Mr. 'Culturally biased' Dandy

Mr 'Culturally biased' Dandy, forty five, cought my eye for his polished and sophisticated photo. Yes, I am partial to stylishness and smartness in a man. His profile matches the photos in elegance and appeal. He is, however, looking for someone between 28 and 35 (not set in stone, he adds) and finishes his profile indicating that he does not want children in the future, nor does he want to become romantically involved with anyone with an established family. Fair enough, I moved on.

I was surprised when I received an email from him thanking me for looking at his profile and complimenting me on mine ('great words, lovely photographs', specially the one in a red dress). 

I replied, thanking him for his words and saying that I did find his profile intriguing but of course I was not in his target audience, in case he hadn't notice.

'I did notice that you had a family (I seem to be one of those rare types who actually reads through women's profiles before getting in touch), however I was compelled to say hello and let you know how much I liked what I read and your photographs.

(...)

I'm not really wanting to meet anyone in my local area. It's better to meet people from completely different backgrounds to my own.

(... )

So life is very good right now, I just think that it would be even better to share it with someone. :)'

I replied and finish my message with

'Life is definitely better when shared with someone compatible.'

(...)

'Finding someone compatible feels like and impossible task if I think about it too long? Being so specific in the moment is probably not the way to be when dating on-line. A more general attitude and acknowledgement that someone out there is perfect for me, and me for them, is definitely the more positive and less mentally challanging approach.'

Ok... so this guy does not like children, lives quite far away and wants to meet people outside his area (!). He also got the standard three messages without moving on. I really need to put a stop to the conversation without being rude... so I replied:

You know… we might be talking semantics here. Nevertheless, I find the concept of perfection much more daunting than compatibility. 
A relationship is a bridge between two universes that happen to be human beings. Humans are, by nature, flawed (should I say, beautifully flawed?). Expecting to find perfection seems to me an unrealistic expectation, and one that our culture and the media perpetuates ad nauseum.
 Compatibility, on the other hand, allows a degree of compromise if acceptable for both parts (the compromised should not limit their freedom or damage their dignity or values in any way).
 

Many social, economic, psychological and even biological forces contribute to mate preference. We tend to gravitate towards people with the same socio-economic and ethic background, with similar level of education, intelligence, physical attractiveness and shared religious and social values.
 

Consensually desired mate characteristics are commonly sought and they are surprisingly scarce. In a monogamous system like ours, this means that most individuals must settle for a mate who is less then their consensual ideal. In fact, anthropologically speaking, only a few acquire a mate possessing the consensually desired attributes.
 

The fact that you are 45 and ‘unmated’ might indicate that your ‘perfect’ fit, or your personal first choice of mate, was, somehow, unavailable to you. You indicate in your profile that you don’t want children. However, even if reproductive value is not important to you, you still value the cues closely tied with reproductive value and fertility, ie, lower age, health, aspects of physical appearance such as smooth and clear skin, good muscle tone, lively gait, white teeth, lustrous hair, etc. However, women with high reproductive value might prefer a man who actually wants to reproduce… in addition, being an intelligent man, you probably want an appropriate combination of physical beauty and intelligence (although a slightly lower than yours) in your partner. This lowers even more the number of potential mates. And so on… . 

And so it is Mission Improbable (but achievable) if you are willing to compromise and accept the flaws of another human being. Mission Impossible if you are looking for perfection (in my humble opinion).

It is a very interesting subject the Anthropology of mate selection. But this email is getting too long… and you probably fell asleep somewhere in the middle… :-)

I don't expect to hear from him any more...

The almost date with Mr. Digital Consultant

Mr. Digital Consultant, 39, sent a polite email, which I did not see for a couple of days. His profile is agreeable, although he waffles a bit, and his looks are easy on the eye. I replied but did not hear from him for a few days. I thought my answer had been a bit too bland... but eventually he did get back to me. He had had an eye infection that kept him away form the computer. He sent me the link for his online portfolio (impressive!). On the third email he suggested meeting up (perfect). If a guy does not invite me for a Tête à Tête meeting by the third email I just don't bother replying to subsequent missives. I don't need pen pals and endless emails exchanges with strangers.

