SIGNING UP FOR A NEW DATING SITE (OH, WHAT FUN!)

For a long, loooong time, I’ve been on two “respectable” dating sites. By respectable, it’s a low bar. I mean they don’t allow you to post selfies that shows dicks and butts. (That’s my assumption. I haven’t tried. I haven’t seen them on anyone’s profile. Maybe I have an uncanny sense of only being curious about “respectable” guys.) I can’t bash these websites. They have features that annoy me, but it’s not their fault that I’m still single. I’m sure I can come up with a list of other things to blame.

 

COVID has made it convenient, even justifiable, for me to say I can’t just go out there and meet guys IRL, aka, in the real world.[1] More than ever, online searching is a reasonable, responsible option. 

 

I gave up on match.com long ago after it seemed there were only five or six gay men from Vancouver on that site…and the one I met in person promptly fled to Edmonton. (I’ll have to make another list of things to blame for that.) Plenty of Fish has been overfished and the stock was never replenished. OkCupid seems to have gone the way of match.com. 

 

Did everyone but me find someone?! 

 

It’s not really a resolution, but I’ve decided to try some other dating sites. Maybe three. I question my motives. Am I really trying or am I just looking for blog fodder? Nonetheless, on Saturday night while taking breaks from having a rowdy time doing laundry—putting shoes in the dryer makes it exciting; I almost wanted my neighbor to call the police for a noise disturbance—I went online to sign up on my first new dating site. I’d heard about the site before, yet I’d resisted recognizing that it might be a suitable site. It’s called Silver Singles. It’s for people over fifty. And, yes, my driver’s license, birth certificate and passport all confirm that I qualify, even if I made a mess trying to white out the incriminating evidence.

 

What follows are my stream of consciousness thoughts while I navigated the website: 

 

Site found: Silver Singles

 

Click to sign up.

 

First screen. Decision time.

I am a Woman / Man

Seeking a Woman / Man

 

Hmm. None of that nonbinary stuff. We’re over fifty. Presumably, we don’t get that.

 

Email and password selection. God, another damn password. I’ve used up the name of every actress who ever played a Desperate Housewife and, no, as easy as it would be to remember, I’m not including 69 as the requisite number. I’m gay. If anyone wants to crack my account, that’s gotta be the first try.

 

I’m welcomed! I think the site is trying to teach me handy social skills because the welcome comes in the form of, “Nice to meet you,” followed by, “We are excited to get to know you and brainwash into buying a Premium membership for twelve months at the REDUCED RATE of only $37.95 per month.” It doesn’t actually say that last part. That’ll come after I spend all that time filling things out. The monthly rate is based on a year’s membership. This is going to cost $455.40! Apparently when your over fifty and single, they take you for desperate. Premium sounds hopeful. Premium will get it done. And Premium will cost you. Natch.

 

But then they’re already having doubts about me:

            Please confirm your gender:

            Female / Male

It’s like a trick. They switched from Woman and Man. 

Still nothing for Nonbinary. Not even a 1 to 5 scale on how manly I am. 

 

            Please confirm the gender of your 

            desired partner:

            Female / Male

I suppose we older folder folks are prone to clicking the wrong item sometimes, especially when we pretend we don’t need our reading glasses, which we damn well know we do. If only we could remember where we put them. I did find my keys in the freezer. At last! I’ve been stuck at home for three days.

 

But I do appreciate that I have to confirm I’m a Man seeking a Man. Maybe this whole confirmation business only comes when a newbie indicates a same-sex interest. 

Are you sure? You grew up knowing how much easier it is to pass for straight.

            This might get mucky.

 

But mucky, my dear Silver Singles administrator, is when I have to look at profiles of eighty-something women seeking a male provider whom they can bake for. Good god, no. If I want a lemon loaf, I’ll buy a nicely wrapped one with pesky, tooth-dwelling poppy seeds at Safeway. 

 

Man.

