Cereal Monogamee

Dear serial monogamist,

Your ability to fall in love without precedence at a moment’s notice, to be completely and fully engulfed within another’s grasp, to proclaim from the mountain tops your undying love for him/her/shim/it/they is suspect.  Your bed offers an open invitation to any artsy/awkward/red-headed/blonde/dog-lover/drinker/blogger/smoker/controlling/self-loathing/short/tall/skinny/curvy/Jewish/Christian/LOST female who passes the 5 second rule. Dropped, dusted off, and consumed anyway. Can you really be THAT devoted when the vaginas pass by like a rotating sushi bar?

Signed,

Non-poly-mono-unsaturated-gamist

In the eye of defeat

I am exhausted at this point. Navigating the world of online dating and mixing in real life crazy personalities in the flesh was wiping me out. It was becoming a full time job. Deciphering cryptic, drug induced messages and then indecisive vague slightly come hither weak attempts at flirting was getting to me. It was time for a break. On the heels of the Arlene debacle, this break was perfectly timed.

Admitting defeat in this situation wasn't actually a failure. We set out to prove lesbians and online dating doesn't really work and I would say theory: proven. Meanwhile, I took a break and studied for the LSAT. Something nice and boring and predictable . . . . Some girl started messaging me. For the purposes of the OKCupid Chronicles, let's call her the Black Panther. After a few quick messages, she invited me to a Lesbian Spoken Word performance. I had never seen one, so I was happy to go. I hadn’t intended to log this date for the OKCupid Chronicles, so how is it that I am now in front of my computer writing about the Black Panther?  Wait for it…..

The BP was working the event, so I met her there. Let me go off on a tangent quickly.  Jess and I are like lesbian unicorns. We love all races; sizes; we don't do gender roles. The only thing we really require is intelligence. Having said that, at the Lesbian Spoken Word event, I died and went to heaven. I wish Jess was there with me.  An audience full of lesbians of all colors. Beautiful beautiful lesbians. Tall ones for Jess; tiny ones for me. The BP working the event gave me the freedom to look at each and every dyke in there. I began to muse about why I think organically meeting a person is the best way to go. You just have to be in a place to meet said lesbians and I thought this was it.

All of the performances were really great.  Afterwards there was going to be a round table discussion.  A what?! It's so lesbian to have a nightcap of education after entertainment. So I'm sitting here knowing that my initial thoughts were too good to be true. First question from the audience: " White people should not be allowed in a colored dyke artist space. Why don't you have someone at the door barring them from entering?"  Holy mother fuck I stumbled upon a black panther meeting. I start looking around expecting there to be many, many dissenting voices, but I was apparently it and since I was outnumbered, I STFU. I look at the Black Panther that I was there to meet and she didn't even blink. I looked around to ALL of the beautiful white faces and they seemed to have quiet concern, as if they had experienced this before and were going to take it for the greater cause.  This cause, I'm unaware of.  I'm completely offended and confused to be honest with you. This went on for a half an hour. A half an hour bashing whitey seems like a fucking eternity.  Afterwards, they spent twenty minutes saying Transsexuals should not be allowed to perform at the Colored Dyke artist space. You see, Transsexuals by no longer getting their period, have opted out of the opportunity to perform at The COLORED DYKE ARTIST SPACE. They talked about vaginas and periods at length. I started to zone out.  OK, the tally so far is 1. No whites can watch the performances and B. no transsexuals can perform at the COLORED DYKE ARTIST SPACE. I hope we are all on the same page now.
 

After the show, my mind was fucking blown. The Black Panther asked if I wanted to get a drink. Hell fucking yes. I had to find out if she was a racist asshole like all of her friends I had just met. So as we are walking, I asked her if she agreed with the sentiment at the theater. She gave me some round the world bullshit answer and never got to a point. We arrive at a bar and I call her on her shit by saying: "My best friend is white. I am a fair skinned black person, so take that as you will. What was said at the show was not only wrong, but shocking. Do you know that person doing the lights and mixing the sound was white? The white people sitting in those seats did not take them from black people. The black people were not there. This is exactly why I don't do 'Colored' this or 'Colored' that. That whole situation was appalling." Then she explained the anti-trans thing and it was equally as stupid. Some twitter fight ensued and the happy letters of the LGBTQIA began to have alphabet wars. Talk about me misjudging the room for god's sake. Needless to say, I couldn't exactly be friends with the Black Panther.

