This particular chapter begs to be disclaimed, so the disclaimer is back.
Disclaimer: This blog may often not contain any information about computer dating. When it does, perfectly good advice is often mixed in with sarcasm and humor. If you cannot tell the difference between good advice and blistering sarcasm, consult a humor professional before using any of this advice. Also, in spite of the name, it is not complete.
We males are the opposite. We rummage along the Internet at a perfectly good dating site and all of a sudden HOLY SHIT LOOK AT THOSE and we fire off an email to a lady who specifically states she only wishes to hear from retired clergymen.
So read a few words. Some of you need the practice anyway. I was zeroing in on an attractive prospect last week myself when I noticed her headline read "Nice to meet a good guy to hang."
Maybe she just forgot to type in "with," but I'm not taking that kind of chance.
So see what she has to say. It saves time. If you're only truly happy sitting in some freezing duck blind at five AM, waiting to blast a few of God's feathered creations out of the sky and she lists PETA as one of her interests, you two aren't made for each other, no matter how great she looks in a halter top.
If you don't have much to say, pick a girl who obviously doesn't like to listen; if she lists motorcycling, dune-buggy riding, jet skiing or ATV racing among her interests, you can bet she wouldn't appreciate anything wry or allegorical anyway. She'll be happy with the occasional tap on the helmet.
Some of what the girls write is not to be believed, like some of what you write. Particularly suspect are women who claim to love watching televised sports. They are just trying to stand out from the competition. There are a few that do, but most of them just put up with it. I'm not a sports fanatic, but there a few must-watch pro football games every year for me. My girlfriend of some years ago (a find on Yahoo Personals, which has since merged with Match), having determined that one of those games was coming up, and that there was no way I could be persuaded to spend the afternoon antiquing or taking rumba lessons instead, insisted that we watch it together.
The game quickly turned into a nail-biter, as my team was obviously trying to play down to the level of their pathetic opponents. My boys were nursing a fragile three-point lead midway through the third quarter, courtesy of a combination of boneheaded coaching and gratuitous fumbling, when I noticed my girlfriend was placing lighted scented candles all around my chair.
"What are you DOING?" I demanded, in a tense, panicky way, as if she was setting bear traps instead.
"Lighting candles," she said. "They make the room smell nice."
"THERE ARE NO CANDLES IN FOOTBALL!" I yelled. Tom Hanks would have been proud.
And there aren't. There's lot's of stuff that's essential to football—cheerleaders, backup quarterbacks, announcers who call people who weigh nearly as much as a standing freezer "kids," but there are no candles. You can't high-five or fist-bump holding a candle, because then you wouldn't have a hand free for your beer or your air horn.
So nix on the candles. They're just out of place. It's like taking a giant foam finger to a wedding.
Obviously, you can't avoid all similar situations by reading the girls' profiles, but it helps. A fellow veteran of the dating wars is a sociology professor at a local university. You can read between the lines there and figure she's a liberal Democrat, concerned with issues of feminism, justice, and the environment, among others. She's not actually a cliché left-winger, but she's no Mama Grizzly. One of her recent dates showed up at her door in a full-size Hummer.
The Professor is not a tall woman, so she had to climb a ladder in a short skirt to get into the vehicle, making her moody from the get. When the guy started aggressively tailgating a woman in an economy car in front of them, the Professor, who is not averse to raising her voice, started counseling him:
"FIRST OF ALL, WE'RE DESTROYING THE ENVIRONMENT. SECOND, WE'RE NINE FEET OFF THE GROUND. I FEEL LIKE I'M IN A HELICOPTER! THIRD, YOU'RE A EFFING TERRORIST! THAT'S ME IN THAT CAR IN FRONT OF US, AND YOU'RE SCARING ME TO DEATH! SLOW THE F-WORD DOWN OR TAKE ME HOME RIGHT NOW!
Odds of a second date are slim. Justin Bieber has a better chance of walking down a high school hallway unrecognized. Again, read the profile. Carefully. If it seems necessary, borrow a Prius.
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