Online Dating For Dummies Part Two--Baby, It's a Wild World

One thing most of us are taught to believe as children, is that there is good in almost everyone.  Unfortunately, after we've lived our lives for a while, we find that this isn't always quite accurate.  You want to remember this if you are participating in online dating, and be prepared for the reaction you will get from friends and family once they get wind of what you're doing--they will all come out of the woodwork voicing their concerns for your safety, and rightly so.  Haven't you heard the horror stories of women who were silly enough to give a complete stranger directions to their house in good faith, only to never be heard from again? Discounting for the random urban legend, some of those stories are actually true, unfortunately, but that doesn't mean that all of those miscreants are lurking on online dating sites, and it doesn't mean you have to worry just yet if your dental records haven't been updated since junior high school, either.   As long as you're savvy and grow some street smarts, you'll be fine, just fine, Clarice.

                            

Sometimes, all the clues you need to avoid running into Dr. Lecter or any of his cohorts are right there in front of you--in his profile.  You just need to be educated in what to look for.  

So, once again, let's peruse another fictitious profile:

About      Non-smoking, chianti lover with wiry body type

Details    59 year old man, 5'10", Other Religion

Intent      HannibalL is desperately seeking a live-in arrangement

Personality   Class Clown

Well, what do you think?  Seems legit to me, but we really can't be sure til we break this mother down just a bit.  Let's dissect this line by line and see what we come up with, shall we?  Okay--so far so good; we have a guy that doesn't smoke and is a wine aficionado.  Pretty sophisticated, too, because when was the last time you saw "Box O'Chianti" sitting on the shelf at the ol' "Swig n' Save" liquor store?  Never, I bet.  Looks like he may be a classy kind of guy. His wiry body type is telling us he doesn't sit still very long, either. He's clearly a go-getter.  He sees what he wants, he goes after it, and he captures it.  He's probably building all sorts of sturdy containment thingy-s in his man-cave, and I'd wager he has all kinds of nervous energy, too.  This one has handy-man potential written alllllll over him.

But hang on here......fifty-nine?  He's getting up there, but so is this guy,

                                               

and I don't think you'd object to him showing up at your door, even though he's got twenty years on Mr. Chianti Lover.  So, don't you worry none about the age--it's just a number, baby.  Fifty-nine is the new thirty-seven, or something like that.  Let's see how he stacks up on the vertical measure.   Five-foot-ten.  You may like them tall, but how much taller do you really need?  He's got a few inches on you, and at a little under six-feet tall he's still tall enough to make you feel watched over and protected.  

Now, how do you feel about religion?  You're decidedly Catholic, but this fella isn't disclosing any affiliation what-so-ever, nor is he letting on who or what he believes in or worships. Don't let your imagination run wild and assume his idea of worshiping is dancing and prancing his little cloven hooves off with his freakish goat friends while playing a flute as his gold pentagram pendant swings wildly around his neck.  He's just not one to follow the mainstream and run with the less open-minded pack.  

Love the screen name!  Kind of "Tom Sawyer-ish", isn't it?  So he has just a touch of "bad-boy" in him, but who wants a Mr. Goody-Two-Hooves anyway?

He's in it to win it---he's not only wanting to share life with someone, a partner-in-crime, if you will--he's desperate, DESPERATE, do you understand,to find her---YOU!

And you like humor, don't you?  This guy is full of it.  Hopefully, not as much as this guy, though.  He was a class clown, too.

                                              

                                                 

This really looks promising, and aren't you glad you are making the little bit of extra effort to read, really READ his information, looking for those red-flags, listening for those blaring police sirens, and lifting your leg to step over that pesky yellow police crime scene investigation tape in order to do it?  Who's a smart, cautious girl? YOU ARE!

Now that we've cleared those hurdles, it's on to the home stretch.  Let's acquire a little more knowledge about our wiry friend.

City   Quantico, VA

Ethnicity     Ask me later

Education   PhD, Post Doctoral

Profession   Fashion Designer

Well, how did this guy get past your "within 50-mile radius" requirement? I'd be willing to go with that is a sign you were meant to find him.  Lot's of people are known to relocate for love, so let's not write him off just yet.  I hear Virginia is for lovers, just sayin'.  

He's a little coy on the ethnicity, but I'm thinking there may be a little European in there, judging by the most excellent and sophisticated wine conoisseur we have on our lily white, unlined hands.

