Online Dating

Everyone has their own stories about online dating. Some are horrific. Some are adorable. Some are downright pornographic. I have been off an on all of the wonderful sites over the past several years, searching in vain for that special someone that I can make a cheesy, "We met and flowers exploded out of every orifice and unicorns cried," commercial with, to no avail. I have made decisions about whether or not to date a man based on even the smallest details on their profiles. Too young, too old, too buff, too annoying. As an experienced online dater, I would love to give tips to anyone thinking about breaching the annoyance and delight that is Plentyofmatchemistry.com's.

1. The one armed cell phone photo in the mirror is NOT CUTE. It makes me think you have no friends and don't ever go outside of your house. Also, the photo of you with a woman's head cut out of it? I'm sure this is not the end all be all of photos of you, and you should probably not indicate to me that you are a psycho who cuts his exes out of photos.

2. LOL, BRB, C U L8ER...not cute. If I wanted to text speak with you, I would give you my phone number. These are e-mails with no character limitations. Take the time to give details about yourself. Write full words. Don't use slang unless you want to seem like an uneducated toolbox. Also, learn the difference between your, you're, their, there, and they're. But that's for everyone on the planet.

3. If you are more than ten years older than I am, and you see on my profile that I am looking for men within a certain age range, don't message me. I got a Plentyoffish message from a 60 year old. I'm sorry, but I am looking for a mate and potential father of my children, not a sugar daddy. There are women out there with integrity.

4. If you list going to the gym and drinking as hobbies, move along. These are not hobbies. Hobbies are building miniature ships and putting them in bottles, or collecting Playboys. Alcoholics who drink six packs and have six pack abs may seem attractive, but not to quality women who have brains.

5. If you want to meet me after a couple of e-mails, make the decision. I don't want to have to go back and forth and try to figure out what you would like to do. I want to get to know you, so plan that first outing. I am old fashioned enough to believe that the boy should do the asking. Grow a pair.

6. If, for some reason, we do decide to meet, don't change your mind 15 times about the location. Chances are good I have taken a lot of time and energy to adapt my ensemble to the locale, so having to change 20 times makes me cranky. (This happened once. An hour before the date I got a message that he would be late. 45 minutes before I got a message that he couldn't contact the cute, indie coffee shop I'd selected for our meet up. We decided on Starbucks. As I drove there, he messaged saying he wanted to go to a fancy, popular restaurant instead. Ungh.) Oh, and SHOW UP!

7. If we are texting, please do not send me photos. I've seen your photos on the web, and certainly don't need to know what your workplace , your cat Jingles, your room at your parents house, or any other aspect of your life looks like. We haven't even met yet. And please, please...no shirtless, one armed shots. (I felt a need to re-iterate.)

Everyone out there is trying to find the one, and yes, this list may make me seem as if I am high maintenance. I just want to meet someone who is respectful, well read, decent to people, smart, and somewhat attractive to me. Is that too much to ask?!?!?!

Maybe it is. Harrumph.

Romantic Comedy...or my life?

My faith in humanity and men in general has been redeemed fully, and it's all because of a British man named Dave. I don't even know his last name.

I was supposed to go to dinner after a high school production of Hairspray with my friends, Maria and David. This quiet British gentleman had been quietly pursuing me via international texting after our profiles connected us on Plentyoffish.com. The evening before I had been painting at a BYOB art studio with my wonderful, amazing girlfriends, and could not meet up with him. I received a text query about meeting up on Sunday evening, and I was sweaty, broken out, and inappropriately attired. I was about to turn him down when a thought occurred to me. I am always so ready to go out and try new things when it comes to my friends, but what about my life and the potential Mr. Right that this lovely man could be? So, I looked at Maria in my passenger seat and said, "I'll drop you off. I'm going to meet him."

I texted that I would meet him in 45 minutes at CityPlace, where I had just had a non-alcoholic beverage with Maria and our friend Susan. I ran into my house, apologized to my parents for being gone all day and making even more plans to be away from my dirty room and piles of laundry, and tore through getting ready. I put on a lacy, girly dress with cowboy boots and chunky pink jewelry, and raced to CityPlace. I told him to meet me at the fountain.

