Filling the Pipeline

When I first started my "datus hiatus" I felt powerful. I felt I was in control of my happiness. Celibacy was a comfortable state of being. After all, in a pinch a sit-up or two will work to satisfy those uh...urges... Being standoffish and date free was almost fun...

Well, that "comfortable, fun" feeling has ended. My external body may be strong from yoga but my internals feel the tumbleweeds blowing around. Sit-ups or a sad quivering piece of rubber/plastic just won't cut it anymore. And instead spending Saturday nights sorting through my moldy chevre selection while reading 'overcoming overeating' or 'why being alone is powerful,' I would give my left kneecap AND a case of cherished vino to have a engaging dinner date with someone who, well, I found engaging. My socks want to be knocked off, and perhaps even my pants too! Enough failures--it's time to seriously tackle the pipeline.

Easier said than done. In some cities filling the man pipeline with decent specimens is easy for marathon-running, Manolo-savvy, and wine-literate gals like my female entourage. Not the case in San Francisco. Not only do most men stubbornly insist on staying in one of three categories: sensitive ponytail birkenstock man, overly-conceited triathlete guy, or gay (hey, love you guys but a girl needs some action!), but we seem to also mess up when the few good ones appear.

Task Number 1-Finding the good one. (you know, the straddle-worthy pipeline filler)
Task Number 2-Reeling him in (i.e., flirting: ensuring your cold shoulder bitch or dwarf lover tendencies don't scare him off)

Situation A: Task 1- Successful. Task 2- A bust.
Last week after deciding to have just "one more" glass of wine at a posh neighborhood bar, Alexis and I spotted a hot stranger sitting by himself. The 'stranger alone at a upscale bar' find! Woo hoo! "One more glass" turned into oh..."twelve more" as we delightedly made it our mission to keep the man company. However, much to my dismay, the wine took over my brain and I once again found myself overly chatty and talking Mr. Hot Man's ear off about orchestra camp and the desperate plight of 30 year old women in San Francisco. Alexis, alarmed even through her wine haze, hit me a few times on my left arm to make me realize I should stop talking. Now. Ouch. Getting hit by a martial arts black belt isn't fun. Mazz later heard the tale and told me that I am no longer allowed alcohol on first dates or first man encounters.....but I am sorry...how do you meet a man without alcohol?


Sitation B: Task 1- A failure, Task 2-Passed but wish it didn't
I decided to listen to Mazz and agreed that my next date would be tea after a hatha yoga class. Mr. Earthy (AKA 'Mr. I'm OK with no alcohol as I am on a cleanse') and I chatted about vegetarianism and politics and hiking. Interesting but *yawn* no sex appeal. Well for me. Oddly, this man seemed to have fallen in love with my random spouting off. I actually got propositioned for marriage. Truth be told, he needed to extend his visa to stay in the country. But he also wanted to see me every day for the next week. Yikes. I'm back to alcohol...at least it eases the pain.

So how do we execute both tasks....and remain (relatively) sober?

Besides that shady match.com site, where can we meet wonderful men that are educated, aren't afraid of alcohol (or afraid of me with alcohol), and like to hike, bike and paint? And then how do we reel them in?

A few ideas Alexis, Mazz and I are going to try out:

1. College sports game venues: Alcohol lovin' real guys that eat meat. Who cares which team they root for! We will wow them with our cheerleading abilities.
2. Art openings: The sophisticated intellectual or the poser who at least likes to look sophisticated and intellectual...we will brush up on the artists beforehand as to come across "learned."
3. Mingling at Whole Foods: At 'Whole Paycheck' you will find a man with a wallet who is produce savvy....I'll offer to help him pick out the 'ripe ones.'
4. This year's Halloween party: The only time when looking as slutty as possible works in our favor.
5. The line to vote at the polls: He must be politically savvy to understand all of SF's propositions...and I intend to ask everyone in line about them.

Once again I'll be practicing flirting. It's no longer a side hobby, it's a necessity for survival.

Flirting Take Two: Flirting Without Mauling

There is a fine line between acting unattainably mysterious and flirtatious. Apparently there is also a fine line between letting a man know you are interested (i.e. flirting) and flat out mauling him.
For some reason I have no idea where any of these lines are and just seem to make mistake after mistake. On my attempts to be flirty I have tried out different maneuvers and lines with new men. Sadly, they either come out 1)too standoffish or 2)freakishly stalker-like (alas my attempts to overcompensate for my "cold shoulder bitch" syndrome is not working). Below I have recreated snippets of conversations that detail both my pathetic attempts at wit as well as the lines I should have said. (you know the ones I think of the next day while in the shower). Read on and learn from my mistakes.