He's a smarty, to boot!  Clever, possibly cunning.   Bet he makes a good living.  That's always important.  I bet he wouldn't mind your occasional indulgence of purchasing mass quantities of your favorite Bath and Body Works lotions.  Just a hunch, but he may even insist you not only buy them, but will want you to wear some at all times.

I might wonder about the whole fashion designer profession thing he's got going on, though---especially since that doesn't quite fit his education status.  Why would someone with a post-doctorate PhD gravitate into the world of women's fashion?  Because he can, silly!  He's made his fortune, now he's doing what he wants to do!  However, how much of a fashion snob is this man?  Will he look down on you and your expensive bag and cheap shoes?  Maybe.  But let him take you under his wiry wing and school you on what looks best on you.  Maybe he will be that one person who finally, finally, makes you so comfortable in your own skin, you won't care what you're wearing or carrying.  

So, you have my permission to pursue this---see what happens, and get out of that little self-imposed basement pit you've built yourself into, hose yourself off, and just let love happen.  This one's a keeper, and so are you!

                                                        

What God Has Brought Together, Let No Ass Put Asunder

It goes without saying that you will run into all kinds in the online dating world.  To some, even meek, mild-mannered me may fall into someone's category of "all kinds", you never know. However, some stories surpass even these boundaries, and manage to place themselves squarely into just about what anyone consider to be leaning a bit towards the Jerry Springer-esque.   These stories sometimes come out because one person tends to share a little too much information right from the get-go.  You know, the wrong word goes in the right ear, now see what happens?  Someone writes about it on their dating blog. 

There was one gentleman that I talked to briefly on the dating site who I was immediately drawn to for his clean-cut, youthful, and what appeared to be, fairly normal life.  A farmer, yes, but also an entrepreneur who enjoyed cooking, and worked a full-time job on top of all of this.  My farmer friend had a nice profile, and decent, wholesome pictures.  Awwwww....how cute. Three out of six of his profile pictures were of llamas from his farm.  I made a mental note these little critters must mean an awful lot to him, and obviously hold a special place in his heart.  What a guy!


                                     

This potential interest impressed me so much, in fact, I did what I usually do not do---I made the first contact, and to score some points, I mentioned the llamas and how I enjoy knitting.  Commonality.  A real ice-breaker.  It didn't take long for my farmer friend to respond to me, and good-naturedly correct my misconception that these were llamas.   They were, in fact, donkeys.  Oh, well---my bad.  I wasn't brought up on a farm, and you know, just about anyone could make the same mistake.  I found out that this particular Prairie God's entrepreneurial endeavor was fabricating an intricate corn maze on his property, and he was also in the beginning stages of marketing his own line of freezer jam.  As someone who loves to cook, and has been told many times to sell what she makes, this fascinated me to no end.  More!  I wanted to know MORE!  Phone numbers were exchanged, and he agreed to call me that night.  All day, I did as many of us have done that have never spoken to someone we have only seen in a picture---I began to imagine what his voice sounded like.  Deep, but not stern; soft, but not smarmy.  I envisioned standing at the fence of the donkey pen at sunset, patiently waiting for the freezer jam to set, feeling his muscular arms around me, and hearing him purr softly into my ear, "Let's head on back to the house and check to see if the jam is ready yet"  Oh, I'll be the first to admit that I was letting myself get carried away already, but how could I help myself?

And so the day slugged on.....in between muddling through my job, I daydreamed about talking to my donkey farmer that night.  I hoped my voice wouldn't catch and let on how eager I was to hear from him.  I needed to calm my happy ass on down.  The day ended, dinner was finished, and I looked at the clock.  "Seven-fifteen!" I said out loud.  My daughter heard me, and asked "Seven-fifteen what?"  "Oh, nothing..." I countered.  I made some lame excuse that I had laundry to put away, and pocketed my phone, heading upstairs for a little privacy.  Any minute now............any minute.

Good as his word, he rang my phone at seven-thirty precisely.  I then had a small panic attack when I wondered, "Oh, my God!  Is my call-back tone still Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get it On"?  Then I remembered I changed that to Barry Manilow's "Copacabana" quite some time ago.  I didn't want to spoil things by giving him the wrong impression of me while he enjoyed the ring-back tone while his party was reached.  Whew.  That was close.

