Because it was there

Again, people wonder why I'm single.  THIS.  This is why I'm single.  Because Pen Guy is what's available.  Because Pen Guy thinks posting this photo is rational behavior.  Is he picking up satellite radio frequencies with that setup?  If he's got a Lego and a jelly bean stuck up there too I'm going to just call the Pink Sisters right now.  A friend commented that maybe this one is a self-made millionaire and has nothing else to do with his time.  No.  No amount of money could make this better.  The only plus is that I, too, prefer blue ink, but for the love of ultra-fine Sharpies, I will not borrow a pen from this dude.

And then there's Twizzler Guy.

If it doesn't fit in your nose or ear, stick it in the next available hole, your mouth.  And DON'T forget to take a selfie.  And post it on a dating site.  You never know how many Twizzler- and walrus-loving women are out there until you try.  I'm sure all of the Red Vines ladies gave him a thumbs down right off the bat, but those Twizzler gals...myself included...we considered it.  Because it was late and we were hungry and food has replaced sex in our lives.  Some of us even snapped a screen shot...as of an example of what not to post on the Internet.  

Baby got somethin'

I can assure you with 100% certainty that my anaconda don't want none.  Of any of that.  God help me.  

So at least this guy's bucks are mounted on the wall and not on his groin.  I do appreciate that.  And I assume he's wearing pants--because that just seems like good practice when there's a snake around--I can't tell because his shirt is too long, but I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.  And, finally, taxidermy is expensive, so he must have a good job at...what...the herpetarium?  Why, for the love of all things good and holy, is there a ginormous snake around his neck??  Is that how he caught and killed the deer?  Send the python into the woods, let it constrict and kill its prey while you have a sandwich, and then you lop off the trophies for yourself?  Dude, I'd be wary of that snake if you're taking away half of every meal.  He's not just resting on your shoulders, he's calculating the force needed to crush you in your sleep.

Let's also talk about the composition of this photo.  My mental checklist for a good profile picture includes a nice smile, flattering angle and a decent outfit...certainly not stuffed animal carcasses and a predatory reptile. 

"So, that's a nice python you got there."

"I like to keep an apex predator around the house.  Makes me feel safe."

"Really?  I have a gun."

And I will blast six 9mm holes in that thing if it ever crosses my path.  

In the meantime, I think I need to add a mongoose to my profile pic checklist and we'll just let Darwinism sort this one out.

50 shades of not my thing

Since we're on the topic of emails...

If Sean was a dog, I imagine that he'd be wagging and panting and peeing with glee.  I like a man to be excited about seeing me, but incontinence is freally a turnoff.  You pee on my Pergo, you're out.

I can just picture yippy little Sean on a leash.  I bet these guys would like that...

Funny you should ask.  Yes, I do have exceptional leadership skills and I am very confident when speaking my thoughts, but I have no interest in your red room of pain, even if I'm the one in charge.  Now, if you like the idea of me telling you to dust my baseboards and door frames, and to wash my kitchen floor because some dude peed on it, we can talk.  

You'd be surprised at the number of written profiles that include leather whips but absolutely no mention of Indiana Jones, collars but no dogs.  There are specific sites for that, people.  Let's not muddy the waters for those of us actually looking for something more substantial than an orgasm and some welts.  

I particularly like this profile excerpt from.

If correct spelling was a fetish, then I'd be its Christian Grey.  Oh yes, the profile:

Shut.  The.  Red.  Room.  Door.  You'll provide aftercare?  How kind of you.  I always like a tender touch when I'm cowering in the corner.  And you're spiritual?  Let's ask ourselves what Jesus would do.  He sure as heck wouldn't be doing that weird shit, I'll tell you that much.  Maybe you'd like to meet my man-dog, Sean.  He seems up for anything.  

There is a reason why vanilla is the most popular ice cream flavor in the world.  Freal.

Syppin gin and juice

Naturally, I get that little flutter of excitement (or maybe it's just indigestion when I don't take my morning Prilosec) when I see that some dating site has notified me of a new message from someone potentially wonderful (emphasis on "potentially").  But most of the time that flutter turns into full-blown gastroesophageal reflux when I open said message.  