Seeking Man.

 

Male.

Seeking Male.

 

Yes, I meant to do that.

 

I click on and discover this is a highly reputable dating site as I skim the options for answering, “What is your marital status?” Open relationship is not there. (Are they still trying to weed out the gays?) With a twinge of shame, I select, “I have never been married” but regain a sense of superiority as I notice none of the options, though written as sentences, end in a period. Ha! I take my shame and cast it back upon you. BOOM! (Or, if you will, BOOMERANG.)

 

Next up: level of education. I am shocked that the first option is “No Education”. Um, what? None? I’m suddenly doubting this $37.95 a month investment. There may be some truth to that saying, “All I really needed to know I learned in kindergarten,” but there may be some Silver Singles that never got that far. No finger painting. No dress-up center. No blocks. (Okay, I never got any of my own block experiences because Mrs. Brown couldn’t pull me away from the dress-up center but still…)

 

Fingerpainting. How do you get to plus-fifty without ever using your index finger and thumb to smear a sheet of butcher paper tacked to an miniature plastic easel with swirls of red, blue and yellow which, when you’re done, you tell Mrs. Brown is a picture of a shark eating a princess so the prince can hang with the knight? 

 

My fingerpainting days were short-lived. Mrs. Brown moved me to the macaroni art table. But technically I do have fingerpainting experience, unlike Mr. No Education.

 

The next education option is Middle School. 

 

What the hell I’m I getting myself into?

 

What follows are questions about height and some picture selections about what resonates most with me. Picture of a messy desk, some in-betweens and then a desk with a keyboard but no laptop and not much else. Is this a pretend computer device? I’m so tempted to pick that one since stone tablet is not pictured.

 

Ethnicity. Mine and then:

“Which ethnic groups should your partner 

suggestions belong to?” 

Options: I don’t mind, Caucasian, 

First Nation / Inuit / Métis, 

Asian, Indian, African Descent, 

Latin American, Other. 

I could quibble about the terminology to be all politically correct, but I’m too fascinated about “Other.” Does that include Zombie? Extraterrestrial? Muppet? 

 

Of course, I pick “I don’t mind.” Why limit things? I start to think about how my coffee date will go with zombie Super Grover.

 

Next up is another shame Q: 

“How satisfied 

are you with 

your appearance?” 

Again, I divert my shame, instead fake gagging as I think of the guy who opts for “Very much so.” To be clear, I don’t want to date a social media influencer who posts daily gym selfies. How do I filter him out?

 

I’m being serious.

 

Religion comes next. Good god. I’m the type of person who types the previous sentence and only capitalizes the first letter of the sentence. Figure it out. I feel like I’ve just stepped into an open manhole. (I did that once. Honest. While jogging in the pitch black on a road under construction while in college in Fort Worth, Texas. I didn’t want anyone to see me exercising. There you go. You can guess how I answered the feelings-about-my-appearance question, too.)

 

Moving on…

 

“Which role would you like a partner to fulfill the most?” 

Gasp! “Dreamy lover” is one of the choices. What over-fifty person says that? 

 

Okay, this dating site might work for me.

 

Blah, blah, pick, pick. Another picture question to give me and the “No Education” folks a much-needed reading break. 

 

“If your partner suggests a shared calendar to align both your activities, 

how would you feel?” 

“Ew” is not one of the options. There is no “Other.” There isn’t even, “I don’t believe in calendars. They only underscore the fact I’ve got nothing going on. Ever. That’s why I’m answering these dating site questions at 8:37 on a Saturday night.”

 

More blah. Really, at this point, I just want to click through so I can meet zombie Super Grover.

 

And then, at last: 

“Well done! You finished the personality test.”

 

Is that what that was? Is it shared with the government? Have I been red-flagged? Was a personality even detected?

