Sarah Palin Press Conference

[SCENE – Press conference, standing room only, carnivorous reporters teeming with excitement for the impending figurative self-immolation of an anonymous hopeless romantic)

AJ: “After my apparent declaration of moral ambiguity…”

Reporter: “You mean ‘bankruptcy,’ Mr. Johnson?”

AJ: “Hey now, I’m supposed to be the jerk here.”

Reporter: “Apologies.  As you were.”

AJ: “Thank you.  I will now read a prepared statement.  Please hold your observations until the end…”

When I wax philosophic, I can get a little dark and myopic.  When I want to be fluid and humanist, exploring morals and ideals of the whole, I end up polemic and digging myself a hole.  [channeling my best Pete Peterkin] Let me be clear, I don’t believe in doubt and I don’t have dark storm clouds following me everywhere.  I may digress off the topic of Dating, but fatigue and a long train ride makes for a great writing session.  I apologize for the terribly self-aggrandizing tone.  It was unnecessary.  I may go back and tone it down, but it definitely helped me come to a few new realizations about romantic-toned interactions and “the game” in general.  I also thought my Stephen Colbert-esque title would make my sarcastic (not angry) intent clear.

Believe it or not, I’ve actually been making progress on the romantic interaction front.  I even had the briefest moment of non-platonic human contact.  Didn’t meet her through a website, so maybe it doesn’t count for the blog’s sake…  I even made a connection with someone from the web, but unfortunately, she failed one of my dealbreaker tests.  She lives outside my circumference requirements.  Oh well.  Frankly, I shouldn’t even have to say anything – a couple of emails and text messages doesn’t require me to say “Sorry, don’t want to see/talk/text/etc with you anymore.”  Seems like a cool gal though, damn shame.

If you live outside of this box, we probably won't get on too well...

Back to the non-site chica: I’ve been trying a lot harder than usual to be in touch and/or make plans. 

Sorry ladies, I don’t chase.  It’s nothing personal; it’s just a matter of resources available.  My rare nights/weekends off are often better spent being a vegetable and recharging my batteries.  I don’t like talking on the phone either; it’s so much nicer to talk in person.  Body language is vital to getting to know someone.  I’m also so easily distractible that talking on the phone to me can be like talking to a six-year old.  Again, it’s nothing personal.  I also get a little angsty when thinking about calling a woman – what if I’m: disturbing, waking up, interrupting mellow time, busting in on a conversation with mom, ruining your game with another man (haha), or ruined your train of thought right before you found the meaning of life????  So, I just won’t call you, at first.  I know that women like talking.  I do too.  I obviously like to talk…  My inner Spock says: anything I want to say, I’d rather look you in the eye while doing so.  If I can’t see your face, I have nothing to say.  If I have nothing to say, why would I call?  Q.E.D.

For the record, I followed up with almost all of my first dates.  I never “just called to say hi” – I invited them out for Round 2.  If I got no response, I never tried again.  It’s as simple as this: For aforementioned reasons, I won’t chase you.  If you had fun on the date, and I got in touch after, I take a lack of response as a lack of interest.  It took me a lot of nerve to call you; and nerve is an important resource.  If I keep tapping into my nerve to try getting in touch, I’ll lose my nerve when I need it for something important.  For some reason, I’ve made more effort with this one. 

I don’t know if I’m losing or gaining points with her, but I’ll try only so much harder.  I may have lost a few points when I saw her briefly yesterday morning on a coffee run.  I was slightly ashen and travel-weary, and had no time to stick around and chat.  I even texted her with a semi-formed plan/date/hang for tonight, but got bored of waiting for a response and made other plans.  Naturally, she got back to me after said plans were made.  Pending her schedule, of course, I’ll have to build another logic tree to determine if seeing her is more valuable than a round of disc golf/crossword time at the coffee shop/book in the park/vegetating/etc.  Maybe there can be a combination of the previously listed activities…  Either way, I will make sure that the use of my free time will not detract from the important activities of next week.  I have a few nice chunks of hours off over the next few days that will allow me to cover more activities than usual.  Very exciting.

Before I go, I want to share a story from my train rides.  On the way up, I either slept or read, with headphones and sunglasses on the whole time.  Didn’t speak to a soul.  It was kinda awesome.  On the way back, I was headphoned again, but finished some work and wrote my silly ramble.  When we got to New York, I was all set to keep my headphones on and read/crossword puzzle, but the train filled up and a fairly pretty gal sat next to me. 

Okay AJ, here’s your chance to practice talking to strange (as in unknown, not abnormal) women without sounding like a tool. 

Sidenote: A train is a great place to drink.  The prices were comparable to a mid-ranged Center City bar and you get a view. 

We have pleasant small talk!  She smiles a lot.  Only some of them were condescending.  Gets off at the next stop, oh well, but a small group of people sitting around me all start talking about the NBA playoffs.  It was clear that most of them did not know each other, but everyone is HILARIOUS.

