Fake numbers, no responses, and other shit these lesbians are pulling...

I once wrote a blog post called "The Stink of Failure," but it had little to do with failing. It was really about trying new things, having guts, and making a change. After recently becoming single again, I've been taking my own advice, and most things have worked out pretty well. 

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Confusing Signals

The results of online dating have sucked so far. First, there was a girl we'll call Katie. We exchanged texts and emails and finally met for coffee. The date went really well—we talked, laughed, and had plenty to say for over two hours. At the end, we hugged, and she said, “Let’s do something again; I had fun. Text me that you got home safe.”

Like a fool, I did exactly that. I texted her that I made it home safely, had fun, and looked forward to hanging out again. Her response? I’m still waiting. Thanks to iMessage and the “read message” notification, I know she saw it. That was five days ago.

A few days later, I met some friends for a few beers. A girl at a neighboring booth struck up a conversation with me. With a little alcohol in my system, I was funnier and definitely more attractive than usual. As we all prepared to leave, I asked for her number. She smiled, wrote it down, and said, “That sounds like fun.”

Two days later, I called and got the voicemail for a guy who works for Consumers Energy. I double-checked the handwriting and my dialing—it was a fake number.

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What the Hell Is Going On?

So here’s my question: What in the blue hell is going on?

To the first girl: It’s fine if you're not interested, but don’t give confusing signals. I get not wanting to reject someone to their face, but a better option is not to say anything other than “Thank you,” and I will get the hint.

To the second girl: I had three beers but was by no means hammered. Is a fake number really better than saying you have a boyfriend? Or, even easier, just don't initiate the conversation in the first place.

The obvious issue here is that all these goddamn lesbians are leading on the straight men. Go play some softball and knock that shit off.

Stir events by Match.com - Part Three: This is starting to get sad

Another Trip to the Wilderness

For reasons I'm still trying to understand, I made a third trip into the wilderness that is a Match.com Stir event. If you're new to my exploits in this arena, you can find my previous posts there. To summarize my first two outings:

• First time: I met up with a friend's girlfriend who was not acting like she had a boyfriend.

• Second time: I came with the friend whose now ex-girlfriend was there the last time. I met someone, but after three months, the relationship ended. Why, you ask? She didn't read well, or at all really. She shared intimate details of our sex life with her entire family (mom, dad, three sisters). And when we had a disagreement once (not a fight, just a calm discussion), she responded by curling up into a ball and sobbing uncontrollably for an hour.

So, the other night was my third trip to Stir. This time, I decided to fly solo. My buddy has found himself a girlfriend, and I couldn't beg anyone else to come with me—you know, I had options and whatnot. Now a veteran of these events, I left with many observations.

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Observations From a Stir Veteran

• Drunk girl: I saw her dancing alone again. She's made appearances at the other events, always completely drunk by the time things start and hitting on every guy there. The weird thing? She's very attractive. I couldn't tell you if she was smart because she slurred her words like a stroke victim. Either way, I'm glad she was there.

• 40-year-old dude in a baseball cap: Listen, Billy Jack, everyone knows you're bald. It's cool. You're fooling no one with the hat. Either shave your head or take the goddamn hat off.

• The husky Indian chick (convenience store, not casino): Last time I was there, I made every attempt to escape her, and she actually asked me, "Why did we never hang out?" The reason why doesn't matter; your being a glutton for punishment is what fascinates me. Do you remember being dismissive of what I did for a living? Or telling me that dumb people watch TV after I told you I loved TV? You fall into one of two categories: a liar or stupid. Which is it?

• People who can't take a hint: Luckily, I learned early on when women weren't interested in me. (Okay, it was in 7th and 8th-grade dances, and the fact that any girl, let alone a mildly attractive one, caused me to have a boner hard enough to cut glass. Looking back, yeah, that was probably a factor.) But I watched men and women continue to bombard the opposite sex with questions when that person was making it painfully obvious they weren't interested. I commend persistence, even if I don't understand it, but it's respectable. Either way, raise your self-awareness a bit and move on.

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Final Thoughts

My night ended with no real prospects on the horizon, but I did get a blog post out of it. More importantly, I'm curious to hear about the experiences others have had at these events. Leave a comment and go wild; spare no embarrassing details.

Note: It will show that I have to approve all comments now because some ass-clown keeps posting spam ads for boner pills on everything I put up. To this person, who speaks English as well as a Vietnamese hooker: I hope your grandmother is attacked by an AIDS-infested wolverine, you pathetic shit.

Unfortunate Things Women Have Said to Me (Naked or Otherwise)

This list took up my entire workday. It's a collection of quotes from first dates and one-night stands. 

(The distinction will be abundantly clear.)

