Is there a Dr. Warren in the house?
I think she needs a tad more than 29 dimensions of compatibility, but don’t we all dahhhlink.
Alpha Bit
A is for Alpha. It is the first flag within the series. In maritime code, Alpha means “diver down, please steer clear”.
Flag courtesy of dive-flag.com
Insert *muffled* laughter.
The original meaning would be far more practical for the modern dater. Ships used alpha to indicate to others that it was “undergoing a speed trial”. This would have been particularly handy for identifying a rally of speed daters. What? you don’t think you can get to know someone in 8 minutes. Then steer clear.
Better yet, how ’bout a special badge for those racing from one end of the dating pool to the other? You know the ones. They’re the girls asking men on the first date if they’re into kids. They’re the dudes trying to get laid on the first date. Woah. Steer clear indeed.
Connected to “Re(a)d Flags”
Re(a)d Flags
Spring 2007: Sylvia and I had the pleasure of attending the wedding of two great friends of ours. The setting was an elegant country club perched on the cliffs of Pebble Beach. Inspired in part by the setting, and a sprinkle by the priest’s blessing which likened mankind to a flotilla of ships, I became enamored with the language behind maritime flags.
Just imagine: two ships communicate vital information with the flick of a brightly colored flag. Like a baboon in heat flashing its red behind, there’s no mistaking the message. With all the miscommunication going on between men and women these days, why not replace all those awkward (what the hell is he/she talking about?) emails, IM’s, texts, and real-life convo’s with an internationally recognized and approved lexicon?
Over the next (however many it takes) weeks I will make my case for the adoption of an international dating alphabet. Sailors beware.
The Geek Mystique
My name is Sylvia Winchester and I’m a geekaholic. I’d join the support group if I could find the classroom where meetings are held somewhere along the miles of maze-like, subterranean corridors at MIT.
You may wonder what the draw is, though the attraction is clear as glass to me. Is it:
- the wide-rimmed retrosexual glasses?
- the ironic tees written in binary code?
- the cowlick that was captured on each and every picture day, K-12?
Yes, ibid, and ditto. Throw in a prominent nose and a penchant for dorky word play and mama is ready to pounce. These man-boys are like catnip covered kryptonite for me. Me. Ow. In fact, my latest lingering infatuation was with one such gent.
We met online – of course. Gianni initiated our correspondence a few months prior and I eventually got around to answering him. Emails were exchanged before speaking on the phone. We agreed that our romance would begin where all epic summer romances should: in a gourmet ice cream shop. My expectations were low and I was pleased to find that the yield was high. Who knew a vegetarian polyglot would float my boat?
The quirky cadence of his almost imperceptible Canadian accent immediately put me at ease. Ice cream led to coffee, and before I knew it we were smooching on a grassy knoll at sunset overlooking the cityscape. We stopped kissing long enough to grab dinner. Minutes after I dropped him at home, he called to ask for a second date. How about now?
Within an hour, he biked to my place with a bottle of rioja. At some point, I initiated a round of the name-game by throwing out the first name of a friend who had gone to his alma mater. Having realized how silly that sounds when you’re talking about a sizable university, I stopped myself mid sentence. (“You’re from New York, eh? Do you know my friend John?”)
Gianni said he thinks he that knew my friend.
<pause>…before I mentioned a last name.</pause>
Apparently, my picture had popped up on his (now our) friend’s Facebook page the week before. He also sheepishly confessed to writing to me a few times over the years on other dating sites, with no response. I hadn’t made the connection until he said something, but I vaguely remembered the emails. I also made a mental note to scrap any and all screening protocols that didn’t flag this guy as a hot prospect.
Later that night, we headed to his place to watch TV on his large-screened Apple command center, fully appointed with a networked Mini, iPod Touch and recently released MacBook Air. We laughed uncontrollably as we scrolled through each and every post on Failblog.com. In the wee hours of the morning, his browser ended up at a venerable classic: HotChicksWithDoucheBags.com. He read the entries aloud, like a bedtime story, as I drifted off to sleep. We were two really weird peas snuggled up in a pod.