Q: “Why couldn’t LeBron James get a soda from the vending machine?”

A: “Because he dropped the fourth quarter.”

It quickly turned to the rumor of Delonte West sleeping with LeBron’s mom.  I also reminded them what a monster West was at St. Joe’s.  It just continued onward and spiraled around – we talked about living in the south, NYC, politics, drugs, dating protocols, life goals, achievements, and on and on.  We were also roaring with laughter – many a dirty looks from the neighbors, but lots of stifled laughter from other parts of the car.  It was a deep and passionate encounter amongst a half-dozen strangers from all over the universe; a collision of dimensions that released energy felt by all.  It was refreshing, empowering, and enjoyed by everyone.

Let’s go Thunder.

I Am Selfish And So Can You

I am currently in hour 7 of 10 of traveling today.  I have already spent more time on the train than I did in my destination total.  All for the cause of course, but the delirium of a double gig last night + 6:40am train this morning + walking up and down vicious New England hills = one delirious blogger.  One good thing about delirium (and mini-bottles of Dewer’s scotch) is the ability to be introspective without promoting self-doubt.  That is, unless you’re already fighting the devils of doubt.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t dealt with some doubt devils over the years.  I’d actually be lying if I said I wasn’t dealing with them now, but for some reason the fatigue, delirium, and semi-tasty booze are doing a pretty good job of giving me clarity rather than anxiety. 

It could also be the fact that I walked around the city most of the day without realizing I spilled coffee ALL OVER my nice button-down shirt.  Seriously people, you can’t take me anywhere.  Thank goodness it was AFTER my meeting; at least I don’t care what train people think about nicely dressed AJ (Anonymous Johnson, for you newcomers) with a big splotch of coffee colored grossness on a pretty blue J. Crew shirt.  I’m too delirious to try to flirt with some of the sublimely gorgeous women on the train anyway – unlike my dear chessboxing opponent one day a few moons ago…

Regardless, what normally would make me want to curl up into a ball and cry for Mama is instead stifled laughter in a semi-crowded train car, currently in the New Haven, CT station waiting to pick-up Yankees and Elis.  Kill me now.

The point I’m trying to get to: Levity.  Or for you Aesopian moralists (oh how I hate you so): “Always look on the bright side of life!”

How can I take myself seriously if I’m running around the world with a huge fucking coffee stain on my shirt?  How can I be mad at myself for going hours without noticing, walking around and smiling and thinking everything is peachy-flippin-keen?  It’s not like I have an emergency ironed dress shirt in my army-surplus shoulder bag.  It’s my own damn fault anyway – I was walking down the street with an umbrella, cup of coffee, trying to smoke a cigarette, while talking to my boss.  It was pouring rain; priority was keeping my bag and computer dry.  Every single one of you reading this would agree: functional computer > coffee-stained dress shirt.  That’s why god invented dry cleaners, duh.

I digress.  Levity.  I read one definition of levity that said “the treatment of a serious matter…in a manner lacking due respect.”  That may be true, and however much it pains me to admit it, I think I’ll have to side with the Aesopians on this one.  So what I have a nasty coffee stain on my shirt – I had a fairly successful trip today, especially considering I had about 90 minutes of couch napping between when I woke up on Wednesday morning and getting on a train at the ass-crack of dawn Thursday.  The two or so hours of train sleep this morning doesn’t really count.

So where’s my point, you ask…  If I can sit here, stain and all, and smile and laugh and poke fun at myself of the whole matter, that is levity.  Levity is what keeps people from losing their shit over something stupid like spilt milk.  Or in my case spilt coffee (which normally evokes tears anyway…more so for the lost coffee rather than the stain it may or may not leave).

-----

During the course of my solo business trip today I had a major league epiphany.  Granted, I already knew the result of the epiphany: I’m a selfish twat.  The irony is that the epiphany would make most people go: “Well, I’ve done some cool shit.  I guess it’s time to go settle down and start a family and yadda yadda,” which really means “it’s okay to go crawl under a rock and die now.” 

As my meeting was wrapping up (looking at potential office space to rent for my new job), I had to give the guy my business card.  “Sorry,” I said.  “This is from my soon-to-be previous career.”  Not like I was going to tell him that it’s a temporary step-back, not an “I give up,” but I had to somehow justify handing him my lovely, professionally designed musician business card.  We talked for a few seconds about it, he had some interesting questions about my career, but it made me think…  Fortunately or unfortunately, when you’re wandering around a strange city where you know one person (who was out of town today), you can do nothing but think…  The following is my convoluted train of thought over the course of the afternoon.

