SecretBootyCall

I logged on to my Match.com account this evening to find I'd received a "wink" from this burgeoning Casanova who shrewdly chose the screen name “SecretBootyCall” to woo the womenfolk.

Dude – it’s a dating site. Not a phone-me-up-at-3am-for-a-quick-non-committal-lay-with-a-grey-mustached-cowhand site. You want a booty call? Check out buttlocators.com.

This next Match.com month is already looking promising......

Me Give You Dead Turkey

Another passenger aboard the Match.com Welcome Wagon...

'Cause nothing says romance like a guy holding a giant dead turkey. This strikes me as caveman logic, i.e. "Me like you, me want feed you, me bring you big dead turkey, you happy, you want make baby with me."

Sign me up!

This one's got some balls

Literally. 

Pardon my language here, but I cannot restrain myself:

WHAT THE FUCK? 

This is a picture from the profile of a guy who just wrote to me. He has consciously, voluntarily posted this photo for all the world to see -- and I for one am gonna make for damn sure that the world gets a good long gander.

But back to my all-caps expletive -- I probably utter those same three words while browsing through about 90% of the dating profiles I see. This one time, however, I think I may have an answer to this typically rhetorical question. 

I have to say, I don't think this is a lapse in judgment on his part at all; indeed, I think his motivations are exactly what we are all afraid they are: He wants to show us that he has a giant wiener.

I was tempted to hypothesize that he has simply crammed a sock down his drawers, but then I took a step back and decided to psychoanalyze this tool...

Always a groomsmen, never a groom.

So, I went to a wedding this past weekend and just wanted to pass along a text I received the day after from a gentleman who attended as well. He was the best man, actually, and had come in from New York. He was also one of only two single guys there -- and so, of course, we were introduced to one another. Parts of the night are hazy, but I recall that we shared a couple dances...right after a couple of shots of vodka (hence, the haziness). Super-classy wedding behavior, huh? (In my defense, though, the bride -- who really is super-classy -- also indulged in a shot or two. To say the least, it was probably one of the most entertaining weddings I've ever been to.) 

At any rate, following the shots + drunken dancing, Best Man proceeded to follow me around like a lost puppy for the remainder of the night. I don't even have a clue how he got my phone number because I certainly didn't give it to him, but the next morning, I received this text from a NY area code:

"You're pretty beautiful. Last night I dreamt fantasies.
I'm in town until tomorrow. Tonight's the night?"

"I dreamt fantasies"?? Really dude? That's what you're going with? And "Tonight's the night"--with a question mark? No, tonight is not the night. No night is the night, for that matter.

I have this image of him sitting there that morning, carefully crafting this message like he's a modern day Shakespeare, thinking to himself "this is some good shit, man." 

...Here's to betting that playing best man is probably the closest he'll ever come to altar.

Winkers

I have a quick online dating rant...

I hate winks, and I hate winkers.

Winking, for those of you who aren't familiar with online dating lingo, is an option that match.com members can take to show someone they are interested as opposed to sending an email. All you have to do is click on a button and it sends a message to your mark notifying them of your interest. 

To date, I have personally never winked, nor have I ever responded to one. 

I'm sure it has some sort of utility – perhaps for those who are painfully shy and just cannot work up the courage to make a genuine first move. To each his own, and if the painfully shy type is what floats your boat, then go get 'im girl. It’s probably also helpful for women who aren’t really down with the Sadie Hawkins thing and would prefer that the man take the initiative.  That’s not for me, but I get it. And not to be sexist or anything (except that I’m totally being sexist when I say what I’m about to) but my beef isn’t really with women anyway; it’s male winkers that I take issue with.

Call me crazy

So, I’d mentioned that I’d been rather introspective over the past couple weeks. It does, as you might imagine, have a lot to do with venturing out on a second, then a third and fourth date with Mark3, and it has everything to do with moving on with my life.

I’ll be honest: I’m scared. I’m scared because in all the years I've spent dating, I’m not sure I’ve grown any savvier at it. I've made crappy decisions, I've been a bad judge of character, and this last time, I screwed up monumentally by actually marrying a man who turned out to be a complete douchebag. And you know what? Despite about a year's worth of soul searching since the split and easily ten or so hours spent on a therapist's couch, I'm still not entirely sure what I did wrong -- and as such, I am not at all confident that I won't screw up again.

This recent revelation is, in fact, this poignant: I've kept a journal for many years and four months into my relationship with my ex, I scribbled across a journal page: 

"This is a man who will never cheat on his wife."

The Bachelor & the bachelor

I would just like to say that Mark3 has once again proven himself. Allow me to explain:

I am, admittedly, a pathetically obsessive fan of The Bachelor. I have seen every season.

Every. Season.

Well, likely out of some kind of karmic spite for my undying devotion to this horribly indulgent reality show, my DVR has decided to betray me each season by opting never to record "The Bachelor: After the Final Rose" (and for any of you not in the know, this is the show where they bring back the "winners" for a full debriefing on the show's conclusion). Again, I wasn't home in time to see it live this season, nor was I there to manually record it, and so again, there would be no Final Rose for me.

I also love the New York Timez!

There are a hundred ways I could go with this one, but I'm just going to begin and end with this little detail...