 

Breathe. The following sentence states, “We will match you with compatible members every day.” Every day? What the hell is their standard for compatibility. How many guys with no education who feel very much satisfied with their appearance are going to pop up? My dreamy lover might not be suggested until November. That’s a lot of $37.95 monthly payments. 

 

Dammit. They’ve got me.

 

 

 

---

[1] IMHO, we may one day have ways of shortening every somewhat commonly used phrase. TBH, I hope to be dead before then. 

ONLINE DATING TIPS--Part 2: SAY SOMETHING

So you’ve decided on a particular online dating site and you’ve started your profile. You’ve taken my advice on photos. (Quick recap: more than one, background scrutinized, head uncovered, smiley face.) Now you’ve got to say something. And say it now. Don’t type something lame like, “I’ll fill this in later.” Get over your commitment issues. Candy Crush and the Kardashians can wait.

Put in the time. If you list three interests, say you hate writing about yourself and stop after a sentence or two, you don’t give a browser much to go on. You must be relying on a dazzling set of photos. Blindingly so. It still speaks to a clear lack of effort. If you can’t be bothered, why should he? And if you’re too brief, you provide nothing for someone to connect with should he decide to send you a message. “Hey, I’m guessing you like breathing. And eating. Me too!” Lame message but what were you expecting? You gave the guy NOTHING.

I have never responded to a guy with a too-brief profile. It looks incomplete. Maybe I’ll click on it at some later point in time. Maybe you’ll go back and write more. But we all know those maybes are highly unlikely. You failed to register and it was your own doing,…or lack thereof.

The easier writing assignment is listing your interests. But still put some thought into it. Is your list a set of clichés? Are two-thirds of the items mentioned in that Pina Colada song (getting caught in the rain, sunsets, the feel of the ocean, the taste of champagne martinis)? Try to show some range in your interests. If you’re an active dude, awesome. But you can’t be at the gym, biking, jogging, swimming, bungee jumping, snowboarding and log rolling all the time. Be mindful as well about putting yourself into too much of a niche. For a moment, I was amused by the guy who listed napping as an interest. But only a moment. I don’t want to feel like I’m putting a guy to sleep during our first coffee conversation. And I could not click away fast enough from the profile in which the guy listed Pokémon as a favorite thing.

When you write a few sentences—hopefully even a paragraph—about what you’re looking for in a guy, go beyond saying you want someone who is honest and has a sense of humor. Does anyone want an unfunny liar? And whatever you write, spellcheck it. Paste your five lines into a Word document and deal with all the red squiggly lines. And maybe sticklers are a teensy minority but please PLEASE give some thought to whether you’ve got the right homonym among your/you’re, to/two/too and there/their/they’re. Capitals and punctuation are also much appreciated. This is not a text message.

Whew. I said it. I haven’t changed the online dating world, but I feel better. It will last until I read the next dissertation in which the guy thinks “LOL” is a punctuation mark. (Just no.)

Be careful on sites like OkCupid that have endless questions that you can easily respond to so that an alleged calculation formula will produce a match. Some of those point-and-click responses are landmines. Take the question, “In a certain light, wouldn’t nuclear war be sexy?” I’ve come across several guys who intrigued me but answered “Yes”. Uh, what? Too much time reading apocalypse novels and playing video games. Sorry, dude. I immediately moved on.

Then there was a guy who responded affirmatively to “Do you have an ex that you’d really like to date again?” Really?! Who the hell wants to wade into that dynamic? Get your closure or see a therapist before you put out feelers for someone new.

The one that makes me flee the fastest is “Do you have a gun in your home?” Maybe that’s a helpful sorter. Look elsewhere. I’m sure the NRA has enough in its coffers to launch a Gays for Guns mixer at its annual convention. How convenient. And, yes, that really is a gun in his pocket. Chat him up. Fire away.

So go on. Review what you’ve written. Does it say enough? Or, perhaps as in my case, does it say too much? Anything one writes could stand a proofread and a revision or two. The written word still matters.