I really have done some cool shit in my life.  I opened up for Natalie Cole and Chuck Mangione at 18.  Got to play on the field at the (now gone) Veteran’s Stadium.  A few years later I was opening up for Talib Kweli in front of 50,000 people.  I’ve played with former sidemen for Ray Charles, Jay-Z, Matisyahu, and countless other monsters of music.  I’ve gotten to see places and do things because of music that would have cost me years (yes, years) of income to manage, including visiting another continent.  Icing on the cake is, frankly, I’ve never played better piano in my life.  It’s not pride talking – it’s fact.  I wish I could find a slightly less ignorant way of saying it, but it’s hard to be self-confident without being a prick.  For the purposes of this self-aggrandizing/self-effacing blog (combined with fatigue, coffee, and now booze), I’m just going to push it a little farther than usual for now.  No apologies though – it’s not like I’m saying mean things about yo’ mamma or sumthin…

Me, with my infinite justifications for levity, bizarre Vulcananian logical deductions, and hyper-self-awareness came to the complete opposite conclusion.  I’ve done some really cool shit.  I know I sound like an A-level asshole right now, but it’s true.  To save (a little) face, I’ve been this way my whole life.  Chasing adventures, breaking expectations, not caring what people think about me, etc., has been my M.O. since I was old enough to tell stupid people to “fuck off.”  (If you were wondering, it started when I was 5 or so…) 

I’ve been re-inspired to do what is the unexpected; to do what I think is best for my long-term needs and goals.  And as you all well know by now, starting a family is at the very bottom of that list of needs and goals.  It’s why I’m (albeit temporarily) giving up a fairly successful music career in one of the world’s hardest cities to be a musician.  It’s not because I don’t believe in my abilities, it’s because I want to do bigger and better things that I can’t provide for myself on a mercenary musician’s income.  So sue me.  If it means women scoff at my choice of lifestyle, so be it, I’ll deal.  

I reckon there’s a woman or two out there who thinks along the same lines as I do, wondering why no man wants to be a part of their world because of their inherent need to do what they feel is important to their own lives.  Maybe our paths will cross.  The funny thing is, if my path crosses with hers, we’ll probably both think each other are turds and never speak again.  I wonder if some of my mediocre first dates have been just that – two kindred spirits on the path of self-discovery and self-improvement that realize there’s just not enough time in the day to share it with another.  It’s her loss, but it’s my loss too. 

The final conclusion, aka, the “Moral” (fucking Aesopians): Actually, I don’t think I have one.  The onus really is just on the individual to realize what they want and need.  If they ignore their subtle Freudian needs for a simple cuddle, then fuck ‘em (figuratively...if I was implying literal, don’t you think I’d have a much mellower tone here?).  I’m not saying “Hey baby, you’re hot, let’s go [insert boorish euphemism for sex here].”  I’m too old for that shit.  My rule has (almost) always been: I would rather wake up alone and lonely than wake up somewhere and say “oh no, what did I do…”

So I guess I do have a moral: Be honest to yourself.  If you’re willing to give up a little fun for your personal needs, than so be it.  I’m that way most of the time – I don’t chase.  So yea, sometimes I jones for a little simple physical contact, but I don’t go home crying about it either.  So not worth the time.

Actually, I lied.  The moral: All the cool shit I’ve done in the past has merely reaffirmed my selfishness.  I want more.  It’s not like I’ll cut you to get what I want, I’ll just walk around you instead.  I reiterate: So sue me.

I both long and rue for the day that I meet her.  “Her” being a similarly Vulcanesque logistician that knows exactly what they want, just not how to get it.  All I know is, we’re going to drive each other crazy, and well, I can’t wait.

P.S. Someone sitting near me on the train has sumtin smelly....

Off The Disabled List?

I reckon I owe someone an apology, somewhere, for something I may or may not have done; with or without malice, sarcasm, or comedic intent; in person, online, or by proxy; hopefully without bodily harm, financial loss, or humiliating you in the process.  Or vice versa, in which case you owe me an apology, you son of a bitch.  No clemency here, pay up fool.

I wish I had reason to apologize for taking so much time away from this fun little endeavor.  I would LOVE to tell you a story of some fiery long lean sex machine, but it would be fiction.  Heck, I wish I had a story about a second date, but that would just be a plain lie. 

Dare I try to pass off that I’ve at least had enough boring first dates that I need my toes to count too?  No, I would have a better chance passing off a yarn about ogres and space monkeys as the truth.  I think the count is actually limited to one hand...

I do owe one small apology.  To the few of you who may read this post, whom I know personally, and have yet to have a chance to tell you myself: I’m moving out of Philadelphia in August.  Details aren’t really for this forum, but it would be difficult to continue writing the blog if I didn’t disclose the most basic of details.  That being said:

The truth, as I see fit to present it:

A) I’m busy, distractible, and I work an awkward and inconsistent schedule.  When I get the urge to troll the dating sites and occasionally grow a pair to say “hello,” it’s usually about two weeks before we can find a mutual free night.  It’s nothing personal, but it doesn’t exactly make me an ideal date candidate.

