I am deep in the throes of project delivery and suffering the fatigue that can only be experienced on a long term project - disgruntlement, boredom, irritability, frustration!
Do not be fooled. It's a goddamn minefield out there in the online dating world. Having relaunched myself in the same way that Madge and Kylie have over the years, you know, new photos, new profile, new bloody haircut ('go blonde' said my hairdresser!), I am working my way through the tedious task of filtering the dross that inevitably makes its way into my inbox.
As expected I have my scientific process for identifiying potential and analysing performance. That's right, the Dating Multi-Criteria Analysis Spreadsheet, where all dates are scored on a whole bunch of things - looks, money, hair, conversation, potential for family introductions, oh yes, and personality. And I have taken the advice of all and sundry. Okay, I've taken the advice of Big Sister and Crazy Work Colleagues Living Vicariously Through Me who urge "don't be so picky, expand your bandwidth, look at younger guys, look at older guys, relax, don't call, send a text, shoot yourself."
To be fair, I have had some success. I am really good at getting Potential Suitors to call. And not too bad even at making it to the first date. It's progressing past that point which is proving difficult. No, let's be honest. It's frigging impossible. Which says to me I must really suck at relationship building, unless of course we're talking about nanorelationships which are so now. What's a nanorelationship you ask? It's the relationship that involves one phone call, two text messages and a meeting over coffee or drink and then you're done! You just move on. How easy is that?!! Perfect for the commitment-phobe.
What I've come to learn through this new genre of loving is that there are an awful lot of guys out there who make these sweeping judgements of their dates without actually taking the time to find out a little more about what makes them tick. Like Stormin' Norman who couldn't understand that I'd need to make babysitting arrangements for the half hour slot he had between his Very Important Meeting and Other Very Important Meeting ("you know my contract's at a very critical phase." Whatever!). Or there was Mr Gold Coast I'm A Cool Dad who after dinner arranged to go out again but didn't respond to my text message (a common theme). Or there's Mr I've Got a Sob Story (my wife left me/screwed me over/is still with me). Oh cry me a river!
The upside is, I am meeting lots of people who I wouldn't otherwise come across. Take Biker Boy who neglected to tell me he would pick me up....on his motorbike. You know, that was one of the more interesting experiences. Me riding on the back of a bike, scarf flying off behind me a la Bridget Jones on her mini break with Hugh aka Big Jerk, wondering how the hell I got there. (oh that's right, my life blew up!). At the urging of his three sons who insisted, "take the bike Dad, she'll love it!" he did, to which I responded, "perhaps you should consider not taking their dating advice in future."
I have also met Mr Intensity in Ten Cities and Dental Dude and the Fascist German the latter of whom asked me what I was doing in two weeks when he called me at 10pm on a Friday night. I mean, give me a break. I am flat out knowing what I'm doing from day to day let alone two weeks time at 3.15pm. Apparently, ve hevv vays of making you meet us!)
I accept that if a girl tells you that you're the first date she's had in ten years because she's been in therapy that whole time as her ex-boyfriend convinced her she was carrying the Devil's spawn that you could be a little put off commitment (true story as told by one of my Nano Boyfriends!!). Or if your wife of twenty years left you to go bat for the opposition that you might look at all women in a whole new light. But seriously, I would love someone to tell me what it would take to get a second date.
There would be millions in it!
It Mummy
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
I'm sorry, did you say Groundhog Day?
Oh, yeah, that's right, before I even say it, you know where I am going with this post, right?!! Oh yes, so predictable is my life. Things were going so swimmingly - I updated the profile, got the veezual images happening, got a few dates, met what I thought was an alright kind of guy. And then, the reality check.
You know, it was just like that book, "He's just not that into you". Initially, he was Mr Enthusiasm coming out with the whole nine yards - cutesy text messages, phone calls, hand holding, lunchtime visits at work, and then, you guessed it. All the usual lines:
"No, I really do like spending time with you." It's just that I don't want to do it that often.
"I have been wanting a relationship like this for such a long time." What? One where you don't have to make any adjustments yourself and have the world revolve around you! Yeah, everyone wants one of those!