"Hello?" I answered coyly in my very best telephone voice. "Stacy?", came the response from the unexpectedly high-pitched voice on the other end.  Damned wrong number!  "Ummmm..no.  I think you have the wrong number..", I stammered.  "Isn't this the girl I've been talking on ********** to?"  An eternity passed.......that voice.....screwing my name up with someone else's..NOOOOOOOOOOO!  I probably should have hung up right then and there, but something made me hold the line.  Love isn't always on time, and it doesn't always have a deep voice, either.  True, I wasn't Stacy, but some guys aren't great with names.....so I informed him that, no, this was Sheila, and how the hell are you, my high-pitched-voice, manly-man, donkey-breeding farmer, you?

That was basically my contribution to the conversation, because from that moment on, I was not going to be permitted to get a word in edge-wise until much later.

I was informed within the first two minutes that he had lost his job over two years ago, because of course, his boss "had it in for him".  "No problem, you still have a farm, don't you?", I wondered silently to myself for as I said, I was not permitted to speak.  It sounded like all was well with the farm, and the sporadic handy-man jobs he was fortunate to have in place of the job he was terminated from so unjustly.  The ex-wife was a real b****, now (his words), but they used to get along "real well". Why, she was even very understanding about not receiving child support.  The single mother in me was now beginning to get a bit suspicious---he wasn't supporting his children, and the mother of his children had been all right with getting no support, and  now all of a sudden she wasn't okay with this?  Why, I wondered, was that?  The answer was going to be forthcoming, if I could just learn to shut the voice in my head up, and be patient.  Yes, it seems that the ex-wife was just fine and dandy with absolutely no child support. "What changed all of that?" I silently asked myself, and as if on cue, he told me.  "She never did like the donkeys.  That's why she left, you know. Because of the donkeys. I was spending too much time on them, and she left.  No hard feelings, or anything, but about a year ago, I bought three more of them.  Now she's got a lawyer, and she's going after everything, even the farm.  She ain't touching my freezer jam, though."  I did get a word in edge-wise at this point, because the dots were starting to come together for me,and to be quite frank, again speaking as a single Mom, I was pissed for his ex-wife.  "So, your wife left you because of the donkeys, you aren't paying child support, and she isn't giving you a hard time about it, then you find the money to go out and buy three more?  And you wonder why she's taking you and your asses to court?"  I didn't wait for the reply--I hung up.  


I never heard from the farmer again, and it's just as well.   Any man who is obviously so preoccupied with getting another ass for his stable is not a man I could be interested in.

Online Dating For Dummies Part One

  I cannot tell you that my online dating experience has been successful.  That does not mean, however, that it isn't possible to find someone in this venue, it simply means that I have not been so fortunate.  I have come to the conclusion that if someone is going to realize the best possible outcome, and meet someone who lives up to their expectations, they have to go in with a little bit of knowledge, and put their blinders on for the rest.  It's too bad that you don't have to take some sort of a tutorial first, before submitting your profile on one of the plethora of online dating sites out there.  Perhaps if one was available, it would take some of the frustration out of the whole experience, and save those who are on it from wasting their time.  With that being said, I am willing to share some of the pratfalls and pitfalls I have commonly ran into during my quest for finding Mr. Pretty Okay.  If I can help but one person, my job here will be done.


Let's start with the basic statistics that the individual lists on their profile. This is the typical format for the first part:
     

About                                                

Me                    Non-smoker/average body type                                                                   

Details             53 year old man, 5'9, Non-Religious                                       

Intent               Looking for a Relationship                                                                

Personality     Adventurer


**This is not an actual profile of anyone living or dead. Any similarities between this profile and any actual profile are purely coincidental.  Please don't freak out, because it isn't yours--I swear!**

Okay, this looks pretty promising so far--we have a non-smoker (always a plus for some of us), and he is telling us he falls within the range of not being too thin, and not being overweight. He is taller than me by a couple of inches, so I can wear a bit of a heel should we go somewhere they have wine with a cork and not a screw-on cap.  He is right within my age parameter, but, uh-oh....he's non-religious. Well you know something?  How many people are really religious, anyway?  Don't go getting your knickers in a twist just yet over that one.  He isn't saying he doesn't believe in God, he is likely to be saying he doesn't go to church every Sunday.  However, we cannot completely rule out an Atheist at this point, so give him the benefit of a doubt until proven otherwise if and when a conversation between the two of you actually happens.