B) I’m very open about my lame duck status here in Philadelphia, but I promise that my intentions are not solely primal in nature.  When push comes to shove, I am still a hopeless romantic who wants to enjoy the company of a new person.  I want to find out what we have in common, see what rattles your chain, test your intelligence, listen to your voice, stare in your eyes, push your buttons, et cetera.  I want you to do the same to me.  Sure, I wouldn’t mind a little sooky-sooky (hopefully she wants the same), but I’m happy just to have a few good laughs and adult beverages.  Don’t mistake my openness about leaving town as a subito reference to “I just want to get in bed with you.”  It would only be a fringe benefit of enjoying your company.

C) My assurances are probably as meaningless to a stranger as a minor league baseball game in Taiwan, but I do not lie.  Putting aside the fact that lying is a waste of energy and oxygen – Lying requires you to remember your lie and be able to recall it, on command, at any time.  I can think of a lot of things I’d rather spend that energy on, can’t you?

D) I probably won’t stop smoking, drinking, and cursing for you.  You’ll probably want to enjoy at least two of those three things.  Again, nothing personal.

-----------

In order to keep momentum, keep you entertained, and keep me from closing back off, I’m going to try and post more.  It may just be quips, observations, and one-liners, but at least I’ll get them posted, rather than laugh to myself and forget what I thought.  I am capable of posting from my phone, but I’ll have to get over my reticence for instant technological gratification first.  And yes, I have a twitter (for this, not for my person), which would certainly be the right medium for quips and one-liners…  Find it (if you dare: @datingn00b)

I do have a final observation for my not-so-triumphant return to blogging: A woman’s voice (tone, timbre, quality) has a very high weight when determining a woman’s overall sexiness.  It’s almost as important as her height and brainpower.  (Perhaps my next post will be a mathematical breakdown of a woman’s sexiness potential.  Hmmm….)

Spring Training

A few months ago, I had more free time than a bored child on summer vacation.  I was reading about two books a week.  Started writing one even.  Absolutely destroyed two of the three Call of Duty games that I missed out on over the years.  Transcribed two or three tunes a week, sometimes even two a day.  Watched almost every fantastic 76ers game from early in the season (including Malik Rose’s amazing color commentary).  I even worked up to finishing some Thursday NYT Crossword puzzles.  Hell, I even had time to investigate the world of Online Dating and then muse on the subject to the ether.

Example of Malik Rose's amazing commentary.  Pump your volume a bit, it was a crappy job done by the poster...

At first it was pretty awesome.  Due to circumstances (that’s all you get), I was still getting a steady check.  It was also the mildest winter that Philadelphia has seen in years.  All in all, it’s not a bad way to spend the wintertime.

And then Spring Training started.  Every year (that I’ve been home at least), when pitchers and catchers report to camp, everything starts to move a lot faster.  Gigs start coming my way.  Offers and random events lead to bigger things.  Slowly, my calendar starts to have ticks and marks on it, reminding me that I have somewhere to be.

Holy cow, I have somewhere to be?  That means somebody wants me around!

Ugh, sappy shit.  Remember, I fart rainbows and shit unicorns.

Seriously though, I went from having time to schedule four or five dates a week (I didn’t, obviously) to having to pencil in “Laundry” onto my calendar.  Talk about a paradigm shift.

At first, the newfound busyness was oppressive.  When I got home, the first thing I did was put down my bag and dump my jacket on a chair.  The second thing was to pour several fingers of Jameson.  The third, and last, was to plant my ass firmly on the couch and not move until the next morning.  I barely trolled OkCupid or JDate, let alone go on any dates.  If no dates, then I don’t really have much to write about, eh? 

For the record, I stand fast in my belief that my time was better served learning Rihanna and Katy Perry songs instead of going out for birthday celebrations. 

[this is where I’d normally post a silly apropos image, but I refuse to acknowledge the popular addiction to these type of stars]

It’s been a few weeks now of the schedule madness and I’ve finally adjusted to it.  Instead of coming home and crashing, I’m coming home, doing work, and attempting the dating scene again.  I’ve had some better luck with ladies responding and I’ve tweaked my profile to make me seem a little less turd-ish.  Not that I’m a turd, but I’m definitely not Prince Charming either…

In fact, I actually had a date with a lady I met on OkCupid.  The first lady was from JDate, and well, I already told you how that one went.  The woman I met was cute, intelligent, and kept me entertained with wild, anecdotal stories.  She even had natural red hair and bright blue eyes. 

One day I’ll tell you a story about the scariest woman I ever met.  She too had red hair.  Between then and now, I had trouble looking at a redhead, let alone going on a date with one…

Anyhow, this past Saturday afternoon I met this neat redheaded woman at a bar that was halfway between our respective abodes.  Enjoyed some classy cans, ate some greasy food, and then it was time to depart.  Sensing some interest, I proposed that I walk her home (knowing full well it was about a mile in the wrong direction). 

