I am one of the clumsiest people in the world.

I have no conception of my body in space. This combined with my living completely in my head (instead of in the ‘now’) and my strange occasional muscle spasms make for problems.

The women in my family bruise easily–and I usually have several of them in various stages of healing. Every day sees me hitting my elbow on a Simpsons‘ shelf, hitting my forehead on the counter as I bend down to wipe up a spill, hitting my shoulder with the top of my car door, hitting my thigh on my desk corner, etc.

I keep arnica cream, made from a flower that helps with bruising, in my office, my home, and my car.

Slightly less often come the burns–my hands don’t understand how close an oven part is to them any more than how close the counter is.

Surprising thought it is, I have not yet broken a bone (except perhaps a tailbone a few years ago when I fell down a flight of stairs). I twist ankles and sprain things, but I have not yet had to wear a cast.

I break dishes instead. And wine glasses. And full jars I’m taking out of the cupboard to use for dinner.

Roomba (aka Sisyphus) has a lot to do in my kitchen.

I don’t know what my students think when I routinely smash myself against the lectern or when chalk flies out of my hand.

They, unlike my son, don’t give voice to the thought: but you were just holding that!

Sometimes, I just want to play a certain Simpsons scene with a certain waiter:

All I can hope for is a man like John Frederick Nims, the author of “Love Poem”:

My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases,
At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring,
Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen,
And have no cunning with any soft thing

Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting people:
The refugee uncertain at the door
You make at home; deftly you steady
The drunk clambering on his undulant floor.

Unpredictable dear, the taxi drivers’ terror,
Shrinking from far headlights pale as a dime
Yet leaping before apoplectic streetcars—
Misfit in any space. And never on time.

A wrench in clocks and the solar system. Only
With words and people and love you move at ease;
In traffic of wit expertly maneuver
And keep us, all devotion, at your knees.

Forgetting your coffee spreading on our flannel,
Your lipstick grinning on our coat,
So gaily in love’s unbreakable heaven
Our souls on glory of split bourbon float.

Be with me, darling, early and late. Smash glasses—
I will study wry music for your sake.
For should your hands drop white and empty
All the toys of the world would break.

Like most geeks, I’m not geeky about everything. (How could one be?)
My geekiness turns off most guys; however, geeky guys are often happy to find a geeky woman on a dating site.
But a lot of them are gamers of one kind or another, and I’m not.

Reason 2: I’m not a gamer.
I didn’t play many games when I was a kid, partly because I didn’t have many people to play with. My younger brother was too much younger, and I didn’t know any of the kids in my neighborhood, really–they went to different schools (private ones), while I was a public school kid.
My great-grandmother taught me how to play solitaire, got me a few decks, and had my great-grandfather build me a lap board, so I could watch shows with them while playing–while they played on their boards.
My mother played pente and chess with me. I found chess boring, overall; it was such a long wait between plays as mom went through the strategy of every piece.
Strategy in games just isn’t my thing.
(It’s not really a strength in real life either. I just try to play it straight and hope others will too; it is probably too easy to outmaneuver me.)
The day I beat my mom in chess was the last day she wanted to play.
Of course, there were some games I played and enjoyed: Trivial Pursuit; the occasional Connect Four. I liked early computer games–including those green screen adventure games where the land was all in your mind. I distinctly remember typing endless directions into Transylvania.

Command: Kiss Werewolf

When Alexander was a baby, I played The Neverhood–I played it again with him when he was older.
Now, our favorite thing is Boggle–he’s really, really good, and beats me most times now. What we like about it, though, is that it only take a few minutes to play. It’s a nice break, but not something that goes on for too long, as most games tend to do.
Of course, my son definitely has a longer attention span for games than I do–he plays D&D with friends and has many favorite video games that can consume him for hours.

One of my very favorite things is to ask questions while he’s playing:
Why are you shooting those geckos?
What did they ever do to you?
Well, didn’t you come on to their territory? Don’t they have the right to defend it?
What do you mean it’s a job?
Who gave you the job?
You took a job from some guy you don’t know? How do you know you’re not the bad guy here?
You’re probably the bad guy here, right? You did walk onto their territory.
Is this a pro-colonialism game?

A lot of self-identified geeks who message me express a deep love of games–board games, computer games, role playing games, and the like.
But, as I think we all know by now, I’m old and set in my ways. I don’t want to play most games (the only thing I love is Cards Against Humanity with Tiffany and Ben–I’ll never turn that down). And even though many guys tell me that I’ll like playing with them and their friends/family, I just don’t want to.

