Online Dating: Don't You Want To Get With THIS?

"A picture is worth a thousand words" - or so the saying goes.  But I have found that usually the picture can be summed up in five.

"What the hell is that?"

It's always been interesting to me, the pictures that people put up on Facebook, Twitter, and LinkenIn that they think best represents them.  But nothing is more fascinating to me than the pictures people put up when they're looking for romance (or something), introducing themselves in a way that they think says, "Don't you want to get with this?"

Anyone who knows me already knows that I have always found the internet dating world an interesting place.  I'm a people watcher, but I'm also lazy so online dating means that I can make fun

of people without even leaving the house.  I am simultaneously engrossed and grossed out and cannot seem to avert my eyes from the train wreck that comes from people who are wookin' pa nub (a la Eddie Murphy) in all the weird places.

First of all, the background of your picture says a lot about you.  If you're taking a self-portrait in your car, it makes me wonder if you're living in it.  If you're standing on top of a mountain, I'm worried you're going to make me climb it.  If you are taking your own picture in the mirror of your bathroom, clean it up...because I'm sure as hell not going to do it for you.  And if you decide to take your picture in front of the neon Busch Light sign you have hanging in your living room, I am going to give you a pass.

I don't want that shit in my house.

Guys need to be more careful about what they're doing in the picture that they're posting as well.   When you're taking your picture in the mirror and completely block out your face, we wonder if you're wanted by the Feds or just plain stupid.  If you're wearing waders and holding an enormous fish we wonder if you're going to make us clean it (and if you're actually trying to attract a woman or another man).  If your picture indicates that you're in law enforcement, we wonder if we've met you before but just didn't recognize you because all we saw was the back of your head through the grate separating us.  And when you pose in a dark suit with sunglasses on, cigarette in one hand and an automatic rifle in the other...we're not quite sure if you'll be good with kids so you might be out.

And then there is, of course, the username that you came up with - the one that tells us little more about you.  And believe me...I'm grateful for how honest you are because it stops me before I answer that virtual "wink."  And I sincerely apologize to the following men who have not heard back from me:

ooooooo
BigJohnson
Chops
Dickhead (yes, I'm serious)
Caveman
KissThiss (with photo of a man who looks like he's smelling something foul)
2sexy4u (with a photo that makes me doubt that that's actually true)

I've heard the phrase "every squirrel finds its nut" when referring to love and I believe that it's true because I've seen it in action.  But there have been many times that I've looked at someone's profile and the witty usernames that go with them and all I can think of is one question.

What kind of a squirrel is going to go out with that nut?

My Love Affair With Sirius

A couple of months ago, I gave up my old family truckster (a 10 year old minivan) for a new ride and will admit that I was less excited about the functionality of the car and more enthusiastic about having a stereo that actually had an input for my MP3 player.

I am a girl, after all, and we all know that the most important thing to many females is the color of the car and the stereo.  So there you have it.

But my relationship with my new auxiliary input wasn't meant to be.  Because I was enticed by a newer, flashier form of listening pleasure.

Sirius XM radio.

"Wait until you get used to it," my sister said when I told her I had gotten a free three month trial subscription.  "You'll never want to give it up."

Certain that my heart would remain with my own mix of music that I had downloaded over the years, I rolled my eyes at her.  And then it happened.

I cheated on my MP3 player.

It all started with the 80s on 8, a running commercial-free stream of songs from my youth, complete with the old MTV VJs (that's Video Jockey for those of you who are too young to remember what MTV used to be like).  Listening to Nina Blackwood announce a song by Pat Benatar in a voice that sounded like she hasn't taken a breath of clean air in 30 years was like coming home - a big haired, Aqua Netted, ripped jean home.  Every song had a memory from my childhood attached to it and I found myself saying to my kids over and over, "You should have seen the video for this song!  It was bitchin'!"

Okay, I didn't actually say the word "bitchin'" to my kids.  But I was thinking it.

But I knew I had found true love when I tuned into the 90s on 9, songs from middle school, high school, and college that I was surprised to realize I remembered all of the words to.

But not as surprised as I was at the words themselves.

I don't know if I wasn't paying attention or I was just plain naive, but I don't think I really realized what I was dancing to at all of those fraternity parties years ago.  I guess if it had a good beat, I went with it.  But nothing makes you stand up and take notice of these things...like having your small children in the car.