I proposed coffee during the weekend. He had friends over and instead suggested the Theatre (!) during the week, as the Mousetrap was in town. Missing the Mousetrap just because we hadn't had the opportunity to meet up beforehand would be a shame, so I accepted. On the condition he came earlier so we could introduce ourselves properly. I thought Theatre was an acceptable risk for a first date. In case I did not appreciate his company, we would not have to engage in any sort of interaction, just enjoy the play and part company.

He booked tickets for Tuesday night. Tuesday afternoon I was at work mentally considering my wardrobe possibilities when I received an email and a text form Mr. Digital Consultant excusing himself... the eye infection had returned with 'avengence' and he would not be able to make it.

He did, however, send me the reservation email and he was happy for me to enjoy the play with a friend. So I did...

How do you get over the post-break-up agony?

The only advantage of having your heart broken countless times is that you learn how to deal with heartbreak efficiently. An unexpected break-up (or any break-up for what matters) is a plunge into an anguish hell. The only way to come back with dignity and self-appreciation, is to gag your stupid heart (the one that got you into the big mess in the first place and will insist in doing ill-advised things) and let your brain take over the reins.

Step one: Meticulously delete all living trace of his being. Messages, emails, telephone numbers, photos. I did not want any remainders of his existence or any risk of texting/calling him in a moment of emotional desperation.

Step two: Write a dual list with undesirable features and the attractive ones. I then attributed a numeric number (one to five) to each one, according to the relevance they had for me. The negative column beat the other one by a few dozens.
I thought to myself that I might have been a bit unfair and went through the list exhaustively a couple of times with a clinical eye. I threw in a few more bits... his formidably hairy back to compensate his good hair; his nose that annoyingly reminded me of my mother (!) to compensate for his perfect smile; his lack of romantic gestures to counterbalance his godd kissing... and came up with a very compelling gap.

Convinced now that he really did me a favor, I only had to deal with the rioting levels of neurotransmitters in my blood stream. Lets face it. The withdrawal symptoms from highs of serotonin, dopamine and norepinephrine is just fucked. It makes your soul cry for chemical exorcism. So...

Step three: Replacement of the violent decaying supply of the neurotransmitters with a highly enjoyable activity. Taking selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors or other antidepressants is out of question. They are too slow to kick in and have nasty side-effects. An activity will occupy the time and provide an aim. Luckily, in the beginning of the year, I accepted an invitation for an exhibition in August. I calculated that I needed to paint twenty pieces in ten weeks. Two each week. Hard work but not impossible. That will keep me conveniently busy.
(For added pleasure points make posh cleaning rags out of the expensive shirts you were going to fix for him.)

Step four: Maintain a good sleep pattern. A good night sleep is essential not only to function normally, but to achieve my previous goal. The only way to accomplish this is to drink a glass* of good Bordeaux, Rioja or Douro before bed and a precious sleeping tablet (please note this does not constitute an advice. Consult your doctor or pharmacist before you take any medicines).
*Alcohol is a central nervous system depressant. The low levels of happy chemicals already have your system drenched in gloom, you really don't want to exacerbate the distress.

Step five: Maintain a good eating pattern. This will help achieve a correct level of neurotransmitters. (This is the worse bit for me... I tend not to eat when I am unhappy. So to compensate I also need a vitamin supplement).

Step six: Self-preservation and protection. Do not engage in revenge/ self commiserate sex. That would only hurt an innocent human being or, more likely, allow another tosser to benefit from your pain.
 

Reaching a goal, keeping busy, maintaining a healthy sleep pattern and eating well should set my pleasure centers in party mode. At least theoretically.

With the plan set in motion I went through the rough tides of post-break-up misery. I calculated- accurately- that by the end of the Summer, having had the exhibition and a little holiday in my homeland, I would be completely recovered from the pain (if not from my jagged pride).