• "Can you finish soon? I really need to smoke." — See, Debbie liked to smoke. A lot. As it turns out, she liked smoking more than she liked me.

• "My mom is a serious cunt." — Hey, weirdo, I happen to like my mom. This was 29 minutes into our first date.

• "Well, I have enough credits for a degree, which is exactly the same as having a degree." — Umm, no, it isn't. And those pictures you posted were wildly misleading.

• "We can go back to my place, but we need to be really quiet because my kids are sleeping." — Boner Killer 101. I have no issues with you having children, but the fact that you're letting some drunk asshole (me) into your home to have sex while they are asleep is revolting. Pass.

• "You'll need to pick me up for the date because I can't drive... umm, because of the seizures." — That was three years ago, and I'm still not sure how to respond. I did pick her up, and we had an awful time. On the bright side, she didn't shake uncontrollably on the ground and shit her pants, which was nice.

• "You and I can go see my church counselor and talk about how we can grow together." — This was the first date! I used to be bothered by this but maybe she was smarter than the rest...

• "I would let you come in, and we would have fun, but I haven't shaved in a while." — And here was my cogent, rational response: "And.............?"

• "Could you finish soon? I have an exam to take in 45 minutes." — It was a community college. She failed the exam, blamed me...we never spoke or humped again.

• "We aren't divorced yet, but I'm sure we will file soon, so this isn't really cheating." — I didn't. I really wanted to—I mean, really wanted to—but I did not.

AND FINALLY...

• She asked me about my sex life, and I, for some reason, decided to be a gentleman and ask her back. In what felt like a scene from a snuff film, she replied,

"Two days ago, with a guy I met on Craigslist."

Dating Diary: I Once Dated a Barb (Who lived up to the name)

After things ended with Jill, I spent a few months collecting my thoughts and trying to figure out why I had been such an ass. That's when a friend introduced me to his coworker, Barb. She was 29, a working professional with a serious demeanor and a bitchin' old-school Mustang convertible. I'm not even a "car guy," but even I had to admit it was a sweet ride.

After the initial meet-and-greet, we decided to get drinks. And this is where Barb earns the honesty award.

We were two beers into our second time ever hanging out, and everything was going well. I was sober, and I think she was, too. Apropos of nothing, Barb blurted out, "Umm, it's not like I have HIV or anything, but I do have herpes."

My brain went, "Hmm..."

Listen, there's nothing funny about having an STD. Nothing. But it was certainly an interesting time to tell me—over drinks, when the only physical contact we'd had was a handshake. And let me be clear, I'm glad she told me—good for her. I also give her credit for the opener, "It's not like I have HIV..." because when you compare herpes to that, it doesn't seem as bad.

No one ever really trains you how to respond to a statement like this, especially when it comes out of the fucking blue. As I racked my brain for all the info I retained from high school health class, I sputtered out the only response that came to mind: "That's cool, dude." I'm sure that was ultra-reassuring.

Barb and I

Barb and I dated for a few months, but things got weird when we got physical. I wasn't 100% clear on the "rules" of having sex, given the circumstances, and neither was she. I feel like I would be crystal fucking clear on the limitations of herpes sex, but that's just me.

Our physical contact was limited to hand jobs, which I gathered she hadn't done much. I came to this conclusion (and believe me, it was the only time I came with Barb) because it was so painful. She violently tugged and pulled on me like she was playing foosball. When I gently suggested, "That feels good but...could you try doing it like this?" I was told it made me a "world-class asshole." She later yelled at me, "You should be grateful I'm touching you at all!"

And just like that, I finally understood why Barb was single.

She later apologized, but this rocket ship was plummeting toward Earth in a hurry. Since neither of us knew the physical boundaries and anything with our hands was off the table, we dry-humped a lot and were both left unsatisfied. The breaking point came when she suggested we have sex and that life with herpes "wasn't that bad...if I just got used to it."

That was too much information for me to process, so I decided to put the relationship out of its misery. Deciding to catch an STD seemed like a bigger commitment than I was ready for.

Maybe I handled it incorrectly, but I learned one important lesson: those health classes from high school were fucking useless.

A Dating Diary: My Divorce and a Security Guard Named Jill

After my divorce, I coped like any mature adult: by drinking excessively and hiding in my room. For six months, my routine was a grim cycle of work, liquor, and getting drunk alone. I heard my ex was already with someone new, a detail a "real friend" would have kept to themselves.

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The Call Center and the Security Guard

I was a call center drone, making $11 an hour. I called it a "death march" past security, hanging my soul on the coat rack each morning. But then I saw Jill. She was a new security guard—tall with a great smile. For the first time since my divorce, I felt something other than anger.

I finally worked up the courage to ask her for a drink. She said yes.