"Hey!  Listen to this!"  I exclaimed when I heard the intro to Salt N Pepa's "Shoop" come on.  "I used to love this song!"

I cranked up the volume and started to sing along.  And I think it was around when I started singing

"lick him like a lollipop should be licked" that I realized that this just might not be all that appropriate for my elementary school-aged children.

Shoot.  I don't even know if I was mature enough to listen to it.

That's when I started having flashbacks.

Come Baby Come.

OPP.

Just about anything by Alanis Morrisette, the poster girl for bitter females everywhere - all of the lyrics came flooding back to me in one big sex-crazed decade-long musical.  And that's when I realized that my love affair with Sirius might have to either come to an end...or we would have to keep some parts of our relationship under wraps.

This is new territory for me.  I listen to the things that my kids are tuning into...but they aren't quite to the ages where it's completely offensive.  And yes, it did take me a little longer than most to realize that that song about whistling by Flo Rida wasn't actually about whistling and so maybe I should change the channel.

But here's the thing:  I knew that at some point I would get to the age when I would say in that cranky adult voice, "What is wrong with kids today??  What is that garbage that's on the radio??"

I just had no idea that I would get so old that I would come full circle and actually say, "What is this crap I used to listen to???  It's entirely inappropriate!!"

Now that's old.

Or as EMF would say...it's "Unbelievable."

God vs. Online Dating

I love taking my kids to the bus stop.

There is the obvious reason - that hiss and roar that indicates that my precious children will be at school and learning things that will get them into Harvard (actually, I'm starting to doubt that.  That Everyday Math is one screwy system).  And then there is, of course, that feeling of freedom that comes with seeing the wide, yellow ass of the bus round the corner, taking that beloved cargo with them and leaving me in silence for the rest of the day.

Oh, come on.  You know you all think it, too.

But I also love going to the bus stop because that's where I get the best gossip.  There is usually a pretty good crowd on Friday mornings, so I make an effort to get there.  That's when I find out who's been traveling, what current diseases are circling around my kids at school, and who wants to lock their husbands out for the weekend.

For some reason this morning, the crowd was a little thin (maybe it has to do with all of those diseases circling around) and I was standing there with one of my new neighbors who suddenly became very concerned about the fact that I am single.

"Are you seeing anyone?" she asked out of the blue.

"No," I said.  "But I'm really okay with that right now."

"Let me ask you this," she said, looking intently at my face.  "Have you told God what you want?"

Now, at that moment, I started looking for the nearest exit which was, unfortunately, my house a half a block away.  Not wanting to offend her by running screaming up the street, I put what I hope was a polite half-smile on my face and started inching my way backwards.

"Ah...no.  But, really...I'm okay with being single right now."

"You have to ask God for what you want!" she said emphatically.  "Make a list and tell Him!  That's what I did and that's how I got my husband!"

I didn't think that was the time to tell her that when I was working on my upcoming book, I had originally titled the dating section "Highway to Hell."  And so I kept inching my way closer and closer to my front door and when I finally closed it behind me, I breathed a sigh of relief.

But that conversation got me to thinking.  Is that what we're all doing wrong?  Turning to services like Match.com and eHarmony when what we should really be doing is sending our profiles and pictures to God? 

Dear God,

Attached is my profile where I ask for someone who makes at least minimum wage, has a valid driver's license, and does not wear platform shoes.  I know that this picture of me is a little old and I'm 10 pounds heavier now.  That doesn't count as a lie...does it?

Do those people who have their information on Christian Mingle have a leg up on the people who list with Plenty of Fish?  What about that FarmersOnly.com?  Do they get a better divine response than the people who are using It's Just Lunch?

I'm having visions of getting on my knees every night, folding my hands, closing my eyes, and begging God to bring me the last decent man left on Earth.  And then the heavens opening up and God (who suddenly looks a little like Joaquin Phoenix during his rapper phase) saying, "Fear not, my child.  I will bestoweth upon you a man who will bring you flowers at least twice a year and unclog your toilet when necessary.  Your prayers have been answered.

Now, leave me alone so I can deal with Congress."

An Imaginary Significant Other. Genius

image from gawker.com

It's been a long time since I've had an imaginary friend - at least 2 years - and I know from experience that they can be nice to have around.  For one, they never argue with you and always want to do what you want to do.  If one of your pesky "real" friends comes up with a plan you don't want to do, you can always back out saying that you have plans with Jarvis, your imaginary friend.  And then, when you're a child, there's the obvious - "I didn't make that mess.  Jarvis did it."

