: my love
The most private thing I’m willing to admit: loving
Ethnicity: White
Height: 6’10” [6’10”?!?! I think not.]
Body Type: Average
Drinks: Not at all [SO much in common!]
Religion: Christianity and very serious about it [SUPER!]
Job: Military
Speaks: English [barely]
So am I subconsciously still on OKC to receive these insane missives? Do I feel somehow flattered when lunatics make psychotic cyber-passes at me? Are their passes better than the alternative, which is…nothing? Seriously. I’m contemplating paying for sex. Currently accepting applications!

Recollecting Love

The exercise to determine if my past loves had anything in common was a real eye-opener. I couldn’t believe how few memories I was able to conjure, particularly about the sex. Obviously the more recent the encounters were, the more clear the recollections. And those that were unusual in some way — location, circumstances, etc. — had a better chance of being indelibly seared onto my grey matter. Yet although it was tough accessing what the sex was like, just thinking about each of these men brought back the way I felt about them. Vividly.

I can clearly recall the particular brand of passion I felt for each individual person. In other words, while the loins may not recall the lovemaking, the heart most certainly remembers the love. In the book “On Love,” the general takeaway was that falling in love requires a certain suspension of disbelief. Among other things. Including an involuntary loss of control. Even now, I can still almost feel each loss of control that was required to fall in love with each of these men. I remember the heartaches, too. And all the songs that made me cry once I’d broken up with them. It’s bizarre how much emotion is trapped in our psyches. Perhaps it’s time for some psychic spring cleaning to make way for new emotions! (Okay, sorry. Didn’t mean to get all “om shanti” on you guys! It just felt sorta poetic…) And now, for a little listen to my musical psychic memories:

J1: Almost anything by Elton John, plus Led Zeppelin II, Ziggy Stardust and Dark Side of the Moon…
J2: Yes: Time and a Word
B: Phil Collins: Against All Odds
M: I can’t remember any for him! : ( I’m sure it was something awful and early 90s…
E: Soul Asylum: Somebody to Shove
J3: Praise Cats featuring Andrea Love: Shined On Me
J4: The Flaming Lips:  Do You Realize

A Meh-n of Few Words

I got an email from a guy on OKC. He describes himself mostly in poetry and mentions having “the depression.”  What he’s doing with his life: “getting old and lonely.” And says women should message him if: “you’ve at least screwed one guy in your life by the second date… you can at least fathom the difference between two positions…” It’s really no wonder he’s single. But then he emailed me, in response, I’ll assume, to my having visited his profile. And what bon mots did this man have for me? Well, only one bon mot, actually:

meh

I politely responded:

Thanks for the feedback, Joe.
Best of luck to you in your search.
Abby

But I have to ask. What. The. FUCK? Why even burn the three calories it took to type out those three letters? If he wasn’t interested why not just carry on with his pathetic little life? Er, big life. Big, pudgy, overweight life! I couldn’t decide which of his two profile photos were more chubsterrific so I’ll post both. Um, yeah.

 

Facts on Past Loves

Alec Baldwin is engaged. The man is 54. His fiancée is 28. Uh-huh.

Yes, I’m obsessed. Obsessed with AGE. Ageism. My age. Old age. The ages of the men who cruise me online who are my age but look so, so much older. And the men who’ve visited me at the bar, parking their asses in the punk rock surroundings and looking incredibly out of place. Oh. And my fear. My fear that there is simply no one out there who will save me from a lonely dotage.

But I refuse to succumb to this fate. I will continue to delude myself that there is, indeed, someone out there, regardless of age, who will appeal to me. Who I will appeal to. Someone with whom I’ll click. And fuck.

I’ve been trying to figure out if there are any similar traits in the many men I’ve managed to fall in love with. Height? Weight? Cock size? Hair color? I say I love great teeth but have any of these guys actually had great teeth? What really matters? Let’s have a look, shall we?

J1:
Age: Two years older than me.
Height: 5’11”
Build: Slender
Looks? Okay. Could be cute at moments.
Cock Size: Average, I guess…it was my first!
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Great Teeth? No
Most apparent personality trait: Somewhat nondescript.
What, if anything, did we have in common? Not much. He came from “the wrong side of the tracks” and didn’t have much ambition.
Circumstances of initial sexual encounter? I lost my virginity to him and he gave me my first orgasm.
Comments: He stayed in pretty much the same place his whole life and is still there now. He has more money (and property) than I do. Not sure if he’s still married. We were more a couple of convenience; since friends of ours got together it made sense for us to couple up as well.