"You know, I just have to think about what I really want." Really? What have you been doing the last five years since you got divorced? You've got a navel, right? Try staring into it every now and then.
"I just need some time on my own. I don't want to date or see anyone." Weird, I could have sworn it was your profile back up there in online dating world five minutes after this conversation.
"I'm sorry, I just can't see a long term future." We are so on the same wave length. I can't see a long term future for you either because when I see you crossing the street, I'll take the opportunity to practice my latest boxing combination on you.
To be honest, I know that I've dodged a cannonball sized bullet with this one, but I really thought I was past this kind of anguish. It seems not.
With much reassurance, compassion and comforting words from family and friends, I am back up online myself, albeit treading with more caution and hopefully a bit more wisdom.
Wish me luck!!
You know, it was just like that book, "He's just not that into you". Initially, he was Mr Enthusiasm coming out with the whole nine yards - cutesy text messages, phone calls, hand holding, lunchtime visits at work, and then, you guessed it. All the usual lines:
"No, I really do like spending time with you." It's just that I don't want to do it that often.
"I have been wanting a relationship like this for such a long time." What? One where you don't have to make any adjustments yourself and have the world revolve around you! Yeah, everyone wants one of those!
"You know, I just have to think about what I really want." Really? What have you been doing the last five years since you got divorced? You've got a navel, right? Try staring into it every now and then.
"I just need some time on my own. I don't want to date or see anyone." Weird, I could have sworn it was your profile back up there in online dating world five minutes after this conversation.
"I'm sorry, I just can't see a long term future." We are so on the same wave length. I can't see a long term future for you either because when I see you crossing the street, I'll take the opportunity to practice my latest boxing combination on you.
To be honest, I know that I've dodged a cannonball sized bullet with this one, but I really thought I was past this kind of anguish. It seems not.
With much reassurance, compassion and comforting words from family and friends, I am back up online myself, albeit treading with more caution and hopefully a bit more wisdom.
Wish me luck!!
Monday, June 21, 2010
You can't get a new man with an old photo
Well ain't that the truth.
This week I had an epiphany. I have finally come to the realisation that men really are simple creatures. All these books that have been written (and read by me - I swear I am keeping a whole industry of dating/relationship/love advice for chicks in business) and we seriously don't need it. We can totally beat these guys at this game. Here's how I know.
Okay, so, under the guidance, no, I mean, under strict instruction from one of my insistent work colleagues (yes the one who is living vicariously through me and my pathetic (lack-of-love) life, gorgeous Columbian Wife of Son's Daddy (sounds complicated, but isn't) and her sister I was told I had to do something with the god awful photos I had on my online profile. Okay, I admit, I was never going to give Elle McPherson a run for her money, but most (read ALL) photos of me show my worst side (is there any other I hear you ask) i.e. me looking extremely haggard and without make up. I wasn't left with much choice. And I was relying on the premise that it was better just to be 'out there' rather than not at all (remember my other work colleague who reminded me of the few options I had?). But my coaching team assured me the existing photos were complete crap. In fact, I would go so far as to say that Columbian Wife of Son's Daddy and her sister were nothing less than alarmed when they saw what I had deemed appropriate for my online dating profile.
'No, no, NO! Theez are terrible', they screamed. 'You cannot get menz with theez photos. The menz, they are veezual. They just look at the peectures, not the words! And you need to show a leetle bit of teets, but not too much, you know. And you must turn your head theess way and that way and show your best angel (I think they meant angle)'.
Right....so that's where I've been going wrong. So much for being interested in my intellect and witty turn of phrase. I could write that I am a total whore bag with an unusual love of cheap wine and gossip magazines (all true except the whore bit), and as long as I look a bit of alright, I'm in with a chance that I might be able to generate some interest from somebody other than Dr Dolittle (who now seems like so long ago).
So, we devised a plan. Work friend, Columbian Wife of Son's Daddy and her sister were to come over to my house to play. We would drink lots of wine, they would show me how to wear make up and then heavily under the influence, photos would be taken. And can I just say, the thought of actually posing for photos left me cringeing, but again, I was reminded: it's all in scope. I've just got to accept that like every other project I work on, there are going to be bits that I just don't like doing. Call it project administration.