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The Chemistry and the Fear

It was amazing how much better I felt just by being with someone who seemed to genuinely like me. Jill was kind, and our chemistry was instant. We hung out several times a week, ordering Chinese food and watching TV. But her affection scared me. I was so worried about screwing up again that I ultimately did.

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The Big News and the End

One day at work, Jill told me she got a probation officer job in Wyoming. My heart sank. I tried to act happy, but all I could see was another person bailing on me. When she suggested long-distance, I shot it down like an insolent child. I pouted, saying we were "just friends anyway." She left, and I never saw her again.

I learned she'd quit to move West. I tried calling, but she never answered. I was clearly not ready for another relationship, but I've often thought about Jill since and wished I had handled it differently. 

I miss her. She was a good egg. 

Dating Advice from a Buffoon-Sage

You've heard it said that timing is everything, but I'd argue that our mentality plays an even bigger role. Have you ever been able to tell that someone is sad, angry, or joyful without a single word being spoken? I'm a firm believer that our vibe and self-confidence—or lack thereof—is something others can sense, especially when it comes to dating.

We've all been there: a period when it feels like no one wants anything to do with you. Why? Often, it's because they can sense that you're down, depressed, or lacking confidence. When I was in a slump, I found a few pointers that were especially helpful.

Get out of the house.

You'll never meet anyone by hiding away in your apartment. Get out there and meet people, even if it's just other guys or friends who are already in relationships. Make connections and build your social circle. A lot of the time, our misery is a result of us choosing to shut ourselves off from the world.

Some people just won't like you.

This is a tough one to accept, but it's crucial: some people, for whatever reason, just won't be interested in you. This isn't because they're better than you; it's just a simple fact of life. It's not personal, so accept it and move on.

TENS of THOUSANDS of women will want you.

I don't know you, but this is simple math. Statistically, some people are going to like you—and not just a few. Do you know how you can find them? By stopping the self-pity and living life. Make friends and get out and do things that don't involve a computer screen.

This is it.

Don't worry about things that may never happen, and don't spend time dwelling on what has already happened. You can't change the past, and you can't predict the future. The only thing you can do is take care of this day and enjoy it.

Calling online dating a dumpster fire is an insult... to dumpsters

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A First-Person Account of Online Dating

In the past five years, I've been on roughly 40 dates. Let that number sink in for a minute. I'm not counting the women I got drunk enough to go home with me (bless their hearts), nor am I counting the drunken, two-hour car trips in the middle of the night to get laid (Valparaiso, Indiana, is lovely at 3 a.m.). Nope, I have been on 40-ish awkward, uncomfortable, sweat-inducing first dates. And I enjoyed none of them.

It's not that these women were all ugly. Okay, some were ugly, and fat, and kind of bitchy. But the rest of them were nice and attractive. So, where did it all go so wrong?

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The Online Dating Dance

I've tried every dating site: Match, eHarmony, OkCupid!, Plenty of Fish—the list goes on. The one thing they all have in common is competition. The last article I read about online dating said there's a 5:1 male-to-female ratio, which makes sense. As a man, if there is a medium by which I can get laid without ever leaving my couch, I'm in. So, you pay your money, create an account, write a witty headline, post three pictures of yourself where you aren't hungover, exaggerate your income, make up some fake interests, and hope for the best.

Did I mention the "winks" sent to express interest? Or the random emails to strangers? The whole dance is just ridiculous. While some women are kind enough to completely ignore your interest, others have the audacity to tell you they aren't interested. Doesn't anyone have the common decency to lie to someone, or at the very least, pretend they never existed?

Anyway, in the event someone is interested, you begin exchanging emails and hope they have something interesting to say. You ask about favorite movies, music, and vacation spots, and the always popular "What do you do for fun?" More than once, I've been tempted to answer, "Orgasm. Nap."

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The Inevitable First Date

So the time comes when you decide to meet. You don't offer to pick them up—not unless you want to be labeled a rapist. You have to meet in a public place (preferably a dark alley, but they're always apprehensive about that one), and it can't be food or a movie (if you read their profile, you'd know this).

The time comes and the date is set. You start to imagine all the different scenarios: if it goes well or if it sucks. Finally, the time has come and you wait, trying not to compare every woman who walks through the door to the one in the pictures you've seen.

Then, she appears. And for whatever reason, good or bad, you both know. Sometimes it's because they posted a picture that was 40 pounds and five years ago. But more often than not, it's something unexplainable. All the time, emails, and texts where it all seems to be right, and in an instant, you both know. You politely make conversation, sip your drinks, and rehash conversations already had. But it's been decided. You share an awkward hug and go your separate ways, likely to never speak again.

And the dance goes on.