All right!  He's looking for a relationship. So, as far as you know now, he's looking for something serious.  Of course, his idea of a relationship and your idea of one may be entirely different, but again, this is something you will be able to pull out of him later if you actually talk to him.

His personality is that of an Adventurer.  Now, see, here is where we can be led astray into the valley of disappointment, because when I read "adventurer", I get this mental picture:

                                        

When, in fact, Mr. Pretty Okay's idea of adventure may be this:

                                    

Point being, you may be disappointed on this one.  I'm not saying that will be the case, but just keep this in the back of your mind, will you?

Okay, on to the second part of his information disclosure.  



City     Your City       

Ethnicity     Caucasian

Education         PhD, Post Doctoral

Profession          Medical


Now let's see what we have to go on here with Mr. Pretty Okay.  

How about that! He's right here in your city!  No Google Maps, no driving great distances only to be disappointed, he's practically in your backyard!  This is pretty promising so far, isn't it?  He's Caucasian---if that's what you're looking for, if not, well too bad, because there's nothing that can be done about that one.  Shut the front door!  He's got a PhD!  You know what that means, don't you?  He's probably pretty smart (hopefully not TOO smart, though).  And, look, this just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?  He's in the medical profession.  Now, we can put two and two together right here and now and assume this fella is a DOCTOR.  You may want to start doodling on paper right now how this looks in your prettiest handwriting, Dr. and Mrs. HootieHoo request the honour of your presence at the marriage of their daughter.....

Okay, wake the hell up and stop that!  Again, never assume anything at this point and let us not get ahead of ourselves and set the wheels in motion for disappointment.  Remember, you still haven't read his profile, yet.

Let's back this up.  We left out the picture, didn't we?  Well, that IS kind of important, after all.....  Okay, before we read any further, let's take a minute to drink in what Mr. Pretty Okay looks like, shall we?

                                                    
Damn, I say DAMN,woman! Isn't that...........I think that's....why, that's George Flippin' Clooney!  Well, that can't be right....George Clooney certainly isn't desperate enough to resort to online dating, is he? Now you have an idea how you can just fritter away twenty minutes of your life you'll never get back.  This actually happens quite frequently with posers on these sites.  I personally have never ran into a profile where someone actually thought women were so gullible not to recognize George Clooney as the profile picture, but I was sucked in to one where the lesser-known, but equally hot Rob Thomas was.  You have two choices here, you can either play along, have some fun, and be part of the joke, or you can block this idiot and bail.  Next!!!!

                                             

Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Spurred

                                                     

Clear and concise as I thought I was with what I am and am not looking for in a man, some found loopholes and slid on under my otherwise carefully-guarded radar.  I find that on the dating site that I am on, the men can be easily classified in two ways:  Those that ride motorcycles, and those that do not.  I cannot tell a lie---I don't go out of my way to search for a Harley-ridin' type, but then again, I never came right out and said I wanted nothing to do with them, either.  Come to think of it, I've never ridden a motorcycle in my life.  Who knows?  Maybe if I ever did put on a pair of ass-less leather chaps, don a wife-beater, get a few tatts, and head out on the open road with the wind in my hair and a Lynyrd Skynyrd song in my heart, I'd be gone all the time.  But, then, who'd take care of the young'ens, make the cookies, and let the dog out?  So, avoiding the road to temptation, I simply never went down it to begin with. But, yet, the siren song called out........"ComeRideWithMe54" left me a message.

So tell me you don't do the same thing- notice someone's appearance first, that is.  That's what I did.  There he was, in all of his bodacious, muscle-bound glory astride his Harley.  Fifty-four years old, and lookin' good.  Dark hair, dark eyes, six-foot-three.  Owned his own contracting company in Greenwood (employed), has children (grown), articulate, sounded sane....oh, yeah.  He was apparently all that and a bag of Sun Chips.  But the distance.....a good hour-and-a-half away.  And so we emailed back and forth for a few days, and he offered to meet me half-way in Marion.  For dinner.  My choice.  I liked that.  

And so the day dawned that I was going to meet CRWM54 in Marion at a little Italian bistro.  While driving, I received a text from my date stating he would be a little late, as he had to stop on the way and get a Reese's Cup at a convenience store.  I texted back, and being the Mom I am, admonished him that "You're going to ruin your dinner".  He replied that the Reese's weren't for him---they were for me.  Sure enough, I did put in my "Interests" column that I had an affinity for Reese's.  I also put "Diet Coke" as one of those likes as well, but apparently he was bypassing a Big Gulp in favor of chocolate.  This, THIS, was a man who was paying attention already.  I was now in the full-on throes of giddy anticipation.