ONLINE DATING TIPS—Part 1: THE RIGHT “CHEESE” MATTERS

Okay, given my track record, I am the last person who should be offering advice about online dating. But you could flip things and realize that I have extensive experience in this realm. I may not know what works, but I have an idea or two about what doesn’t.

I keep seeing the same ill-conceived tactics and I feel compelled to comment. Give yourselves a better chance. And if you think I am completely off base, please leave a comment. Prove me wrong. Maybe I am the one who needs a new approach.

Just One Look:  Basic rule—Must include a photo on your profile. Actually, photos. In the age of the selfie, how can you only have one photo? Snap away. Change your clothes, move to another part of your home. Snap again. Upload. Post. I’m a brain-stunted techno-sloth, but even I can figure out how to do this.

Why do you need multiple photos? Everyone can have one insanely good photo. The stars aligned and the shot gives off a slight resemblance to George Clooney. Not the National Enquirer caught-off-guard-with-some-mistress-in-Madrid Clooney, but the photoshopped swoon-worthy Clooney. (And we’d all settle for “slight resemblance”, wouldn’t we?) I’ve gone out with a few of these one-shot wonders. I don’t recognize them in the coffeehouse. How could I? Heck, they’re not even a slight resemblance of the slight resemblance of Clooney. From the in-person intro, the interaction is doomed. No match between the photo and this coffee mate. No match at all.

Keep Current: Think of your photos like that carton of milk in the fridge. Eventually it goes sour. Chuck it. Even if it’s the best picture of you. Ever. I’m getting to be a schoolmarm over this. A guy messaged me yesterday with a brief, complimentary note about my profile. I glanced at his. Common interests,…great. Multiple photos,…super. But the captions under each of them noted they were from 2008. Ah, a very good year, to be sure. Katy Perry Kissed a Girl, that cute little American Idol kid sang about a Crush, Betty was still Ugly, the Housewives still Desperate. But time didn’t stand still. This guy even anticipated ogler perplexity by writing, “I still look as young as these photos.” We all like to think that. Prove it. Again, selfies have become so much more commonplace in the past SIX years. Don’t be lazy with your profile. This is not how to stand out amongst hundreds of other alleged singles.

Even if you are less forthright and don’t disclose the date, people will make assumptions. If you say you’re 53 and your main photo looks like you’re skateboarding to a pep rally, you’re not doing yourself any favors. Eventually you’re going to meet a few of these online browsers—that’s why you created a profile, isn’t it?! You’re ensuring disappointment for the first coffee. A dated photo is deceiving, even dishonest. Is that how you want to come off on the first meeting? If you happen to look much younger than your age as people say I do, add the month and year that each photo was taken under each photo. Be real. Eliminate the doubt.

The Devil Is in the Detail: Once you’ve mastered the phone photo, take a look at all that appears in each photo. Go beyond marvelling at the astonishing feat of minimizing your crow’s feet. What else will an online peeper see? Maybe you want to share your continuing obsession with Iron Maiden on a date—I’d suggest the fourth or later—instead of letting a sloppy t-shirt do the talking. Fashion might not matter to you, but is this really your best first online impression? (Iron Maiden?! I'm not making this up.) Same for holes just below the t-shirt collar. It may be your favorite shirt for lounging around the house because you can splash bacon grease and ketchup all over it, but it’s too homey. (Hint: Put on a shirt that matches your eyes. You want someone noticing them more than a t-shirt flaw.) These sites are designed to get browsers to keep clicking and you’re making it so much easier. If a shot of you provides a glimpse of your unfolded laundry strewn all over the sofa, I’d suggest kicking all the garments to the floor, out of view, and taking another picture. (Folding and putting them away would be preferable, but I am not your mother. I’m guessing that if a first date goes really, really well, you’ll lobby hard to go back to his place instead.)

