Ten First Meet Turn-offs
Hey guys. I'm Bob #6, the Manspeak voice of the week, here to help you sort through all the confusing mixed messages, odd behavior, and generally perplexing paraphernalia that is Internet dating. Take that all-important First Meet, for example, so significant that I've capitalized it. First meets are scary, exhilarating, and often disappointing. In fact, you might want to come off as if you're hardly trying.
I need to warn you, though. I've got a twisted sense of humor and I don't enjoy being told what to do. So, instead of giving you pointers on how to impress the woman, I'm laying it on the line here and telling you how you can make her turn and run for her Toyota. So, stick to that No Expectations clause in your Internet dating contract and stick it to her at the same time.
Use 'Em and Lose 'Em: 10 First Meet Turn-offs
1. Be late, really late. Don't call.
2. Look like the 20-years-later version of your profile photo.
3. Wear any of these: white sneakers that make her blink in wonder, a waist pack, baggy crack-revealing jeans, a sweater with secret unidentifiable stains, or simply wear a little spinach on your front tooth.
4. Start blabbing about all your other meets, dates, and your "kid in the candy store" Internet dating attitude.
5. Study the menu as if you're savouring the language used to describe the chicken pot pie. Be more into your food or drink than into your date. Better still, get drunk.
6. Sit. Stare. You're a mystery. There really is something between those ears you own but you're keepin' it to yourself.
7. Demonstrate the true meaning of "lack of affect" as it's described in the mental health field by showing your "no enthusiasm" side.
8. Get into heavy issues, say, how your divorce crippled you financially, your appreciation of Internet porno sites, and how that fostered distance between you and your ex, or the story of your son on suicide watch.
9. Admit you watch a lot of television and don't do much else with your free time.
10. In the end, opt for the "deadly handshake" as proof of just how warm and wonderful a partner you'd be in a full blown relationship.
Is Rejection Just the Price you Pay for Being a Man?
By Flex (Flex is a single 54 year old university English professor who’s passions include music, literature, and the quest for the best Chinese restaurant to offer what he calls the Holy Trinity of Chinese specialties, all fried. He plays the guitar and sings.)Question: If a man asks a woman out and she puts him off, is this rejection? For example, she says she thinks she has a previous commitment and has to check her agenda. What’s a cool way to handle it?
He's Cookin'!
Some guys dance. Other guys woo with their words, promising you a future even if you’ve never met. Derek cooks. We had already been out to dinner and had a tennis date, played tennis for over an hour, and then went back to my house for a cold drink and a snack. Basic stuff. On date number two Derek took me to a cozy upscale Italian restaurant with excellent food. As we were enjoying the meal, he said “By the way, this is delicious.” I nodded. “But nothing compares to my own cooking so we can save that for a later date.”
I had been invited over to a guy’s house before, but that was long ago, and the dinner was so unmemorable that I don’t even remember what he had cooked.
Has he got it bad? Or is he bad for you?
When it comes to dating, you know the signs of interest, in fact, you probably know the whole drill. Forget the words, go by the actions. People don’t change. Time will tell. On and on. So much bla bla. You’re smart, but you’ve got that crush going, so you’re not seeing clearly. Here’s how to tell if you’re special in his life. (Although I’ll bet you know.)
6 Signs he’s got IT bad for you
• He calls you but when he doesn’t, there’s an email or text message because he’s thinking of you and likes to keep in touch.
• He wants to see you three times a week. More if he can.
• He talks real purty and his actions match his poetry.
• He talks about stuff you’ll do in the future—wine tasting, hanging that gigantic painting you’ve had propped in your living room for five months—and you actually do it. Together.
• He likes planning the next get-together early in the week, even before he’s left on a Sunday evening.
• He’ll root for the Yankees with your mom and he hasn’t told her he’s a Red Socks man.
Exercise Makes You Fat? Huh?
By Mary Gold
Michelle Segar, PhD, MPH sounds a bit outraged. She’s read an article by John Cloud, who exercises like heck and still has a doughnut habit; in fact, he’s wearing the doughnut around his waist as he types at his computer. And he’s blaming his doughnut on exercise. Imagine.
My Life as a Date/My Life as a Writer
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07.06.10
Middle-Age Confidential >> My Life as a Writer
I wrote a novel on Internet dating, and crammed as it was with stories of meeting men, I was soon plied by my friends with the question all authors dread: Is it true? Did the Noah character break your heart? Did you really meet a guy who weighed over 300 pounds? And did that guy you call Frank really have a gherkin?Read more...
How silly. Of course it’s not a true story. None of it is real. Memoirs are real, for heaven’s sake, but novels are made up stories, which is why we call them fiction. We learn that in the second grade when we learn to distinguish nonfiction from fiction.
The proof that my novel contains fewer autobiographical references than many first novels is in the letters I wrote to the real men behind the characters in the book. Many were dying to know they played a role in my story, however minor. I wrote back assuring them of their importance, yes, but also with the guarantee that they remain safely disguised and at no risk of discovery.
Here’s a smattering of those letters.Dear Bob,
Yes, dear, you’re in the book. In fact, you’re the one who broke my heart—oops, I mean my character’s heart and sent her to a therapist. I certainly hope you’ve learned to communicate a tad more openly and you’ve read that psychology book my character suggests: Is it Love or Infatuation?