But in all of my wild imagining, I never thought to create an imaginary significant other.  And now I feel like I've really missed out on something.

As the whole world knows, Manti Te'o of the Notre Dame football team made news this morning because of his girlfriend.  Or his lack thereof.

After meeting in 2009, the two apparently hit it off as friends and carried on a long-term, long-distance relationship until her untimely death in the Fall of 2012.  His heart broken, Te'o continued to play the season in her memory and was covered by the national media as a remarkable man going through unimaginable loss.

Ah HA!  But was it, in fact, imagined?

The holes in his story began to emerge just before Christmas, apparently, and reached a climax this week.  And all I can say about that is that Lance Armstrong must be breathing a sigh of relief that that silly little doping debacle he's gotten himself into seems to have slipped to story #2.

And while the rest of the country is wondering why he did this - theories ranging from a possible publicity stunt to he's gay and trying to hide it - all I've been wondering why didn't I think of this???

I mean, it's got to be cheaper, having a fake significant other because you won't ever find yourself at the end of dinner with some guy sheepishly saying, "I forgot my wallet.  Can you get it this time?"  You don't have to share your popcorn at the movies.  And they don't snore.

An imaginary significant other will never disappoint you and will always listen when you talk.  They won't argue with you about that foreign film you want to go see.  If it doesn't work out, you don't have to worry about them posting unflattering things about you on Facebook.  And you never have to explain when you just want time alone.

So while the world is speculating as to why and how this could have possibly happened, I say "way to go Manti Te'o."

And so does my new boyfriend Jarvis.

The EX-it Interview

It's no secret that people come in and out of our lives, some without notice and some with a flourish.  If there's anything that's a sure thing in life it's that it's constantly changing, mainly because each of us as individuals are constantly evolving.  Sometimes these changes are positive and sometimes they grate on our nerves to the point when it's time to call it quits.

That hasn't happened to me often, but it has happened - sometimes I've been the person who instigates it and sometimes I've been on the receiving end of the "it's not you, it's me."  But in all cases, I've often found myself wishing that some sort of closure could take place.  Just a few minutes to say what I want to say, knowing that I will probably not have to interact with this person ever again.  Where both parties know that it's not worth getting mad at each other because they no longer have to take the time to prove anything to the other person and can choose to take what has been said as constructive criticism...or the opinion of someone they really don't give a shit about.

I am talking about The EX-it Interview.

In business, an exit interview "provides an opportunity to 'make peace' with disgruntled employees, who might otherwise leave with vengeful intentions" and it is wise to "listen rather than talk"during the discussion.

Replace "disgruntled employee" with "bitter ex-significant other" and you have the EX-it Interview.

I'm trying to picture how this might go down.  It would have to be on neutral ground like a Starbucks or a T.G.I.Fridays.  Each party would sit on opposite sides of the table and a timer would be in front of them.  The person who is unhappy to see the relationship end would start because they think that by going first they have the upper hand. 

But later they would realize that that means the other person gets the last word.

"Now," starts Person One, settling into their chair.  "What is your main reason for leaving?"

"Well," says Person Two.  "I've tried to discuss with you how I dislike the way you load a dishwasher.  But you seem unwilling to listen to my suggestions."

"I see," says Person One, making a note on a yellow legal pad.  "Why is this important, or so significant for you?"

"Because I think it speaks volumes for your stupidity as a person in general that you don't know the correct way to optimize space."

"Uh huh.  What suggestion would you make to improve conditions, hours, shifts, amenities, etc?"

"I would say that I hated walking on your clipped toenails that were stuck in the carpet all of the time, I was tired of having sex only on Tuesday nights, and you need to stop buying generic toilet paper."

"Noted."

This interview process would go on for 15 minutes at which point the timer would go off and it would be time for the offended party to answer some questions.

"What can you say about the way you were managed?... On a day to day basis?....... And on a month to month basis?"

"You're a bitch."

"Uh huh.  And what are some things I can improve on to ensure a more quality relationship the next time around?"

"You're a bitch."

"I see.  And is there any more information you'd like to share before we part?"

"You're a bitch."