So, does that make me a creep?  According to my naïve sense of gentlemanliness: Not a creep.  If she wasn’t into me, she would have found some nice way to put me down, right?  I just wanted to hang out with her for a bit longer before it was off to our own social obligations for the evening.  I guess I wasn’t as appalling as I thought – she allowed me to accompany her on a stroll through South Philadelphia…  It’s not like I had much else to do until nightfall and it was a lovely afternoon.

We walk.  We keep chatting.  Alright! 

I know, I sound about as lame as this movie looks.  Sue me.

Please note: A good first date means absolutely nothing when it comes to activities, potential girlfriend possibilities, or even a second date.  Unless the mood and situation is right, I don’t even like kissing on the first date.  Generally, I take a post-date hug as a good sign. 

Before I even started going on dates, I decided that I would ask every girl why she was trying online dating.  Although I’ve only been on two actual dates, I’ve asked a few of the women that I’ve traded emails with and not actually seen.

The general responses: Not enough time, tired of meeting dudes at bars, bad luck meeting dudes at bars, or some variation thereof.  Substitute “lady” for “dude” and you have my reasons too.

I was feeling a little bold on Saturday.  It may or may not have been the two beers on an empty stomach talking, but I asked her: “How has the online dating thing worked for you so far?”

No shit, it obviously hasn’t gone swimmingly if she is meeting me for a date.

I’m still not 100% sure why I asked.  According to my naïve sense of gentlemanliness, it was not a question for a first date.  It does however fall under my “Test The Boundaries Early” rule.  She passed with flying colors when it came to the story telling and core beliefs.  The answer, though not surprising, gave me an interesting angle but also a potential dealbreaker (for her).

Me: “So how has the internet dating thing gone for you?”

Redhead (after looking slightly surprised by the question): “Not too terribly.  But not too great either.  I’ve met a couple of cool guys, but they were too busy.”

Me (sotto voce): Crap.

Crap crap crap.

It was time to channel all of my inner Chris Matthews and figure out how to spin that to my advantage.  I make it no secret that I am a busy guy.  I’m still not looking for a wife, but I am definitely willing to make time to hang out with a cool woman.

The entire walk I’m pondering how to word that sentiment.  It seems clear to me that she’s willing to see me again, but has doubts considering my wacko schedule.  I push the Chris Matthews-esque spin away in favor for a Cole Hamels type curveball.  However, I purposely throw one that hangs out in the middle of the plate, giving her a chance to smash it, or harmlessly foul it away.  And by “harmlessly foul it away” I actually mean “kick my sorry ass to the curb.” 

[by the way, couldn't find a good video of Cole Hamels getting homered on, but we all know what that looks like anyway...]

Before I know it, and before I have any idea how to word it, we’re in front of her house.  She hugs me, and not a wimpy shoulder-first hug either.  Didn’t much stock into that one hug, but I feel slightly less anxious.

It’s time to ask her out again.  I know it sounds super-cheeseballz, but here’s a paraphrase: “If you didn’t find me too appalling, I’d like to see you again soon.  I fail at the ‘being too busy’ thing, but I want to make time to see you again!”

So apparently I vomit bunny rabbits too...

 Whether she was telling the truth or not, she said she would love to.  More telling though, was another strong hug.  Yea yea, save your second-grade banter for another forum.  I’m not basing all of my judgments over two hugs and two hours of good conversation.  It’s still better than the metaphysical curb sandwich I always expect when I ask out a pretty woman.

So hopefully our schedules will link up again in a timely fashion.  There’s nothing worse than having a great date derailed by the fact that it’ll be two weeks before we can see each other again.  In the meantime, I have assloads of work to do and plenty of other women to try and have a date with.  I like being busy – it keeps me honest.

I forgot an important part!  The redheaded chica had a fantastic ass…  Hopefully I'll see it, I mean HER again!

Reason #27

Reason #27 Why I Don’t Have Many Dates: I convince myself it’s more important to spend an hour learning a 3.5 minute long Rihanna tune than it is to send out 3 or 4 messages to random women.

Technically, it is for a gig.

So it’s actually not Reason #27, but more like Reason #3³. 

Reason #3 Why I Don’t Have Many Dates: Because my career is a higher priority at the moment. 

Reason #3² (9) Why I Don’t Have Many Dates: Because I’m too busy writing a song or practicing to troll the interwebs.

Reason #3³ (27) Why I Don’t Have Many Dates: Because learning pop songs for a gig is more important than trolling the interwebs.

Q.E.D.

Bender says: You’re boned.  

Breaking The Seal

I had my first date.  With someone I’ve met online. 

[For the next few phrases, I want you to imagine commas as a pause in speech instead of grammatical correctness…]

She was cute , , , enough.  Our conversations were interesting , , , enough.  It was a really nice date , , , almost.  I’ve had better first dates, but I’ve definitely had worse.