At the crack of noon, he walked me to my car. I should have known I was in trouble when he collided head-on with the telephone pole in front of his house as he glanced back at me with goofy grin and googley eyes. It was sweet, innocent, and about time for me to fall for a nice, gentle guy with an impressively low carbon footprint.
The Little Opener That Could(n’t)
From: Willy U. Gooutwithme
To: SylviaNice Picture.. So you want to tell me how recent your pictures are? Well i think you look charming and would love to know you better if you don’t mind.
I don’t know if you would like to chat sometime or not but my yahoo messenger address is will.u.gooutwithme@email.com. I hope you had a good night and I will talk to you soon I hope
From: Sylvia
To: Willy U. Gooutwithme
Hi Willy,
Thanks for the compliment and the message. I noticed that you signed up for the site recently. Welcome! 🙂
I totally get your concern about the pictures… to say that there is misrepresentation on these sites is an understatement. Still, leading with that question? Not the best opener. You seem like a nice guy, so I share my reaction as a potentially helpful hint.
Though it’s frustrating, sometimes you’ll end up wasting time. I’ve found it helpful to look for the following warning signs:
-Grainy, poor resolution or postage stamp sized thumbnails
-Outdated hairstyles, leg warmers, or covered wagons in the background
-General inconsistencies between pictures
For the record, 2 pics are from 2006, 1 from 2008, the main pic was taken last month, and all have been carefully selected to accurately reflect what I look like in real life.
Wishing you great luck in your search,
S
Running of the Mouth
Last night, I had the opportunity to attend the butt-end of a “Running of the Brides”. The Running of the Brides, held semi-annually by discount retailer Filene’s Basement, is a one-day super-sale of hundreds of bridal gowns. Teams of brides and their helpers line up in the wee hours of the night for their chance to snatch a gown of their dreams at 50-80% off. When the doors fly open at 8 a.m., the ensuing process of tearing through the racks, grabbing a few dresses, then bartering with other brides is apparently is quite a scene. I know this because it was parodied on an episode of Friends. And you know if it’s been parodied on Friends, it’s got to be pretty funny. Yeah.
I arrived at 6 p.m. with my friend and soon to be bride, Lisa, Sylvia having arrived at 4 as part of another team.
Lisa is a former Peace Corp volunteer and the absolute antithesis of Bridezilla. She’d rather support a village in Africa for a year than spend the dough on an extravagant event. She hesitated at the door, overwhelmed by rows of satiny, sequined, fluffy confections. I had to put my arms around her and gently drag escort her to showroom. We eased into the search, talking about what I might like to wear if I were a bride as we scrolled through the dresses. Eventually Lisa felt comfortable enough to reluctantly point to a few simple dresses that she might not immediately tear off to go howl at the moon. After two hours of tag-team stripping and dressing poor Lisa, our time was up. We didn’t end up finding Lisa’s dress that day.
But something did happen. I (shhh… don’t tell my boyfriend) tried on my first dress. I know, wierd, huh? It’s about as wierd as scrolling through bridal websites and registries and trading emails back and forth with other non-engaged friends about our favorites.
(insert nervous laughter here)….
– W
Beach Bummer
From: BeachMan
To: Me
Subject: Dear 25% Jew
I did laugh. You know yourself. Care to write some for me? Tell me where you came from, and why marketing?
From: Me
To: BeachMan
Subject: Re: Dear 25% Jew
Glad to have provided entertainment. I try.
As for why marketing, [Personal information redacted].
So, Mr. Beachman – do you have a first name? I figure your parents must’ve given you one to put on all those diplomas. 😉
S
From: BeachMan
To: Me
Subject: Namesake
Ken is my name. What about you?
From: Me
To: BeachMan
Subject: Namesake
Sylvia. Nice to ‘meet’ you. 🙂
From: BeachMan
To: Me
Subject: RE: Re: Namesake
You too.
{Match.com form letter}
From: BeachMan
To: Me
Thanks for writing to me, but unfortunately, we’re just not a good match. Good luck in your search!
Our profiles didn’t match on:
• Values
Don’t get discouraged!