Well, using my whole new 'veezual' approach the results have been nothing less than amazing. Using my sample population of one (me), I have found this newly devised tactic really works. I am almost sure this is a patentable, repeatable process that I'll build my fortune on. It works so well that even I have been inundated with contacts from up and down the east coast. I have even managed to organise myself a couple of dates.
Let's just hope they're not mates with Dr D.
IT mummy
This week I had an epiphany. I have finally come to the realisation that men really are simple creatures. All these books that have been written (and read by me - I swear I am keeping a whole industry of dating/relationship/love advice for chicks in business) and we seriously don't need it. We can totally beat these guys at this game. Here's how I know.
Okay, so, under the guidance, no, I mean, under strict instruction from one of my insistent work colleagues (yes the one who is living vicariously through me and my pathetic (lack-of-love) life, gorgeous Columbian Wife of Son's Daddy (sounds complicated, but isn't) and her sister I was told I had to do something with the god awful photos I had on my online profile. Okay, I admit, I was never going to give Elle McPherson a run for her money, but most (read ALL) photos of me show my worst side (is there any other I hear you ask) i.e. me looking extremely haggard and without make up. I wasn't left with much choice. And I was relying on the premise that it was better just to be 'out there' rather than not at all (remember my other work colleague who reminded me of the few options I had?). But my coaching team assured me the existing photos were complete crap. In fact, I would go so far as to say that Columbian Wife of Son's Daddy and her sister were nothing less than alarmed when they saw what I had deemed appropriate for my online dating profile.
'No, no, NO! Theez are terrible', they screamed. 'You cannot get menz with theez photos. The menz, they are veezual. They just look at the peectures, not the words! And you need to show a leetle bit of teets, but not too much, you know. And you must turn your head theess way and that way and show your best angel (I think they meant angle)'.
Right....so that's where I've been going wrong. So much for being interested in my intellect and witty turn of phrase. I could write that I am a total whore bag with an unusual love of cheap wine and gossip magazines (all true except the whore bit), and as long as I look a bit of alright, I'm in with a chance that I might be able to generate some interest from somebody other than Dr Dolittle (who now seems like so long ago).
So, we devised a plan. Work friend, Columbian Wife of Son's Daddy and her sister were to come over to my house to play. We would drink lots of wine, they would show me how to wear make up and then heavily under the influence, photos would be taken. And can I just say, the thought of actually posing for photos left me cringeing, but again, I was reminded: it's all in scope. I've just got to accept that like every other project I work on, there are going to be bits that I just don't like doing. Call it project administration.
Well, using my whole new 'veezual' approach the results have been nothing less than amazing. Using my sample population of one (me), I have found this newly devised tactic really works. I am almost sure this is a patentable, repeatable process that I'll build my fortune on. It works so well that even I have been inundated with contacts from up and down the east coast. I have even managed to organise myself a couple of dates.
Let's just hope they're not mates with Dr D.
IT mummy
Sunday, June 13, 2010
If I've deleted your number from my phone, I've realised you're not that into me....
Like, oh, duh, how many women does it take to work out that a guy is just not that into me?
Ahh, let me think! That would be three close girlfriends over a Friday lunch, five work colleagues over 8 and a half champagne cocktails (that would be each), one neighbour, one girlfriend from a previous job, one mother, one former partner's new wife.....okay, okay, you get the picture. I am seriously slow on the uptake and have needed the careful tutelage and support from the females around me because dear reader, it appears - no, let me restate that - it is evident that Dr Mike has taken a hike. After such a promising start, he has all but disappeared into the vast, open and apparently distant space of dating land without so much as a pathetic attempt at feigning that we would again 'talk soon'. Whatever!
Look, I'd love to believe it was something I said (maybe my ass did look big in that dress I bought especially for date #3; sadly, I'll never know), but I'm inclined to believe that it wasn't me. How could it be, when it was all him. He didn't need to tell me because all my friends did. They assured me that yes, I am special and he hasn't a clue. Isn't it wonderful? In the midst of complete and public humiliation in one area of your life, you are supported, cajoled and counselled by those who are nearest and dearest. You've got to love the equilibrating forces of nature.