Where to begin with this one...THAT is your username?  Please tell me that you were dictating your profile setup and it autocorrected to that.  And that you didn't bother to proofread it.  Because maybe you can't read.  I don't judge.  If you can't read, that's fine.  There are plenty of programs to teach you.  No, no, not me, I'm not a teacher and I don't care to date someone who can't read, but plenty of programs.  Don't judge me.

Or maybe you got your MBA at the Wharton School, don't like the letter "h" and your last name is Mytongue?  Me-ton-GYOO?  Isn't that French nobility?

Wishful thinking.  I believe the harsh reality is that this guy thinks his username is funny.  Or it's something weird and kinky I don't know about.  Better check my Urban Dictionary app.  Bad idea...besides a wart being a wart, it's several other things, none of which you want in your mouth.  But one definition could apply:

So our online Romeo here is actually a descendant of Louis IX, St. Louis himself, who doesn't use the letter "h" because of that whole thing with the Huguenots and who went to a top-notch business school but is just keepin' it real by saying he gets mouth sores like the common man.

No.

Dude, a wart anywhere is not attractive or pleasant, let alone one on soft tissue, and you should probably get that checked out as it will most likely require some sort of prescription treatment to attack it from within since topical treatments probably won't be effective in your mouth.  And while you're at it, stop licking college dorm shower floors and that won't happen again. 

Also, what the heck does "syp" mean?  Southern yellow pine?  Saskatchewan Youth Parliament?  Syphilis??  Is this a cry for medical help?  You already have a wart in your mouth so God only knows what else you're carrying.  Did you intend to write 'sup?  Because that, coupled with the fact that there were no additional words in the email, would make more sense than syp.  Either way, complete sentences with at minimum a noun, verb and punctuation are appreciated.  

Oh wait, I forgot you can't read.

Sex, lies and Photoshop

Help me out here, but does this eHarmony member's pixelated hair lead you to believe that it's Photoshopped on there?  It's a grainy photo to begin with, but it's pretty bad up top...like he did it in Paint with the airbrush tool.  (You remember; it's that little can of spray paint that left behind a cluster of twelve dots with each click.)  Why would you do that?  I mean, Paint is so Windows 1.0.  Get with the times.

Oh wait, I meant why would you lie--especially about something that can easily be discovered, such as appearance, age, education or employment?  I went on a date once with a guy I met on Match who said he had gone to Harvard.  During dinner I found out that he had actually dropped out of his behavioral modification boarding school, eventually got a GED, and the only time he "attended" Harvard was while "auditing" his mother's classes as a pre-schooler when she was teaching there.

Here's another favorite:

The flame isn't the only thing that's murky here.  So is your memory.  Dude, if you're 40, then this is an untouched photo from my recent cruise.  I'm totally going to post this.  

And then there's this one.

Several years ago I dated a European man I met on Match.  Let's call him, oh, I don't know, Al Coholic, and he was from, let's say, Liarland.  Al told me that he was born abroad and lived there until he was a teen with his native mother and American father before relocating to his father's hometown of St. Louis.  He had a fairly strong accent and passports for both countries, could speak the ancestral tongue, had lots of family there and lots of Liarlandish stuff in his house here.  A few months into the relationship he broke up with me via text message.  It was a good thing in the long run, but if you want to see me really unleash my inner Kraken, break up with me via text.  

So then last October he showed up in my Tinder feed.  Curious to see the outcome, I swiped right (affirmative).  "It's a match!" came up on the screen which meant that we could now chat.  He asked if I wanted to meet for a drink.  

Not being one to turn down a free drink, we met a couple weeks later.  Al still had the accent, a drinking problem and Liarland accoutrements on his car.  But he soon told me that he needed to apologize for lying.  The accent suddenly disappeared and he started talking just like you, me and Tom Brokaw.  Born in St. Louis County.  Lived in Liarland for a few years as a young child because his mom really is from there, but they moved back to St. Louis early on and he's lived here ever since. 

