More tales of vegetable dating...now with graphic detail!

Back from the dead. Yeah, I know – does anyone still come here to read anything? Is this thing on? Testing…hello, hello?

Better if it’s not. I have nothing of… ahem, real value to say today except this: I still maintain that online dating is ASS. ASS, I tell you.

Here’s why: (and now is the moment I’ve chosen to divulge seriously personal information on this blog. Screw it. It’s my blog. Nobody’s reading this thing anymore anyway. If you’re my brother, please stop reading this post NOW).

We now resume our normal blog entry. ANYhoo, I had a SECOND date last weekend with this really, really cute boy. Really, he’s a MAN, he’s 36, for God’s sake. A MAN! (I just like the sound of that…a man. GRRR.) And he’s totally dreamy. Did I mention that? Really funny, very nice, seems like a genuinely nice and good-hearted person, cares about his family, values time with friends, I mean – a GOOD guy. And totally my look. (Remember, MetroDad when you questioned my crush on Matthew Fox? He kinda reminds me of him in a small way. Only better looking.).

Anyway, you get the picture. Let me bring you up to date. First date was fun. After the first date, I emailed him the next day (mistake?) to thank him. In my wittiest and least scary stalker-girl kind of way, I did my best to let him know I was interested lest he have ANY CONFUSION. He writes me back – 2 days later – (which I know is normal but pre-date he had been shooting me emails all the time and way faster, but whatev) a very nice, looong, funny email with links to funny things we talked about on our date. But he didn’t ask me out or mention seeing me again. I emailed him back the next day an equally funny and nice yet not quite as long response. He emails me again, 2 days later, yet ANOTHER funny, loooong email. Again, no call to action (henceforth referred to in marketing speak as CTA) for a 2nd date. So I write again. (stupid). No response until 1 week and 2 days later. He calls me on a SUNDAY NIGHT and we talk for an hour and a half. Again no CTA. But an excellent convo.

So at this point I’m consulting Jeff, my dating guru who resides on the nightstand by my bed and goes by the handle “He’s Just Not That Into You”. I specifically read and RE-READ the chapters entitled “He’s just not that into you if he’s not asking you out” and “he’s just not that into you if he’s not calling.” And (cue dramatic music) I broke up with him. In my head. But it was a break-up nonetheless. I appropriately donned a sexy scarf, dark glasses and all-black outfit. Goodbye, Onion boy. Our time was brief, yet satisfying.

Then, one week and 2 days later, he calls me again at 7:30 in the evening. To “touch base”. OK, I’m still at work otherwise I would’ve asked this so-hot-it’s-burning-my-brain question: exactly what BASE are you touching, man? ????? Because from my perspective there’s nothing being touched!!! NOTHING!!! NOTHING!!! And since he hasn’t asked me out, I have to assume he’s put me in the friend bucket, though we don’t know enough about each other to really BE friends yet (OK, I’m pretty sure I’d wanna be his friend if I didn’t have such a crush on him at this point but again…whatev). Is this a courtesy call? Am I the Honda Civic in this scenario? Is this my routine 3-month oil change call? Guy friends tell me NO GUY will take the time to call if he’s not interested on some level. So WTF? I mean, just go away. You had an out. That’s what men have being doing since the beginning of time. And it’s OK. Girls are used to it. At least it answers the question of “are you interested?” But this…this continued communication?? For God’s sake, man! Help a sister out!

One week and 2 days later (I’m starting to see a pattern here) he emails me to see if I want to see a movie at the SF Film Festival…on Friday night. I can’t. (I think I’m being cool here though I really did have plans). He calls me - on the TELEPHONE - to suggest Saturday. Coolness goes away, I say yes.

So, he picks me up (a car date! I’m actually house-sitting in San Leandro so that was nice),we go to dinner, we see the movie. He drops me back at my friend’s house after the movie. An uncomfortable period of me trying to fill any silences that may occur ensues. (why do I do that?) “Do you want to come in for some blueberries? Some water? A neck rub?” (background: he enjoyed some blueberries while waiting for me to finish up upon pick-up, he flirted with me – I think – by mentioning several times that he’d like a neck rub to cure his ailing neck and thighs from snowboarding and soccer).

What the….?? HOLD ON!! Am I “coffee guy?” Maybe I DO have whore tattooed on my forehead?

Anyway, he comes in and here’s the question. We mess around a little. On a second date. Now I’ve consulted my Board of Directors of friends but I need to know from the masses – are girls who mess around a little on the 2nd date forever written off? What’s normal in the dating world now? And normal for someone of my age…you know somewhere in my teen years x 2. I have needs, people! Anyway, when people say they “messed around” what does it mean? I need to know! Jeff doesn’t talk to me about this from his perch on the nightstand.

When he leaves, there’s no CTA. Just “I had a great time, thanks for going, etc”. But I’m used to no CTA. So why would I expect it at this point? I think he’s out of town so I haven’t expected a call. I’ve been re-reading Jeff occasionally to uncover some kernel of wisdom and my kernel is this: he will not call. I told this to another friend who told me that I really should try putting positive energy out there instead.