I’m not sure how to end this piece. By explaining how Monopoly is the worst of all games both because it’s boring and because I’m a believer in old-school Teddy Roosevelt trust-busting? By desperately avoiding the too obvious metaphor of not liking it when people play emotional games? By making a too obvious sex joke (and real statement) about how I like to play in other ways when I’m with a special fella?

Still not sure–I’m just not that good with strategy, apparently.

In the 38th Entry, I talked about being picky.
To be fair, though, I’d like to explain that I’m hard to date for many reasons.

Reason 1:
I am obsessed with Weird Al.

I’m not a stalker or anything, but I’ve been a fan for about 35 years.
I was an exceptionally picky eater. In hopes of fixing this, my stepfather brought home a record single–“Eat It.” It didn’t make me a less picky eater. It–and its B side–“That Boy Could Dance”–made me a big fan.

After that came all the albums and Al taking over MTV. And the concerts. I’ve seen him many, many times in concert. I have all the albums, all the books (most of them are signed). I’ve passed on this love to my son, who had Weird Al sign an engineering textbook–just because that’s weird.

Right after he asked Al to sign something weird.

I’ve written before about how Al and I had a serendipitous moment in Maui several years ago.

Not every guy wants to date a girl who can and does sing along to every Weird Al song.

Not every guy wants to pass a couple of pictures of Weird Al that hang in a house on the way to a bedroom. Nor do they necessarily want to get to a bedroom and see a framed picture of Weird Al holding a birthday card he’d just signed to me, courtesy of Denise.

In other words, Denise needs to be my boyfriend.

That’s my BDay card!

Guy 1: How are you doing today,hope your day is going well?your eyes aren’t just beautiful,they are a gateway to a world that I want to be part of,i really like your smile and you are very attractive,i want to get to know you cos i am on here seeking a serious and long term relationship
Me: Hi, David. Thanks for your message.
While I’m looking for a serious relationship, I’m not looking for marriage or another child–your profile seems to indicate that you want those things.
Guy 1: Yes but we can still get to know each other ,if you don’t mind
Me: I guess I’m just wondering what the point would be–if we’re fundamentally different in what we want from a relationship, why would we start one?
Also, Auburn is far away–I’m not gonna make that drive for dates.
Guy 1: Hello dear,how are you doing today,hope your day is going on well?good to know you are open to making new friends,I’m new to online dating and i would like to know you better,how long have you been on here,what are you seeking on here,what does it take to put a smile on your beautiful face,do you like to kiss,are you a good kisser,do you like wine,hope i didn’t ask too much?
Me: I’m confused by your last message.
My last message indicated I didn’t want to start a relationship, since you’re far away and since we want different things.
Guy 1: sorry about that

Guy 2 is on disability and is on the spectrum. He admits he doesn’t really have friends. He doesn’t like to travel. He games all day. He is specifically looking for a female gamer with a high sex drive.
Me: I’m reluctant to enter into a relationship under those circumstances. I’ve been unhappy in relationships before when my partners weren’t social.
I hope you find the perfect woman for you; best wishes!
Guy 2: What a superficial reason lol

In the last couple of weeks, I’ve also had a bunch of messages that I haven’t responded to. Some are from far away or far enough away to be annoying. Some are conservative (men should be in charge of the household cause the Bible says so). What they all have in common is that they either haven’t read my profile wherein I say what I want and that I expect an actual message instead of a “hi” equivalent OR they’ve read it but still can’t put together an actual message.

Guy 3: How are you?
Guy 4: Hello
Guy 5: Good morning how are you doing
Guy 6: Hello love how you doing
Guy 7: Hello, i’d love to find out more about you…
Guy 8: Hello beautiful
Guy 9: hi beautiful, how are you
Guy 10: Good morning, TGIF 😆, how are you? 🙂
Guy 11: Hi, how are you?
Guy 12: Hi
Guy 12 [10 minutes later]: Hello

It’s been over a year of this crap.

As you can probably predict from my word choice, I’m not enjoying it.

It’s not exciting–it’s exhausting. There are some days when simply checking my messages is another duty in a too long list. It’s hard to work up the extra time and energy for a date most times. And the pickings are slim; sometimes, I am tempted to open my parameters a bit–maybe a guy doesn’t have to be close or maybe I could do the poly thing–but the second I think of driving to Folsom regularly or having to talk about more than one relationship at a time (when I hate relationship talks), I just want to hang a “closed for business” sign around my neck.

When this adventure started, I made a rule: I wasn’t going to choose anyone that I’d have to explain to my friends. My last long term relationship was one of the few I’ve had in which I didn’t have to say “but” constantly–he wasn’t perfect by any means, but there wasn’t anything obviously, unforgivably wrong with him.