Actually, it was just plain ordinary.  I think my demeanor and antics amused her.  I found her interesting , , , enough.

Pros: Brains, Wit, Smile, Boots

Cons: Job, Age, Insufficient Curves, Slightly Shy

Let’s be real here for a second.  She was a smart cookie but lacked in areas critical for a proper connection.  We hit several cool topics in philosophy and social constructs.  But she didn’t really fight back intellectually how I would have liked.  Fight is not the right word, but I may have intentionally pushed the envelope to see how she would react. 

Tepidly, if you’re wondering.

First Thought...

Then I look at my hand...

Yea, it's like that...

~

Math Time!

50 °F = Cold Shower

72 °F = Room Temperature

98.6 °F = Body Temperature

105 °F = Hot Shower

115 °F = Hot Tub

175 °F = Sauna

212 °F = Water Boiling

(Apologies to the non-continentals, but I reckon you’re pretty good at ballparking the Celsius equivalents by now…)

H stands for “overall hotness” – obviously.

If H > 212 °F, it’s a rock n’ roll style party.

If H < 175 °F, the heat is pumping, but it’s not obscene.

So and and so forth…until:

If H < 50 °F, check your pulse.  Then check hers.

She got to about 85 °F or so. Warm, but not quite enough to break a good sweat over.

Final Judgement: Not girlfriend material, but could be a fun second date…

Doesn't anyone read Santayana anymore?  This guy doesn't apparently...

~

Wait a sec, no one stopped me to explain what "Insufficient Curves" meant!  Actually, I wanted to wait and see if you even noticed.

Insufficient Curves = Has some curves in the right places, but doesn't always curve back when it's supposed to.

Don't you dare call it shallowness.  Physical attraction is a fundamental piece of the algorithm.  Curvy can be very sexy...

I don't need Double-0 Pooper to justify me, but it's a very good point.

Horrendous Oversight

How in the world could I forget to mention this??

I few days ago I get an email saying: “We just detected that you’re now among the most attractive people on OkCupid.”

What in the sam-hell-fuck does that mean?

So now I have a steady stream of visitors to my page, none of which bother to respond to my outreaches.

I ask you this OkCupid: So you try to build my ego, only to have it smashed by this slew of “attractive” women you offer me in return?

Suck my balls.

Start Your Day The Right Way

Algorithm (paraphrased from one of my favorite sites, Wolfram Mathematics) – An algorithm is a specific set of instructions for carrying out a procedure or solving a problem, usually with the requirement that the procedure terminate at some point.

Ever seen those silly meme flow charts about anything?  Well friends, that’s an algorithm.  Check out one of my all-time favorites from mi amiga Shmitten Kitten:

She's so clever.  Patronize her page.  NOW!

It’s actually the simplest of algorithms – “If yes, do this.  If no, do that.”  In the computing world, algorithms are the cores of all operations.  The complexities in which they make technology tick are almost matched by the complexity of the algorithms formed in our brains.

Please forgive my amateur psychology hour here, but I think I’m pretty on target.  The decisions we make are based on certain sets of rules that we create for ourselves.  Whether it’s how we dress, what we eat, or even how we think about other people, we make these judgments based on the conditions of the situation. 

[I would totally make a ridiculous flow-chart here about something, but my visual design-impaired brain just will not function that way…  I’ll leave that to the professionals.]

Perhaps it’s my borderline Vulcan mindset these days, but I’m constantly building and analyzing logic trees (a catchy term for algorithm) to determine the proper responses to outside stimuli.  I’m not quite Spock level logical, thank goodness, and he was even half-human!  I’m like if Spock and sexy Uhuru from the new movie had a baby that looks like Leonard Nimoy…  On second thought, ouch.

I just couldn't pass this one up...
(ganked from ScifiScoop.com)

I’m constantly reminding myself that the world is only logical in theory.  In practice, passion reigns supreme.  So I have to remind myself that certain situations require certain responses, even though my logical instinct disagrees.  If I gave any examples, you all would think I’m some kind of robotic asshole, so I’ll pass on sharing those.  Not like you don’t think that already, but I’d prefer not to exacerbate rumors of my inability to love or show affection…  That would totally defeat the purpose of finding some romantic entanglements to distract myself from the mundane of normalcy.

I digress… 

I start my day with a simple algorithm that determines my outlook for the day.  I know that at least 80% of you will agree, but only 10% of you will admit to it.

I had two fantastic poops this morning.  That does an awesome day make :).

~

I spent my weekend on total brain shutdown.  I did, however, spend a fair chunk of time trying to tweak my profiles to make me seem less like a “hippie-dink artist type” and more like the “fun yet cerebral” type.  And of course, I spent time sending the requisite messages to strange women in hopes of a shared classy can or two. 

Fail.

I don’t know why, but none of these women seem interested in messaging me back.  Perhaps they don’t find me the right kind of crazy for them? 