How Mr Olympic Stadium Engineer became Mr. deceitful, callous, ungracious cowardly wanker

Where was I? Oh yes, the wall of silence. A wall that had been covered with the ethereal fabric of the words ‘my love’. Ok, so I established that he did NOT love me. SHIT. What does ‘my love’ mean in male language, then? Probably, ‘I really enjoy shagging you’. SHITTY SHIT. With a prominent dent in my pride, I had to think about rearranging my feelings.
Surely by coincidence, I started to notice subtle changes in Mr. OSE's behavior. He stopped telling me how important I was for him and how much he needed me. I also started to notice little things in him that really annoyed me. His intellectual weakness. We would not stand a position in a discussion but instead he wandered through both sides with a fallacious, flimsy ultra liberal position, even in scientific matters where the evidence is overwhelming.
His emotional tightness and detachment that translated into a perplexing distance from family and friends. Original from a poor Scottish nowhere and a troubled family, consisting of an abusive, divorced mother with mental health problems and an absent married man who fathered him and a sister. His life was meticulously organised around numerous hobbies that left little time for social interaction.
Sex had been good but leaning on average. Quantity, perfect. But quality…er… it turned out that he only knew -and enjoyed- one position. Whenever I tried to stray from base he would get confused and slightly distressed. When I introduced him to my favorite sex toy I could hear him having a silent heart attack. So I accepted the satisfying illicit liaison with my average sized pink companion while I resigned to its smaller organic equivalent.
But life continued as before, albeit shrowded now on a veil of uncertainty and …tacit dissatisfaction.

We had booked a little cottage is Scotland and he allegedly was looking forward 'to spend family time' together with me and the children. The little ones were overwhelmed with joy and behaved like the little angels they are. We drove to Scotland and spent a week in contented blissful harmony and pure joy. We met his sister, brother-in-law and niece.
We drove back in one day instead of the planned two, as the children behaved so well. I found it strange that he did not want to stay after the long drive and preferred to add two extra hours to the eleven hour journey. I expressed my concern, he dismissed it.

We continued to talk on the phone every day. He had enjoyed the holiday and thought we were a really good team. Then, on Friday's phone call, he unceremoniously announced that he could not carry on seeing me. Just-like-that! ON THE FUCKING PHONE!
I had always told him that if he did not want me in his life all he had to do was tell me, I would accept and move on gracefully. I forgot to add ‘tell me with dignity and respect, grant me the courtesy of facing me and mention the reasons for your decision, like any other decent, caring, adult human being’. What a deceitful, callous, ungracious cowardly wanker!

Mr. Olymic Stadium Engineer

Mr. Olympic Stadium Engineer was surprisingly much more attractive in person than in the photos of the profile. He had a full lock of graying but strong hair. He was fit, sweet and unusually shy for a forty five year old. He confessed to be tired of the desperation showed by previous dates and seemed pleased with our conversation. When he smiled, which occurred with phlegmatic sparsity, he brightened up the room. I found myself trying to make him do it more often...
By the end of that encounter I thought I wanted to see him again but I was convinced by his dispassionate attitude that it would not happen.
I was surprised when he texted a couple of days later saying how lovely it had been to meet me. I replied that the feeling was mutual and we arranged to have dinner the following Saturday.
We had dinner and a post-drink drink in a cosy pub and I ended the night with same exact feeling from the previous meeting. Even the idea that I would not see him again. He accepted my offer, which a woman should make because it is polite, to share the dinner bill, which a man should not accept, because paying the bill is a token of appreciation for the female company. Bad sign, then. He also did not make any visible sign to invade my personal space.
Once again I was surprised he called. We talked on the phone for about an hour every day since week two. By week four he finally found the courage to snog me. He was a good kisser (horah!) and we snogged for hours in endless walks by the beach.
By month three, in addition to Saturday, we started meeting up mid week as traveled to London for dinner. And four month in I finally stayed for the night and he called ‘my love’ before we had sex.
Conversations turned serious and imbued in plans and things to look forward in the future.
He met the children, he was great with them and they adored him. He also met my family and some of my friends. Everybody thought we were great together. I started to allow myself to feel secure and contented and slipped into a fairy tale like roll. 
I know I should know better. I know one should not articulate irrational post-coital. Hormone soaked indiscretions. But one night, with my system saturated with happy chemicals, I let it slip. The big one. And my unfortunate sigh was met by a thick, barren wall of silence.

