I'm a woman who likes details. So it's no surprise that I jotted down information about the dates I've been on since my divorce. I'd have my notes ready before a second date to refresh my memory about the guys I met online.
Answers are often in the details.
My first step, though, was writing MY profile that told interested parties what I was looking for in a date. I joined two sites, match.com and Tinder, and hoped men would swipe right and start an online conversation. That was 10 years ago, and in reading my first profile now, the angry leftovers from a defunct marriage jump off the page:
"I'm a straight shooter who doesn't like guns or games. If you can pay your electric bill, aren't supporting your 30-year-old son or three ex-wives, and don't keep exotic animals as pets, we may be a match for coffee/tea. If you make me laugh, take care of your teeth and know the difference between a Sauvignon blanc and a Syrah, you could be a nice dinner date. If you tell me I'm your destiny, we won't make it to dessert. I like to debate a variety of subjects, and enjoy someone who can match wits with me. I'm educated and self-supporting, and I expect that you are as well. Humor and intelligence are at the top of my list, coupled with chemistry that may be unexplainable."
If I were into dom/submissive stuff, this would have been a perfect lead. Joking aside, that girl sounds a little scary.
However, I did get a handful of dates with that sharp-edged profile, and the guys it attracted, according to my notes, were self-confident and pretty pleased with themselves. They were ready to take me on--plus any other lady in their circle of influence.
None were long-term material for reasons from alcoholism to self absorption to stinginess.
My profile was accompanied by pictures of me hiking the Indian Canyons, on the beach in Laguna, at my fave Mexican restaurant with friends and me posing with a Roman "gladiator" at the Coliseum. All tasteful in my book. And how would I describe the guys' photos that I waded through? Here are the top ten of my never, ever will I meet you deal-breakers I received early on:
You, side-by-side with a beer keg, and the keg has a better profile;
Your pandemic mullet that you decided to keep;
You sporting a pukka-shell necklace that's as tight as a noose;
You in your tighty whities, and your body's covered in hair as deep as a porn star's shag rug;
Your bellybutton. No exceptions;
A steak on a plate. Nothing with it;
Your bedroom ceiling fan (Jesus, turn the camera around!);
A dozen pictures of you at a craps table/roulette wheel/slot machine/horse track;
You in a leisure suit--from a photo taken last week;
You in a MAGA hat at a Trump rally.
There were too many guys with fish pictures to mention, and I usually just swiped left when I saw a big, grinning guy showing off his trophies like some Cap’n Ahab (a shout out to Melville fans!). So imagine my reluctance when I received a Tinder note from a classically handsome, square-jawed guy in trendy black-framed glasses who had not one, but two, fish photos posted with his profile, plus another of him standing next to a stuffed moose whose antler’s spanned from here to Timbuctoo.
I read his very lengthy (at least for guys on Tinder) introduction that included a line about his appreciation for a “spontaneous crossing of paths,” like we could be embarking on some great, unplanned adventure. Okaaaay, I might be interested! After a flurry of back and forth messages, I learned he’s a professional photographer who’d taken 100+ trips all over the world. Armed with just that, I was ready to get my Sherlock Holmes on. Two Google searches later, I had his full name, addresses, and a lovely video of his ex-wife fly fishing–plus an engagement photo dated 2014 of him gazing into the camera and cheek-to- cheek with another woman whom I assume became wife number two.
Hmmmm, I think. Wonder what happened there?
The hook didn’t stay in my mouth for long.
Unlike some guys whose stories are so bat-shit crazy that it’s immediately obvious they’re imposters, this guy is who he says he is. He’s a specific kind of wildlife photographer, and his work is very well documented in magazine interviews.
When I whipped out my phone to show a friend my new Mr. Wonderful in a cute blue plaid shirt and navy tie, her eyes narrowed. “Uh, does he have fish pictures on there?” I swipe the screen to reveal his silver-scaled, six-foot trophy catch, the fish’s mouth gaping. “OMG, he’s writing to me, too!”
And with that, phone screens side by side, we saw that he had–wait for it–cut and pasted the very same lengthy introduction to both of us–all he changed was the name after Dear.
When you fish in a small pond, you might just get pulled under.
I guess he was just trying to make the best use of his time when he came to our town for a visit, but I wasn't interested in a guy who casts his net that wide.
He got swiped into the heap with the rest of my disappointments. And my friend? She dated him briefly and thinks he tried to swindle money from her when she let him use her computer.
Rule number one with someone you barely know: Keep important information to yourself and under locked passwords!
With more time under my belt as a single woman, I revised my profile, cutting and pasting until it felt like a blurred photo that suddenly comes into focus:
I'm a straight shooter who is what she seems--no games, looking for quality vs. quantity. My photos are all recent. I'm educated and self-supporting and you are as well. If you're curious, smart and funny (David Sedaris, dry-witted funny), you're a triple threat in my book! If you love to travel (I'm vaxxed and boosted, and you?) and like to experience new places and things, we may be a match. Or maybe we'll take a leisurely hike, practice our pickle ball shots, or settle in with the NY Times on a Sunday.
I widened my search radius and I got responses from San Diego to Los Angeles and points in between. I dove into the dating pool of men between 55 and 70 and tried to swim.
In real life, I never go into water over my head, and this pool felt just as deep and scary. I continued to jot down notes about my virtual dates and called it The Audit, numbering each guy according to the order we met: #2, his three daughters don’t speak to him; #11, has had all his joints replaced; #12, two grown kids and a dog; #18, wife died three years ago; #21, his ex ran off with the orthopedic surgeon she worked for … yada yada.
I've practiced yoga for 30 years and work out with a trainer. I've had a corporate career, have owned a business and now I'm a freelance magazine writer. I often visit my daughter and her family who live in Kansas City (and where I grew up), but the CA desert is my full-time home.
