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.

Why "Perfect on Paper" Doesn't Work

My friend is a stand-up guy—a successful man who works hard for his family. On paper, he hit the jackpot with his wife: she's beautiful and comes from a wealthy family. It all makes perfect sense, like a financial statement written in cursive. Yet, watching him, it's clear that life isn't a spreadsheet.

I recently found myself in a similar boat. I met a woman who, on paper, was a slam dunk: low-drama, attractive, kind, and considerate. She had everything I thought I wanted, but for some reason, the chemistry just wasn't there. At 31, I felt the pressure to "buy in" and settle down, but no amount of mental gymnastics could make it work.

In the past, I’ve definitely been a victim of "good enough." I stayed in relationships that weren’t making me happy just because an attractive woman was interested. As a friend once wisely put it, "You start ignoring red flags, and one day you look down and you're standing on a huge pile."

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The Blame Game and the "Spark"

So, why do we stay in these situations? And why do we blame ourselves when a seemingly perfect relationship fails? I felt guilty that I didn't like my ex as much as she liked me. I've been ruined by the few times I've felt that unmistakable "spark"—that lightning-bolt moment when you meet someone and everything just clicks. Your heart races, you blush, and you start fantasizing about a future that includes this new person.

But when that spark is missing, we often fall back on old habits. We get lonely and question our own worth, thinking, "Why would anyone else love me?" We go back to bad relationships, conveniently forgetting the pain and romanticizing the good times. We choose the wrong people because we know they'll accept us, even if it means more pain down the road. We basically go back for seconds and ask, "Thank you, sir, may I have another?"

The bottom line is this: If the spark isn't there, don't cling to the hope that it will magically appear. You owe it to yourself to believe you're worthy of a relationship that ignites your fire and brings out the best in you. It can be a lonely road, but you deserve more than settling for "good enough." You deserve to be decent to yourself.

Stir Events by Match.com: It's like online dating, but with shittier Wi-Fi

I went to a singles event in a quest for love—or at least, a good blog post. The night started with all the usual suspects: drunk college kids, a pack of women who looked like they were on a mission, and a hilarious moment I'm still not over involving two wheelchairs. Everything was going great until I came face-to-face with the last person I ever expected to see. What happened next wasn't just awkward; it was a full-blown dating disaster.

The concept was simple: Match.com rents out a room at a nice bar, fills it with single people, and gets them a bit tipsy.

When I arrived, I was relieved to see the room wasn’t a total sausage fest. My “7th Grade Dance” theory was debunked—everyone was already mingling.

The Highlights Reel:

• My favorite moment: A woman asked a guy in a wheelchair, "Are you two here together?" while he was on the opposite side of the room. Pure comedy.

• The crowd: A normal collection of drunk college kids, a pack of women who seemed to be conducting interviews, and everyone else who was already well on their way to being shit-house drunk.

• The Strategy: I just went up and talked to women directly. Knowing they were single was a huge confidence boost. If a conversation died, it was easy to just move on to the next person.

Then came the unfortunate twist. I saw my friend’s girlfriend. She made it clear she didn't remember me and said she was there to meet "new guys."

Fuck.

I texted my friend:

Me: "I'm at a singles event, and your lady is here."

Him: "Tell her I said hi."

After a quick bathroom break, I found her again.

"Hey, I know you," I said. "I'm Joe…"

She remembered me instantly. After a few expletives, she stammered, "You aren't going to tell him, are you?"

I said nothing.

"I'm just here for moral support," she offered.

(I stare blankly...ok, I blinked some probably)

"I told him I was in Grand Rapids," she tried. "I just didn't say why…"

I looked her straight in the eye and said, "You're cooked."

I paid my tab and left. I didn’t find love, but I did a solid for a friend. All in all, a success.

I hope the wheelchair people ended up rubbing wheels tonight.

Dating 101 for Dudes: Stop being yourself

Dating Advice for the Fellas

Since I offered some unsolicited advice to the ladies, I figured you guys could use some equally useless dating advice.

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Keep the First Date Simple

Don't plan a bunch of extravagant stuff for a first date. When I first started dating after my divorce, I'd plan nice dinners and multiple activities, only to realize I was wasting a ton of cash on women I had little in common with. Stop it. For a first date, just plan for drinks or coffee—nothing more. If you're both enjoying yourselves at the end of it, feel free to extend the evening. But if she's a total pain in the ass, you can cut your losses after a single drink.

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Just Be Yourself

There's no point in spending the first few dates pretending to be someone you're not. At some point, the real you is going to emerge, and it'll be in stark contrast to who you've pretended to be. Knock that off. When you meet the right person, whether it's for the night or forever, it'll be because of who you truly are, not who you fake being.

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Be Polite

Hold open doors, offer to buy drinks, and just be polite. Maybe this won't get you laid, but it'll mean you aren't a jerk, which counts for something as far as karma is concerned.