I’ve passed on a few profiles of self-declared non-smokers who have a cigarette in their hand in a photo. For a growing number of us, it’s as bad as having a ring on a certain finger. Is this a dated photo? Delete it. If you are a smoker, then be honest about it. Non-smoking means just that. My ex has been “trying to quit” for twenty years. Until he actually succeeds, he’s a smoker. There’s no sugar coating that.

Go Easy on the Gear: Apparently there is some online dating advice guru who advocates extremism. I suppose the correct term is xtremism. Get your tandem skydiving bud to snap you in the air. Throw in shot of yourself motocrossing through a muddy course. Have your guide take a picture of you rappelling down a rock cliff. All very impressive. But there is no way to make out your face or your body. Too much equipment. You might as well be this guy  or one of these guys. Type your daring endeavors in the Interests section of your profile and stop hiding under a helmet. And as an aside, don’t cover the top of your head with baseball caps and toque in every single shot. Whether you’ve got hair or not, give the browsers a glimpse. If you are self-conscious about a receding hairline, gray hair or a full head of hair that doesn’t shine and bounce like in those shampoo commercials, so what? There’s a whole spectrum of head hair and an equally broad range of what guys are attracted to. Show what you’ve got (or haven’t got).

Got Teeth? I know there’s a study out there that says men are deemed more attractive in photos in which they don’t smile. You can find a study that concludes just about anything. This study keeps popping up online because it’s utterly ridiculous. If you want a stud shot—all sunglasses and stoicism—go for it. Let it be one photo. But it can’t be just me who finds a half dozen unsmiling pics distressing. Why so serious/sad/grumpy? Are you hiding braces or some dental disaster? I can’t bear the thought of coffee with you. I fear I’d spend the hour watching you sit in silence or listening to you blather on about that goldfish that died when you were five and your thoughts on the apocalypse. Lighten up. Smile.

 

So have fun with that phone camera. Snap away! Delete what doesn’t work. You’re bound to come up with a few decent pics. Give it a shot.

MR. MESSY

I don't fit the gay stereotype, but at least the color is right.

Let’s start with the logical solution:  I’ll pay for the maid.

Maybe the only discussion is weekly versus live-in.

 

My mother used to warn me that my habits would destroy a relationship. “Your wife will never stand for this! She’ll blame me and all I’ll say is ‘I tried.’”

Of course, my mom was dead wrong. I’d never have a wife.

But admittedly my messes did create strain on my relationship with my ex. We lived together for five and a half years. Somehow I thought it might be romantic if we cleaned together. At the very least, misery loves company. But I, a lifelong challenged cleaner, had to do it all. “I have dust allergies,” he’d say. Oh, if only that’s all he had.

Match Mr. Messy with a guy with OCD. We were doomed. He’d do laundry. Once, often twice a day. And that was just for our very own towel service. Towels were only used once. After a shower, he dried off with one clean towel for the upper body, one for the lower. I had to do the same. After work, he took another shower. Couldn’t let outside clothes make contact with the inside. Toss them in the washer. Along with another round of towels. Again, I had to do the same.

I am certain he loved the washing machine more than he loved me.

He’d supervise how I cleaned. “Aren’t you standing too close?” I’d say. “I’m sure I’m stirring up dust.”

But he’d keep me on task with “What kind of person doesn’t wipe down all the tomato splatter after cooking?”

“A hungry one,” I’d mutter. If only I could discuss such things with, oh, say, a wife. Surely that would be easier.

I don’t think I’ll ever get that close to a certifiable neatnik like that again. I’ll watch for the warning signs and run the first time a guy fits “antibacterial” into the conversation during a romantic evening walk.

But I got to thinking again about how much of an issue my bad habits will be with Mr. Hypothetical. I’ve joined a new dating website—time to bang my head against a different wall!—and it purports to create matches based on comparing responses to a series of questions.

“Are you messy?”

