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! I'm like a toddler with stranger-danger and never meet anyone until I've searched every possible avenue on the internet and talked to the guys on the phone to get a feel for them (the ol' gut check). I've weeded out the too needy, too sexual and too self-centered that way, often within minutes into the call.
I ask myself if I'd rather be spending time with my gays and gals or with some guy who drones on about himself and his prowess among the ladies? Or the one who talks about his evil ex-wife who turned the kids against him for absolutely no reason (yeah, right). Spending time with my three merrymakers who live in the midwest is always a better option than wasting time with someone who doesn't spark anything in me, including joy.
Marie Kondo knew what she was talking about.
I remember my daughter Megan's first visit to Palm Springs after my divorce. My 5-year-old granddaughter Louise (or Wee as I call her) came too, and as passengers de-planed and walked into the airport lobby, a woman saw me and said, "You must be GG--you look just like your daughter, and your granddaughter has been telling us all about you for the past two hours."
On the next revolution of the terminal door, out ran Wee, her ponytail bobbing below a big pink bow, her tiny face taken up by a huge grin as she shouted, "Gggggggggg!" She bolted toward me and jumped as I caught her in my arms.
I've never met a man who can compete with THAT.