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Listen More, Talk Less

Shut the f* up**. Smile a lot, ask questions, and let her talk about herself. Throw in funny comments when you can, and only talk when you have something meaningful to say. Mostly, though, realize that she probably doesn't give a damn about most of what you have to say. Don't be rude; just smile, ask about her, listen, and whatever you do, don't one-up her stories. (In fact, don't do that to anyone, unless you want to be an asshole.)

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Be Honest, But Not Brutally Honest

Say things like, "You look great" and "It was a lot of fun to hang out with you." Avoid statements like, "Your p* stinks**" or "I think you're a b**." These sound funny and obvious, but some guys get a few drinks in them and decide to be "cute." See Rule #4: Shut the fuck up.

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Act Confident

Confidence can be hard for a lot of us because it may not be in our nature. If you're not confident, follow this rule: act as if. Just pretend you are confident. Believe that someone, somewhere, is going to find you attractive. Maybe it's not the girl you're on a date with, but someone will be into you for who you actually are. It's the law of averages, man. I know a guy who was a total nerd in high school, moved to Korea, and now has a hot wife. I'm just sayin'—it happens. Just be you.

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Don't Be Pushy

There's a fine line between taking a chance when you think she's interested and being a pushy douche. If you think she's into you and you're feeling the moment, take your shot. Maybe you'll miss (aka get shot the f*** down), but at least you took a chance. Now, if you get rejected and keep pushing, you're probably a creepy dude. Maybe it works with some women, but it most likely means you're a shitty person.

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So, that's what I've got, fellas. In short: don't be a dick.

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. 

A Dating Diary: My First (and only) Marriage

Let's just say my adult dating life started with a bang and a whole lot of drama. I'm skipping the high school years—they were a blur of cheap beer and even cheaper relationships.

My story really begins at 19, when I met Destiny, a shy, beautiful girl in my college friend group in Louisiana. She was taken at the time, but as the semester wore on, we became good friends, and she slowly started to open up.

Our connection deepened when my mom was diagnosed with cancer. I drove my rickety 1986 Ford Escort all the way from Louisiana back to Michigan to be with her. Destiny and I kept in touch the old-fashioned way: late-night phone calls and endless AOL Instant Messenger chats (remember when those prickscharged by the hour?). She told me about her overbearing mom and distant dad, and we started to fall for each other. Six months later, I took a Greyhound bus to New Orleans to meet her family.

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The Proposal

This is where things get interesting. Her parents, upper-class Southern Baptists, took one look at me and my Michigan roots and saw a "Yankee" out to corrupt their daughter. And, to be fair, they weren't entirely wrong.

Despite their disapproval, every night we'd sneak around, whispering "I love you" and making out on the couch. It was quick, but someone loved me and seemed to mean it. When I headed back home, we were all in.

Over the next six months, I saved every penny to make the 14-hour drive to see her once a month. One night, while on vacation in Florida, we were walking on the beach. I pulled out a $400 ring I bought with my only credit card and asked her to marry me. I was 20, she was 19.

She said yes, and her parents were livid. Her mom’s reaction? “This is all like a bad dream.” (Donna, you were so right...)

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The Marriage

The next year was a whirlwind of planning a wedding that no one was thrilled about. As a bank cashier living paycheck to paycheck, I was starting to realize I couldn't even support myself, let alone a wife.

We were married in Florida. I smiled a lot, but inside, I was terrified. As I looked at the ring on my finger, a single thought ran through my mind: "Forever... that seems like a long time." Our honeymoon in Palm Springs was a bust—we spent the whole time fighting about money and not having sex.

We moved into a trailer with a 110-pound Labrador and realized we had no idea how to be a married couple. We were two kids who couldn't communicate and barely knew ourselves. Things only got worse as the shy girl I met returned. I later learned her mom had made every decision for her, leaving her with no sense of self.

Meanwhile, my single friends were living it up, and I was stuck at home with a wife who wouldn’t talk to me, a dog we didn’t want, in a trailer we couldn’t afford. What I didn’t know was my wife was secretly racking up major credit card debt behind my back.

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The End

Our communication problems escalated, and we became two roommates living separate lives. We rarely had sex and only spoke when necessary. We were both miserable, but I didn't know how to end it, and she wouldn't admit it.

In a move that perfectly sums up our communication issues, her mom called me one day to say Destiny was worried about the debt. She suggested we file for bankruptcy, saying it wouldn't hurt us much because we were young. My wife agreed, and we went through with it. That night, lying in bed, I had one clear thought: This is the rest of your life.

The following May, Destiny went to visit her mom and didn't call me once. When I picked her up at the airport, she delivered the final blow: “My mom and I decided we need a divorce. She’ll be here Tuesday to move me home.” Her dad offered to spare me the cost of a lawyer if I signed the uncontested divorce papers. I didn’t care.

I stayed with friends until they were gone. When I walked back into the trailer, it was empty. They took everything—dishes, chairs, my computer, and even the plastic shower liner. The place was a shell. I sat on the bare mattress, divorced, bankrupt, and completely alone.

It was May 24th...my 25th birthday.

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.