I know! I'm a slacker! I know it ... a couple of weeks ago I wrote several posts and scheduled them to come out each day, and it lulled me into a sense of security. It gave me a break from having to write daily.
Oops!
What a mistake that was. Now I'm behind. Sigh.
I've got a couple of first meets, some oldies-but-goodies, and even a few reader stories bungling around. I just need to find a free moment to sit down and write them out. They're coming. I promise.
Please be patient with me. I'll try to make it worth your wait.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Reader story - Nice photo!
Honestly? I like reader stories. I mean, I really like them. I think it's because they make me feel less alone. They allow me to say,
And I appreciate that.
So, this reader was using an online dating site, one which requires the "members" to post a photo in their bio section. Our reader was diligent and chose a photo she really liked, one that offers a fair and accurate representation of her. The photo seemed to be doing its job, as our reader received a number of winks/smiles/nods/whatever-is-de-rigueur-for-the-site.
One day she received a message from one of the male members. A male member from whom she'd received absolutely no wink or nod before. A male member to whom she'd sent no wink or nod. This was a new "hello" in the form of a full-blown message. With an attachment. Of her own photo:
YES! It's creepy. Of course it's creepy! And you know it. If you didn't, you wouldn't ask. Still, why? Really. I want to know. WHY? You've never met this woman. You first manipulate her picture to look as you want it to. Then you put it on your computer for daily consumption? Then you tell her about it? And you don't know her? I think you might be someone who should frighten us all.
See? I'm not the only one!
And I appreciate that.
So, this reader was using an online dating site, one which requires the "members" to post a photo in their bio section. Our reader was diligent and chose a photo she really liked, one that offers a fair and accurate representation of her. The photo seemed to be doing its job, as our reader received a number of winks/smiles/nods/whatever-is-de-rigueur-for-the-site.
One day she received a message from one of the male members. A male member from whom she'd received absolutely no wink or nod before. A male member to whom she'd sent no wink or nod. This was a new "hello" in the form of a full-blown message. With an attachment. Of her own photo:
I hope you don't mind. I took the liberty of lightening up your photo so I could see it better. I think you're beautiful. In fact, I am now using the improved photo as the background image on my desktop. Do you think that's creepy?
YES! It's creepy. Of course it's creepy! And you know it. If you didn't, you wouldn't ask. Still, why? Really. I want to know. WHY? You've never met this woman. You first manipulate her picture to look as you want it to. Then you put it on your computer for daily consumption? Then you tell her about it? And you don't know her? I think you might be someone who should frighten us all.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Ad #5
I admit it. This ad's not my best work. I posted this one when I was feeling a little irritated. I was tired. I was annoyed. I wasn't thrilled. And I think it shows. I know that.
And guess what? There wasn't much in the way of responses.
Lesson learned.
In any case, it seems to me that perhaps there's a better way than the typical. So let's try this -
I'm a 30-something woman, single with no kids. I'm not 100% sure what I'm looking for here, but I know what I'm not seeking - I'm not looking for casual sex or friends-with-benefits; I'm not looking for drug users, heavy drinkers, or smokers. I'm not looking for someone who wants to email back and forth, back and forth, back and forth and never get to a face-to-face meeting. I'm not looking for a face-to-face meeting that would be much more than catching up to have a hot drink or a dish of ice cream at a local cafe. Call me an ageist if you will, but I'm not looking for someone old enough to be my father (and you know who you are - if you were having sex at 15, then by mid- to late-forties, you're old enough to be my dad; if you abstained until college, well, you just bought yourself some time. Either way, you get the idea.) I'm not looking for someone who's going to judge the fact that I've got a few more than a few extra pounds and, try as I might, they're stubbornly with me.
And guess what? There wasn't much in the way of responses.
Lesson learned.