It was a wonderful reprieve from years of people whom I could have counseled my own friends to dump if they’d been in my place.

Instituting this rule has made me incredibly picky. And I don’t want to live with someone; I have no burning desire to get married, and I’m done having kids. Since I don’t want to settle down, I have less reason to settle.

On the other hand, for a long time now, I’ve been giving guys lots and lots of chances: going out on a date if I couldn’t find an obvious reason not to, agreeing to a second and third, even if the thought of a second date filled me with that “meh” feeling.

I’ve had that “meh” feeling with almost everyone.

I’ve had that “meh” feeling so much that I was starting to think it was normal–that it was the highest level of enthusiasm I could muster.

There have only been a couple of guys who have inspired more than a “meh.” And some guys have had a “meh” feeling about me. And even on the rare occasion when neither of us are “meh,” other things aren’t working.

But because of the very few, now when I get that “meh” feeling, I remember that I am capable of more, even if most people can’t inspire it in me.

I want more than meh. And I’d like to think I deserve more than meh.

But then we’re back to me being picky.

Even if we discount all the people who are incredibly wrong for me–the smokers, the homophobes, the white supremacists, the conservatives, the baby crazy, the far away lovelorn, the fakers, etc.–so many things have to come together in the Venn Diagram of relationships:

Okay–I just tried to make a Venn Diagram for this, but I could only find software that would make PDF versions–and it would only let me have three circles.

In the interest of getting other stuff done this week, I ask you to please imagine the following in a Venn Diagram:

Intellectual attraction

Emotional attraction

Physical attraction

Proximity

Similar hobbies

Similar life desires

Complementary schedules

Complementary temperments

Actual readiness for a relationship

If even one of these is missing, the whole thing falls apart.

So, at the start of the summer, where am I? Where I was last year.

Thinking about circles and saying “meh” a lot.

A message:

You are too good to be here, why no luck yet? I can feel the passion in your face,so please let this be for me,i can going to be all yours and honest.You can text me now on [xxx xxx xxxx]. Waiting patiently.

It was his profile name that caught my attention, however: whitesociety1

Umm–that means he’s a racist, right?

Slightly less, but still notably, creepy fact about him: in his answers, he says contraception is immoral.

Why no luck yet indeed.

Context: Our match number was in the mid 80s (I usually end up on a date with someone in the 90s). In his answers to OKC questions, he said he wouldn’t be okay with a partner having pictures of her exes or spending time with them. This is the entire conversation, plus what I wanted him to hear.

Him: hey there, pretty girl.. excited about the long weekend? We seem to match pretty high on this site (some topics more then others, lol), wanna put it into a test to see if this site works? 

Me: I’m getting caught up on a lot of work this weekend, which is important if not exciting. 🙂
We match up on some things, but from your answers to questions, it looks like you wouldn’t be comfortable with me being friends with exes–that’s a deal breaker for me. 

What I wanted him to hear: I DON’T DATE JEALOUS GUYS. IF THAT’S YOU, GO AWAY.

Him: Well, I guess we could cross that bridge when we get there.. 

Me: Usually, when guys say that, they mean they’ll try to change my mind.

What I wanted him to hear: I’M NOT FALLING FOR THAT. IT’S CALLED A DEAL BREAKER FOR A REASON–IT’S NON-NEGOTIABLE. NO JEALOUS GUYS NEED APPLY.

Him: Is that how you feel? Don’t want to even meet up first?  

Me: Not if you would need me to change that part of myself. My friends are very important to me–and some of them are exes. I’m not going to throw their pictures away or cut them out of my life.
In two weeks, I’ll be in London for a conference. While I’m there, I’ll be staying with an ex, whom I was with a decade ago, and his wife. Three summers ago, I was [. . . ] in their wedding.
I believe in being honest with myself and with other people. This is who I am.
So even before we meet, you would have to be accepting of that. I don’t want to waste a lot of time trying to change each other into what we want. 

What I wanted him to hear: UNLESS YOU WANT TO CHANGE, FUCK OFF.

He hasn’t answered, so I think he got the subtext on that last one.

There weren’t as many dick pics as I thought there were going to be.

As some of you may remember, several months ago, OK Cupid asked me to be a “moderator” on their site. Users can “flag” photos, profiles, and messages. Several moderators make recommendations. I’m not sure what happens after that–whether the majority vote trips an algorithm or whether a professional moderator makes the final call.

I was ambivalent about doing this. It is, after all, unpaid labor. I would have been a lot more willing if OKC had offered to upgrade my membership for providing this service.