TBC

The less bad ones

An old lady once told me ' dear child, there is no such thing as 'good men'. There are 'bad men' and 'less bad men''. Not wanting to disrespect the opinion of a much experienced woman in a subject I don't fully understand, I have to give the benefit of the doubt to some of the brave souls who messaged me. Amongst the lame-arse missives, there were some less shitty. That I did not reply just because I knew I did not share anything in common with the sender or because they were frankly unattractive.

The walking vaginas

Reproductive success has different meanings to both genders. For males, frequent mating with different females maximises the number of eggs they fertilise. Females have limited number of eggs that is not increased by mating. The female energy expenditure in gestation and parental care is usually higher. they maximise their reproductive success by ensuring careful selection of the male genes (intersexual selection) and investing in the survival of the offspring.
In view if these biological differences, males had to evolve and develop features whose sole function is to advertise their reproductive value. Other males have to compete  for the privilege of mating by intimidating, deterring or defeating same-sex rivals (intrasexual selection).

In the human species, males are not particularly impressive, ie, they did not develop biological features (beyond the sexual dimorphism) aimed at increasing their reproductive success. Human males are, indeed, rather plain and boring when compared to other males of the animal kingdom. To counteract a questionable gene quality, human males came up with other strategies: increased economic level, improved social status, etc, that give the female increased odds for the survival of the offspring. Social hierarchies also work as intersexual selection rather than competition.

Within certain matting systems, particularly those that tend toward monogamy, men exert chioce. On the other hand, numbers of females are superior to males. In a desperate attempt to secure the attention of a man, women are lowering their standards so much they are suffering relentless cultural objectification and allowing it. Males are reaping the fruits of the plentifullness available, maximising the number of females they have intercourse with.
The online dystopia is an acute and painful expression of female dejection. I imagine if blokes invest so little in their efforts as to write crap introductory messages like ‘xx’, ‘ur beautiful’ or ‘how’s u’, it is because there is a good chance their advances are not rejected. By answering worthless jottings and engaging into dull-witted chats, women are accepting- and advertising- that they are no more than walking vaginas eagerly waiting in line to be pollinised by tossers.

4889h sent me a message

Profile:
Thirty five year old. Bald, short (states 5'9 so in reality i expect him to be around 5'6). He locks stocky, has a huge tattoo in his arm, revealed by a reduced top. Probably something in a foreign language, with errors, but that's pure speculation. Wears a cross around his neck. As education he has some college and lists work as 'i work'.

The message:
You're cute.

Possible answers:
I am NOT cute! In case you did not notice, I am NOT a puppy. I am a beautiful woman who does not need a man's validation to know that. Specially one with such obvious poor aesthetic standards. If you want my attention, list the evolutionary advantages you offer over the other fat, bald, jagged, unsophisticated wankers.

Status:
Not sent

Mr Gold-Fish sent me a message

Profile:
Twenty eight year old with no photo, I dare not to think what he has to hide. He starts his profile with 
"You Essex girl wannabes.. You look like trash. Yuk!!"  
Charming!


Message:
I like a cheeky approach, so is it you face or arse I need to kiss?

Possible repplies:

You sound like someone who had a leucotomy... before you try to kiss any other human being, you should try to find your pre-frontal cortex. Who knows?... it might preserved in a jar somewhere.
Good luck!

Status: Sent.

Mr 'Temporary Mariage' Bigot

I must confess at this stage that this is not the first experience with online dating. And because currently the waters are still on the dating front, I thought it a good idea to write about my past contact.
Last January I logged in for the first time and I had three dates in a period of three weeks.
Rule number four: The fishes will be TUPOTified (made into fish cartoons) when I message them.