Topic #1: Hobbies
For some reason my hobby of writing has come up numerous times (second to the fact I played the cello in orchestra camp). However, I am unable to present this hobby well.

Unattainable: “Oh writing? Well, currently I write a dating blog that discusses how random ALL my dates are. Will you be featured on it? Perhaps….but there are just so MANY to write about.”
Plain Mauling: “I wrote a poem about you last night. I rhymed your last name with the Algerian term for love.”
Flirtatious would have been: ‘Yes, I do write on the side….maybe someday I’ll write about you. “(wink, wink).

Topic #2: Sports
Another topic that has come up is athletic hobbies. We all love our exercise...some more than others.

Unattainable: “I thoroughly love the San Francisco tendency to get into triathlons…in fact I know a lot of men that have done an iron man. Plain biking just seems wimpy now, doesn’t it? “
Plain Mauling: “I had a dream that we were on the same relay team for the Wildflower triathlon together. We had matching outfits……” (go into dream details…..)
Flirtatious would have been: “You like to bike? Well you DO seem fit….I bet you could do an iron man if you wanted!” (light touch on bicep)

Topic #3: Wine
And lastly the wonderful topic of wine…for no conversation in San Francisco would be complete without it.

Unattainable: (after going to bar solo) “ Ok—I have two glasses of wine for us…one a Syrah and one a Zin. If you guess which is which you get 10 points. If not….well….hmmmm….”
Plain Mauling: “Oh I’d love a second pour…..but I seem to have a low tolerance these days and may grope you if I have another….so in that case…..” (odd laugh)
Flirtatious would have been: “I adore deep seductive reds. Why don’t you pick out a good one for us?”

As indicated the “flirtatious would have been” lines were concocted in my head the next day. In real life, I either uttered the unattainable ones or the mauling ones or some terrible combination of both. It’s a mystery why I do this. When I leave the house in pearls and heels to meet my date I FEEL mysterious. I feel sexy. Then upon enterting the date venue, my confidence runs away (to the chocolate store for safety, no doubt) and I am left alone and helpless to utter ridiculous things.

How do we combat this? How do we become more appealing? Do we downplay our talents? Do we need to up play theirs? Or do we just need to make more seductive sighs and arm touches? And most importantly how do we gain the COURAGE to do all this? Is flirting really a confidence play or an art form? I think I know what flirting is when I see it, but I cannot seem to do it myself. For some reason I freeze up and cannot so much as touch the outer sleeve of a man's jacket to save my life. It is likely due to a fear of intimacy, the fact that my confidence is at the chocolate store, and my plain retarded-ness in speaking to another human being. No longer am I Juliet, who with “any other name would remain just as sweet.” Sadly no, I have transformed into the female Steve Erkle.

But practice makes perfect…..I have just ordered some dating books for outside help on the matter. Stay tuned for their learnings and more attempts to be coy and alluring. Of course, dear readers, any tips are welcome on the comment form here too!!

In the Waiting Room, Learning to Flirt

So... it's been three days since my first date w/ 'Dr. Luv.' AKA- the date gone awry. Awry aside, by now I still would have expected the usual invite for the second date, so I was becoming a bit unnerved after three days of radio silence. I debated my potential courses of action.

1. I could send a nice message with a thank you for the evening.
2. I could expand upon the thank you with explanations of why my friend Eva randomly appeared there and why I felt compelled to overdose on vino and stories about my childhood trips to Orchestra Camp.
3. I could do nothing…following the guidance of the bible “He’s just not that into you.”

I decided upon course of action number three. Mainly because this poor man is likely scared of me. But also because as is typical with most men, I am not really into them unless it is safely apparent that they are not into me…so even if option one or two provided a decent response I would likely find a way to self sabotage again. And with my current work schedule a second date wouldn’t be able to happen for another two weeks anyway. Sigh.