Allow me to ascend my soapbox for just a moment. What I experienced on that night is a gross example of the pervasive nature of online dating. People won't mingle out of their race. It pains me to type that, but it is true. I have dreads and I'm black and there were many people I saw on OKCUPID that had similar interests to myself and they never responded. There could be many reasons for this. Who knows. Clearly that insular feeling of community is not exclusive to the online dating scene. It is in bars and clubs and book stores and Starbucks. It is a shame. I don't think I brought up the race of my dates thus far because it doesn't matter to me. It was easier to get someone of our own race to respond to a message on OKC and that goes for both Jess and me. I hope I never experience this again and I hope you never will.

PS: the rules: a preview

Postscript - Fatcat wasn’t fat or a cat. In case anyone gets it confused, I’ll explain. Everyone had a nickname based on her screen name and/or other un-ignorable traits in the OKCupid profile.  The Rules were hard and fast about what was unacceptable in a woman’s profile, but that’s for a later post. Fatcat broke Rule 4: no photos with kids/pets. She posed with her admittedly adorable very fat cuddly cat and so earned herself the nickname Fatcat. I love cats, so this isn’t particularly insulting to me, but I can see how one might misconstrue it. Don’t.   

Sniff Butts - Part B

One of many, many problems encountered with online relationship building is the pre-gaming of the date. There is Extensive conversation surrounding the date before it ever takes place. Fatcat and I went round and round about choosing a date and time that would accommodate my three jobs and both our commutes to meet somewhere in the middle of two different states, not to mention picking a cuisine we both found palatable (tapas, who doesn’t like tapas?!!).  In the back of my mind, nagging quietly was the Big Question – would she have her hair cut in time for the date?

I’ll explain – Fatcat included details about her hair in every single email exchange we had. She was dropping hints the whole time about not having ANY plans on the weekend except to get her hair cut. Week after week she was supposed to get a haircut. I took this to mean she needed a haircut. Lesbians like to lay a trail like Hansel and Gretel, follow the crumbs and you may arrive at the point.  Y’A outed her game and clued me in to the fact that being forever available on the weekends with nothing more to do than get a haircut was code for ‘ask me out’. Huh?

I arrived at the restaurant and met her at the bar.  Walking up to her I immediately noticed a fresh ‘do!  The hair had been cut, and styled, and highlighted. It really did look nice and I told her so.  We awkwardly made our way to a table, seated by a waitress who seemed to pick up on the date vibe, and commenced to staring at our menus for 20 minutes. That is no exaggeration. Two strangers who cannot negotiate tapas (bad sign, as it is a meal based upon mutual agreement and sharing).  I am convinced that at some point during the First Date, you see an entire future relationship pass before your eyes, much like a near-death experience.  Your mind speeds through images of years of restaurant sitting, silently studying a menu of which the two of you will never agree.

After 6 weeks of email, I already know her father was an alcoholic, her mother’s in gay denial. These are things you don’t often discuss on the first date, yet through the power of the interweb, we can share intimate details about ourselves without having ever laid eyes on a person.  So I’m sitting across a table from someone whose basic stats I already know, along with some deeper private information, and I can’t come up with a goddamn thing to say. I should have prepared better material. My monologue about the new alcohol infused whipped cream draws a pitiful chuckle, most likely because I can barely choke out the words ‘you know, I immediately thought it was for something dirty, you know, like adult fun’. Crash and burn…Who is this person so unfunny, I think.  I’m starving and I’ve already finished my first sangria. Y’A’s advice was two drinks max on the first date. Actually, I believe she said one and I made the executive decision to go with two.  Despite the minute amount of alcohol coursing through my bloodstream, it was hard to keep the conversation going. I thought back to our emails: her perky tone, her utter excitement at living, her usage of LOL and exclamation points to punctuate each and every random thought.  Then it hit me, our real life convo was following the same directionless path as our online correspondence.  We have never brought up political affiliation, religion, or dating history.  We had never shared opinions about healthcare, Al Gore, or the obesity epidemic.  There was nothing of substance in the pseudo-foundation OKC convinced us we were building.   