With millions of singles on Match.com, you’re bound to find a few that aren’t right for you. Don’t let that stop you; instead, search for and contact other members who are waiting to meet you!
From: Me
To: BeachMan
Subject Re: Match.com Message: Thanks, but…
Ken,
Dude, buddy, pal… you wrote to me. (I heard y’all didn’t read our profiles, but I guess it’s true. 😉
Best ‘o luck,
Sylvia
From: BeachMan
To: Me
Subject: RE: Re: Thanks, but…
True, might of been the slip of hand.
*UNSENT*
From: Me
To: BeachMan
Subject: RE: Re: Thanks, but…
It’s all good. Keyboards can be quite slippery… I guess. (Is one of your Master’s, by chance, in Bation?)
S
Online hating
The recipient of this email will have to forgive me for posting this without her permission. It’s just too good to pass up. What makes this so ridiculous is that it’s the first (and I pray, the only) email she received from Rick.
Personally, I think this guy’s on to something. This is like some sort online dating “pay-it-forward”. Here I had to go and spend thousands on psychotherapy when I could have just written a bunch of emails to my parents…uh… I mean, ex-boyfriend… ummm, whoops… “potentially romantic match” about how I felt about their inevitable rejection of me….
Why didn’t I think of that?
– W
P.S. for Rick:
“inevitable”: i-ˈne-vÉ™-tÉ™-bÉ™l adjective: incapable of being avoided or evaded.
Getting inappropriate emails from people like you is “inevitable”.
Dear Ms. Matched,
You’re certainly a very beautiful girl and seem to have a kind heart. But I don’t know if I can relate to the choice of words in your profile. It reads somewhat more like a resume for a high profile job, than it does a letter to a potentially romantic match.
Hey, my sister is a psychologist and as you’re probably aware, she spent over a decades of her life, writing essays and reports. However, she knew how to relate to people in a more comfortable and inviting way.
To write that you are extemporaneous and sagacious, says to me, nothing more than you have a wall up that only the elite educated can get through. With that said, I do wish you the best in your searches. Please don’t take offense at this, I’m just at a point in here that a good woman is so hard to find, that when I do find one, she’s got a wall up that is too high for me to climb over. I may end up old and alone some day, but at least I’ve been free enough to express my feelings to people.
Take care,
Rick
Navigating the Be-Minefield
February 14th? It’s not my favorite holiday to come from the boardroom at Hallmark. I know – shocker, right?
Last year was the worst yet for circumstances more personal than I care to reveal. This year I’m doing it differently. Here’s how:
I’m skipping town, if for no other reason than to spare Winnie and her beau from me tagging along to dinner, dragging my sad sack of sad close behind. A recently single girl friend and I will be in Manhattan. I haven’t been back for almost 4 years.
- I will not be getting in touch with the person with whom I spent the five V-days with back when I lived in New York. Sparing his current gf a major case of agita is my little gift to her. (It’s cheaper and less fattening than chocolates.)
- I am gonna be proactive and send myself a Valentine. I’m thinking it’ll be in the form of the letter I like to think I would have received from an ex if he weren’t a self-involved noodle-head desperately in need of a tact transfusion. (Sorry folks – that one will self-destruct 15 seconds after Winnie reads it.)
The above may not have much to do with the canonization of St. Valentine, but it should keep me out of trouble.
Best Weak Ever
Dear Social Media Ad Planners,
I would like to commend you on the bang-up job you are doing with your targeted marketing initiatives. Your grasp of the thirty-something spinster demographic is nothing short of nuanced. A less cynical group of professionals would have written me off – but not you.
Thank you for connecting me to the resources for slimming down my fat ass.
Thank you for deeming me worthy of opportunities to meet sexy singles.
Thank you for seeing my potential even when he’s not that into me.
Thank you for believing that once I dupe some poor schmoe into calling me back, I will have use for that cubic zirconium engagement ring emporium link you so kindly keep at my currently unadorned finger tips.
Most of all, thanks for not rubbing it in and making me feel like the desperate cat lady that I am clearly on my way to becoming.
SW
Re(a)d Flags 