Date 1
Mr ‘Temporary Marriage’ Bigot had an interesting enough profile, met the minimum physical criteria and, after a couple of emails, sounded educated and engaging enough on the phone enough for me to accept a date zero. He had an Italian like name but I could not place his accent anywhere near Italy…
We had coffee the following Saturday after lunch.
He had a clean and polished look (horah!) that concealed partially his receding hair line and the scattering hair on his crown (arggg…). Divorced, with two children. He allegedly owned a construction/engineering company with links to the Middle East (for which I found no digital trace on a subsequent search!).
The conversation was fluid and mildly interesting. It turned out he had Italian parents but after they split when he was a child he moved to the Middle East when his mother married his stepfather. He fetched my hand and placed on his harm on our way to the car and even tried a cheeky peck, too much close to my lips for my comfort, when we parted company.
The following night he called to say how lovely it was to meet me and dadidah. He then quickly proceeded to the point. He was a man who did not like to loose time and, as he thought there was some chemistry between us, we was very keen on ‘moving to the next level’ and have sex with me. Just like that.
I was incandescent with outrage and jaw dropping muted with disbelief. He grabbed my silence as an incentive and continued to explain that in order to sleep with me, according to the rules of his religion, he had to propose a ‘Temporary Marriage’. (He had been previously been an agnostic but had adopted the Islam faith in his adult life, after carefully considering all the ‘evidence’).
Somehow I got a grip on my failing words and calmly explained that he got me completely wrong, and that jumping into bed with someone I just met was totally unacceptable to my godless self. Then I quickly ended the conversation.
By then, the sheer horror of it all hit my brain with a megaton of fury that fueled a superstorm centered in the proposed ‘Temporary Marriage’. W-T-F???. I mean… can you believe it? That was truly a chauvinistic affront not only to myself but to all womankind. It was, without doubt, the most barbaric, misogynist, bigoted insult that I ever had experienced in my life! And I composed an email, sharp as an arrow, to tell him so.
The next day he called apologetically, applauding my attitude and pleading for an opportunity to dismiss the misunderstanding over dinner the following Saturday.
I must confess I accepted with a malevolent, surreptitious battling desire.
From the beginning the conversation was a battleground where he lost argument after argument. Shame on me… for enjoying such an unequal strife. It is so painfully easy to dismiss to the ground the classical simpleton arguments for the existence of an omnipotent creature and its role in creation of the Universe. I blame his I-Really-Want-To-Get-In-Your-Pants- -But-You’re-Not-Worth-Marrying-And-Cannot-Fuck-You-Without-Incurring-In-Divine-Wrath proposal for my unusual belligerent attitude. I usually don’t stir simple minds.
Finally I asked him why, given the choice of as an adult choosing a religion, he picked Islam. He replied it was Islam was the last book religion to be revealed and therefore the ‘true’ one. Really? Er… what about Sikhism? ‘Revealed’ in the 15th century. Or the Baha’i faith, curiously an Abbrahamic faith, ‘revealed’ in the 19th century… or Scientology in the 20th century? By then he displayed a dangerous lack of speech caused by disruption in the thought process.
We parted our ways. Hopefully, forever.

MrPlugh316 sent me a message

Profile:
Thirty seven year old with minimal height requirement. Teacher. The writing in the profile is appalling.

Message
Great pic u ok

Possible replies:
What does that even mean?
Can you really be a teacher having only high school education?I really hope you don't teach English. Stay away from my kid's school!

Status:
Not sent

Rah32 sent me a message

Ok, this is ridiculous. I am really getting tired of old, uneducated, short bald men who send stupid messages.

Taffyjones22 sent me a message

Profile:
Bald, overweight fifty year old. He lists education as Master Degree and he is a 'Porperty Developer' (whatever that is) with children over eighteen. Two of his photos car images and they probably don't belong to him. He didn't even bother hiding the registration.

The message
Xx

Possible answers:
- Really? How many cerebral cells did you kill to come up with that pearl of a message?

Status:
Not sent

Roweneye sent me a message

Profile:
Average looking with own hair and affable aspect. Well written profile.

Message
Hi, fancy a chat? Richard x

Possible answers:
Did you read my profile? It clearly states that I really don't have the time to chat online. Specially with strangers. If you want to grab my attention send me a message worth answering.

Status:
Not sent

Kindatheart just sent me a message.

My mail delivery starts bleeping soon after signing to POF. OK... we're in!

Kindatheart just sent me a message.