The date winds down. The check has been sitting, unattended, for 10 minutes. No less than three servers have come by asking to take it away. This is the moment of panic because gender roles need not apply.  Who will pick up the check?  I reach for my credit card and lay it down with the check.  She smiled and said ‘let’s split it’. For a moment I am proud of our progress – two women, on a date, splitting the check. How feminist.  As we slip into the night and I walk directly to my car, a final hug is offered and received, a bit too warmly, and she proposes another meet up.  I slowly nod my head, defeated by online dating.       

Love Is In The Air

In the spirit of Valentine's Day, I'm going to try to write this post about a really good date.  Admittedly, this one is difficult to write, mainly because I do not have a funny name for this date.  The unfortunate reality of meeting this girl is that I actually legitimately liked her. She was not supposed to be included in the OKCupid Chronicles. 

I was on OKCupid one day, you know, doing research and I saw a picture of this girl and she had the best smile I think I have ever seen. I did not read her profile, but sent her a message that said just that.  When I say this chick didn't respond for weeks, that is no exaggeration. She took so long to respond, I forgot I even sent the message. Her message back was apologetic about her tardy response. I liked that. I should have saw that as a sign. She was really smart and ambitious. Through her messages, I learned she was in school [awesome], had two jobs [ok], volunteered in South America [great], and was studying for the LSAT to attend law school. WHAT THE FUCK!!! I was currently studying for the LSAT and couldn't find enough time to sleep. How in the hell was this girl doing all this? She was the personification of Monumentally Busy. When was this chick going to have time to date? Arlene might just solidify our research in one fell swoop. At this point, Jess implored me to ask her out. So I did.

I asked Arlene out because it just made no sense that [in my eyes] this tremendously phenomenal girl was 1. on a dating site and B. had any time to actually date. I asked her to attend a Gay comedy show with me WEEKS in advance. Generally, my rule is not to get drunk on a first date. I broke my own rule. There were extenuating circumstances (I couldn’t eat anything at the restaurant and the comedy club has a pesky rule about Two drink minimum. You ask Jess and me, those drinks better be spiked!).  

Anyway, during dinner (Arlene’s dinner), we got to know each other.  Admittedly, I approached this like a true cynic and having said that, Arlene blew me away. We had a great time on the date and I text Jess the progress and she teased me that I genuinely like her.  I did….. 

And that was that. Once home, Arlene texted that she wanted to meet up again. Great. It was months, cumulative weeks, of no contact with Arlene. I like my solitude, so this was in no way a deterrent for me. She decides to plan the second date which consisted of an EN VOGUE concert. This sounds like fun except she’s planning it months in advance. Eventually, I sent her an email wondering if we were still on because I hadn’t heard a word from her.  She said no worries, she bought the tickets already. Finally this date comes around and it is yet another good date.  There was a lil forward move on her part…………………………<-----that's what the next few weeks was like.  Empty space. Nothing happened. Now I was not going to tip my toe in an awkward pool of dating confusion. We had a great time; she initiated contact for a second date, and then vanishes into thin air. I have never met someone so wholly busy in my life. The problem with me is (and I know this) I lose interest really fast. If you join a dating site to meet people, then are too Monumentally Busy to hang out, I question why are you on said dating site to begin with (to meet friends, significant others, or (insert reason here)).   