I started getting that little nervous tickle in my tummy as I approached ever-nearer to my destination---possibly OUR destination.  I prepared for a meet-cute, and how twenty years from now friends would still cajole us into telling how we met and how he brought me my beloved Reese's Cups just to make me happy.........

Here I was now, at 3909 South Western Avenue.  I pulled down the interior mirror, freshened my lipgloss, fluffed my hair, and got the hell out of the car.  Not knowing what my date was driving, I perused the parking lot, shrugged, and began to walk towards the door of the restaurant.  "Sheila!", came the call.  I turned and looked in the direction of the voice.  That couldn't be right--it was a Ford Excursion.  A big-ass Ford Excursion with very, very large tires and a motorcycle handle bar hood ornament.  Good.  God. A'mighty.  And then out he came.  He foisted himself from the behemoth's cab and landed with a thud on the concrete.  Sure enough, he was six-foot-two; not quite the six-foot-three he claimed to be.  I also didn't mind that I saw a receding hairline that I didn't notice in any of his profile pics, but one disturbing fetish-like detail wasn't mentioned that was now quite evident, were the spurs.  That's right.  My date wore spurs.


                                                 

It's funny how the mind fixates on certain things....say a blemish, an unruly hair, or pointed, sharp, metal objects affixed to the back of ass-kickin' boots.  Wyatt Earp handed me my Reese's, and I put it into my purse.  He mumbled something to me how he hated Mexican food (this was an Italian Restaurant, so whatever), and in we went.  

It's been my experience, that the easy part of going into a restaurant is finding a seat.  That wasn't going to be the experience today, however. As we were led to a booth, CRWM54 suddenly seemed hesitant, NO, petrified.  He explained the reason for his seat-skittish-ness.  You see, he felt the need to be seated in view of the door so that should any knife-wielding trouble-makers decide to storm Rosie's Little Italy, he could get a clean shot in.  This was said as he patted his jacket.  I felt the color drain from my face.  My date had spurs.  AND a gun.  

Once seated, I ordered my drink, he ordered his, and soon, the spurs, the gun, the avenging vigilante were behind us.  Now it was time to talk and get to know each other.  We talked about our children.  I bragged about my children and their activities as any mother would, then it was his turn.  Out came his IPhone, along with the query "Do you follow the rodeo circuit?"  Darn it, no, but I've ALWAYS wanted to......sure enough, pictures followed of his daughter, who is indeed touring on the professional rodeo circuit.  Well, shut the front door!  I couldn't bring myself to mention ballet shoes and color guard flags again, lest I be "out-extra-curricular-activitied" by this feller.

And so we exchanged what we did for a living, and in his favor, he seemed intrigued about my work for a large women's handbag manufacturer. He asked me if I carried a gun.  I toyed with replying "I sure do!", but then that would be lying, and I didn't want to piss him off if he decided he wanted to see something I couldn't produce, seeing as he was carrying one, and all. "Guess how many I carry every day to work---go on---GUESS!", he fairly shouted to me.  "Oh, gee...you know, I'm bad about guessing that kind of thing...I don't know----ONE?"  Seemed reasonable to me.  "ONE?" he laughed.  "Hayulllll NO!  FOUR!  I'm putting up an apartment complex in downtown Indy right now!"  Well, great day in the morning, excuse the hell out of me.  And so it went.  Apparently, with all this talk of firearms and the need for them, he also felt the need to let the expletives fly.  "F***" this, and "F***" that began to pepper the increasingly loud conversation.  I'm conservative politically, but I was now face-to-face with a true right-wing zealot.  I felt uncomfortable, and found I couldn't finish my food at this point. I was sure anytime now he would be able to smell my fear, sense my growing irritability, see me eyeing the EXIT sign......would I ever again breathe the air of freedom, see my children's faces, or buy that gallon of milk I made mental note I needed to get on the way home?

"Well, you know.....I wasn't going to ask you out at all....." came the astonishing revelation.  "Oh?' I asked, wishing he had followed his gut in the first place.  "Yeah...all I could think was how "June Cleaver" you looked".  Wow.  Here buddy, take that knife out of my back now.  "Like June Cleaver" is a bad thing, I guess?  "That's all you're gonna eat?", he asked me.  "I just want to be sure I have room for this Reese's", I said as I patted by handbag.  I think on my feet, you know.  