J2:
Age: Same age as me.
Height: 6″1″
Build: Slender
Looks? Really cute.
Cock Size: Slightly above average, if I recall correctly, and also “slender.”
Hair Color: Dark Brown. And curly!
Eye Color: Blue
Great Teeth? Yes, if not perfect. A great smile!
Most apparent personality trait: Extremely gregarious. A male version of me.
What, if anything, did we have in common? At the time, everything. We lived in the same dorm, both born in May, same ages. Probably equal IQs and quick wits. Adventurous, partiers, loved to dress up, all around fun.
Circumstances of initial sexual encounter? I don’t really remember. We were both slutting around like crazy those first few months of college and were friends, first. After much note writing on each other’s white boards, we decided to take the relationship a step further. It was good, as I recall…
Comments: As is most of college, it’s a blur of booze and drugs and music and roommates and messy fights about stupid shit. But it was most definitely passionate.

B:
Age: Two years younger? Three? Maybe even four…
Height: 5’8″
Build: Leaning toward future pudge but probably best described as average.
Looks? Model adorable!
Cock Size: Average
Hair Color: Light brown-to-blond
Eye Color: Blue-green
Great Teeth? Yes
Most apparent personality trait: Shy, studious, polite, a very “nice” guy.
What, if anything, did we have in common? Not much. He was friends with the guys who lived downstairs from me when I moved to Newport Beach. He slept with my sister first, surprisingly… He was still in college and I was working for Times Mirror Videotext, a totally 9-to-5’er and wanna be yuppie. We had a lot of romance.
Circumstances of initial sexual encounter? I think I seduced him! Seriously, he was so cute…and available.
Comments: We were really in two different places in our lives but we managed to make it work for a short while. He’s now a family counselor and happily married. Still a very nice guy.

M:
Age: Four years younger, I think.
Height: 5’8″
Build: Average
Looks? Kinda cute.
Cock Size: Average
Hair Color: Dark Brown and Curly
Eye Color: Brown
Great Teeth? Definitely not.
Most apparent personality trait: Chatty, friendly.
What, if anything, did we have in common? Just about nothing. He worked nights in a local club, I worked days at NYPress (I think) and bartended two nights a week; we didn’t have all that much time together.
Circumstances of initial sexual encounter? I thought it was gonna be a one-night stand. Brought him home from the club and then…he called. We lived together for about two years. And went on some fun vacations.
Comments: This was definitely a case of taking what came along. Looking back, I can’t believe we lasted as long as we did. We really weren’t a very good match.

E:
Age: Four years younger. Definitely.
Height: 5’9″
Build: Slender
Looks? Cute in ways.
Cock Size: Above average.
Hair Color: When I met him, he was dying it black and it was long. Natural color was a pale brown and curly once it got long-ish.
Eye Color: Pale blue
Great Teeth? Not perfect, but a great smile.
Most apparent personality trait: Shy, quiet. He had a very nice “way.” Serious. Very “German” in a work ethic-type way.
What, if anything, did we have in common? We had a lot in common. We were both writers, pornographers, fans and consumers of peculiar things…
Circumstances of initial sexual encounter? He was initially a one-night stand and that first night was…great. He called and we fucked like bandits for a long while, long past when we got married. The passion faded, as it often does, and attempts to rekindle it were largely unsuccessful.
Comments: Though the first seven years (?!?!) were wonderful, communication eventually deteriorated… It still makes me sad to think about it because he was the closest I’d ever come to a true “soul mate.” We were married, in the end, for 16 years, even if those last few were somewhat estranged. He is a great guy and I miss him.

J3:
Age; Eight years younger, I think…
Height: 6’1″
Build: Slender
Looks? Handsome
Cock Size: Above average, also “slender”?
Hair Color: Light Brown
Eye Color: Green/Grey/Hazel
Great Teeth? Yes
Most apparent personality trait: Gregarious, fun, partier, political, serious at times.
What, if anything, did we have in common? Well, we had (and still have) Burning Man in common, and often that’s enough.
Circumstances of initial sexual encounter? Oh my…there was just sooo much making out before any sex at all. SO MUCH making out! And the best ever. The sex, when it finally happened, was pretty damned great. Though the “forbidden” aspect probably contributed to that quite a bit.
Comments: Out of all these guys, he’s the only one I’m still close with. I sure do wish I could recapture the passion I had for him because he’s certainly handy!