Yikes. I skipped it. The stereotype is that gay men are neat. Maybe even fussy. My answer might eliminate every potential candidate on the planet. Much too revealing. Far more so than my religious beliefs, my political views or whether I’m a top or bottom. Some things he’ll just have to find out much later. After I’ve hooked him, made him cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs and all that.

I am Pig Pen with better hygiene. I generate debris. I don’t see it happening. I usually don’t see it when I re-enter the room. I have to trip over it. But even then I don’t act. I’m too busy nursing my wounded big toe.

I need to have guests over more. It’s only as I anticipate their arrival that I see the catastrophe all around me. In every room. At eye level, foot level and every other possible level.

Maybe we can just have a nice long chat in the driveway. After I sweep it. And power wash it. And mow the lawn and tame the hedges.

Let’s just meet at Starbucks. My treat!

Yeah. It’s a problem. It’s been my New Year’s resolution every single year since I was ten. I still have time to work on it, as long as Mr. Hypothetical remains just that. Maybe I should try out my vacuum again—it’s in the house somewhere—instead of answering more of that endless list of questions for my dating profile. I’ll get started tonight. As soon as I get home. Skip that extra shower. Keep the outside clothes on. I have more glaring issues in that overwhelming realm of cleanliness.

If not tonight, tomorrow. Or next week. What’s the rush, really?

EXPANDING THE ONLINE NET

As mentioned in a post last week, I've decided to look beyond the online world of Plenty of Fish. I am stretching my horizons, surfing with a Patti LaBelle-inspired new attitude. Eyes open, smile genuine, mind positive... I opened a FREE account with the more popular, more lurid Gay.com. I left the profile blank since I didn't have a picture to run. Then, I browsed the listings for forty-something Vancouverites, felt the positivity waning and decided to logout. Give it a fresh look in a week. 

Logging back in today, lo and behold I had a message. Remember, I am the guy with the shell profile. Who would respond to nothing? The subject heading offered a clue: "Wassup. I'm just a simple guy..." (Honestly. I am not making this up.) Guess I didn't overwhelm him with heady profile reading. Whew. I knew this was an instant delete message but, for research sake once again, I opened it: "Hello cutie, damn horny here! I want to know some one who understand me. I am a person who is online most of the time and expects everyone to be friendly with him. If you want details, please feel free to ask." 

And I didn't. I could not bear to open the profile. Not even for research. Delete. 

Still positive. SPAM is everywhere. I haven't terminated my Yahoo email account just because I keep being asked to help a Nigerian diplomat with a confidential investment opportunity. (I mean, really,...what would I do with all that money?) I went to my profile and added a headshot after cropping out family members from a photo emailed to me during the winter. How narcissistic. How callous to blot out Aunt V and her bejewelled sweatshirt. To download the picture, I had to click a box that read, "I agree this photo is of me, or I have Permission to use it." (Italics added.) What?! I could have called up Brad Pitt and got permission to use that ab-fabulous snippet from "Thelma and Louise"?! Damn. 

Okay, somewhat guarded, but still in the positive realm of conciousness. I began to whip together a blah-blah-blah about myself, only to be distracted by a gay.com ad in the right margin with a photo of a studly man gripping a tennis ball in his hand while posing in the kind of tight shorts McEnroe used to wear on court in the '70s. The pic deserved a fashion citation and a McEnroesque diatribe, beginning with "Are you serious?!" 

But it was still hot. 

It dawned on me that on this site I'd have not only to compete with photos of hundreds of other Vancouver men (or photos they had Permission to use (capitalized in accordance with gay.com's style manual)), but there would also be these comely male models popping up on every page. Egad, how dismal! 

Oops, ventured out of the positive zone. Let me rephrase that. Oh, hurrah, what a challenge! 

Wooers who message me must be truly crazy for me (or just simple guys). I focused on writing my profile, submitted it and was aghast that my paragraph spacings were ignored. Horrors! One hodgepodge block of text! Hard to recover from that troublesome glitch. I'll hold off and peruse profiles another day.