He had me, my family and my friends totally fooled, and apparently a slew of other people too.  He turned the accent back on whenever the waitress came to our table.  It was so natural...and probably a little on the dissociative identity disorder side.  We hung out a few times after that (not anything special--just as two people who argued a lot), but then the cat dragged him back out again from whence he came.  I've still got two of his DVDs at my house from January.  They're yours for five bucks.

Vlad would never lie about his accent, would you, Vlad?

Take my breath away

Another Tinder gem.  This guy would have come in handy when I was hiking up that mountain--I could have used the oxygen tank and continued past 13,000 feet without feeling dizzy and worrying that I was going to fall off the side...only to have my body found later thanks to my construction orange fleece that I own for just that purpose (we all have our neuroses).

But I digress.  I am sure that he has a legitimate condition that requires the use of oxygen and I am sorry that that is the case, but come on, if you're going to post photos on a dating site wouldn't you at least try to find--or stage--some without the nasal cannula?  I don't post photos of me wearing my CPAP mask.  Hey, baby, if you spend the night you'll sleep great because I don't snore anymore; I just look like a fighter pilot.  Or Watto from The Phantom Menace.  Sadly, I'm sure there are guys out there who are into that.

So let's address the outfit.  Is an Anthrax t-shirt really children's birthday party attire?  I appreciate that he is trying to offset the thrash metal with the princess tiara, but the combination just isn't working for me.  Call me picky.  I'm really fine with that.  

The buck stops here

So this is one of the available men in St. Louis who showed up on my Tinder feed about a year ago.  Enticing, right?  "Antler Guy," as he has affectionately come to be known by my Facebook friends, is now the standard by which all other online oddballs are judged.  I swiped left (not interested) because I'd like to find someone with more than six bucks to his name.  And pants.  Really any type of socially acceptable outer layer of below-the-waist clothing would have gained points, but very few.  It's like this was an episode of Naked and Afraid gone terribly, terribly wrong.  Be grateful for your husbands, ladies.  And their pants.

My question, though, is what on God's green earth would make this guy think this photo was a good idea?  Wait, wait, wait.  Back up.  What would inspire you to stick your junk in a deer skull?  And what friend is supporting this decision by taking the photo?  That means that there is more than one guy out there who thinks this is acceptable.  I hope they didn't bite anyone else.  This could be contagious.

Let's do this

"Your Facebook posts crack me up!" is something I hear often, followed by "You should start a blog."  I'm not sure who's going to read this besides someone named Vlad in Russia, but here goes.

Another thing I hear frequently is, "I just don't understand it.  Why are you still single?"  Oh, snap.  I forgot to refill my prescription for that find-a-man topical cream.  My bad.  

I believe everything happens for a reason, and there is a reason why I'm single at this point in my life.  I like to think it's because I'm going straight to heaven when I die because searching for a mate has got to be my purgatory.  Or maybe I'm supposed to write a blog.  Who knows.  I'm too humble to say that I'm far too fabulous for most men, but I'm confident enough to admit that I may be a little intimidating to some.  I earned two degrees, finished ten marathons, rappelled down five tall buildings, hiked up a mountain, swam with sharks and ate live ants in the Amazon.  Shrinking violet I am not.  I am close to paying off my home of 16 years, own my car and have no debt besides my house payment.  I don't NEED a man but it would just be nice to have someone to hang out with, you know?

Enter online dating.  I'm surrounded by women at work (at a girls' school, nonetheless) and in my many volunteer activities, so it's hard to meet guys.  My last two relationships were actually with men I met online...and we see how well that's worked out given that I'm still single.  But every once in a while I have a weak moment and reactivate one of my online profiles that require payment (Match or eHarmony) and hope for the best.  Of course, I've also got some of the freebies going too (OKCupid, Coffee Meets Bagel and even Tinder).  These are their stories.  DUN dun.  (If you watch Law & Order, you get that.)