And you'll be pleased to know that after several moments of feeling like I'd completely screwed up because I'd demonstrated my financial nouse to Dr Dolittle (because let's face it, he did very fuc king little) by listing the 'investment' pieces I have made in my much loved wardrobe (e.g. $425 Italian peep toe platforms), I got well and truly over that momentary loss of confidence. We all want to be accepted for who we are and if Dr D couldn't see us sharing domestic bliss somewhere in the future (me scantily clad in recently purchased Sex in the City underwear and above-mentioned Italian peep toes), then it's not my place to foist myself upon his very neat and tidy life.
I have taken the last few support and champagne fuelled days taking heart and strategising my next steps in the search for Mr Good Enough (you know I would settle for him if only I could find him). It seems the only thing to do is get back in the saddle - by that I mean get online (as my BFF said, if you're not back online, why not?!!!), ask for referrals, continue feeling completely uncomfortable (oh, god life was so much easier before I headed down this path), and wear that new underwear. Afterall, practice makes perfect.
Giddy up!
Ahh, let me think! That would be three close girlfriends over a Friday lunch, five work colleagues over 8 and a half champagne cocktails (that would be each), one neighbour, one girlfriend from a previous job, one mother, one former partner's new wife.....okay, okay, you get the picture. I am seriously slow on the uptake and have needed the careful tutelage and support from the females around me because dear reader, it appears - no, let me restate that - it is evident that Dr Mike has taken a hike. After such a promising start, he has all but disappeared into the vast, open and apparently distant space of dating land without so much as a pathetic attempt at feigning that we would again 'talk soon'. Whatever!
Look, I'd love to believe it was something I said (maybe my ass did look big in that dress I bought especially for date #3; sadly, I'll never know), but I'm inclined to believe that it wasn't me. How could it be, when it was all him. He didn't need to tell me because all my friends did. They assured me that yes, I am special and he hasn't a clue. Isn't it wonderful? In the midst of complete and public humiliation in one area of your life, you are supported, cajoled and counselled by those who are nearest and dearest. You've got to love the equilibrating forces of nature.
And you'll be pleased to know that after several moments of feeling like I'd completely screwed up because I'd demonstrated my financial nouse to Dr Dolittle (because let's face it, he did very fuc king little) by listing the 'investment' pieces I have made in my much loved wardrobe (e.g. $425 Italian peep toe platforms), I got well and truly over that momentary loss of confidence. We all want to be accepted for who we are and if Dr D couldn't see us sharing domestic bliss somewhere in the future (me scantily clad in recently purchased Sex in the City underwear and above-mentioned Italian peep toes), then it's not my place to foist myself upon his very neat and tidy life.
I have taken the last few support and champagne fuelled days taking heart and strategising my next steps in the search for Mr Good Enough (you know I would settle for him if only I could find him). It seems the only thing to do is get back in the saddle - by that I mean get online (as my BFF said, if you're not back online, why not?!!!), ask for referrals, continue feeling completely uncomfortable (oh, god life was so much easier before I headed down this path), and wear that new underwear. Afterall, practice makes perfect.
Giddy up!
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
In like with Dr Mike
It seems the search for Mr GE has reached an interesting juncture. From out of nowhere (okay, from out of the internet), a breathing, walking, talking and, dare I say it, thinking, good enough man has appeared. And believe it or not, we have actually conversed, been on dates and played lots of board games.
I have gone from a peaceful existence to being one of those insane females who rides the rollercoaster of newly developing 'like' who questions daily, sometimes hourly, 'does he really like me?', 'why hasn't he called?', 'when will he call/text/email/send smoke signals?', 'does my bum look big in this dress?'.
Prior to Dr Mike, I didn't worry about any of these things. I knew he wouldn't call/text/email etc because he didn't exist. It was all so simple. I don't know what my hours were filled with, but it wasn't this constant analysis which can send you over the brink of relationship madness.