----------------
Is there a right way? - 33
Is there a right way? - 33
I've posted a few ads - even been lucky in love once through CL - but lately it's seemed like a whole lot of responses, a bit of email back-and-forth, and then nothing. I think it's at least partially because I grow weary of the typical "who are you" and "what do you do" questions, so I don't always write back as soon as the men would like. Also, despite the fact that it's 8:05 on a Saturday night and it might not seem like it, I'm a busy woman. Thus, I can't always respond immediately, but I always try to get back withing 24 hours.
In any case, it seems to me that perhaps there's a better way than the typical. So let's try this -
I'm a 30-something woman, single with no kids. I'm not 100% sure what I'm looking for here, but I know what I'm not seeking - I'm not looking for casual sex or friends-with-benefits; I'm not looking for drug users, heavy drinkers, or smokers. I'm not looking for someone who wants to email back and forth, back and forth, back and forth and never get to a face-to-face meeting. I'm not looking for a face-to-face meeting that would be much more than catching up to have a hot drink or a dish of ice cream at a local cafe. Call me an ageist if you will, but I'm not looking for someone old enough to be my father (and you know who you are - if you were having sex at 15, then by mid- to late-forties, you're old enough to be my dad; if you abstained until college, well, you just bought yourself some time. Either way, you get the idea.) I'm not looking for someone who's going to judge the fact that I've got a few more than a few extra pounds and, try as I might, they're stubbornly with me.
Long list of not-wants, I know. Like I said, I'm trying something different. More different - if you're maybe what I DO want, send me a message telling me something you wish people knew about you but never seem to take the time to learn. Then, ask me a question you'd like me to answer (I promise I will respond to everyone at least once - I'm open to meeting new, interesting people who think they might be a good match for me). Bonus points if your question makes me think!
Thursday, May 6, 2010
I'm legal
I'm not sure if this story really qualifies as freaky because the male role is played by a teenager. Aren't all teenage boys a little bit freaky? I'm thinking this boy might qualify as a freak-in-training, so I'm going with it.
About a decade ago I was teaching high school. I was 22 and teaching girls and boys just a few years younger than me. I always lied about how old I was, and many of the kids believed me. Some of them, though, were much savvier and knew that I'd just barely graduated from college and wasn't really too much their elder.
One of them was a boy we'll call Jimmy. I'm going to be perfectly honest with you because I think that's only fair, but I'll only do that if you promise not to hold it against me. If I had seen Jimmy outside of my classroom - like, say, in a club or something - I would never have known he was still a high school student. He looked at least 22. And if I'd seen him from across the club and thought he was 22 or older, I would have thought he was hot.
Jimmy was a good looking guy, definitely the kind of guy I would have been attracted to if I'd met him in a different context. Well. The kind of guy I would have been attracted to until he opened his mouth and I realized he was a teenager and in a completely different life stage than me.
Go ahead. Make your Mary Kay Letourneau jokes. Get them out of your system. And then go back and read the last sentence of that previous paragraph. Go on. Let me help you interpret: Jimmy was a good looking kid who would have been attractive to me if he hadn't been in my class or a teenage boy.
Now that you've got the idea, picture this:
It's December, so we're about halfway through the year. It's Jimmy's birthday. He's 18.
Jimmy walks into my classroom at lunch and hands me a slice of birthday cake. My classroom was usually full of kids at lunch, so this is an unusual day, in the sense that Jimmy's the only student hanging out there.
He starts talking to me. He reminds me it's his birthday (as if that piece of cake hadn't been a good enough clue). He tells me that he broke up with his girlfriend a couple days before. They were both in my fifth period class, so I'd already suspected that - they'd been acting awfully strange around each other all week. He talks and talks about nothing in particular. Then,
Uh-oh. Legal? Does he mean what I think he means? Nah. He couldn't possibly.
Oh crap! He definitely means what I think he means. I'm wracking my brain to figure out what else is legal when you turn 18. And I can only think of one.
I've got nothing else. If he says it one more time, I'm in BIG trouble. I have no idea what I'm going to say. I'm nervous and anxious. I don't want to have this conversation. I don't want to have to tell Jimmy that he's being inappropriate. I want him to just figure it out for himself. Call me passive-aggressive if you want. I don't care. I just don't want Jimmy to tell me he's legal again. Please please don't tell me that, Jimmy. Please?
