The Things We've Learned

This, though very nice, is not a very OK pick-up line:

(With a "wink")

"I'm very curious! I think the length of your hair complements your face very well. it makes you look cheery and active :) also curious if the nose piercing hurt..."

Probably don't tell someone "I like your pics"

It is creepily close to sexting.

...OK wait, is this just me? Compliments make me really uncomfortable. Is this a reflection on my being a crazy human being, or is this something all girls struggle with because we are repressed by a totally sexist, misogynistic society?

OK great. Just me. I always knew it.

So here's the thing I'm really struggling with here on this online dating thing: it's creepy, right? Like, it's creepy to meet someone over the internet and then meet them in person and then go on a date and potentially fall in love and have babies. Except it's not -- so many people are doing it, but I am still SO creeped out. Maybe that's why I never go on a second date...

Let's Review

So, it's now June, nearly July in fact, (and I've certainly waned in my posts. Sorry guys. I'll make it up to you) and I can sum up my online dating experience in a short sentence:

Some of the dates were fails, some were BIG fails, and I had to stop talking to one guy because he wouldn't cease to ask me if he could smell my feet.

...I'm not even kidding. Is this what online dating has come to? Not a single man was worth a second date. From Lentil Soup to High-Pitched (sub-par) Rock Star, I've had more luck in a bar than with this online dating system.

Did I mention I even had to change my profile information because the statement "I still want to be a super hero" was attracting a few too many comic book geeks?

Eep.

New (Belated) Year's Resolution

I realized recently that I have a problem. I don't know if you can tell, but I don't often hold back information; I'm honest and descriptive. When I don't explicitly say what I'm thinking, you can often read my emotions and thoughts across my face.

Some things, however, are better left unsaid.

I guess you could say it started this summer, right after I broke up with my most recent boyfriend of one year. You could blame it on my inexperience with the Single Status, or my general brazenness, but I turned to a friend at the time (someone I had used to sleep with) and asked him point blank: "So, are we going to continue to be just friends, or are we going to start having sex again?"

He eventually chose neither. Oops.

Then there was the friend from home. When he tried to back out of plans I told him "Too bad. We were definitely going to have sex tonight." This guy showed up five minutes later.

So I guess I thought I'd try it again.

Texting a guy I'd seen a few times before, I was quite drunk and upset that we hadn't slept together yet. So, in my infinite wisdom, I called him lazy when he said he was going home to sleep (at 3am, mind you). He balked, to which I replied "Just sayin, it's a sad day when a guy is too tired to get laid."

Like I said, I have a problem. I can pretend to be coy for only so long before I betray my obvious, visceral needs; and that just isn't ladylike or sexy, regardless of what 5 vodka-sodas may tell you.

So my new New Year's Resolution: stop telling boys I want to sex them. It's not cute, and everyone knows it (but me, apparently).

Dive 75

This guy made me laugh on chat before we even met, so I had to go on a date with him. I wasn't sure if he was cute (and I'm still not), but I was confident that the date would go well.

It did.

We went to a grimy dive that serves good beer (I don't drink beer) and talked a bit about improv comedy, theater acting, and meditating on trains. Then we talked about children and going to Africa, and Chuck Palahniuk and pearl diving. And, before it got too late, we decided to play Connect Four. I won something like 5 out of 6 times. They always say that you should let the guy win so he feels more masculine and powerful, but I am far too competitive for that shit. So I was sitting there, thinking that I should be letting him win, but not being able to do it.

Then I didn't hear from him for a while. The male ego is nothing to be trifled with, apparently.

Death by the Jitters

This one had such potential.

He plays guitar in a rock band, grew up on the Hamptons (think: free beach vacations) and now lives in Queens (think: real, down-to-earth guy). I super-stalked him on MySpaceMusic, and was pleasantly surprised by a fabulous jaw line and piercing blue eyes in every single picture. He even looks cute when he does that stupid tongue-out, devil horns, "I'm so much cooler than you" pose. In short, I was in love.

Then we made a coffee date, and I beat him there. No big deal. I try to make a habit of beating guys to an established meeting spot, because searching for a date makes me nervous. Then he walked in. His hands were in his pockets and he was, like...bouncing. "Uhhh, [bounce] hey? [bounce] Rebecca? [bounce bounce]" I wouldn't be surprised if it's the bouncing that deters women.

So I gave it a go anyway. And we commenced to have the least exciting series of conversations ever. Until I brought up death and cadavers. But then I just felt creepy for enjoying a conversation about death more than the one about heavy metal music. Or his roommates in Queens.

If all the energy you can offer a conversation is nervous energy, maybe you shouldn't be dating.

Nobody likes a nice guy

Date 5 was a beautiful disaster. Met this blond-haired, blue-eyed boy from the midwest in front of a very closed bar of his choosing. Luckily, I have hound-like instincts for tequila and discovered a Blockheads just around the corner. Unluckily, they wanted us to stand in the back while sipping our (delicious) margaritas. So we wound up at Amsterdam 106, a dimly lit pub-like diner with a quieter crowd (and a cute waiter).

OK, honestly, the first thing I thought when I saw him was that his pictures were VERY flattering. That probably helped to color the rest of the evening. After our mini tour of Upper West Side bars, we were confronted with each other. He sat on his bar stool with his entire body facing me and I was edged against the bar. Typical. I asked him a lot of questions about himself, as I tend to when I'm nervous. He has...zero personality. Charming smile, works for environmental policy at Columbia, one little brother, a father with a rifle in Virginia, doesn't watch Law and Order, hasn't seen anyone famous in NYC...I think you get the picture.

Then he told me that he has been doing a lot of cooking with lentils lately.

...really? Are lentils LITERALLY the most interesting topic you can conceive of right now? Word to the wise: NOBODY likes a nice guy. If I can picture you rubbing my feet while a pot of lentil soup is cooking for dinner, I'm more likely to throw up in my mouth than jump into bed with you. There will be no future here. Seriously, the fact that he was on Jeopardy didn't even save it.

Lentils. Yikes.

Date 4: Success!

Finally had a nice date. Didn't start out that way, though. In fact it started out pretty awkward:

"Sorry I'm so late, that's totally lame of me." Thirty minutes past our agreed-upon date starting time, Mr. Tardy for the Party just got out of work. And I'm already drunk. Nice. I'm beginning to think I need to learn how to work it for free drinks and food from these datemen. And that maybe next time I won't pregame dates that involve primarily (OK, only) drinks.

So, given Mr. Tardy is not ready for my glorious presence, I walk around Long Island City for a while. I would move here in a heartbeat. It has the most beautiful waterfront with a panoramic view of midtown-to-downtown Manhattan, and all of the buildings are adorable brownstones. As I'm wandering, I consider creating an alter ego for this date, since I haven't ever done so before.
Me: From CT, schooled in B'more, want to be a nurse
Le Femme: OK, so far we have to be the same (thank you, OKC profile)
Me: awkward
Le Femme: not
Me: ...
Le Femme: rides motorcycles, dates only arty boys...used to be a lesbian? (MUST CHECK WITH ROOMMATE BEFORE USING THIS LAST FACT)
Me: drunk
Le Femme: sexy
I think we're off to a good start.
OK, alter ego prepared
*NOTE* Me: not a good liar

Needless to say, I get to the bar and completely forget about utilizing an alter ego at all, which is a shame because that could have been really funny. Mr. Tardy ends up being a really cool guy, and we have some really nice conversations about art and therapy. Nice. Maybe it's a good thing I didn't use that alter ego in the long run anyway.