Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Post #101: Internet Dating
So my wife and I are separated and home is no longer there. A man can only lust over pictures on his computer for so long before he realizes that there is more to life than banging his fist and that something might just be missing. Since there is no one around to give me divine Roofies, snatch one of my ribs (Isn't that an urban legend?) and make me my very own Eve Real Doll, I took it upon myself to sign up for not one, not two, not three, not even four, but five (or was it eight?) free internet dating services.
I hate to say it, but you get what you pay for. Between middle-aged women who think being forty pounds overweight is an "average figure" (OMMFG! It is!) and ones who look like a cross between Mee Maw, Frankenstein's Monster, and a bulldog sucking lemons, it gets a TAD frustrating. At least the gay men who want to be my submissive playtoys are polite.
Anyhow, if you have ever had the misfortune to be in sales you know all about flinging shit. The theory goes that if you fling enough shit at the wall, some will stick. In this case, if you ask enough internet dating site female types out, you might eventually get lucky (if you aren't raped, sodomized, and killed first) and find one of the few who still has all of her teeth, finished third grade, and doesn't eat football players for breakfast after pulling her boobs from out of her pants and beating them to death with them.
So you say, all right, I'm here, fuck it. I might as well have fun. It doesn't matter how compassionate and nurturing these women describe themselves as being, if you don't say something really magical in your profile or messages (I still don't know exactly what that would be!) you get no reply. None. Nada. Being a gentleman, clever, witty, romantic, not including the pictures of yourself wearing the paisley thong (or not wearing it) doesn't help. No f-u-c-k-i-n-g reply. You pour your heart out and, sniffle... never mind. That's behind me. I'm flying from the seat of my pants and having fun from now on even if I never get another date. They can only lock me up for the rest of my life once (unless I escape repeatedly, right?). If you can't make yourself laugh who can?
Anywho, I wrote this fine introductory letter to a smoking hot woman, my age, who looks very comfortable and safe in her safe and comfortable life. Her username was not NotMaggy, it was NotMaggie, but I changed it to protect her privacy. Here it be. (Beware the Grammar Nazis!)
Oh my stars and garters, look at you; Big blue eyes, wicked smile, fun wardrobe, and a sexy figure. Homina homina. Once we get past all of the visual glory, it appears there is someone even better inside who loves life, has her act together, and likes to help others. Ahhh, compassion, character, and beauty all in one nice package. Sigh. Scary.
I haven't even the slightest clue why you want to be sure that everyone knows that you are NotMaggy, and I am okay with that. I will NEVER call you Maggy unless you ask me to. NEVER! So, well, there. Alrighty then.
I have a profile too. You might notice immediately that I am not Prince Charming of the Blue Bloods and there is not silver spoon protruding from my mouth in any of my pictures, but what I have is mine and I make do with it. I've had a life that was well worth living and material possessions were never a big part of it, so the diamond studded bloomers will have to wait for another lifetime. Unless one of us wins the PowerBall and they have them on sale at Wal-mart.
Can you dig it? Sorry, line from the movie, "The Warriors". Most of my friends are younger than me so I get a little excited talking to someone my own age. Oh shit, sorry. If you were here in person and we were talking and you were smiling at me like you do in your pictures, and I was feeling really ballsy, I'd touch your hand once in a while while we talked. I would! Really!
You've got the cutest knees... aww, crap, its time to get back in my cage. I hope that you smiled at least once while reading my message before deciding to get off of the internet forever.
If you wrote me back I would probably get so excited that I couldn't stand it and I'd turn into a quivering mass of joy on the floor under my desk next to the... oh, never mind, but I'm willing to risk it, okay?
Comments? Tips? Phone numbers? I'm going to go see if she wrote me back yet! Talk to you later. I'm so excited...