Dodged a bullet. SO dodged a bullet.
But Jimmy started skipping class a lot in the second semester.
I still feel like I failed him because of that.
About a decade ago I was teaching high school. I was 22 and teaching girls and boys just a few years younger than me. I always lied about how old I was, and many of the kids believed me. Some of them, though, were much savvier and knew that I'd just barely graduated from college and wasn't really too much their elder.
One of them was a boy we'll call Jimmy. I'm going to be perfectly honest with you because I think that's only fair, but I'll only do that if you promise not to hold it against me. If I had seen Jimmy outside of my classroom - like, say, in a club or something - I would never have known he was still a high school student. He looked at least 22. And if I'd seen him from across the club and thought he was 22 or older, I would have thought he was hot.
Jimmy was a good looking guy, definitely the kind of guy I would have been attracted to if I'd met him in a different context. Well. The kind of guy I would have been attracted to until he opened his mouth and I realized he was a teenager and in a completely different life stage than me.
Go ahead. Make your Mary Kay Letourneau jokes. Get them out of your system. And then go back and read the last sentence of that previous paragraph. Go on. Let me help you interpret: Jimmy was a good looking kid who would have been attractive to me if he hadn't been in my class or a teenage boy.
Now that you've got the idea, picture this:
It's December, so we're about halfway through the year. It's Jimmy's birthday. He's 18.
Jimmy walks into my classroom at lunch and hands me a slice of birthday cake. My classroom was usually full of kids at lunch, so this is an unusual day, in the sense that Jimmy's the only student hanging out there.
He starts talking to me. He reminds me it's his birthday (as if that piece of cake hadn't been a good enough clue). He tells me that he broke up with his girlfriend a couple days before. They were both in my fifth period class, so I'd already suspected that - they'd been acting awfully strange around each other all week. He talks and talks about nothing in particular. Then,
Ms. Flypaper, it's my birthday today.
I know, Jimmy. Happy Birthday!
Ms. Flypaper, I'm legal today.
Uh-oh. Legal? Does he mean what I think he means? Nah. He couldn't possibly.
Oh? Yeah, Jimmy, you can vote now. Be sure to do that - it's your civic duty.
No, Ms. Flypaper. I'm legal.
Right. I know. You have to register for selective service. It's the law, so do it soon.
Ms. Flypaper. I'm LEGAL.
Oh crap! He definitely means what I think he means. I'm wracking my brain to figure out what else is legal when you turn 18. And I can only think of one.
Jimmy, you know that smoking is bad for your health. I hope you don't take up that nasty habit.
I've got nothing else. If he says it one more time, I'm in BIG trouble. I have no idea what I'm going to say. I'm nervous and anxious. I don't want to have this conversation. I don't want to have to tell Jimmy that he's being inappropriate. I want him to just figure it out for himself. Call me passive-aggressive if you want. I don't care. I just don't want Jimmy to tell me he's legal again. Please please don't tell me that, Jimmy. Please?
(Clearly exasperated and with a deep sigh) Fine. I'm going to celebrate my birthday with my friends.
Dodged a bullet. SO dodged a bullet.
But Jimmy started skipping class a lot in the second semester.
I still feel like I failed him because of that.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Elsewhere on the internet
Oh my goodness!
I've been following the Date Wrecks blog lately. Perhaps not surprisingly, my favorite section is the "Craigslist Crazies." Today's crazy post is a complete nightmare. I can't decide if I totally believe in its authenticity, but given what I know is out there -- I'm thinking it's entirely possible that this post is real.
Check it out. And then gag just a little bit.
Ick.
I've been following the Date Wrecks blog lately. Perhaps not surprisingly, my favorite section is the "Craigslist Crazies." Today's crazy post is a complete nightmare. I can't decide if I totally believe in its authenticity, but given what I know is out there -- I'm thinking it's entirely possible that this post is real.
Check it out. And then gag just a little bit.
Ick.
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