We headed out to the parking lot, he to his big-ass Ford Excursion, me to my Chevy Cruze.  "Hey, careful driving home, now!", bellowed CRWM54.  "Haha!  I'll try.  I like to drive fast!" (especially away from spur-wearing freaks such as yourself), I cleverly shot back.  "Shee-it!....Drive fast in your little Chevy?", was the reply.  At that time, only one word sprang into my mind as I burned rubber from my little Chevy out of Rosie's Little Italy: "Jackass".

Fortunately, I had the little diversion of stopping for a gallon of milk on the way home.  It was still light out, and I had dodged one unpleasant bullet that night.  But, this too did indeed pass, and I vowed to be more vigilant towards the biking crowd in general next time.

Still, though, I wondered, as I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed, what his impression of me was.  Usually, a man will call, email, or text to let you know what they thought of you.  As I climbed under my covers, my phone went off.  A text message.  From that jackass outlaw. Never before, and likely never again will I get such an endorsement.   "Sheila--you're a great American". 

Within Ten Miles of 46804......or Not

Fort Wayne, Indiana.  A city of 255,000 people (give or take a few).  To me, that means that 125,000 (give or take a few), are likely to be male.  Let's go ahead and chop that number in half, allowing for those too young, and those too old for me to date.  Now we have about 62,500 men (give or take a few), that are within my age parameters.  To be fair now, I have to discount the ones that are married, gay, or otherwise unavailable to me.  I'm going to be generous and take away a whoppin' 75% of that.  I now have 17,500 men (give or take a few), in Fort Wayne, Indiana to cull from.  Out of this 17,500, now, I will once again, be generous and remove those with qualities that will not work for me, such as  the unemployed, those who hate children, those who wear makeup,men who drink heavily/smoke, are borderline unintelligent, have anger management problems, may be better looking than I am, are shorter than I am, and are skirt-chasers.  We now have 8,750 men available in the greater Fort Wayne area.  That still seems like a lot, doesn't it?  Unfortunately, the elimination process isn't complete---I still must allow for those I still must pull from the bunch--those that are incarcerated, those who have the likelihood of being serial killers, and other ne'er do-wells.  Out of that, I shall pull 3000.  5,750 now remain. In reality, there are not actually 5,750--no, no, NO.....take out now for those who are married to their jobs, those who want no real commitment, those who have vastly different political and religious views, those who ask women for money, and lastly, those who cannot/will not spell my name right, and that now leaves.............three.  There are three men in Fort Wayne, Indiana who are actual, viable dating prospects.  That means.........let's check out Muncie.

Lookin' For Love in All The Wrong Places

And so she found herself alone in this great big world.  Funny, she didn't feel lonely...yet, something was missing.  She didn't fancy going out in the usual places to chance upon someone, as time did not permit her to very often.  So, against her better judgement, and despite not having much luck with it ever before, she set her cap to the forum of online dating.  In an effort to only draw those to her with the qualities she admired, whilst deterring those with afflictions she did not, she drafted her profile:

About Sheila

Here we go again.  Time and time again I jump into the pond, then back out, only to decide I'm going to give it just one more shot. 
 I don't care what dating advice anyone wants to throw me; it isn't working. 
 "Look for someone at the grocery store!  There's LOTS of single men there.  Just ram your cart into one that doesn't have a ring on, then wait for the fireworks!"  Yes, and the charge of battery that surely will follow.

"Church! You'll meet a nice guy at church.  Find one sitting all by himself, and just sit down next to him!"  That worked out well and fine until the wife returned to the seat after retrieving their six children from Sunday School.  I found nine to be a bonafide crowd, and so I halted my pursuit.

So....online.  Kind of a dicey, chance-y, scary thing, isn't it?  Anyone can be ANYBODY on here.  I found you cannot trust pictures, or profiles sometimes, yet I still return arguing that I"M on here; MY pictures depict me to a 'T',  I'M honest, therefore, there's bound to be someone else on here in the same boat in this big pond.  I am making it my mission to find him.

