Stop the presses. Lay down your pens. Hit the Save button.
I'm having an epiphany and I am unhinged. Uncensored. Unplugged. Un-me.
Listen, my friends. I know you're all trying to do your best to send Romeo my way and I appreciate it. Really I do. And please, keep trying to set me up with your cousins and brothers and dads and chiropractors because I'm telling you right now I can't take the online garbage any longer!!!!!!!!
Whew. I feel better.
Every week I scour the dating sites for funny misspellings and grammatical faux pas within the context of people trying to find a romantic connection - to write a daily blurb for Dating Profiles of the Day. I've done it since August 2006. I even researched while in a relationship - perfectly understood that I was not "looking" and I honestly didn't, as I wasn't remotely interested in anyone but my boyfriend (we did not meet on a dating site, by the way).
But now that I am single again, I can't help but look at it in a different light.
And the light is making me nauseated.
I need medication to even turn my computer on.
I'm beginning to feel like the American Idol judges must feel when the crazies stand and sing wrapped in American flags and bird feathers. My friends, it does not get any stranger than this. You all have read my other site. Do you realize that I leave the worst ones alone????! On the page? Too pitiful to see the light of day? Yes!
I am seriously investigating a nice little convent I heard about in New Mexico.
They don't have Internet service there; hence, no loco men landing in my email box. I once played a nun in an opera. I know all the moves. All the prayers. I can curse in Latin and everything. I can do this! I promise you I can.
But I cannot do this.
This....this.......game. In an honest effort to "get out there" and get over what needs gettin' over and get on with it, I have concluded that men are .....well.......fudge!
(That wasn't fair. I really don't feel that way. But I did for a second or two....)
As God as my witness, this is what I encountered this week in my research. In my single world the bulb turns thusly......
The profile headline read "No I Do Not Ride a Mule" - I couldn't resist. I looked at the picture. He was not kidding.
It was not a joke.
He was wearing a crooked cowboy hat and a smile, sitting on a horse as if to say Hi Ho Silver Away with a come-and-get-me look that made me want to trot to the nearest toilet.
Trust me, there was only one jackass in the picture.
I am not amused people!
(Please forgive me for yelling at you. I'm just so distraught.Throws hand to head in a swoon of drama).
Is this my future?
Men who have to warn me that they're not riding farm animals?
After a while........I calmed down. Thinking it was just a fluke. Wrong. Read the next profile headline. Read it and weep.
Dissertation #2: "What Makes Me Tingle?"
You know he was not talking 'bout Novocaine.
But this one did me in. I am D.O.N.E. F.I.N.I.S.H.E.D. K.A.P.U.T. O.V.E.R. I.T.!!!!! You might want to duck. Flying grape approaching. But first...
What does Mimi want? What kind of man trips her trigger?
Allow me to daydream.
Rugged don't-want-to-shave-today-because-it'll-slightly-scratch-your-chin-but-look-like-a-million-bucks-in-a-suit-and-tie kind of guy when the time is right. I'll take out the garbage because you're a lady and shouldn't have to kinda guy. I-like-you-in-a-dress-and-heels but love it when you wear my T-shirt kinda male. How fast can I help you remove it? Somebody with a brain, knows how to use it and likes mine - a wicked sense of humor and can dance in the kitchen. And someone confident enough to allow me to wrap him around my little finger even though he knows deep down it's the other way around but never lets on. If we're in a dark alley I'd feel safe with this man, tuck under his arm and give a knowing-pat-for-later under his coat kinda feeling. I want a man who can knock me dead with a "look" before I get out of bed in the morning. I want to know he could scoop me up in his arms if need be (you know....mud puddles and speeding cars; typical Superman antics....not asking much)
and lay me down in a grass of wildflowers without wrinkling my pencil skirt.
In other words. A manly man.
Just when I'm feeling better, thinking about the prospect of dandelionsand dark alleys, I read this, "Hopelessly heterosexual. I am just gay enough to dress nice, smell nice and wear nice shoes."
The only thing I'm smelling is confusion.
I'd rather go out with the donkey.
May God have mercy on my pencil skirt.