J4:
Age: Twelve years younger. Fer sure.
Height: 6′
Build: Stocky
Looks? Handsome, in an odd way.
Cock Size: Above average, especially girth-wise.
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Great Teeth? Nope.
Most apparent personality trait: Quiet, brooding, cultivated an air of mystery. Smart.
What, if anything, did we have in common? We were both working DPW so it was Burning Man to the nth degree. It’s like a secret society or cult; once you’re a member, there’s a blood bond.
Circumstances of initial sexual encounter? We were wandering around during the event, dropped E and I dragged him back to my tent for a blowjob. Subsequent encounters were fucking amazing…to the degree that I found myself painfully obsessed. We would break up and be apart, only to re-couple. It was brutal. And unfortunately the best sex of my life. I’ll attribute much of that to experience…
Comments: Since the guy is a pathological liar it’s tough to say nice things from my current perspective. It was most definitely not a healthy relationship. But I loved him more than anyone ever will. Getting over him has been a horror. Thank heavens I feel mostly healed!

So what can I glean from this exercise? That great teeth aren’t a necessity. That the guy doesn’t need to be taller than me. Dark hair more than light…shy or serious, sorta inconsequential. And apparently it doesn’t even matter if we have anything in common. So what is it that makes for romance? Oh, if only I knew! If only anyone knew! There’d be no need for online dating sites or matchmakers or any of that crap! Collectively, we stumble blindly toward the light.

Indulgent Weekend and Thoughts on Misinterpreting

“My thoughts scattered and they’re…cloudy…”
–– “Cloudy,” Simon and Garfunkel

I spent way too much money over the past weekend! But I’ve been working hard so I feel like I deserved it! On Friday evening I visited the lovely Raffaele at Bowery Electric, where she bartends for Happy Hour. After a $4 pint of Stella I headed to midtown and met a table full of folks for a three-course, prix fixe meal at St. Andrews. I had an amazing crab cake, filet mignon and delicious little tiny ice cream sandwiches with butterscotch ice cream. YUM! It was also all you can drink, so I broke my cardinal rule of not mixing my food molecules with my beer molecules and am still regretting it! Oof.

I dashed across town and caught a downtown cab to meet my friend Rob and his friends Pete and Christina. They finished up their fancy cocktails and we walked over to The McKittrick Hotel for the immersive theatre experience “Sleep No More.” It was…odd. Interesting and very different. And the five-story “set” was incredible! But I admit I was a bit underwhelmed by the actual “show.” After over two hours of chasing the performers up and down stairs, I was ready for a cab ride home!

I resisted the urge to drink — and spend — Saturday night when I joined friends to celebrate a birthday. It was at a karaoke bar that I’m not too crazy about so that wasn’t too tough. I saved myself for Sunday, when four of us met for brunch at Yuca Bar, where they serve the best Huevos Rancheros in the world! Eggs, beans, delicious sauces, pico de gallo, queso fresco all piled on top of a quesadilla! Olé! From there we strolled over to VeraMeat for their 30% off sale and I treated myself to a delicate sterling feather ring. And after that we hit the dollar store and bought cheap plastic accoutrements for our Easter Parade tiara crafting. It was a very colorful end to an indulgent weekend.

And on the dating blogging topic, I’ve been fairly uninspired. I find it amusing, at times, the ways people interpret my words. I put it out there and hope that those words stand on their own. But apparently sometimes they don’t. It’s been happening quite a bit. When I wrote “I Forgot to Have a Family!” I was poking fun at middle-aged men who all of a sudden decide they want kids. People thought I was talking about myself. Uh, no, having a family isn’t something I forgot to do. Not having kids was pretty deliberate. And I’m pretty happy I didn’t.

My recent post about not finding anyone who “moves” me was interpreted as my “not being able to click with men who are attracted to me.” These guys aren’t necessarily attracted to me. They’re just game to date. Which isn’t exactly rare. And that hasn’t been my problem. I haven’t been able to “click” with any guys. Aw hell, let’s be blunt: I haven’t been able to fuck any guys. I click with just about everyone I talk to. Okay, not everyone. Certainly not many of the men I’ve been dating. Though, truth be told, there have been a few I’ve clicked with (and not fucked) but I don’t write about any possible romances for fear of jinxing them. Not, in retrospect, that I’ve needed to worry about that, either! Gah. None of that even makes sense. The bottom line is men, who may or may not be attracted to me (or may or may not be desperate) wind up on a date with me and I am bored. This is not a good thing. And when I write about it everyone filters that through their own lenses and then offers me correspondingly filtered advice. I don’t need any advice. I need to meet a guy I want to fuck. Plain and simple!

Which leads me to probably the biggest misunderstanding: that I hate everyone I date. I most certainly don’t. I just find it kinda mind-boggling that I wind up on dates with men for whom I feel nothing, zip, nada. These aren’t people who I’ve been randomly matched with, they’re guys I’m supposed to be “good” with. Hm. Maybe I should be dating people I’m not supposed to be good with!

Okay, that’s enough for now!