There are 5 fountains at CityPlace.

He texted that he was at the one by the theater. I ran to Muvico, and there was no one there. Worried he had fled upon seeing me arrive, I lingered, until EPIPHANY! The Harriet Himmel Theater has a fountain in front of it. Feeling as if I was in a movie, I ran down the stairs, crossed the street...and there he was, illuminated by the twinkling lights and cascading water. He's about my height, handsome and put together, and the accent...the accent was lovely. As I approached he smiled at me and said, "You look absolutely stunning." Melt.

We proceeded to Brewzzi for dinner, and had a conversation ranging from performing arts, emotional concert reactions (my Bryan Adams sobbing came up), and religion. We had so many things in common it was startling. He studied theater and dance as a child and went into producing music for a while. His dog's name is Cassie...the main character from my graphic novel is named Cassie. He was respectful and excited about every word that was coming out of my mouth, and I was hanging on every sentence, laughing at all his jokes. We talked and chatted, and decided we did not want the night to end there. We walked and stopped by my car. I played a fun game of "Which car is mine?" where he proceeded to freak out that I owned a Mini Cooper. I dropped off my leftovers from dinner, and we walked from CityPlace down to Clematis under twinkly lights and tree limbs. We stopped at the corner of Clematis and Rosemary, and sat at a fountain with a giant globe sculpture, and just talked for an hour. He then walked me to my car and as we were exchanging pleasantries and saying goodbye, he gave me a peck on the lips in farewell. I gave him a hug, and he grabbed my face and kissed me again. And again. It was sweet, romantic and amazing. As he began to walk towards his car, he turned and said, "Thank you so very much for the lovely evening."

This morning I woke up to a text message. "Good morning, Lauren. Thank you again for a lovely evening. X."

Too bad he's going to Dusseldorf for 3 weeks. But it was, to quote my new favorite Brit, a lovely evening. Just lovely.*

*As an update for this post: The Englishman has been sent by work back to his native land, and will not return for at least a month, at which point he will pack his belongings and go back to the UK. At least we had a wonderful time together, and I now have an e-mail pen pal.

So...about that Valentine's thing I said earlier...

I trudged home today with a heavy heart and loads on my mind. It has not been the most spectacular year for me, but I took a really crappy personal situation and have begun to make opportunities for myself to enjoy life and to create in my own way, on my own terms. I vented in a previous blog about how much Valentine's Day blows chunks, and I was feeling every word and punctuation as I opened the door of my house and walked inside.

My mom immediately beset me, telling me I should go upstairs and change...that I looked beat and that I should get out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable. The more and more she insisted, the more and more suspicious I became. Had she purchased me something and placed it in my room to cheer me up due to my lack of Valentine? If so, it was probably going to hurt more than not getting anything at all.

I walked upstairs, and sitting on my bed amidst the mess that is my room was a box of Godiva chocolates, with a card. I yelled down to my mom that she shouldn't have. She was standing behind me and said, "I didn't." I look at her inquisitively, and open the card. On the outside is a hole punch. On the inside is a message that says,
My friend, Nathan, had arranged with my mom to sneak into my house while I was at work to place the candies. He said he wanted to renew my faith in the holiday. He then arrived at my house in a suit and tie, and took me to dinner at IHOP, our favorite hangout. From IHOP, we went to Denny's, where we ate even more food. Then Emily called and said she had something for me, could I swing by? So, Nate and I did.

Here's what she had for me.A wonderful, sweet, hand drawn card. Love everything about it and my new "bestie."

And of course, no year would be complete without a card from my friend from college, Sam. He knows me well, so picked a Maxine card that said, "How do you know if the chocolate and card that you received on Valentine's Day were last minute purchases?"Many thanks to my friends who made me realize that it's not all about romantic love. I love you guys.

Valentine's, Shmalentines.

You've gotta kiss a lot of these...

I hate Valentine's Day. And before you accuse me of being a bitter woman on the path to old maid/cat lady-dom, please allow me to explain.