This is the moment where Arlene became the perfect example of a dating no no.  I was perfectly content with not hanging out with her. She was super busy and I respected that. My problem started when she would text me out of nowhere, damn near demanding my presence, without so much as a lead in or anything. At one point she angrily texted me asking if I didn't get her text.  HMM KAY. This was after weeks of not hearing from her at all. She sends a text and I didn't respond fast enough. I found this whole thing funny. 

The lesson here was clear.  If you actually like someone or want to see someone again, it is in your best interest that the other person 1. knows you are interested and B. knows you are still in the country. All of those months went by and I thought this chick was building houses in Central America. It kinda helps the dating process if you show interest in the actual process.

Hey You. YEAH YOU!!!

You would think looking at chicks all day online would be fun. I assure you it was not. It was not only exhausting, but it was frustrating. Jess was having the same issues in Baltimore as I was having in New York. And I swear we were not using the same material. We used every tool OK Cupid could throw at us. I mean in terms of proving our theory that these women really don't want to date, we struck gold. The problem is, experiments require repetition. Fruitless repetition. 

General Search:

We both had our age ranges that we preferred and that was basically it on the criteria part of the search. This means a pretty wide net could be cast. And oh did we throw that net out there. Endlessly reading these profiles. . . Getting to know their pets; their likes; dislikes; favorite foods; gardening techniques. We read all of this info trying to get to know these women. I have OCD. Could you imagine taking in all of this info for no fucking reason? I still remember yellowstone999 swears John Cusack is her favorite actor. Why do I remember this? All tolled, the general search was the most useless. I still haven't figure out why. There was one woman that I found during a general search that was in a word, HOT. In the immortal words of Rob Gordon [John Cusack yellowstone] in High Fidelity "you gotta punch your weight". This woman was clearly out of my league. If I saw her on the street, I would stop, stare, be rendered speechless and she wouldn't even notice me. I somehow, eventually, got the stones to send her a msg. It was simple. I didn't lose my mind. I just wanted to tell her she was beautiful. That's it. Not even a thank you from rjesquillin. Yeah you. I said your screen name. You are welcome and you are still beautiful. A thank you would not have been an invite for me to keep messaging you as you are way out of my weight class.

Quiver:

The Quiver is simple and ingenious actually. It tries to compel the user to message people, meet new people, dare I say date someone, by basically doing most of the work for you. The math nerds at OK Cupid found a way of taking the info from the questions you answer and other advance calculus shit I don't understand and created a formula that selects people you should be attracted to. Great. I'm lazy. Fire away. They send you three people and all you have to do is send a msg in order to fill up your quiver with new candidates. This part of the OK Cupid experience I liked because it really should work. It didn't for us. I did the whole experiment of messaging every single person in my Quiver for a month. SIGH! It was basically like a General Search, but one less step.

QuickMatch:

Finally we get to the fun part of OK Cupid. When you visit a person's profile, they know it. You are considered a visitor. This comes in handy for a lot of funny reasons. For some reason, if you begin to engage with someone, sometimes they visit your profile. On a daily basis. Like it is facebook and you are going to change your status to "in a relationship" after one conversation. To spare you of the stalker label, you can use quickmatch. You see an abbreviation of their profile and pictures and you quickly rate the person 1-5 stars without being considered a visitor. If you rate the person 4-5 stars, it is logged in the OK Cupid database. If the same person goes on quickmatch and rates you similarly, you get an email stating you are a match email the person! So I emailed a cute girl, in my weight class, smart and funny because we are apparently a [quick]match and I got nothing. I was perplexed because I got an email that michmich JUST picked me five minutes prior. Alrighty then.

No matter what method is used to find compatible mates, I would say 10% of the women respond. That's pretty low in my opinion. If you go to a bar and approach a woman, she will most likely give you five minutes. What I don't understand is why women online refuse to give you that equivalent. We utilize our profiles like an invisible wall and there is no quiver on earth that can penetrate it.