Not only that, I also happen to waste stupid amounts of my time and that of my friends and work colleagues (with the latter charging to the project Mission Impossible: creating something out of nothing and analysing every bloody perceived development or otherwise in a newly developing relationship). Be under no illusions - this can take hours. As much as I'd like to think I'm a master of the buddhist practice of detachment, I haven't yet been able to bring much of it to this experience.
But it seems I will have to or risk sanity. The bottom line is, life will go on with or without Dr Mike. I may be fortunate enough to have clicked across a gem, but there's always that useful little reality check lurking at the back of my mind, reminding me my happiness or otherwise is not contingent upon the frequency of the good doctor's communication. No, the truth is, it's based upon whether he really does think my bum looks big in my dress.
I have gone from a peaceful existence to being one of those insane females who rides the rollercoaster of newly developing 'like' who questions daily, sometimes hourly, 'does he really like me?', 'why hasn't he called?', 'when will he call/text/email/send smoke signals?', 'does my bum look big in this dress?'.
Prior to Dr Mike, I didn't worry about any of these things. I knew he wouldn't call/text/email etc because he didn't exist. It was all so simple. I don't know what my hours were filled with, but it wasn't this constant analysis which can send you over the brink of relationship madness.
Not only that, I also happen to waste stupid amounts of my time and that of my friends and work colleagues (with the latter charging to the project Mission Impossible: creating something out of nothing and analysing every bloody perceived development or otherwise in a newly developing relationship). Be under no illusions - this can take hours. As much as I'd like to think I'm a master of the buddhist practice of detachment, I haven't yet been able to bring much of it to this experience.
But it seems I will have to or risk sanity. The bottom line is, life will go on with or without Dr Mike. I may be fortunate enough to have clicked across a gem, but there's always that useful little reality check lurking at the back of my mind, reminding me my happiness or otherwise is not contingent upon the frequency of the good doctor's communication. No, the truth is, it's based upon whether he really does think my bum looks big in my dress.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Pounding the keyboard
As opposed to pounding the pavement.
Well, my foray into the ethereal world of online love has proven all but fruitless. I would have thought that by this time, i.e. 13.78 days into it, that I'd have a filadex of lovers on the go, with little time for anything else. Needless to say, I have been sadly mistaken and Mr GE remains ever elusive. Bastard.
This is what I can tell you so far. I should take it back just a fraction and tell you that my first attempt at online dating ended disasterously. I foolishly set about filling in one of those ridiculous surveys which is supposed to miraculously match you up with a swag of fellas, only to find that having completed it one hour later, that I was rejected by the website. Who gets rejected by a website? No, let me answer that question. I insist. It was me. I think it had to do with the fact that I was honest and these websites are simply not designed for honesty.
Anyway, that put me off for about a week. And after being cajoled and encouraged by my work colleagues, who might I add present with several character traits that could in certain circumstances be construed as, borderline stalker material (no offence intended), I decided to give it another go.
After getting my profile up on another website, I had what could be considered moderate success. One email, and several 'kisses'. Seeing some of the photos and profiles, you want to be sure that said kisses were of the air type, not full on tongue twisting snogs, although in my current state, you can't be too choosy. With some work colleague coaching I got a bit of 'flow' happening. Get a kiss in, send a kiss back. Get an email in, get an email back. No wait, I think it was more like, get an email in, send one back, then get another email in, send a text, get a text, chat on the phone, arrange to meet up, then nothing. Or it was a bit of get a kiss, send a kiss, then nothing. I mean this all seems so weird.
The good news is that I did receive one email from a guy that we (my and my work colleagues, and yes, we have a team thing going on; I would have no staying power without them) have affectionately called 'WarandPeace' for the lengthy tome he penned. It came to pass that we met for a coffee and all I can say is that it's a good thing I've kept my expectations low because they are being met on all fronts. I mean I did have some sympathy for the guy because he'd had the full spectrum of online dating disasters from stalker to psycho-single-mother to crazy-old-lady-who's-a-true-player-for-real and his wife did leave him for her best friend's brother who had cancer and has since died. Let's face it, online dating throws every possible weirdo into a scary little mix and they all congregate there for a good time.