I have never had a decent Valentine's Day. Ever. I am 29 years old, and the last time I received a Valentine's card from a gentleman I was interested in, I was 8. And they kinda had to give them to everyone in the class. I have always been a care-taking kind of gal, so I typically end up going overboard and having little to no reciprocation. Last year, I ordered expensive, hard to find coffee for my significant other. He gave me nothing, said nothing, and I basically ended my Valentine's Day crying. The times I can remember before that, I did my best to bend over backwards to be the hip girlfriend, going so far as to rent 3 martial arts films and pick up KFC because my boyfriend at the time really liked those two things. It's a holiday about expectations, and mine have never been fulfilled. And I've finally realized that it is my fault entirely.

From now on, I will have no expectations. From anyone, for anything. If an individual surprises me, then good. But I will not spend another year feeling badly about myself for a holiday that promotes over consumption of chocolate, Hallmark greeting cards with stupid poems, and flowers that will wilt in a day or two.

As a result of this new attitude, I have given up power in terms of my love life. I have obviously made poor choices up to this point, and don't know that I can handle any more. So, yesterday, I looked at my mom, who loves me unconditionally and is always looking out for my best interests, and I told her to take over my love life. Today she signed me up for Plentyoffish.com, and she is currently looking through the profiles of single men in order to find me that perfect match. She will be setting up dates, picking out outfits, and basically doing everything but going on the date itself (my dad might have a problem with that!)

As they say, mother knows best. We'll see if that idiom is true. And maybe next Valentine's Day, I'll be singing a different tune.

(PS. Thanks to Sam Waters for sending me a Valentine every year. You are a great friend!)

Mid life crisis at 30.

I feel as if I am heading for the downhill slope, and I haven't even turned 30 yet. I'm antsy, wanting a change and to try new things. I have the perfect excuse, as I am attempting to write for a comedy website. So, in the interest of comedy, I have tried some things. Set up other things to try in the future. Things that I would have never done prior to this recent incarnation of me. I am grabbing life by the horns (in some cases, literally), and doing irreparable damage to my body and wallet.

And I'm ok with it.

This recent desire for thrills is one I have felt before, but never acted upon. I've been tempted to go wild before, but never had a reason. I have always done for others, and now I am choosing to do for myself. It's thrilling and terrifying and lonely at the same time. While I am jumping off of a trapeze or hopping onto a mechanical bull, I am reveling in the action and adventure. I am getting footage and photos so I can prove to the world that I have lived. And while I'm doing that, I am putting all of my energy into positive thoughts and goals for my life. I am shedding the weight of the last 10 years of heartbreak, and embracing a new woman that only says no if there's a really good reason. And I'm attempting, subconsciously, to tell all the people in my life who have ever told me that I can't or that I am not good enough, that I can, and that I am. It's hard to heal. I still haven't. But I'm filling my life with laughter, stories, and making memories that will be mine, always. And no one, ever, will take that away from me.

So, for now...here is my list of things to do in the next two months.

Striptease class
Boudoir photo shoot
Trapeze
Chemical Peel
Paintball
Salsa Class
Fencing Lessons


If you have any suggestions, please feel free to comment below. Or on my facebook wall.

Well, hello, Mrs. Fancy Pants.

My mom and I decided to go to a book signing by an author friend of hers on a rainy Tuesday night, at an art gallery on Palm Beach. Worth Avenue to be exact. She dressed in a fabulous frock with pashmina and hip silver jewelry, while I tossed on my lacy mini dress, denim jacket (from Goodwill), pink chunky jewelry, brown purse ($3 at a garage sale) and cowboy boots. We are who we are, and nothing, not even a Palm Beach address, was going to stop us from representing our true selves.