On the other hand, I was curious.

So for a couple of weeks, I looked at flagged items. I wasn’t asked to weigh in on messages, though they were what I was most curious about. (Just last week, someone with a blank profile sent me this lovely message: “u ready for my guuuuuuu?”)

Instead, I was mostly asked to look at pictures.

Several members do violate policy–dick pics are not allowed, neither are pics with nipples or labia. A pic of a mostly naked person, however, as long as it doesn’t include those three things, is allowed (and there are lots of both the disallowed and allowed forms of nudity).

Members are supposed to put up pictures of themselves–the two violation types here are pics of nonhumans (a dog, an inspirational quote, a sunset, etc.) and pics that clearly aren’t the user. In that second type, most people post pictures of models or porn stars. However, some users post a picture that could be them–it’s just that someone believes it isn’t, since they could find that picture on the internet. In those cases, I remind my fellow moderators not to jump to conclusions–my pictures can be found both on google and on OKC.

Extreme close ups are also banned–a close up of your tramp stamp, your right eye, etc.

However, many people flag pictures that shouldn’t be flagged. It’s not forbidden to include another person, even a child, in your photo. Many dads do the latter–it’s easy to see why–they want to emphasize their fatherhood AND guys usually don’t have any pictures of themselves unless another person’s in them.

Another piece of confusion: some believe that the photo must include the user’s face. Although an extreme close up of your elbow is not allowed, you are allowed to post a picture of yourself facing that cliche sunset picture, facing away from the camera.

So what have I learned?

1. Women put up some very explicit photos too.
2. I generally hate it when people put up pictures that don’t have them in it–your Ghandi quote does not make me like you. However, I find the pictures of guns and confederate flags extremely helpful–they do tell me a lot about you.
3. Many, many people are fakes–that picture isn’t of them. I’m not sure what they’re after, but they’re inherently annoying.
4. There are many, many other people who apparently do a google image search of every picture they see, so they can report you. Beware.

At any rate, my curiosity is sated enough, and I’m generally bored enough, to stop doing this.

I’m fairly certain that the men who message me grew up on Looney Tunes, as I did.

I’m now fairly certain that many of those men learned the wrong lessons, especially a lesson about taking no for an answer. In the world of Pepe Le Pew, no doesn’t exist. Penelope (the cat) makes her position clear. Pepe doesn’t listen. And sometimes, he wins.

I have a vivid memory of catching one of the cartoons as my son watched, years ago. Pepe chased Penelope. She was running for her life. She ran into a cave–an ice cave. The last shot of her showed her terrified face, reflected in the ice shards, as she realized she was trapped. Pepe rolled a boulder in front of the entrance and hung a “Do Not Disturb” sign.

The End.

For a couple of days, I’ve been nicely explaining that I don’t want a long distance relationship. In fact, this is the only conversation I’ve had with the gentleman in question. He complimented me. I thanked him. He said he wanted to talk more. I said I didn’t want to pursue anything, since he was far away. We exchanged this information several more times–him saying he wanted to talk, me saying I didn’t. (I’m also inherently not interested–his profile is generic and he hasn’t really answered OKC’s questions). This is the end of the conversation:

Picture Pepe bouncing after me; a French accent may even help some of the grammar/writing problems:

Him: But I do you think I’m suppose to find that’s perfect woman, if not by getting so close with me woman that my spirit tells me much about. ​

Him: I don’t care about the distance, because I can’t get my eyes of you. ​

Him: You are a good looking woman, if you don’t really believe in long distance relationship, why don’t you give it a try.. And what about talking and texting you on phone? ​

[That last one confuses me, causing me to stumble. So because I’m pretty, I have to do something I don’t believe in? I pick myself up, keep running, calling this out.]

Me: I’ve done long distance before; it’s not what I want for my life. And I don’t want to spend all day talking and texting on the phone for a relationship I don’t want to pursue. […] Look–you don’t know anything about me, really. You just seem to be attracted to me based on my looks.

Him: Yea I know I don’t really know you, but I know it only takes a day to know someone and be close friends.. You are attracted to me by your looks yea.. And that makes you a woman and I’m proud saying you are attracted to me and I’m interested in you. I’m the the kind of in-person that likes meeting someone that is been attracted to me, and that who my spirit accept as a woman. My spirit tells me you are a good looking pretty woman. I follow what my spirit tells me, I just wish things will work out between us, I’m going to make you proud and you will never regret having an meeting me. I’m not ask you of that forcefully, take your and think about it. ​

[His spirit tells him what? And when did I say I was attracted to him?]

[I raise the mallet.] Le sigh.