Dont Mince Words

Not my actual date….

My girlfriends and I joke about fall “hunting” season. This is when all our online dating sites and app inboxes get jammed with men trying to find love before it gets cold. They need someone to make hot wings while they watch “the game” and someone to keep them warm at night.

Two years ago, I took a class with John. He was tall, nice goatee, full sleeves, educated, and funny. But when I saw the wedding band, my thoughts of having a writing partner and bed buddy were banished. Like everything, if you wait long enough, men become divorced or widowed. Three weeks ago, I was surprised when I saw John wrote on POF. We had a few exchanges and when I mentioned the class and how we’ve met, he ghosted me.

I told a neighbor who has taken John’s class. He laughed and said, “you don’t want him. Yes, he’s divorced now, but he’s a crossdresser.” I rolled my eyes. “It figures.” My neighbor proceeded to pull out his phone and show me photos of Cross-John. He does not make a pretty woman. Or maybe I’m too judgy since I lived in West Hollywood and have seen the best drag queens in the world. John was just half assing his look. The wig was bad, the makeup was bad and he definitely needed a stylist. I dodged a bullet, but at the same time I know he’d never borrow my clothes.

I had my first Bumble date in October. This app is like Tinder except only women can write the men. I got distracted and forgot to write Don in the 24-hour window, so he paid to excalate and extend. I owed him a note. Hot to trot, he booked a dinner date for the next night. This didn’t give me time to screen him properly, but you know, a girl’s gotta eat. Before the menus were collected, I learned he didn’t drink and had been married three times. Yeah, I don’t need a guy that has impulse control issues. However, it was nice diversion from my usual Netflix and Dixie Friday night.

I’ve never had a problem being alone, but I truly wonder how much longer I can continue trying to date.

I’ve been internet dating for 20 years. It started with AOL chatrooms and evolved to yahoo groups, listservs, websites and modern-day apps. — all delivering the same, often depressing, experience.

Two years ago, a friend suggested I see a matchmaker. He’d heard she had good results. I figured, why not go old school. I was interviewed and everything sounded promising – she did all the heavy lifting for busy executives who don’t want to cut through the clutter online.

My criteria was simple:

• Male, divorced 45-60
• Kids OK, but better if they can drive or are out of the house
• Educated
• At least 5’10”
• Left leaning, but no god-fearing neocons

When I do this same search online, I get about a dozen guys in a 30-mile radius. My matchmaker has found me five guys in the last two years. The most recent one was 65 and a retired CPA. That’s when I blew a gasket, called her, and asked her if she’d reached the bottom of the barrel.

“He’s SIXTY FIVE. He’s retired, living in the far out suburbs, and looking for a playmate. I’m a working, downtown girl,” I said.

She stammered a little and said that she has broadcast ads running and print in high-end magazines to recruit new members. I told her I’d be dead by the time she’d deliver all the “introductions” she promised. She asked if I would consider a shorter guy. “I have a lot of 5’8”ers.” No to that and no to going to Charlottesville. I shouldn’t have to commute for cock.

Lesson learned: Matchmaker matchmaker ain’t gonna make The Marn a match. Dating is hard all over, no matter the medium. I’m going to stick with my free sites/apps. Or, hey, maybe I’ll meet a guy the old-fashioned way… in a bar.

I can write good headlines. I can sell you shit you didn’t know you needed. I can write a lead that will get an editor to call. And I can write a cute note about your OKCupid profile that will make you click the reply button or swipe right.

Greg was the first guy EVER who matched me 96 percent on OKCupid. That just means we had similar quiz answers. But his profile was hilarious. I was inspired to write him which I don’t like to do. I don’t chase men. My mother taught me that one. But she’s dead and my boobs aren’t getting any perkier, so I’m changing my ways.

My opener was “You are like me except you have a penis.” I know. I know. But he wrote back and we eventually met for dinner. He wasn’t a super available guy with two teens and a business, so I didn’t see him again until he came up on my Tinder prospects. I knew that headshot. His profile stated he was looking for “Someone like me, except with boobs.” So, going out with me got him a good edit. I got a salmon salad.

Tinder recently changed its algorithm but today I wasn’t so sure. Raul, an ex- from 14 years ago popped up. I thought I reached the end of the internet when LinkedIn recommended I friend my ex-husband. Maybe I’d circled back around today. I messaged Raul and told him about my WTF Tinder moment.

He decided to change his location to Richmond thinking he’d eventually run into me. “I thought you would show up after 100 swipes. You were the first one! I said to myself, ‘that ho.’ You are the face of the fucking Richmond dating scene,” he messaged to me, through Tinder, after he kiddingly asked what I was wearing.

So, after two years here, I’m still single. Clicking and swiping has made me the face of Richmond dating.