So, one of my biggest secrets while I was separated for three years, was not that I was separated, but that I decided to join Match.com. I had not been dating, felt suffocated by my life, and thought it would bring some fun and adventure into my life.
It was a hilarious mind blowing entertaining six months to say the least.
I swore Divorcee and Nana, my mom, to secrecy, even from all other family members, filled out my little profile, even listing myself as separated, with children, and no job. Those three qualities made me certain no one would reply back.
And so, a few days later, my mother with her mouth open in shock, went through the hundreds of emails and messages with me, laughing until she was hurting, sighing and saying “Oh, dear,” a lot, asking questions like, “Why on earth would a man say something like that?” It was so fun to hear her responses.
That was the part I enjoyed most of all.
It was a study of men for me, something I find clearly more easy to understand than women, perhaps that makes me strange, or being raised in a pack of wolves has taught me about their ways.
I went out with a very nice Anthropologist, a guy who goes and hikes in the woods and gets the flowers to give to Pikes Nursery, and he cried our very first night out. He had been left at the alter, and I mean THE ALTER, six months before our date. I felt very much like a therapist, and I wonder how he is doing now that I think of him.
The only reason I went on a date with him was because his letters were so genuine and kind, his match name being, Mr. Destiny, the name of my plant I was nurturing till I was ready to be with a man. I thought it was a good sign. Willy ate that plant. Now thinking about it, I should post that story.
There was the fifth grade teacher who I thought was so adorable, his profile had him holding skeleton bones from his fifth grade classroom, and he made me laugh in all our exchanges. We made it through many emails, lots of calls, but when he began to insist I send him pictures of me in six inch heels in leather panties kneeling over my sink in the bathroom, first of all, I don’t know what I was going to do with Kat, Lola, or Nana and I had not owned a tripod at that time, and I thought it a little dangerous.
What if I slipped and Nana had to find me like that, my neck broken, with a whip in my hand? What would I say? I didn’t want her to blame herself.
Moral of the story is fifth grade teachers are freaks.
I would go through these emails, and my mother is a true testimony, it was literally exhausting. Men would fall into three groups. About 30% were in automatic douchebag category, deleted without a thought, having asking questions like, “Why are you even on here, Baby?” and “I turn even the gay ladies straight, let’s go have fun.”
I am sparing you the disgusting details of some of them, or the pictures of men in the Night Rider days, collar up, obvious photos from twenty years earlier, or the surprisingly gazillion number of pale bald senior citizens, holding on to dear life, half way into the ground. These men would be propped up against a big desk with the hair comb over, and I would scream for Nana to come look.
She is so innocent and so it makes me laugh so hard for her to read that they are actually telling me they have a lot of money, take viagra, and want a good woman to take care of.
It does not take a rocket scientist to eliminate the 30%, especially when you get messages from men who only show you their boat, the actual home, and cars, without a picture. Seriously?
Then, 60% fell into another category, where you had to use a lot of intuition and instinct, because men on Match.com are certain you must meet immediately, maybe for many reasons, but I had no intention to meet anyone I had not gotten to know first, and you can tell so much from one phone call, which saved me some horror stories for sure.
These men have nice profiles, have sent polite messages, but they are all the same really, because doesn’t every man think women want nice long walks on the beach, romance, and a soul mate? How many of them actually ARE THAT is the question at hand, taking a little detective work on my hand. They all ask the same boring shit.
“Hi. You seem nice. Do you like sushi?”
“Hello. I like your profile. I like to listen to music too. We could go to a concert. Have a great day.”
“Why, hello there. You are pretty. Do you want to know more about me?”
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
I am sure the women on Match would agree with me it is overwhelming to have that many people asking all the same questions, while some of them may be so very wonderful, but the reason they are on in the first place, is because they have no game, do not know what to say, and I like that. Men without game are my favorite men, Clyde and Divorcee being at the top. They are the ones who are too afraid to appear like a douchebag, so they don’t pursue at all, when they should. Many Match men are probably the men at the bar you want to approach you, but don’t.
So, the 10% left have game, and they either know it or don’t, but they are intriguing enough to make you want to write back, something they said making your burst out laughing or touching your heart because they thought about what might draw you to them from what you said about yourself in your profile.
The 10% make it fun and are worth shifting through the zillion other nightmares, and I found one of my closest friends, someone who we have sworn to secrecy to this day we will never out how we met. His therapist forced him to get on there, after being through a painful break up, and his outright rebellion was so obvious, it made me laugh until my side hurts.
He claimed to be a polar bear, from a tribe in Florida, and said everything he could to appear crazy, but I could tell he was not, and hilarious, and an artist and filmmaker, and I called him out on his shit.
He replied saying, “Put your Ipod on shuffle, send me ten songs.”
Now that was interesting to me. We went back and forth for so long, when I met him, I loved him already, a dear friend, and we have mixed our worlds in so many ways, winking or kicking under the table when we introduce each other to new friends, asking how we met.
I met him and we both quit, finding relief in a friendship, exactly what we both needed on this journey, relieved to get out. Having said that, Clyde is now on Match, and I saw his profile and knowing what I know, he is in the 60% category, and I just can’t stand it! I thought about all I know about him, and am going to write a profile, just for him to consider. Divorcee has been struggling with going on himself, over the last couple years, and I decided to write one for him as well, knowing no one knows him better than me, and even if he does not proceed, I am going to post it, a dare I hope he can’t refuse. Then, I thought, “What if I could make money doing this?” and I answered myself,
“I am a miracle magnet, and it would be genius!” I could help so many men unable to communicate, and help them ask the questions to the women they find interesting, in a way that would put them in the 10%, a box women are looking for.
I also need to buy a new camera for school.
A woman charging to write men Match profiles for them, reading the profiles of women they find interesting, helping them to ask the questions that can’t be refused?
I am going to begin a trial run, but I believe in myself on this one. So, if you are a man out there, who would like to have a detailed interview by email, have your profile discussed and written, and would like to send me women who interest you for help in pursuing them, I can be contacted at email@example.com.
I have no idea how to advertise such a notion, but I will work on what I have first, my two best friends, until I do.
Canon 5D Mark II here I come. I see it with tripod, lenses, and the hottest man on earth could walk by, and I would still be drooling from behind the glass, hoping to hold it, film my Rob adventures with it, take photos and memories to begin this new life of mine.
I think my Match profile name would be perfect as just that. Looking for Canon 5D Mark II Man, where I list nothing but my blog, an idea totally nuts without any idea of how it will hit or fall on its face, just like me.