We hop into my dad's Audi TT (cause we wanted to look good driving up) and get to the art gallery. It's filled to brimming with posh, snooty Palm Beachers who are oozing disdain and pretension all over the Andy Warhol screen prints hanging on the walls. It's a very Botoxed event, and Mom and I bee-line for her friends from her writers group, in the hope that there would be safety in numbers. One of the ladies is wearing jeans, and thanks me for showing up in denim. As we stand there, my mom mentions that I am involved with the theater. The author, thinking he was doing me a favor, very sweetly grabbed me and told me he knew someone else who was in the theater at the party. He made his way through the masses to a tall, gaunt woman in a red, floral pantsuit with close cropped silver hair and glasses. He said, "You're both in theater. Talk." And then he walked away. I awkwardly offer my hand to the woman, introducing myself. Instead of a name, she utters, "I'm actually not in theater. My husband owns an Off Broadway theater in NYC. I'm in dressage. But what have you done?"

Here is one of many reasons why I feel I will never be famous. I cannot bullshit with strangers for the life of me. I answer that I just got done with a three week run of a musical at a theater in Ft. Pierce. She looks at me, questioningly, as if in her realm of existence there is only New York and Palm Beach. I say, "It's just a small place, really. I used to work for the Atlantic Theater in Jupiter...(she squints at me)... I'm an improviser, singer....blah, blah, blah." Realizing, I am losing my subject (who had spinach in her teeth, I'd like to note) I change gears, and ask her about dressage. "So, you must really like horses, then." She lightened up at this point, as narcissism is always fun, and I get into full Buffy mode. "Well, I am going to the polo match next Sunday, darling, and it shall be a smashing good time. We're bringing a hamper." The woman actually claps her hands like a school girl, gushing about how glorious it will be, and that it's so lovely to be served champagne and ice cream. I quip, "How could you go wrong with that combination?" and she falls silent again.

Both of us stood there, longing for an escape route, when the other author sidled up next to us, obviously a friend of tall and gangly. T and G asks, "Have you met our author?" and pawned me off on the other woman. I awkwardly look down at the stack of books on the table, and said, "Oh, you wrote this....impressive cover." I feigned interest in the jacket as author lady swept the horse lady away. I knew I had been brushed off. And I had never been happier.

I moved back to join my mom and her gang, and we headed for the Pellegrino. Sipping on bubbly water, we started to actually look at the artwork. The gallery owner, noting our interest, swooped in to tell us the tale of the print we were looking at, which was signed by the artists father and would have to be questioned if signed by the author himself. Mom and I looked at each other over our plastic flutes, and started laughing. We plunked our glasses down on the refreshment table, waved goodbye to her friend, and hopped in Dad's car, peeling out of there. We laughed the whole way home about our brush with society, and ended up curling up in our PJ's, making a quick dinner, and watching "Despicable Me." Ah...that's the life!

Hip or hip replacement?

My grandmother came to Florida on a recent visit, and I realized that she is really a cool person. I've always seen her through the eyes of an adolescent, as a matronly woman with a tendency to be in her robe and nodding off in front of the television at 8:00PM. She bakes, she uses the word sharp to indicate that someone dresses well, and has had the same wallpaper in her house since I was a kid. She mows her lawn like a fiend, and is the bane of a fallen leaf's existence when autumn comes around. She pronounces a light tan color with a hard g. She's my grandma.

This visit, she seemed different. She sassed, she danced to Lady Gaga, and she made snide remarks during the many Ohio State sporting events that she viewed while at our house. We were discussing an ex-boyfriend of mine, and she said that if she ever met him she'd tell him to eat worms. We went to church for Christmas Eve service, and the air conditioning kept blowing out the advent candles. Grandma thought it was amusing, and closed her eyes while trying to hold back laughter. When a lady dropped the porcelain baby Jesus two times, she laughed out loud. It was a side of her that I had never seen, even in the 3 years I lived up north and would drive two hours to spend the weekend with her.

This morning she called me at work. She was calling to see how my show went this weekend, to complain that my mom hadn't called her yesterday, and to tell me that her aunts nephew just signed a country music record deal in Nashville. She then went on to say, " I went on the youtube and listened to his music." Adorable. I mentioned that a review had come out on the show I am in, and she, without missing a beat, said, "Send me the link and I'll find it on the internet."

No more do I see my Nancy as the stereotype of a grandmother who lives for her grandchildren. She is an active, funny woman who plays bunko, goes to water aerobics at the YMCA, and has a social life. And knows how to Google. I'm so proud.