The Big O

I’m lying in bed with a beer, a bowl of the kids leftover mac and cheese and my laptop, thinking about just how long it has been since….I got some. Clearly, I’m ovulating. The big O: that time of the month when women become crippled with the predominantly male affliction of desperation and increasingly flexible standards.

Who knew Shel Silverstein wrote erotica?

I have still not located the BOB since moving last fall. I did, however, find a box of old CDs (think Lilith Fair and Hootie and the Blowfish) that the movers snarkily marked “really cool music.” I have a feeling my BOB is enshrined somewhere in the moving company’s break room. I hope they’re enjoying it.

My big O always gives me more sympathy and tolerance towards men: it can’t be easy to feel as desperate as I do right now, every waking minute of their day. And that’s just sex; love is a far more complex form of torture. Speaking of torture, it’s been at least a week since we’ve checked in with the world of online dating; let’s see what’s happening there!

So many bad online dating profiles, so little time. I have an entire post planned to breakdown the online-dude archetypes (make sure you have at least 3 photos of yourself hunting or fishing because EVERYONE knows dead shit gets you laid!). But on a recent trip to one of the free online dating sites (because I’m cheap and window shopping should be free anyway), I came across a little pot of gold. I call him “Guy I want to hook-up with someone who is not quite as hell-bent on self-destruction as me” or “Guy” for short.

Here is Guy’s profile:

Willing to lie about how we met…

SWM in frowned-upon job seeks whiny shrew for unfulfilling sex, and mutual psychological torture. I enjoy drinking, smoking, pornography, and self-righteous indignation. For fun, I enjoy browsing other people’s profiles and making shallow judgments about their integrity, and social skills. I have middling intelligence but try to appear smarter by affecting a world-weary air, memorizing useless facts, and chuckling at my own mean-spirited, agenda-driven jokes. I’m 38, but look 59 and feel 65. I’m not holding my breath, but I am looking for interesting conversation with someone that will not have to be quoted later on in a courtroom. 

YOU: You are a man-hating, crazy **** with a misplaced sense of entitlement and utopian expectations. Over time you will blame me and grow hostile when I don’t fulfill every need you’ve ever had. Bonus points if you just finished dating every guy in town but now want to take your time with me. For our first date we should head over to Target. You wouldn’t have to get all dressed up and stuff, I could find out what your favorite fruit was and you could find out if I blush when we walk through the lingerie section.I would be open to an unsatisfying fling but prefer a long-term, soul crushing descent into alcoholism and pills. Age unimportant, but I often condescend to women under 28 and rehash mother issues with women over 47. Serious replies only, please. 

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Now that is how you write a dating profile, motherfuckers.

I wrote to Guy and asked his permission to put his profile on my blog. (I totally didn’t have to do that since these sites are public, but I just wanted you to know what a moral and conscientious person I am—moral, conscientious and bat-shit crazy.) So now the question is: will Guy get more interest from the ladies via the dating website or my wee little smut blog? I don’t know how the numbers will pan out, but any date Guy gets from my blog will undoubtably be a hell of a lot more fun!

P.S. (Guy had a more thoughtful and serious second half of his profile, but serious and thoughtful have no place on my blog.)