The timer would sound once again and each person would pay for their portion of the check.  They would stand up, shake hands, wish each other well (even though they don't mean it), and part ways, both a little annoyed at what the other had said, but feeling better that they had gotten certain grudges off their chest.  Person Two would be forever paranoid that the way he loads a dishwasher could make or break any future relationships and Person One would wonder every once in a while if she was actually being a bitch.

And they both might be a little better for it.

But then again...maybe not.

If I Had a Million Dollars

Okay, so the things I would like, should I hit the BIG TIME would cost more than a million dollars.  But I have that Barenaked Ladies song stuck in my head.  And now, after reading that title, you will too.

I'm going to be upfront and just tell you that should I hit said BIG TIME, I will not be a nice rich person.  I have many fantasies about buying the people I love copious gifts - none of which they want.  This is because I love to go junk shopping for the simple reason that I believe ugly is more entertaining than pretty.  Sure, I get excited when I find a cute lamp or a fun piece of furniture.  But what I'm really looking for are ugly things so that, should I hit the BIG TIME, I can run out and buy them for my family and friends.

It was as I was junk shopping one day with my sister that she discovered this about me, my dream of winning the lottery and bestowing upon everyone things I know they will hate.  Her dislike of horses, after being bucked off on a camp trail ride when she was in middle school, is something that we all know about her.  (Incidentally, the bucking event was then topped off by a summer where she worked at a dude ranch in high school.  I'm still not sure how someone who hates anything that smells bad or has a "western" feel ended up with that job.)

We were standing in an antique store where I spied an enormous horse harness that had been made into a mirror.

"I'm going to get that for you someday," I said, pointing to the item.  "When I win the lottery, I'm going to buy you a mirror just like that."

She paused, looking at the dusty, dirty mirror and said, "I never thought I would say this to anyone I know...but I hope you never win the lottery."

However, when I think about the BIG TIME I don't usually fantasize about buying "things"...I think about buying services.  I don't think about having a live-in maid because that just seems too invasive and would cut down on my privacy.  I've seen Gosford Park and I know those people talk.  My need is much simpler than that.  Sure, a once a week cleaning would be nice, but what I would really like is to hire someone to come in twice a week and just put my laundry away.  I don't mind putting in the washer.  I don't mind putting it into the dryer.  I don't even mind folding it so much as I catch up on DVRed episodes of The View.  

I just don't want to put it away.

I would also like a back-scratcher to be at my beck and call.  I don't need a professional masseuse because they scare me with their pressure points and working of the knots.  No, what I need is someone who can be at my house within 5 minutes of my call to scratch that place on my back that I just can't reach.  He would have to have his nails perfectly trimmed so that they scratched (not rubbed) without drawing blood.  For this, I would pay for weekly manicures.

A professional bucket-holder would be nice to have on retainer when my kids get the stomach flu.  I can be motherly and loving when they're sick, but the moment I hear the gag reflex working, I want to run the other way.  I would like to be able to say, "Sven!  Get in here and hold this bucket!"  He would then come in, catch what's flying, clean it, and then wait to be called again.

A knot-detangler (so my girls won't hate me so much), a car-refueler (because getting gas is my least favorite activity aside from putting laundry away and holding the bucket), and a video-game-bad-guy (who will time my son and his friends and then boot them off and not give a second thought about dirty looks after they've been playing for 8 hours straight) would also be nice.

I would lend these services to all of my friends when they need them, especially my sister to make up for the harness mirror.  I will be generous with my employees, tipping liberally should the stomach flu hit the entire house or the dry season make my back extra itchy.

My needs are simple and not over-the-top.  I just hope the lottery gods are paying attention.

Facebook Through The Ages: How Your Age Affects What You Post

I'm supposed to be working right now.  I have a deadline literally staring at me in a rude and ballsy way.  But thanks to the flu I had last week, my mind cannot function past a 3rd grade level.  So here I am.

I was recently unfriended by someone on Facebook because I had the nerve to "like" a humorous picture someone else had posted on her wall.  It looked a little something like this (actually, it looked EXACTLY like this):

When I saw this, I howled with laughter.  Because it was true.  Every time this person cut her hair, grew her hair out, changed the part in her hair, changed her lip color, eye color, or aura color she posted a picture of herself on Facebook.

"That's what the young people do," someone told me recently.  "It's all about the self-portrait."

