Desperately Seeking...

I wander off to various places around the Net, and I’d like to report one of my experiences out there in Internet land as a cautionary tale for any of you who may be thinking of growing old.

It started innocently enough with a visit to Face Book to play Scrabble. Face book tends to baffle me and I’m not that excited about accumulating a list of 300+ “friends” or leaving a cryptic message on someone’s wall. However, you can sometimes pick up a rousing game of Scrabble there, so I do not ignore Face book completely.

Anyhow, I recently visited the Scrabble page only to become distracted by the admonition, “Meet your cowboy! Join Senior People Meet.com.” I immediately had an image of riding off into the sunset with Walter Brennan, but my curiosity overcame my morbid imagination. Besides, I am 59 and live in a dinky, isolated town where all the good men in my age group are either taken or dead. I wanted to see if the same was true in the rest of the world.

Of course, SPM being part of the Face Book military/industrial complex, I had to pay up to do much of anything on the site. The sign up screen offered a month’s worth of browsing silver foxes for only $14.00. I figured the entertainment factor alone would be worth $14.00, so I punched in the info from my credit card. Immediately, the message came back that with fines, fees, penalties and assessments, my card had been charged $18.00. ****ers. But I let it go.

For the purpose of my research, I decided to be as honest as any other reasonable senior. I posted a current picture in my profile, rather than the cute one taken 10 years ago. I admitted to “a few extra pounds.” But I decided that since some of my fellow geezers might have weak hearts, I’d leave the scary stuff out of my profile – just another nice old lady still looking for her prince – that was me.

Ladies, I’m here to tell you that age does not improve a guy’s pick up lines, ignorant attitudes, or down right arrogance. Every since the early day of Internet match-making, I have become instantly irritated with guys who like “long walks on the beach” and “snuggling by the fire.” You see these lines in about half the male profiles on any dating site. Even guys from Nebraska like long walks on the beach and guys from Hawaii like snuggling by the fire.

Do all you men out there get together at the bar and exchange tips? “Write that you love to walk on the beach. She’ll think you’re a real sensitive guy,” Bubba tells Billy Joe. Then they both s****** and belch loudly. Guys, guys, guys – listen up! Women HATE long walks on the beach – especially on a date. We have to remove our favorite heels, so they don’t get ruined by salt and sand. Then we soldier on grimly as the sand wears holes in the feet of our panty hose. And WHAT was that slimy thing I just stepped on?

And “snuggling by the fire” is a phrase included by men who completely lack originality and who would much prefer to be out on the lake fishing, but lack the courage to reveal this to potential soul-mates. I would rather read about a guy’s pet tarantula collection than snuggling by the fire. At least tarantulas are interesting in a certain disgusting way. And they are certainly evidence of a possibly zany outlook on life.

Anyhow, I posted my profile alongside those of about 100 other senior ladies from Colorado who all mysteriously appeared to be closer to 16 than 60. Everyone go buy stock in Botox companies NOW. The baby boomer ladies are getting OLD and they’re going to show up on a dating site on a computer near you. I decided to leave off sizing up the competition – it was too depressing. Instead, I clicked through the men’s profiles, sizing up potential victims err soul mates.
I am pleased to report that my own personal version of Murphy’s Law remains in effect. The silver foxes whose pictures and profiles made my little heart go pitter pat ignored all my attempts at getting their attention. My “flirts” and messages were all ignored by the foxes. On the other hand, every crazy or oddball or mental defective who ever crawled out of the sewers of the Internet bombarded me with attention. They didn’t bother to read my profile because they were on a MISSION, or else they needed cataract surgery so they could see to read again. One wanted to know if I spoke in tongues. (Only when I’ve been off my meds for several weeks and that hasn’t happened for a while now). One sent me a laconic message of just one line, “Had 10 bikes and never broke a bone.” Harleys? Schwinns? Was there some deeper message here? I decided there was – early onset Alzheimer’s.

A lot of guys sent me a “flirt” but when I checked out their profiles, they read “Will tell you later. Send message.” Right. Were these guys lazy or arrogant or both? I’m the one with a page long profile and I’m supposed to reveal even more while they remained shrouded in mystery? Maybe they have arthritis in their hands which prevents them from typing. Or maybe they’re serial killers who don’t want to fess up just yet.

My trial month isn’t up yet, but I’m beginning to think that the old ladies who live by themselves in a house full of cats may be wiser than they are generally given credit for. In fact, maybe I’ll try posting my cat’s picture for a while. I’d still get all those flirts from the elderly gentlemen with cataracts. “I can tell you are my soul mate. You have such big green eyes and a cute little pink nose. I’d love to take you for a long walk on the beach and snuggle by the fire afterward. Please reply soon. My doctor doesn’t give me much time.”

(dedicated to the xoxoBruce)