So, without further adieu, here is a little about me and what I am, and am not looking for:

I am a fifty-one-year-old mother of five children.  (Five that I know of, anyway).  Three of these children are still at home with me.  I work. I work quite a bit, actually, and take a great deal of pride in making sure my children have all of what they need, and some of what they want.  I am also taking classes to obtain my degree in Management.  My lofty goal is to be able to walk to the stage to get my diploma, rather than being wheeled.  Let's see if that works out for me :/  My children are my world, therefore, personal experience has taught me that trying to make it work with someone who has never had children and is uncomfortable around them will not work out.  Sorry, that's just the way it is. While my children don't need a father, they should feel comfortable around who I'm with, and hopefully, look up to him.
Here is what I am looking for:  
I want a man who is stronger than me.  I want someone who will say to me, even though I am fiercely independent and strong, "Relax and don't worry. I've got this".  I want a man who is capable, who is gregarious, outspoken, gentle and loving.  A killer sense of humor is kind of necessary, too, as laughter is as important to me as breathing.  I want a decent looking man who takes care of himself and doesn't exhibit jackass behavior.  He should know how to pick a good bottle of wine, and not just be able to lob a case of Bud into the cart at CVS.   It would be nice to find a man who can cook. Not because I can't, but because I love to and want to share that with someone.   A man who knows how to sew a button on and won't look at me with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look when something goes wrong expecting me to fix it.  Most of all, I want a man that I catch looking at me with a look that can only be described as love, admiration, and respect.

Hang on.  That was the easy part.  What I DON'T want will take a bit longer:
I don't want a man who ever again says to me, "You know, it bothers me that if there were a fire, you'd save your kids before me...".  You know, it bothers ME that I wanted a man that would tell me "I'd die trying to save you and the kids" :/ I don't want a man who is uncomfortable around people.  Shy is one thing, awkward is another. I don't want a man who throws a full-on hissy fit if his candy gets thrown away due to rules regarding what you can and cannot carry in to Lucas Oil Stadium.  If you can't handle your just-purchased-with-your-hard-earned-money-Sour Patch Kids and Gummi Worms hitting the trash so we can gain admittance to the stadium, I must know this now to avoid an embarrassing repeat performance, and yes, this really did happen.  Although I did say that I would like a man who looks decent and takes care of himself, I must draw the line at ever again being with a man that I have to sit around waiting on in order for HIM to put HIS make-up on and painstakingly choose his wardrobe. Man up, Princess, and let's get going, already.  No make-up, please, and I'll not mention that one again.  No cursing in public or rude behavior--especially not in front of my children, but never, please.  I cannot tolerate ridiculous rudeness.  No heavy drinking.  If you have to drink daily, and your recycling bin is filled with bottles and empty cartons every week, please pass me by.  I love a couple of glasses of wine a couple times a week, but I will not tolerate heavy drinking.  Also, I cannot tolerate smoking.  Any.  None. Zilch.  Sorry, call me picky, but this is what I insist on.  I'm fifty-one; I'm not settling.  

Here are some other things to remember about what I am looking for and not looking for.  Please don't take this wrong, but spelling and grammar are kind of important to me.  If your profile is rife with misspellings and unintelligible stories, anecdotes, or ramblings, we won't get along, and this will never work out.  Sorry.  I am not a snob, so please don't tell me that I am.  I just am a firm believer that if you pay attention to those details, you are a person who pays attention and cares---it's part of the big picture, believe it or not.  If you display selfies of you and your buff out-of-the-shower bod from the waist up, I won't respond.  If you have a profile picture depicting yourself standing at attention sucking it in in a two-sizes-too-small Speedo, in front of a mattress on the ground, with a dresser visible in the background bedecked with children's dolls and toys, not only will I not respond, I'm toying with alerting the authorities.  If you choose to send me an email, please do not address me as "Babe", or begin the conversation with "Wass up?"  The moment that I sense that you are some out-of-control gutter-crawling horn-dog, it's over, too.  Here's one that some women wonder why the heck this bothers me, but I must address it:  Youngsters. I'm not talking about men that have kids, no, no, NO.  I'm talking about the young fellas 18 to 30 that like the older ladies.  Although I know a lot of women that are flattered by attention by the young guys, I find myself annoyed.  I can tell when there's a snow day, or someone got grounded from their XBOX because these young men decide to email me. With all due respect, please go clean your room, do your homework, and take out the garbage for your Mom--leave this "Cougar" alone.   Picky?  Hell. Yes.  Trust me, I've earned the right to be.


There.....that ought to do it.