To be fair, it hasn't been all bad. I have learnt some really useful new acronyms. lol, which I thought meant, 'little old lady' actually stands for 'laugh out loud', and NMP, which means, not my problem (from WarandPeace), and my absolute favourite, gsoh, which I thought stood for 'great set of hooters', but in actual fact, means, 'good sense of humour'. Well, what a relief.
Well, my foray into the ethereal world of online love has proven all but fruitless. I would have thought that by this time, i.e. 13.78 days into it, that I'd have a filadex of lovers on the go, with little time for anything else. Needless to say, I have been sadly mistaken and Mr GE remains ever elusive. Bastard.
This is what I can tell you so far. I should take it back just a fraction and tell you that my first attempt at online dating ended disasterously. I foolishly set about filling in one of those ridiculous surveys which is supposed to miraculously match you up with a swag of fellas, only to find that having completed it one hour later, that I was rejected by the website. Who gets rejected by a website? No, let me answer that question. I insist. It was me. I think it had to do with the fact that I was honest and these websites are simply not designed for honesty.
Anyway, that put me off for about a week. And after being cajoled and encouraged by my work colleagues, who might I add present with several character traits that could in certain circumstances be construed as, borderline stalker material (no offence intended), I decided to give it another go.
After getting my profile up on another website, I had what could be considered moderate success. One email, and several 'kisses'. Seeing some of the photos and profiles, you want to be sure that said kisses were of the air type, not full on tongue twisting snogs, although in my current state, you can't be too choosy. With some work colleague coaching I got a bit of 'flow' happening. Get a kiss in, send a kiss back. Get an email in, get an email back. No wait, I think it was more like, get an email in, send one back, then get another email in, send a text, get a text, chat on the phone, arrange to meet up, then nothing. Or it was a bit of get a kiss, send a kiss, then nothing. I mean this all seems so weird.
The good news is that I did receive one email from a guy that we (my and my work colleagues, and yes, we have a team thing going on; I would have no staying power without them) have affectionately called 'WarandPeace' for the lengthy tome he penned. It came to pass that we met for a coffee and all I can say is that it's a good thing I've kept my expectations low because they are being met on all fronts. I mean I did have some sympathy for the guy because he'd had the full spectrum of online dating disasters from stalker to psycho-single-mother to crazy-old-lady-who's-a-true-player-for-real and his wife did leave him for her best friend's brother who had cancer and has since died. Let's face it, online dating throws every possible weirdo into a scary little mix and they all congregate there for a good time.
To be fair, it hasn't been all bad. I have learnt some really useful new acronyms. lol, which I thought meant, 'little old lady' actually stands for 'laugh out loud', and NMP, which means, not my problem (from WarandPeace), and my absolute favourite, gsoh, which I thought stood for 'great set of hooters', but in actual fact, means, 'good sense of humour'. Well, what a relief.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Raising the stakes...going cyber
Oh God. I never thought I would do it, but I have. At least I have in principle. Yes, that's right, committed to going online and giving the electronic and ethereal world of dating a go.
I may need to be plied with alcohol to make it happen; I may need to be supported by a team of female cohorts; I may need to stab myself in the eye with a pencil when I realise that potentially every person I know becomes aware of my need to wholesale myself via an electronic catalogue of women in various types of swimsuit glamour shots, but I feel I can't call this project (i.e. Finding Mr GE) complete without having at least explored this option to some degree.
Internally, I feel myself cringeing with the realisation that my life has become as one of my work colleagues so painfully and bluntly put it today: "Up against a precipice of limited options, girlfriend".
The stark reality is that dating and meeting people is difficult. In truth it probably always has been. Look at the crap that Elizabeth Collins faced in Pride and Prejudice. A frigging uphill battle - and that was in the days when women did what women were supposed to do i.e. act like a lady, wear dresses, look good, take small steps in dainty shoes, lie back and think of England etc etc.