I am 100% convinced that these dating sites are solely for the purposes of finding a compatible type of crazy.  There is a flaw in my logic though: Most people don’t want to admit they’re crazy.  Naturally, those people are the craziest of us all, but I wouldn’t want to date them anyway.  Therefore, I make sure to let a little bit of my crazy appear in my messages to them. 

I’m also 100% convinced that if they can’t appreciate a little insanity from time to time, then they should probably be institutionalized.

I'm not this crazy, but I also don't have his abs.  Or his recovered crackhead attitude...

BUT!  (There’s always a but…)

I am going to go on my first meetup tonight.  Naturally, it was a woman who messaged me first.  She’s younger than me, which is kind of a turnoff.  But after two weeks of ridiculous blogging and failed attempts at starting a conversation, I need to go have a drink with some random woman.  She does not seem like the type that I would want to get serious with, but she seems to tolerate my chronic need for honesty.  She says that she’s amused by it, but we’ll see if I can keep my filters functioning after the second beer…

At the very least, I will be satisfied by the fact that I actually followed up and met an online date.  Perhaps I’ll actually get to sleep in a bed for the first time in weeks…

Wish me luck!




~

There is one last thing I’d like to discuss.  Despite the fact I followed my own instructions on making sure she’s not a serial killer, there is one simple step you can take to make sure your body is found before it starts to smell up the place.

Leave some kind of note or email a friend the name and contact info of the person you’re meeting, along with WHERE you’re meeting them.  Example:

Jane Doe

215.555.3825

janesapsycho@gmail.com

Meeting @ Knife’s Dive Bar

How hard is that?  Prudence is the mother of invention, not necessity.

Here’s to hoping I’ll be around to write another post!

Earning Stripes

I’m equally surprised and not surprised by the amount of friends I have who have tried online dating.  Not that they all would admit to it, but I’d wager at least 75% of my dating-age/single friends have at least signed up for a dating site.  Whether or not they follow through isn’t really my concern, but if they’ve been reading this, at least they’ll be better prepared.  I hope…

The reasons I’m not surprised: It’s no longer verboten to discuss online dating amongst your friends.  There seems to be a tacit agreement amongst the men and women of the world to avoid talking about it unless there’s a funny story or a wedding involved.  Is it still considered a taboo?  Slightly, but you’re no longer a pariah for trying it.

The reasons I am surprised: The folks I know who do it, most of them never seem to have trouble meeting people.  That includes me too.

Previously I discussed the reasons why I’m giving it a shot.  I haven’t asked my friends their specific reasons for going up on these sites, but it’s safe to assume that they would all answer with a combination of “I don’t have time to meet people” or “I’m tired of meeting people at bars.” 

I can’t disagree with either reason, but I do have doubts. 

Social awkwardness is still social awkwardness.  Whether you’re doing your talking online or in person, the awkward will still rear it’s ugly head and potentially ruin your evening. 

Everything is better with a LOLcat...

I am fully aware, and embracing, of my awkwardness.  It’s one of my most endearing qualities.  Sometimes it’s horrible and I end up with a beer down my shirt, tomato sauce in my eye, or falling flat on my face (klutz, not booze), but if I didn’t embrace it, I would not be able to exist in social situations.  My career is one big social situation, so I’d be fucked. 

I wear this hat to every date.

More often than not, my awkwardness will make me fall flat on my face (metaphorically) while talking to a strange woman.  Either my joke is too obscure or too blunt, or my observations are too straightforward, or I manage to spill something.  Sometimes all of the above, and I definitely go home numberless and alone those nights. 

I was not always this awkward.  In fact, I used to be pretty damn good at the “game.”  I made my rules; I stuck by them, and had a lot of fun along the way.  I’m getting older now, and I’ve adapted my rules.  No longer am I driven by the urges for raucous parties and empty sex. 

Seriously.

A few years ago I had some run-ins with some really unpleasant women.  At first glance they weren’t too bad, but then again, I was young, dumb, and full of [insert the word that you all know fits here].  It wasn’t until I ended up with a bleeding back and nearly getting a restraining order (two DIFFERENT chicks…) that I decided I was no longer solely motivated by the chase of the tails.

I decided that I would rather wake up in my own bed than wake up in some strange place and say: “Oh Crap.”

I'm not wasting another cent on paper bags.
A real bed isn't worth that either...

~

Because I’m not a prude, and because I know I’m fully capable of getting women, I chose to online date and attempt to save some embarrassment and trouble by getting turned down.  I’ve earned my stripes as a “man” and don’t feel like any less of one for skipping the awkward interpersonal courting process.

There is really only one thing that is still puzzling me.  Why am I not getting many responses back to my messages?  I’m using an algorithm of directly addressing something in their profile, something slightly sarcastic, and me being myself.

