So I went back to school this semester and it was gross. Taking one class - one class! - and I was a disastrous, stressful mess. Had headaches for two months. Ridiculous.
Prior to this, and after visiting Dad in August, I decided to date again. So I joined one of the famous dating websites. This very website was a success for me when I lived in another large East Coast city years ago. However, I must say that I know there was a larger pool of gay men there. Or I think there was. Back then, I remember serial dating: meet a guy for lunch, scamper off to hang with friends, then go meet a fella for dinner. It was great. I was becoming a dating expert! At one point, I think I went on 13 dates in 2 weeks. Eventually, I actually met a boyfriend via that website.
So with five-year-old memories of success, I returned to that website.
Like most people, I do not like setting up the profile, but I try to be honest without being a complete asshole. In addition, I choose photographs that are fairly flattering, but that do not make me look unrealistically handsome so as to disappoint when one meets me in person, or that hot fucking picture of me when I was 24-years-old and 30 pounds lighter (someone I met actually had a years-old photo of himself before his stomach looked pregnant).
There seems to be a paradox existing here with me. As I get older, I filter my mouth less. Or maybe it's that I filter my personality less, because I certainly don't go into tales of snorting heroin at work during the first few conversations. Yet, my impish impulses imp out and I sometimes go on a stream of consciousness jag. For example, here is, verbatim, an e-mail I sent a guy after about three exchanges with him. I don't know what possessed me to send it:
mr. s_______,
i want to see more photos of you because i just do. i like photos. i like visuals. i like scents and fragrances too. freesia is my favorite flower because it is simultaneously sweet and peppery to me. the soap i use is dr. bronner's lavender. sometimes i think my arms smell like a field of fresh air at the end of a day.
my favorite feature on me is my right eyebrow.
since i hit 30, i started growing some hairs on my upper back. i don't like them and groom them every few months.
worked a lot this weekend - back in school taking classes for educational administration - received my master's in 1999 - never thought i'd return to school - and am tired a lot.
tell me about you, s______.
- anonymister
I never heard from the guy again.
Then there was the guy who told me, after one e-mail, that I seemed like a terrific guy. I am dubious about motherfuckers like that because I sense a neediness and a desire to please - something I have done too much in the past. So Mr. Liar-Pants-on-Fire told me that he had two cats that were black. Teasingly, I informed him that this was the mark of the devil. He argued that, no, his cats were angels from God.
Oh, brother.
So I asked him if the quality of life had changed for his cats since President Obama had been elected into office.
Never heard from him again either.
Then there was a guy who was from a town called "Beverly." I told him, because this is true, that the word "Beverly" reminds me of the word "vagina," as if a woman would say that she had a yeast infection in her beverly. He replied, "I suppose I should tell you that my mother's name is Beverly."
I responded that my mother's name is Cunt and that it was quite embarrassing for me while growing up.
He answered to that, "It's a nice Irish name."
That made me like him a little.
And eventually I went on a date with him. To his credit, he was a very kind man, and quite accepting of me and my lunacy. To his detriment, when I kissed him, he had slight halitosis. This made me long for the needy fellows with excellent hygiene who I had rejected earlier this year.
The lesson from all of this is that I don't think I want what I really think I want. I think I want to date or be with someone romantically, but the choices I make are ones that indicate the contrary. Truly, it takes a strong and special guy to handle me. Or maybe I'm just a snob and a dickhead. I don't care right now.