Description: bald, short fourty year old with a maximum of high school education.

Profile
hi ;],i like most up to date chart music and dance , going to gym 3 times . .i am 41 and a aries .
life is the way it is , go along with it and wot ever happens, happens for u , hope that includes a nice lady.im happy in my work ....i would like to share some time with someone special;]. i can be a bit shy at first but once thats out way im fine

He messaged:
hi u look nice x

Possible answers:
- Hi, you don't. 
- You write like an idiot.

Status: not sent

Part of the problem

Between the time devoted to career, little ones, hobbies, ‘me’ time and friends, I don’t have the time or the patience to go through countless tedious dates you have to endure to find someone adequately personable. And we all know that bad dates have the same effect as drink. The more you have, the more attractive your companion will look.

As anyone who has been out of the date scene for some time will tell, dating after a substantial interregnum, is stepping into a completely new reality.
The landscape in my age group changed dramatically since my dating days. The number of potential mates is severely reduced by the seductive powers of their respective wives/partners, girlfriends, whatever.

By 40ish, the human male is, sadly, mostly unattractive. Half suffers from a chronic lack of general maintenance that makes anything with four decades of existence -and neglect- utterly unfit for further use. Some are covered in an adipose layer of visceral and subcutaneous adipocytes that have long become eminent companions. I can easily imagine them sharing a ‘bucket’ from KFC. Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t have anything against people who eat fast food. In extremis, I’ve been known to resort to such measures. I also don’t have anything against people with extended BMI’s. I just don’t wish to have encounters of the intimate nature with them. And also because, deep down, I think that, to some extent, a general state of plumpness demonstrates lack of discipline and self-control. OK, shoot me. And yes, I know... obesity can be a disease, or caused by disease, which, genetically is also not desirable.)
Some are just unlucky carriers of an adverse outcome in the genetic lottery. Abbreviated in stature, displaying a ruthless migration of the pileous follicles from the top of the head to forsaken parts of the anatomy, unkind facial assymetries made even more evident by the years...

Even if adverse physical traits were made tolerable by some wild determination of fate, I would bluntly repudiate anyone who exhibits a persistent and continuous neglect of the mind.  I am not an elitist or a snob. While I respect but would not connect with certain subcultures, I would definitely not tolerate people who candidly broadcast their cerebral barrenness every time they open their mouth... like they had a personal mission to spread boredom... and halitosis.

I could go on, but then I would sound like some shallow androgynist cow... which I am not. I love men. I think they are great... once you find an adequate one.

Introduction

Background

After an anthropologically successful relationship, anointed by the production of two awesome and thriving genetic projects, the social contract they called marriage collapsed. (But fear not, Thetis collaborates perfectly and in a very civilised way with -let’s call him Peleus- in the welfare of the two little ones, who are as happy as any other little human of their respective ages).

Getting back into the dating arena… nightmare. The Drake equation was not very kind to me when applied to my known habitat. Therefore, I faced the imperious fate of expanding to other Universes. The interweb seemed the perfectly normal (and lets face it… easier option: much more convenient to eliminate unsuitable dates from the comfort of home rather than wasting time on awkward outings). 1^st Fact about Thetis: Extremely busy creature.

So there you have it…Thetis fully immersed in the hyperreal subculture of cyberspace dating.

The Setting

Thetis is a 40 year old female, with optimal BMI (so I can say objectively slim and with no visible signs of her child bearing past). The basis of her cosmogony are elegance, compassion, justice and rationality).

In order to select potential mates, Thetis signed to two well known cyberspace enclaves (one free and another one payed) that potentiate the interaction between people seeking romantic companionship.

The rules

Rule One. All the information in Thetis’s profile is accurate (but played down a bit… otherwise I'll sound too good to be true). The photo is recent, displaying great hair and skin. However, make-up was missing on that day so that it had to be enhanced digitally (2^nd fact about Thetis: she can rock Photoshop!). Alter all, a certain degree of deception is expected in this sort of thing.

Rule two. Thetis will use this blog to write about her experiences in the cyberworld dating and other things that she might find relevant to the theme.
Rule three. Thetis will make new rules as she goes along.