Maybe that’s the problem…

Actually no, I don’t think that’s the problem.  I think I’m not asking them enough questions.  Pardon my assumption here, but I feel it’s pretty standard: The best magic happens when you can induce the woman to just talk and talk.  The way to do that is to just ask lots of questions and let them open up.  I do my best when I can get them on a thread and just let them ramble on.  Ideally, what they have to say interests me, but I can’t be too picky, right?

Which is worse?

Even if she was rambling about Tom Brady's cock, I'd still let her talk my ear off...

Shut up shut up shut up shut up....You're burning my brain!!!

What Is "The Game?"

“Checkmate!”

“Dude, what the hell?  You can’t move your pawn diagonally across the board like that!”

“This is my game, and it’s my rules.”

BAM!

“You lost the last round of chessboxing too, idiot…”

I don't like this game anymore...

We’ve all seen Swingers once or twice.  We’ve all also probably seen one or twelve more rom-coms than we’d ever care to admit.  This proverbial “game” is one that has no pieces, no rounds, and no rules.  It is a perpetual shit show of guessing, logic, and pure animal instinct.  And naturally, there's no “winner” or “loser” – there is only success and fail, and even those are really subjective terms.

It’s certainly not as cut-and-dry as “getting laid” or “not getting laid.”

I hope your heart isn't as rusted as your undies

So, how do you play a game like this?

Simple: You play or you don’t.  And make sure YOU set the rules.

The only rule of the dating game: Know what you want.  It doesn’t matter if “what you want” is an incredibly vague half-cocked concept of dating/romance, as long as you’ve taken a little time to decide what you want.

“Well Anonymous, what the hell do you want?”

Are you sure you want to know?

“Do fish poop in the water?”

Touché… 

~

In order to remotely understand what I want out of the dating world, you’d probably have to be either: A) As dark and jaded as me.  B) Divorced at least once.  C) Dumped at least three women in a row without being dumped.

Now, I’ve never been married, but I might as well have been.  Bought a house, became the doggie step-dad, et cetera.  We were together long enough to see someone meet a “special other,” get married, and subsequently divorced.  Close enough for jazz…

I wanted the NFC plates...bitch.

Personally, I’m okay with not knowing what I want.  The things I don’t know what I want are far greater than the things I do know I want.  I’m not wife-hunting, but I can’t arbitrarily rule out the possibility of meeting her.  I do know that my career is an extremely high priority, so hopefully she has one of her own to obsess over.  I do know that I’ll take a big brain over a super-model’s looks. 

Yes, I think Tina Fey is in the Top 3 for sexiest women alive.  I’d take her over Megan Fox in a heartbeat. 

“Wait, what?  You’d rather bone Tina Fey than Megan Fox?  I must have hit you too hard,” says my titanium-knuckled sparring partner.

No, it’s true.  Don’t get me wrong, you know I like looking at dem tatas and booties, but I don’t want to get it going unless you can verbally spar at a high level.  If you can beat me in Scrabble repeatedly, I might marry you…

Okay, so what does that all boil down to?

A) You have a genuine career, or don’t care that mine is borderline insane.

B) You are smarter than the average broad.

C) You don’t care that I don’t care.

Too much to ask?  I don’t think so.

This opens up another huge can of worms though: Gamechangers and Gamebreakers.

Gamechanger = someone/something that will make me change my apathy about starting a family.

Gamebreaker = someone/something that will make me run for the hills and never want to get laid again.

Gamebreakers are more fun, so let’s ponder a few: Mets/Giants/Cowboys/Redskins/Heat/Rangers/etc. fans, ultra-religious, conservatives, idiots, midgets (apologies to the small-statured, you’re just not for me), living outside the urban center of Philadelphia, teetotalers, lushes, addicts, etc.  You get my drift right?  It’s A-OK to have a set of groundrules that will disqualify someone from being an active participant in your life.

[PS - I trolled the interwebs for almost 35 minutes trying to find a picture of the midget hooker I saw in Honolulu, but no luck...  You'll have to use your imagination instead]

Gamechangers are much harder to quantify.  You see, a gamechanger would potentially make any of those aforementioned qualities acceptable.  For the right lady, I would easily consider dating someone who didn’t live in the immediate Philly area, or even a fan of another sports team.  I can’t really foresee politics, intelligence, or religion being changed though.  If you vote Red, go to church/synagogue too often, and/or watch MTV, I’m sorry…

For the right girl, things that were once considered unspeakable may become a reality.  I would consider relocating, as long as it was to a place where I’d be able to get work.  Sorry to the cuties living in Alabama, but y’all can fuhgeddaboudit.

Ideally, the right woman should acquiesce about some of their gamebreakers too.  I’d love to find a woman who shares my desire to live outside of the US, sooner than later.  Honestly, if she doesn’t I don’t think I’ll keep dating her.

Know what you want, or know that you don’t know what you want.  Without a developed sense of self, you have no business dating anyway.

Kim: your soul is about as empty as your eyes.  And I think my eyes are burning from looking at you...
Tell me again why you're on TV all the time?