When I analyze The Audit, here is the breakdown of my decade of dates:
Total .............................. Dates with 29 men:
Only one date ...................... 11
Widowers ........................... 6
Fix-ups via friends ................ 5
Never married ...................... 1
Canadian snowbirds ................. 3
I show the Canadian category since it adds an international flair to my list, and to see if what I've heard is true--that Canadians are very thrifty. It was one in three. After he chose a nice restaurant to meet me on a Friday night, Canadian #1 showed up in a faded, untucked flannel shirt and wrinkled jeans looking like he'd just cleaned his garage. As we perused the menu, he asked if I'd "feel more comfortable going Dutch, since I was an independent woman."
I told him I was independent, but where I'm from, when a gentleman asks a lady to dinner, he's paying. If I'd asked him, I'd pick up the check, and did on a number of dates with other guys.
My ideal someone smells good when I lean into the curve of his neck, he enjoys a great indie movie, al fresco dinners, the beach or a boat ride, the theater or a concert, he has an interest in current events and is plugged into his community. My guy may identify with any political party, but he's not about to question the results of the presidential election or vote for anyone who does. The guy I date wants to know what I like but will share his interests and hobbies with me as well.
The guy who had never been married? I've never seen a grown man talk baby talk to cats like that. Ever.
It’s no wonder I'd get discouraged and let my Match membership lapse for months or a year, take a whirl with Tinder or Bumble, and after no luck, end up back on match.com and think, “Maybe my guy is still out there."
He's someone who holds hands, who's comfortable in his own skin and who can plan a date without being asked. And when he walks into a room, I want my first reaction to be a big smile--and vice versa. If you're looking for playful and cerebral all rolled into one, we may be a match. Does this sound like a fit? Please drop me a note and tell me about YOU and let's explore the possibilities!
What kind of profiles did I see among my online possibilities? Some guy named Rob in southern California wrote this:
"My role model: Cary Grant
Things I like: Witty conversation; weekend getaways; a good meal; kids; animals; affectionate women; westerns; people with a sunny disposition; positive reinforcement; Ike
Things I don't like: Bickering; loud people; not thinking things through; women who think of men as their projects; men who think of women as conquests
Things I can't stand: Debt; drama; hypocrisy
Things I have: Common sense; an education and intelligence (there's a big difference between the two); shoulder to cry on and words of encouragement when life throws stuff at you; an unopened bottle of Dom Perignon
Things I don't have: Tattoos; a pony tail; a Harley; a criminal record
What I'll do: Open doors for you; what I said I would do; say "please" and "thank you" even after the honeymoon phase is over; let you finish
What I won't do: Whine; get all drunk and stupid on you; bail out at the first sign of trouble; embarrass you; embarrass myself; embarrass my family; post a picture of me without a shirt; post a picture of my car; compromise on the one percent of life that really matters."
It was one of my favorites. Who wouldn't like good ol' Rob? His picture was boyishly handsome and his words depicted him in an intelligent, witty way. He was in his late 50s at the time and I was in my early 60s--certainly age appropriate for me, but he wasn't interested in long distance dating, he wrote me. According to his profile, he wanted to date women aged 39-59, and my gut said age was the real issue. Like a lot of guys I saw on the sites, he's down for dating women who can still be baby mamas, and that's why I had a handful of dates with grandpa guys who have young kiddos at home.
Thank you, next!
The rudest and last match date I had penned this charming profile:
"I'm a word maven and grammarian...I do NOT hunt, fish, ride motorcycles, watch NASCAR, smoke cigars, own guns or gamble...we will each understand the other's needs, including the need to do his/her own thing, but being apart only makes our mutual attraction stronger."
Wow, he had me at word maven--until he brought up sex, including his expertise in oral sex, several times during our one and only date for drinks. The guy was at least ten years older than his profile photos, and on my way to meet him, I followed his filthy car up the drive to our destination. It looked like he'd driven it through a mud bath. We went to my favorite bar at the Ritz, a place he approved in advance, yet he showed up in a flannel shirt (again, with the flannel shirts!) that looked like it had been through a war paired with a tight, stretchy cyclist jersey to prove, I guess, that he's a bike rider. His jeans were unremarkable.
For the record, I have nothing against flannel shirts. They're warm and in the right circumstances, look stylish on a guy paired with jeans and boots. But for a first impression at an upscale restaurant or bar? That tells me, "I haven't done laundry in two weeks," or "I don't care what you think of me."
For years, I collected sentimental stuff and kept old love letters, dried and crumbling corsages from high school dances and pictures of people, some of whom are no longer living. I combed through those boxes before I started my life over in California, wanting a clean slate and enough room for new memories and people to come into my life.
I whittled my memorabilia down to one drawer here in the desert, where I stashed notes, and seashells and Valentine cards from potential partners I've dated these past 10 years. Before I turned the calendar page to 2025, I emptied that drawer of everything I've received from those guys--except for one.
It's reserved for Keith's cards, the guy I went to high school with and hadn't seen in 50 years before we started dating. The one who signs cards with his angular engineer's script, where he tells me, "I'm so proud to be seen on your arm," or that he will "forever cherish the day" that we re-connected. He has a habit of letting food remain in his fridge far past the expiration date--so one card said that his love for me "has no expiration date attached."
He definitely meets my humor requirement.
For the last two years, he rarely goes a day without saying "I love you," or "You're gorgeous."
The irony that we found each other without an app or a profile doesn't escape me. To think Keith and I actually went to second grade together, of which the only evidence is a class photo from, you guessed it, my box of stuff I went through before I moved, and decided to keep.
So do I regret those dates with the other 28 men I met during my journey? Not for a minute.
They became the yardstick by which I measure and compare what I have with Keith.
But there's really no comparison.