SFX: Dream-like music. Insert soft-focus screen with fogged out corners over any images that may appear in your head.

He WILL call me. Right now, he’s somewhere on a plane, heaving a deep sigh of fantasy ecstasy, chin resting dreamily in one hand while the other hand lazily scrawls his first name in cursive with my last name. He’s probably drawing some pretty daisies by it too. He’s got a plus sign with our initials in it: OB + RB (onion boy). He’s consulting his magic 8 ball: does she like me? (maybe). If I ask her out again, will she say yes? (chances are good).

Riddle me this, blogosphere (and anything else you think might be helpful):
1) Why does he keep communicating with me? Why can’t he do what every other guy does and just stop calling if he’s not interested? Or am I back burner girl ‘til he can figure out something else with a different main course girl? I’m not really into being back burner girl. I do not aspire to be a side dish, you silly, trifling man! I clearly have “MAIN COURSE” written on my forehead (which I think is blending in with “WHORE” so it might be hard to see).

2) What does “messing around” really mean these days? Get graphic, please. Sign in anonymously if you must. But I need to know.

3) Did I sign a 3rd date death warrant by letting him touch me anywhere below the neck? Or by touching him anywhere below the neck? (Ummm…OK, so maybe below the belt).

Don’t worry. I’m working on dates with other people too. I’m not CRAZY, for heaven’s sake. (nervous laugh, twitch, twitch). I’m just looking for some answers on this. To fill in the gaps where Jeff can’t. Thanks, bloggers. (twitch).

Ri-goddamned-diculous

Ahhhh yes, to dream the impossible dream. Leaving early as a junior copywriter. I’ve been working like a farm animal all week. And I’m tired, people! It’s Good Friday, for the love of Christians! Open the cave and let us leave early!

Dramatic pause as I wait for roof to part so I can leave.

Hmph. OK, well instead of leaving early I guess I’ll just offer up some Friday fun. Some things that made me say “Well that’s just ri-goddamned-diculous” (copywriting violation: using headline in copy). You know, like a sassier version of C&C Music Factory’s “Things that make ya go hmmm….”. Only no one dies.

I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.
Read what’s
on his plane. Crui-fucking-sazy. Ewww.

A wax figure of Lindsay Lohan? You have GOT to be fucking kidding me.
Does anyone else see the irony here? A wax figure for a girl who probably pays a waxer to walk around as part of her posse? What happened to the golden days of yore when a wax figure was associated with status? Oh right. There never was such a day.

I’m on here somewhere.
Hilarious. And yet so sad.

We got muthafuckin’ snakes!
In case you haven’t heard about this,
check it out, yo. Google it. It's crazier than Tom Cruise. What was supposed to be a lame working title turned into the actual title and bloggers and commenters worldwide decided that what the world needs now is NOT love, sweet love. Nope. We need Samuel L. Jackson and a bunch of fucking snakes. Apparently using “SOaP” is the new IM equivalent to “shit happens”. Seriously. SOaP. I’m just sayin’.

No, seriously.
Watch this dog walk.

I told you people it was expensive to live in London
The $149 sandwich at Selfridge’s. Have it your way!!!!!!! You deserve a break today!!

Tales of vegetable dating

Hello, my name is Rebecca. And I’m online dating.

(Readers respond in hypnotized unison): Hello, Rebecca.

There I’ve said it. That wasn’t so bad. I’ve admitted to the fact that I’ve uploaded a first-date version of myself on the World Wide Web – the information superhighway -for the entire fricking globe to view and subsequently pick apart like a Hooters chicken wing.

Because I cannot in good conscience align myself with a site that aligns itself with a Dr. who goes simply by his first name (“you better get REAL, people!”), because I’m not Jewish, because I have no patience to complete a survey that takes roughly 2 hours to complete and because I do not choose to spend $60 a month on a site when I can’t even afford the Comcast upgrade package which includes HBO on my copywriter’s salary, I opted for the free version of a website that makes me laugh without fail, thinking that perhaps I might find a free version of a man who makes me laugh without fail. That’s right, in my attempt to alter my romantic destiny, I chose a site named after a vegetable (cue lame Pibo Bryson song from 1991). I chose… The Onion.

Why am I writing about this? Because it’s confusing as hell. I’ve discovered there are indeed – pun not intended - many layers to online dating, on The Onion and elsewhere. And I’ve been riding on the back of the short bus wearing a helmet and headgear for regular dating so this whole thing is quite disturbing.

Let’s talk about the stigma of online dating that people SWEAR is gone. “Oh, honey, everybody’s doing it…you need to get yourself ON there!” Yet in the area of the profiles where people list their most humbling moment, roughly half the people ON THE ONION list “Using this” or “Resorting to online dating” as their most humbling moment. !! ?? Um, hellOOO, Neggy McNeggerson: you’re not only calling yourself a loser but you’re now calling me a loser too for using this site and thus taking time to peruse your profile. Way to sell it, man. I can’t wait for our first date!!