Uterus. Uterus. Wherefore art thou Uterus?

we now live in a society in which women speak of their uterus like that bitch owes them money. Like it is her ex husband; like it's her baby daddy; like it's her cheating boyfriend. Which is to say, all of the god damn time. I know more about my coworkers uteruses (or uteri or whatever the plural of it is cause I'm sure it was never meant to be pluralized) than I do my very own. Several of them want it removed. Several of them are getting it removed. You would think these broads would form a clique and spare the rest of us of the displeasure of experiencing their vagina every month, but oh no. Because you possess one, you must be inundated with talk of the monthly bloodletting. 10-12 days out of the month these broad shed like wounded monsters and the other 18-20 days are spent spewing how much the bloodletting hurts. Now don't misunderstand me. I know women can have very difficult and painful periods and clearly I work with most of them . . .but it is pretty fucking clear that I not only don't experience what you do, I really don't want to hear about it. One time ( I lie. Way more than once . . .) a friend at work told me of her uterus scrapping. I don't know what it is really called cause I zone out like when your parents talk about their sex life. She was catching a lot of steam and I said "you know hearing about this makes me very uncomfortable". She said "i know, but it makes me feel better". Ok uterus 1, Y'A 0.

It is at these times when I question my sexuality. Am I really a lesbian if I literally have no patience for all that is women? Hell yes i am. I'm leading the call to stop women from talking about their periods. You don't hear guys complaining about their blue balls do you? And considering you won't let me talk about the glory of a three day period sans cramps, I'm imploring you women to let society know there are two sides of the fence. All women are not possessed by monsters for most of the month. Btw, any women with a normal three day period, I'm single.

Sniff Butts Forever - Part I

OKCupid was proving to be a tough crowd.  I had sent countless messages to countless broads and a reply was not in sight. Until Fatcat. Fatcat broke all our profile rules, but since she had reached out to me, I figured she at least had to have a sense of humor and since Y’A was busy with the Goosey situation, I figured I could do my part to support The OKCupid Chronicles.  Fatcat was a nice person. No two ways about it. We messaged for about 6 weeks before setting a date, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

My interaction with Fatcat was like messaging a lady from the Victorian era.  There was the overwhelming feeling that someone was in the room chaperoning us as we courted. Her messages were UPBEAT and full of POSITIVE energy and lots of !!!!!!!!!  Anyone can tell you I’m a pretty dark motherfucker.  For 6 weeks we wished each other a WONDERFUL MONDAY, a HAPPY THURSDAY, a TERRIFIC WEEKEND. The most substantive conversation we had was about hair. Yea, hair.  From day one, she told me she was going to get a haircut. Nothing planned for the weekend, just gonna get a haircut. This alleged haircut went on for weeks. As in, every weekend she was sure to tell me she had no plans, except to get a haircut.  Allow me to pull out my soapbox and expound. Lesbianism, when not directly affected by the ‘genderfluidgenderfuckgenderqueer crowd’ is a messy and confusing situation mired in the question ‘who the fuck initiates the date?’ There are those who practice strict gender roles, merely imitating heteronormative society. Then there’s the rest of us. Just regular women, completely unsure of who is supposed to initiate date contact.  What I didn’t understand about this new world of internet dating is that emailing could quite possibly go on FOREVER if someone didn’t make a move. So I invited Fatcat on a date, hair and all.

BFF from hell Part Deux

Despite my burning dislike for the bff, I continued contact with Goosey.  I could tell that Goosey could tell that I was not keen on the bff. This is where Goosey loses points. The entire time we communicated, I thought of the three times I went to the bathroom at the bar. That's three times Goosey could have told the BFF to STFU.  Her bff was clearly making her feel uncomfortable right along with me. Out of nowhere, Goosey started executing the full court press.  I love the New York Mets. She worked from home and had plenty of time to look for bars that played Mets games and get Mets box seats. Say what now?  I felt really obligated, especially since her answer to 'Do you like the Mets?' was 'Sure, i'm trying to get into baseball'. 

