It’s been a slow 2 days on the streets so I have been holding myself accountable by asking out at least 2 men on Match each day. I don’t feel great about it, and things are not taking flight with any of the men I have met so far. I am going to meditate in the morning on a fresh perspective I can bring to this adventure, I suspect that there is something larger I am not aware of- kind of like being in a tide pool then getting a swell and swoosh out to sea. I need that swell and swoosh. And I need to be more creative, this Match shit does not excite me at all.
I get ignored often on Match. This may be the primary place where this whole ‘out of my league’ idea gets reinforced. I haven’t yet tortured myself by looking at the other women on the site- bless them all , best wishes to them. It is a goddamn jungle out there. It’s very sensible, on line dating- and I know many people who have great success with it. It doesn’t suit me- both because I have a short attention span and I have the exquisite kind of beauty that moves and my profile just can’t capture it.
That said, of the 6 men I have sent messages to on Match in the past 2 days, I have heard back from 3. One of them has gone to text and I think we may be heading in the wrong direction… texting. Texting IS the wrong direction. One of them. The other one is trying to get me to either send you pictures of my tits or worse, to get me to sleep with you WITHOUT EVER SPEAKING TO ME. Honestly. This young man tonight first asked me if I was a ride or die chick* -more on that in a minute! At 10:15pm as I was coming home from doing yoga for nearly 4 hours (because I am sex starved and under-petted these days so I have to move that energy through me otherwise I will behave in ways that do not dignify my divinity) and this young man texted me to ask if I wanted to come over and watch House of Cards with him. When I mentioned that I was just getting home from yoga, he texted “you probably smell too…” then “I’m into it”
Um.
This one is obviously going no where. You know what this reminds me of? I will tell you. Way back when I was (nuts) much younger and less experienced (desperate) I dated a man long distance for about 6 months. He was maybe 7 or 8 years older than me and he introduced me to the art of talking dirty and sexting. It was hot. Explosively hot. He was delicious- 6’2 Puerto Rican/Irish/Italian, personal trainer, sure-footed with this panty-droppin southern drawl man-purr. And he smoked Black-n-Mild cigars, the smell of which, to this day, makes me think of long mornings in bed with him. Halleluja. But here is what else: this man was certifiably insane. One beautiful late spring morning- it was the Tuesday after Memorial Day- I brought him to the bus station so he could head back to DC. I felt a little squirmy, but we had just been having sex for 3 days straight so I figured my lily was just a little over worked. Went to the gyn, just in case it was an early BV or UTI from all the schtupping, and was diagnosed and treated that day for gonorrhea. That’s right, a big fat needle to the ass of penicillin, some Cipro, and the shame of my people. TURNS OUT that my man was spreading his love around quite liberally in the DC and NYC Metro areas for MONEY. He was not a trainer, he was a… call boy. Call him… Joe Buck. To come full circle, dear reader, is that when I used to have 4 hour long dirty talk calls with Joe Buck, he would fantasize explicitly, using lots of adjectives and other descriptive language tactics, about sex after going for long runs, or after working out, or, at the end of a long day of commuting in the summer— get my point?
Sighhhh.
And asking me if I am a ride or die chick? Bitch, I’m the OG. But you know what? Now that I am over the age of 31, I no longer have blunts and blow-jobs for breakfast. Not often, at least. I enjoy coffee in the shower and some Greek yogurt with fresh blueberries. I like to meditate and write my morning pages. Now that I am aging and fragile, I can no longer stand by my man and throw down if he gets into a fight and I don’t behave in rude or degrading ways toward other women. Wait, what am I saying, I no longer date men who might get into fights (unless of course they are a hockey player) or who live their lives in ways where fighting is even a regular occurrence (I might date someone who boxes, tho- just sayin). I take good-to-go to a whole different level now- that includes snacks, tissues, hand sanitizer, ibuprofen and Burts Bees. If I bring my hot friends around, I’m not suggesting a threesome and do you really want me to behave in ways that make your boss and all of your friends want to come on my face? GROW THE FUCK UP.
Jesus. Where is the Advil? Indeed, all that yoga moved my energy…
no i do not love you 