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The melfie

If you have spent even 30 seconds on any dating site you know that probably half of the profile photos are hand-held melfies--a dude taking a selfie in front of a mirror, usually with the phone held about chest height, so it's right there in the middle of the photo.  These most often take place in his bathroom...which is a terrible option for a profile pic for the following reasons:

A)  You either don't have or don't know how to use the little flip-the-camera-toward-you icon on your smartphone's camera.  Clearly you are still using my BlackBerry from several years ago.  Get with the program and upgrade.  Or ask a toddler how to use your phone.  They can help you.

B)  I don't want to see your bathroom.  Not only do I see that you don't adopt and/or know how to use current technology, but I also see that your tub/shower needs new grout and caulk, you have dandruff and psoriasis, and your mirror could stand to be introduced to some Windex.  Also, your shower curtain is hideous.  Go to Target or Bed, Bath & Beyond.  Please.

C)  Finally, I ask, do you not have one friend who can take your photo?  Seriously, you have not been in public with at least one other person who will own up to knowing you and whom you could ask to snap a quick pic?  I mean, I get that your python buddy has no hands, but come on.  That toddler could even take it for you.

He's a great example of a full-body melfie.  *Note hideous shower curtain.

Not only is he flashing a V sign like some guido wannabe baller, does he realize that those little protective cardboard corners are supposed to come off the mirror when you decide to hang it?  I really didn't think that had to be explained.

So from this photo I know that he does, in fact, have a hideous shower curtain, has no friends who would take or have taken a full-body photo for him, and, sadly, is kind of clueless about disposable packaging.  There are so many strikes here that it's almost a no-hitter.

And then we have this guy who successfully avoided the melfie but still raises some questions...such as, "Why are you taking a photo of yourself in a public restroom?"

Yep.  If I'm not mistaken, those are urinals behind him...unless he has metal stalls, a sprinkler system and industrial ventilation in his house.  Surely he could have picked ANY other venue for a photo--a dumpster, a row of port-a-potties, a fish cleaning station.  At least there's no one peeing in the background.  But how do I know he's not peeing right now?  I can't see his other hand.  This is one case where some mirrors would be useful. 

Generation gap

Uh, no.  You are 21.  The year you were born was the year I turned 21.  That means I literally have a lifetime of tolerance on you.  I also have college sweatshirts SpaceBagged in my closet that have been on this planet longer than you.  Speaking of which, you're probably still in college which means you don't have a job and will expect me to pay for said drinks.  As I've stated before, I'm not a sugar mama and I sure as heck am no cougar.  But if I was, I'd probably eat my young.  Better dial it down, Romeo.

I get emails from young guys fairly often.  Some can form complete sentences, some can not.  

And then there are the older men.  I mean significantly older.  And not cool and perpetually attractive in a Harrison Ford, Pierce Brosnan or Sean Connery kind of way.  Which doesn't really matter anyway because inter-generational dating really creeps me out regardless.

What?  That noise?  Oh, that's just the sound of my skin crawling.  To someplace safe.  Seeing this in my list of "who's viewed me" is cause for an immediate shower.  Like a heavy-exfoliation-take-it-down-to-the-next-layer-of-dermis-get-shampoo-in-your-eyes-on-purpose kind of shower.  Thank heaven you are an ocean away.  God save the queen.  Nevermind, she's too old for you.  God save Kate Middleton.

Putting your best face forward, or not

Today's match is brought to you by the letter "C" and the numerical concept of "zero"...which is exactly how many emails I'm going to send to this guy.

If you read the previous post, then you know right away that Genius here probably got into the oxycontin and several cans of frosting and apparently was told to do all sorts of stuff.  I'm just wondering if it was Betty Crocker or Poppin' Fresh.  That doughboy can be shifty.

So you've got OC on your forehead.  Orange County?  One challenge?  (Clearly you're facing more than that.)  O, cats?  That would explain the tiger stripes on your jawline.  Kind of.  Really nothing can explain that.  And the star....can guys be "basic"?  I think that's about the most basic tattoo you can get, Rum Tum Tugger.  Unless the star stands for "say can you" in which case I give you props for being patriotic.

And what exactly is going on below the neck?  Was your tattoo artist a toddler?  Or having a seizure?  And there's another damn star next to that cave drawing of a bison or whatever it is.  If I squint, your chest kind of looks like something in the style of Chagall.  But I'm going to go out on a limb and say that is probably just a fortunate coincidence.

So, in summary, we are not a match.  I don't care if you're a neurosurgeon or poet laureate, this isn't happening.  Only Polynesian warriors should have that many, er, any tattoos on the face.  The Rock can have tattoos like that.  Mike Tyson is a poor decision maker.  Based on your fair skin and hair, you fall in with Tyson.  Not a good lifemate quality.  Besides, I'm allergic to cats.

Comma chameleon

It's not that I don't have options.  I do.  It's viable options that seem to elude me.

Like Metal Guy...he actually emailed me a few days ago and told me that I have a pretty smile.  Thanks.  I appreciate compliments.  And I do have a pretty smile, if I may say so myself.  I do because I don't have piercings in my mouth chipping away at the enamel.  Might be something to consider.

Daily I receive emails like that as well as notifications from a variety of sites telling me that someone is interested in me, wants to meet me, viewed me, likes me or possibly wants to dismember me and eat my toes in chowder.

But even more horrifying than that possibility are the people who don't use punctuation.  As I've said before, correct spelling and grammar are to me what the red room is to Christian Grey.

So as we see above, use of commas and periods is not his forte.  Nor is the use of capitalization and, apparently, anti-depressants.  I'm about as turned off right now as a city block after a transformer fire.

Ditto for this guy.  I know piercing.  I don't know per icing.  Please tell me that your dessert frosting is not telling you to get tattoos.  Although that could explain some of the people on here.  My cupcake told me to get that velociraptor inked on my face.  Maybe time to lay off the drugs.  And hicking?  Is that like cow tipping except you're knocking over meth heads in the Ozarks?    

And then there's this guy.  

Wow.  I am really sorry about what happened to you and I appreciate your pain and mistrust but I really don't think I want to get mixed up in that besides the spelling errors and five-and-a-half pairs of quotes are driving me insane and you should know that I keep a gun in my bedroom.  

Oh God.  I wrote a run-on sentence.  The ganache told me to do it.