Now, I love to be courted, but I didn't expect this at all. The problem is, I had to tell her I hate her bff. I know from experience and having a bff that is pretty abrasive and bitter is really off putting to strangers. I contemplated how I could tell her about the BFF and actually go on another date so I could actually get to know Goosey. I was racked with guilt, and uncertainty and the need to never see the BFF again. I figured it was best to alleviate me of the burden and make her not ask me out again.  At some point after I avoided every other invite and completely ran out of ways to tell her I hated her bff, I agreed to meet.  I made it my objective to get Goosey to never ask me out again. I figured with my winning personality, the only way I could get her not to like me is to do something disgusting like smoke cigarettes. Every five minutes. Needless to say, I never heard from Goosey again.  If someone told me they hated my bff, I would decide they were not important enough. I didn't want Goosey to even think about it or I removed myself of the responsibility. Even though I actually liked talking to her and rather enjoyed spending time with her, I did not feel it was my place to say I hated her bff. I feel guilty about this, but it was the humane thing to do on my part. They were friends over 20 years. We just met. No harm no foul. Sort of . . . 

BFF from hell

On the heels of the hilarious Jesse dates, another woman began to message me.  Jess and I call her Goosey.  This was actually a refreshing development for Jess and me because at this point, our research efforts had proven to be fruitless. We had yet to meet any actual lesbians in NY and Baltimore that wanted to sanely date.  So Goosey messaged me and I literally remember no details about the actual messages. All I know is, Goosey was cooking with grease and actually asked me to meet her. She was going on a bike tour of the Bronx on an insanely cold day in March and asked if I wanted to meet up at the after-ride celebration. Great.  Sounds like fun. I meet at the agreed upon time and there is no Goosey. I am an incredibly patient person, but I hate lateness. It doesn't help that I am always early. Goosey had a flat tire. Fine. I'll freeze my ass off in the name of research. When Goosey did show up, she was with a friend. Truth be told, I highly recommend this. Why meet some stranger alone when you can rope your bff into the awkwardness of a first date? I don't remember the bff's name and here is why: she was heinous.

Let me paint a picture. I want to go on a first date and I ask Jess to tag along just so I'm not meeting a psycho.  Jess proceeds to berate, belittle, and objectify every human being in the bar. That's what the bff did.  She was cruising another table full of women in an extremely derogatory and offensive way . . . [I'm probably the most offensive person you will ever meet so this is saying something].  At this point, I asked the bff if she was gay. She then whips out her soapbox and loudly declares that she is gay, why, don't I look gay?  No one thinks I’m gay, I can't find someone to date cause I don't think anyone thinks I am gay. OH MY GOD! I figured ignoring her wasn't really working and trying to get her to mingle with the other dykes at the bar was clearly not an option, so I decided to engage this mess in a lil history conversation. I asked where she and Goosey met? Goosey, I might add, was rather pleasant. I gotta praise Goosey for her first date skills. I liked talking to her and she was really interesting. More importantly, she got my jokes. Big bonus Goosey. I would actually like to go on a second date but  . . . . . . . . . . .oh wait. I was thinking all of this while the bff was still fucking talking.

Goosey and the bff grew up in Queens, north of me, in a neighborhood that the bff breathes with every word she expels. She is a snob. Plain and simple. I think she went to an ivy league school and I picked up a definite air of someone looking down on my ass. I don't mind this.  I mean I don't care.  All of this boils down to me NEVER wanting to see her again, but oh yeah I'M SUPPOSED TO BE ON A FUCKING DATE WITH GOOSEY. I wanted to leave. I feel bad. Then she asks me some really fucking stupid question pertaining to my work, trying to bat her eyes in an attempt to evade the responsibilities of all citizens, cause she's too good to be treated like a common citizen.  I. SHIT. YOU. NOT.  This is when Y'A cordially says to Goosey, it was nice meeting you.  When we leave, Goosey says she and the bff could drive me home if I wanted.  I thought, there would be no way in hell this snob could handle driving me to Brooklyn in her swanky Lincoln SUV and I would literally rather walk to China before being stuck in a car with her. Instead, I walk in the cold to the train taking deep breaths, wondering if I really just sat through that.