Then there are you people in committed relationships. (I believe my girl Bridget refers to your kind as “The Smug Marrieds”. Easily interchangeable with the “The Smug Daters”). You know who you are. Some of you are dear friends and some of you are casual acquaintances. I know you’re trying to be supportive and sensitive to the single person’s plight and that you’d probably be horrified if you realized how the things that come out of your mouth sound sometimes. And I know you want to believe you’re still in touch with the scene but here’s a newsflash: YOU AREN’T.

Because when I say things like “I wish that one guy I went out with that I actually liked would’ve called me back”, responding with things like “Well maybe THAT’S the reason he had to go on The Onion in the first place…he doesn’t know how to date” doesn’t really make ME feel so good even though I know it was directed at HIM. The reason he HAD to go on The Onion? To me this somehow implies that online dating is the last stop before my ovaries and their testicles just crackle up, get pissed into city sewage and then show up at some freak exhibit at Moma, after which my reproductive organs will be featured in a minimalist, yet crafty Illustrator design on a refrigerator magnet, a postcard, a jigsaw puzzle and a flip book at the Moma store. NOT COOL.

Oh, and when I show you someone’s profile I’m interested in going out with, saying things like “Well he’s 36 years old – why does he need to go on The Onion to get a date? There’s gotta be something wrong with him.” HELLO, PEOPLE! The mirror has two faces!! At least that’s what the Barbara Streisand movie said. Lest you forgot, I AM 36 too!

Please. Stop doing that.

OK, then there’s the whole etiquette of online dating. I mean, please. It’s just exhausting. I recently checked out the list of guys who “hot-listed” me and I got to thinking: If I’m hot enough to be on your fucking hotlist, why don’t you just email me, you lazy asses? Or wink at me? (which is lame, but hey, we’re in the world of online dating so when in Rome….).

I winked at a guy last week who hotlisted me. He proceeded to contact me and tell me that my profile so moved him, that he had to break his rule of not responding to girls who only winked at him. Is it just me or is this skewed logic? Since you can view the people who Hotlisted you, isn’t hotlisting just a different form of winking? Or is it a fancy way of saying “I want you to know I think you’re cute but I have better stuff going on right now but I don’t want to lose track of you”? That’s totally fine but don’t then try to bust me for winking at you, Mr. Serial Hotlister. (He may be reading right now. But probably not. He requested to see some of my writing and I sent him to my blog and never heard back. Bah humbug.)


The other annoying thing is that people have time to craft their profiles. I’m not saying I didn’t spend time on mine because I did. But after doing this for a few months and going on some not-so-exciting dates, I get the distinct impression that the non-original people take snippets of wit from the original people and frankly, that just pisses me off. Also, SOME people who are funny in writing do not also possess the quick wit and natural humor to be funny in person. Maybe they’re nervous or shy. Because I get nervous and shy on these dates. But after a couple of glasses of wine, even the most nervous or shy person utters one or two funny things that gives the other person a glimmer of hope for the future, even if that future is the next 15 minutes. I’m not asking for the whole stand-up routine. Just a glimmer, people. A FUCKING GLIMMER!! A PULSE!! After all, if ya got, ya got it and it might come out slowly but it’ll come. If it doesn’t, consider yourself busted for being a profile “poser” and once you’re in that category you’re there for a while. Like Purgatory, treading in boiling oil and balancing a 2-ton Liger on your head, for the next 6000 years. And don’t be lying about the books you read, either. That’s just WRONG.

And what of the serial emailers? The people who cannot commit to asking you out on a real date to save their fricking lives but continue to flirt with you online, even after you suggest the in-person encounter? Why do you do this? Why do you waste my time? And yours? What do you hope to accomplish with this? DELETE.

And you, Mr. “I can’t stop looking at your profile” subject line. STOP EMAILING ME. You’ve sent me that email with that subject line FOUR TIMES.

When you finally go out on an actual date with someone, it seems one of two things happens (besides it feeling like a fucking miracle that anything is happening at all): 1) you have a pleasant time. Yes, pleasant. I’ve had pleasant and have been told I’m pleasant. Pleasant. Tulips are pleasant. Afternoon tea is pleasant. Who wants or wants to be pleasant? I want to be overtaken by chemistry so powerful that we can barely keep our lips apart and we seem to never stop talking. Yes, I realize this is why it’s called dating and that not every date is a love connection. But online dating seems like a shitload more work up front for a lot less likelihood of a payoff, even a small one. I mean PLEASANT. Come the fuck on, people. (See? That’s not the sentence of a pleasant person.)

The second thing: you could really find someone you like. This has happened once. He seemed to like me. He called me again and emailed me again. But he never asked me out again. I guess he just wasn’t that into me, as the book says. Bummer. So don’t email me and call me. Just fade to black, man. It’s easier that way. It’s the way of the world.

So the moral of this story is….a question mark. Right now it feels like I’m doing triple the work for the same result. Can’t somebody just have a house party or come forward with a really hot friend who just moved here from Australia? Anyone??