Dear Bob,
Yeah, you’re the one with the gherkin, mostly because you’re a jerkin. One gherkin per book and you’re it. Got that bit of wisdom from Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. She said I could, so I did. Well, it’s not that far from the truth.
Dear Bob,
No, you don’t play a starring role. You’re the guy who has a mini-breakdown in the coffee shop and starts crying. But I gave you hair and a really good body.
Dear Bob,
You’re her first date story, and it’s almost as bad as the real thing was six years ago when you lost it with that waiter. What ever happened after I beat it out of there? Did he prosecute? Are you married for the fourth time yet?
Manspeak
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25.04.10
Dating Life >> Manspeak
Read more...
Hey guys. I'm Bob #6, the Manspeak voice of the week, here to help you sort through all the confusing mixed messages, odd behavior, and generally perplexing paraphernalia that is Internet dating. Take that all-important First Meet, for example, so significant that I've capitalized it. First meets are scary, exhilarating, and often disappointing. In fact, you might want to come off as if you're hardly trying.
I need to warn you, though. I've got a twisted sense of humor and I don't enjoy being told what to do. So, instead of giving you pointers on how to impress the woman, I'm laying it on the line here and telling you how you can make her turn and run for her Toyota. So, stick to that No Expectations clause in your Internet dating contract and stick it to her at the same time.
Use 'Em and Lose 'Em: 10 First Meet Turn-offs
1. Be late, really late. Don't call.
2. Look like the 20-years-later version of your profile photo.
3. Wear any of these: white sneakers that make her blink in wonder, a waist pack, baggy crack-revealing jeans, a sweater with secret unidentifiable stains, or simply wear a little spinach on your front tooth.
4. Start blabbing about all your other meets, dates, and your "kid in the candy store" Internet dating attitude.
5. Study the menu as if you're savouring the language used to describe the chicken pot pie. Be more into your food or drink than into your date. Better still, get drunk.
6. Sit. Stare. You're a mystery. There really is something between those ears you own but you're keepin' it to yourself.
7. Demonstrate the true meaning of "lack of affect" as it's described in the mental health field by showing your "no enthusiasm" side.
8. Get into heavy issues, say, how your divorce crippled you financially, your appreciation of Internet porno sites, and how that fostered distance between you and your ex, or the story of your son on suicide watch.
9. Admit you watch a lot of television and don't do much else with your free time.
10. In the end, opt for the "deadly handshake" as proof of just how warm and wonderful a partner you'd be in a full blown relationship.
Dating Life
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19.10.09
Dating Life >> Dating Life
Read more...
By Mary Gold
Michelle Segar, PhD, MPH sounds a bit outraged. She’s read an article by John Cloud, who exercises like heck and still has a doughnut habit; in fact, he’s wearing the doughnut around his waist as he types at his computer. And he’s blaming his doughnut on exercise. Imagine.
So, he dumps me without using the word break-up.
How’d he manage that?
Says we’re pretty much just friends now and should continue that way.
Oh? So what’s the difference?
We’ll go to dinner, the movies, dancing, out for a drink, a walk.
Wait! He won’t have time to date other women.
Exactly.
The Real Dates!
Ned, the older father with two young children, wants me to pick the place for our meet, so I suggest Sagittarius, where I’ve enjoyed enough man meets that I worry the waiters recognize me. What’s worse, my mind still pictures Monty slinking panther-like down the stairs with that big shit-eater grin on his face. Never mind.
Ned has called me almost daily for the past week; our convos have been effortless. Besides, he likes girly subjects. This may be a man who analyzes the heck out of what I’ve already shoved through the grinder. I sit at one of the small, high café tables watching Ned lumber up the stairs. Another solid, paunchy man, fond of the large shroud-like sweater as cover-up.
Ned is clearly at ease talking with me. He is slow-moving, a slow talker, well-versed in psychological jargon. Within ten minutes of ordering Cabernet (me) and soda water (he used to drink too much), he’s into the former girlfriend ("I resided with her but we didn’t live together."), his attraction to troubled women ("I’m determined to change that; I want to go slower this time."), his ex-wife ("I’m an enabler."), and his two boys ("I am a part of their lives. Every day."). His children, business, and residence are all within a few minutes of one another, intertwined.
He is articulate about working his problems through, mentions Aaron Beck and how he is attempting to change his f...
June 10th, 2009
Leonard is late for our third date. I have wandered around the parking lot in the driving rain, checked inside the restaurant, and returned to my car where I check my phone three times in eight minutes. When he finally arrives, he tells me he spent a half hour at home looking for his glasses. He is only mildly apologetic.
I climb into his truck, glad it’s warm, fasten the belt, and stare. There is a three-foot lizard spread across the dashboard. “What’s with the lizard?” I ask leaning forward to discover it is plastic. His explanation is perfunctory, as if the question is out of place, as if everyone has a lizard on the dash. I shiver, pull my raincoat around me, and put up the hood even though it seems ridiculous for a June evening inside a truck.
That is when I decide there is more to this man than he is letting on. And less. It is the less that concerns me. I feel no warmth, no pull, no connection after three dates. Another controlled guy. The control seems to be who these men are and it translates to discomfort with self, unwilling to disclose. Whatever name you call it, I can’t see myself becoming closer, more connected to the tightly guarded. And here I am trying to decide who to spend time with, open up to, hug as if I mean it.
We head downtown for Thai food. It is windy, the kind of damp nastiness that makes you want to cling tightly to someone, s...