He lists his "last read" as "The Wallstreet Jornel."

I don't even know what to do with this one, really. The irony is just too rich.

God help all of us single women.

Mark3: Post-Date(s) Commentary -- at last

First of all, I'm about six days late with this one. Some of you have pointed that out, so my apologies -- but I appreciate you keeping me on my toes! I've had a very introspective week with regard to relationships which has resulted in me stalling on this post, but I'm not getting into that now. This one is all about Mark3. 

You might have noticed the pluralized “Date(s)” up top. You are, in fact, reading correctly. There have been two dates with Mark3 in the past week – and on top of that, two additional meetings that fall into more of a gray area (I’ll explain later). 

A little white-out & it was like she was never there.

You can scratch your ex-girlfriend out of a picture till your heart's content, tape it to the wall and throw darts at it for all I care.

But don't put it on a dating site.

Let me explain this very carefully: Presumably, you joined this dating site because you are hoping to find a woman. This means that it would be wise to post material that women will respond favorably to. For instance, your stupid motorcycle from four different angles -- who cares? A wall of your trophies -- that's awesome, sport. A close-up of your favorite NFL player -- that's just weird. 

Slice me off a piece of that man-meat

I'm sure that, at first glance, you thought I was gonna destroy this guy. 

I'm not.

I have no idea what his deal is. He couldn't possibly be looking for an actual woman -- but that said, why the hell is he on here? To demonstrate his stellar knack for eccentric satire? If so, he's succeeded, but to what end?

His writing is ridiculously entertaining in the most unconventional way. Take a look at the narrative. "Man-meat"???  OMG - it's like he's doing my job for me.

Please don’t eat my kitty

Ok, so I went on my first date with Mark3 last weekend. I met him at a little Mexican restaurant. He seemed pretty cool and even had a few bonuses (owns a home), although also a few minuses (is a straight, single guy, trying to remodel it). I’ll be honest, we talked like we’d known each other for years even though the nature of our questions suggested only a of couple hours.

I’ll go ahead and skip to the cutest part – prior to the date, I had warned him that I’d been sick earlier in the week and had a bit of a cough. Predictably, I started hacking away at some point in the night (so sexy, right?). I finally stopped and composed myself. Mark3 then laid a cough drop in front of me.

…Mark3 had brought me cough drops. That is pretty damned adorable -- it’s thoughtful and the opposite of cliché. Big points for Mark3.

Jack the Stripper

It's Monday morning and there's nothing like the sight of man-boobs to get your week started off right!

This profile is like one of those "how many things are wrong with this picture" brain teasers. Let us count:
1. Man-boobs. (I cannot reiterate the tragedy of this enough)

2. Four photos in his profile and they are all self-snapped mirror images of varying depths and one outfit change -- in case you were curious what the man-boobs look like under a t-shirt.

3. See his headline. Just so you know, he's not just looking for a lifetime of happiness -- he's seriously looking.

Why I'm not a cougar

Probably so that I don't have to deal with dumbshit comments like this one by the 26-year-old beach bum below. Apparently, he thinks that 35-year-old women are supposed to look old and ugly -- or at least anything but "young n cute."

...Yeah, good try, but you kind of blew it with that one, son. And if your headline really rings true for you, then I'm gonna go ahead and guess that you probably complicate your life pretty damned often. Triple wink ;)

Date1 with Mark3

Tonight is my second date this week but with a different guy. Perhaps I'm overly-optimistic, but I've got some high hopes. This one is pretty cool on paper.

We will call him Mark3 because he will be the third Mark I've gone out with in the past 5 years. I ended up dating both previous Marks (Dr. Mark for 6 months, Coach Mark for 3 months), so the odds are squarely in Mark3's favor.

...But are the odds in my favor tonight? That might be the more appropriate question. I've been a bit under the weather this week and probably shouldn't be going out on this date (or going anywhere for that matter) because I'm slightly high on some likely toxic combination of cough suppressant and Sudafed. He's taking me to a concert but wants to meet for drinks first at a cute little hole-in-the-wall Mexican cafe. I'm fairly sure that throwing tequila into the mix of whatever's keeping this slap-happy perma-grin on my face right now is probably not a good idea.

This one could be interesting.

How not to make a first impression

I will be the first to admit that I am not always the most P.C. person in the world -- but there is politically incorrect and then there is just being an asswipe.

See email below.

Do you really want to lead off with an observation that demeans the mentally disabled? That's what you’re going with? Really?

(...And in case any clarification is needed, I did mention in my match profile that I am a not-so-good driver. I kinda get tired of everyone talking about how awesome they are -- no one is that awesome -- so I made a list of things I suck at -- operating behind the wheel of a car being one of those. I did not, however, use the words "retarded person" -- those are Asswipe's.)

Lastly: "Jambalaya"? Really?

Sociopathetic

See his email.

This will make the fifth email that Passion4Life has sent to me in three days. It will also be the last because I've now blocked all correspondence from him. 

Seriously -- what is he thinking by sending this email? I'm pretty sure he borrowed the idea from a movie that involved either a murder or an abduction. If you're gonna go out with this guy, you might as well stop and file a restraining order on the way to the restaurant.