Things have become harder by an order of magnitude for every generation that has passed since that time. The more the fairer sex has learnt to provide for themselves and their families, fly to the moon, lead countries, earn the big bucks, whilst wearing dresses, looking good, taking small steps in stupidly high heels that make dainty look like homy peds, and lain back and thought of how she was going to do it all again the next day, the harder it has become for us to find men that can meet our needs.
I remain unconvinced that I'll find the pot of gold on websites like Oasis.com, which could more suitably go by the name of Mirage.com, particularly when everyone you talk to has their own online dating horror story to share. In any case, considering my oh so limited options, I am thinking of a profile that reads something like this:
I am a relaxed, down to earth mummy to a beautiful boy. If you want to date me, you'd better have your shit in a pile i.e. have a steady job (that pays) or stable business (from which you do not need to be rescued financially or otherwise).
In addition to above average financial stability, you will need to present within the top 5 percentile of emotional intelligence so you are able to read my mind, especially when I am over tired and exasperated with life generally. This emotional intelligence will extend to your super human powers at being able to deal with my crazy family who place all sorts of unreasonable demands on our respective lives. At the same time you must therefore be understanding of my inexplicable need to spend stupid amounts of time with this bunch of crazies.
You will need to have enough interests to keep you (and me, frankly) out of the gutter of boredom, but not so many that you end of spending no time with me (and above crazy family). You will need to love food, but not so much that after five years I will know exactly what you've eaten in that timeframe because you are now carrying as a permanent fixture recognisable as a keg-sized gut.
I could go on, but you get my drift. Look, the tone could probably do with some dillution, but it would be interesting to see what I could drag in. Keep you posted!
I may need to be plied with alcohol to make it happen; I may need to be supported by a team of female cohorts; I may need to stab myself in the eye with a pencil when I realise that potentially every person I know becomes aware of my need to wholesale myself via an electronic catalogue of women in various types of swimsuit glamour shots, but I feel I can't call this project (i.e. Finding Mr GE) complete without having at least explored this option to some degree.
Internally, I feel myself cringeing with the realisation that my life has become as one of my work colleagues so painfully and bluntly put it today: "Up against a precipice of limited options, girlfriend".
The stark reality is that dating and meeting people is difficult. In truth it probably always has been. Look at the crap that Elizabeth Collins faced in Pride and Prejudice. A frigging uphill battle - and that was in the days when women did what women were supposed to do i.e. act like a lady, wear dresses, look good, take small steps in dainty shoes, lie back and think of England etc etc.
Things have become harder by an order of magnitude for every generation that has passed since that time. The more the fairer sex has learnt to provide for themselves and their families, fly to the moon, lead countries, earn the big bucks, whilst wearing dresses, looking good, taking small steps in stupidly high heels that make dainty look like homy peds, and lain back and thought of how she was going to do it all again the next day, the harder it has become for us to find men that can meet our needs.
I remain unconvinced that I'll find the pot of gold on websites like Oasis.com, which could more suitably go by the name of Mirage.com, particularly when everyone you talk to has their own online dating horror story to share. In any case, considering my oh so limited options, I am thinking of a profile that reads something like this:
I am a relaxed, down to earth mummy to a beautiful boy. If you want to date me, you'd better have your shit in a pile i.e. have a steady job (that pays) or stable business (from which you do not need to be rescued financially or otherwise).
In addition to above average financial stability, you will need to present within the top 5 percentile of emotional intelligence so you are able to read my mind, especially when I am over tired and exasperated with life generally. This emotional intelligence will extend to your super human powers at being able to deal with my crazy family who place all sorts of unreasonable demands on our respective lives. At the same time you must therefore be understanding of my inexplicable need to spend stupid amounts of time with this bunch of crazies.
You will need to have enough interests to keep you (and me, frankly) out of the gutter of boredom, but not so many that you end of spending no time with me (and above crazy family). You will need to love food, but not so much that after five years I will know exactly what you've eaten in that timeframe because you are now carrying as a permanent fixture recognisable as a keg-sized gut.
I could go on, but you get my drift. Look, the tone could probably do with some dillution, but it would be interesting to see what I could drag in. Keep you posted!
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