Choosing to ignore the fact that the person speaking to me was implying that I was no longer part of the young crowd and that I was, in fact, so out-of-the-loop that I had no idea the generation following me had an obsession with seeing themselves pixelated in a format that allows everyone from their 1st grade teacher to the guy they think they met in a bar once to comment on how amazing they looked at 1:20 PM, 1:22 PM, and 1:27 PM - I started thinking about how our age affects what we post on Facebook.

Let me break it down for you.

20s

When you're in your 20s, it's important for everyone to think you are having a great time no matter what you're doing and there is no better way to convince everyone of that fact than by taking pictures of yourself doing everything from drying your hair in a flirty fashion to drinking a beer near the bumper of someone's car.  You must have at least 20 pictures of yourself wearing college gear (even if you do not go to said college), 100 where you look like you're "dressed down" and just hanging out (even though it took you 20 minutes to primp for each picture), and 500 group shots with people you don't really know but have friended on Facebook just so that you can tag each person (including pets).

The 75 profile pictures you have were taken by you, with your own phone, as you stood in the mirror, sat in your car at a stop light, stood in line at Starbucks for your Peppermint Mocha, and sat in your airline seat on your way to Spring Break 2012 (woo-hoo!).  Each photo is flattering both in light and angle and it appears that you walk around with a professional staging crew to capture these Kodak Moments (if you're reading this and you're in your 20s, I'm betting you don't even know what a "Kodak Moment" is).

Your status updates go something like "having a great time with ____ and _____!  BFFs!" or "some people are just rude.  U know who u r."  You have occasional political insight and, if you're a girl, post things about the football game that's on so that you seem like you know what you're talking about when the guy you like looks at your profile.

As far as Facebook goes, life is perfection.

30s

Now, here's where things get tricky.  Depending on where you are in your 30s, you may not have had Facebook in your 20s and you're cursing all of those 20-somethings you're friends with because they have all of these adorable profile pictures you wish you had.  Now you're stuck with that Christmas picture from last year that you cropped your parents out of but figured that it hides your budding double chin the best so you'll go with it.  Most of your pictures involve your kids or one of your pets doing something cute.  And your day is made when one of your other 30-something friends posts a picture like this and you can share it:

Your status updates involve pictures of the crap you bought in your 20s that you're trying to unload so that you can upgrade or questions about why one of the kids or pets you have displayed all over your timeline is throwing up all over your house.  At least once a month, you mention how much you hate Mondays and every once in a while you try and update your profile picture but then figure out that Christmas shot is still the best you can do.  You make sure that everyone knows how proud you are of the pictured pets or kids, that last week you went to Happy Hour (just to make sure people know you still kind of have a life), and enough stuff in your profile to make things look good just in case someone you hated in high school looks you up.

In the World of Facebook, you're doing pretty well.

40s

So, now you definitely didn't have Facebook when you were in your 20s so cute profile pictures are not an option.  You choose a beautiful landscape or picture of someone else who may or may not be an actual member of your family to represent you in the world of social media.  At this point, it's very important to have in your profile where you work so that people don't think you just sit around and look at Facebook all day (when, really, that's what you're doing at the advertised job).

In 2012, you spent much of your time trying to come up with witty and life-changing political statements in order to change the minds of the three 20-somethings you're friends with and unfriended 25% of the people on your profile because their political statements didn't agree with yours and were, in fact, more witty and life-changing than you could ever come up with.  The main reason why you log into Facebook each day is to see if George Takei has downloaded any new pictures so that you can share them before your other 40-something friends.

Most of your status updates involve "Mom is finally out of surgery and Dad's back is acting up again" or "I won't say what I caught my son doing but that's the last time I bail him out of jail."

Facebook is making you look a little disgruntled.  But you really don't give a shit.

50+

You've put a profile picture up of you with your kids/grandkids but all the little square shows is your boobs because you can't figure out how to work that thumbnail thingy to get it centered right.  Most of your status updates involve pictures of inspirational quotes trying to get those 30 and 40-somethings you're friends with to see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

People have started tagging you in pictures they've scanned in of holidays when they were 2 and you were 25.  So the fact that you didn't have Facebook in your 20s really doesn't matter because now you have 100 pictures on your profile of yourself with an unlined face, laughing at your crazy life, drink in your hand, and a waistline you would kill for right now.

And the world of Facebook has come full circle.