On Friday night my group male and female friends ordered a round of $2 beers and discussed why women self sabotage and the various self sabotage types:

The Cold Shoulder Bitch
This woman uses the cold shoulder as a defense mechanism. Even if she has been pining away for a man, reading Pablo Neruda poetry for months in his honor, she will appear about as interested in him as a girl in a orthopedic shoe store. God forbid he ever have the slightest clue that she may fancy him for more than a doormat. The cold shoulder bitch NEVER initiates conversation. But once in one, she may even go so far as to disdainfully make comments that highlight her indifference or even contempt. “Oh you graduated first in your class. Hmm…likely didn’t have a social life did you?” Or “So you think you are sporty? Well I bet you haven’t done an iron man like most of the men I know.” In conversations she may make a point to stare at her watch or out the window, anywhere but into the man’s soft brown eyes. Why, if she did that, she would lose all composure.

The Pathetic Introvert
The Pathetic Introvert is actually quite gregarious in other settings. But when approached by a man she likes she simply cannot stop staring at her shoes. When asked a question by her dream man she may mumble, stutter, and say, “Ack I am so sorry…..I am just such a word klutz today” and then dismiss herself to go to the bathroom where she will try to give herself self affirmations in the mirror before bursting into tears. IF she manages will wipe clean her mascara tracks and reappear she will be tempted to talk about the weather rather than anything cool, feeling it may be safer. ‘Soo…..it’s been really humid hasn’t it?”

The Dwarf Lover
The Dwarf Lover prevents herself from talking to normal decent men by getting engaged in conversations with dwarfs—or unattractive Lord of The Ring Enthusiasts — just because it seems a safe bet. The Dwarf Lover doesn’t want to appear rude and extract herself from the conversation, so she sits talking to them for hours rather then be whisked away by a shining knight. Oh yes, she will patiently listen to the dwarf's latest video game championship tales and fondness for Vienna sausages while trying to find something remarkable about her current predicament. If a non-dwarf (i.e., shiny knight) tries to rescue her, she won’t allow it, thinking that she will go to hell unless she engages in her fair quota of dwarf conversations for the week.

The Show Off
The Show Off masks her feelings of inadequacy by feeling a compulsive need to let her current flame know ALL her achievements. Oh no, there is no gradual ‘unfolding of the blossom’ in this case. On a first date the show off will let a suitor know her SAT scores, marathon time, favorite winery in Napa where they know her by name, as well as her fondness for daredevil stunts. She hopes to woo a man by intimidation and will never let it be known that she has two left feet on the dance floor or that it took her three years to be potty trained (well actually no one really does need to know that).

To figure out what type I was, my lovely friends (male and female) put me to the test. We picked out a cute guy in the bar and I was to “go get ‘em.” I thought I was having a great time with witty banter until my friends pulled me away.

“What on earth are you doing?!”
“You looked like you were at a funeral”
"Your hands were clenching the bar in distress"
“You made no effort to do anything flirty and did that annoying haughty laugh thing”

Oh. I thought that “haughty laugh thing” WAS flirting.

It was time for flirt remedial school. I was taught how to give light touches on the arm, stroke my neck, and look into eyes seductively. This was all done in a dive bar over Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. I was feeling ridiculous….but then again I have been single for a long time. If it takes dive bar flirt training to once again make my bedroom fit for two, then so be it.
I will put my lessons to good use this week. Touch, stare, laugh non-haughtily. Got it. Now how to multi-task? Hopefully I manage to find a few places to practice my 'come hither' moves inbetween my hectic work schedule, spin class, and of course blog writing! Boys, watch out!

An Overdue Unveiling

In response to reader request to identify the persona behind Shoe Girl, I have decided to reveal myself. If you do not need the intro feel free to skip down to my latest dating encounter "Too Much Wine"

My name is Juliet Webb. I am a native San Franciscan that has spent enough time in New York to appreciate designer labels, yet also enough time in the mountains to ditch them for hiking boots when the need arises. With a heart for adventure I have explored ashrams in India, basket weaving co-ops in Africa, and now this crazy dating scene in my home city. By day, I act as a consultant to San Francisco technology start ups. By night I "moonlight" as a consultant/field researcher in the dating battleground of SF. I do not wistfully sigh at my window Friday evenings waiting for my Romeo to suddenly appear, but rather proactively explore different options to find him, from speed dating to social hiking clubs. It's not easy! Too short, too cocky, too gay....I feel like Goldilocks! Plus dating is time consuming! In between business meetings, wine bar outings, triathlon training runs and sleep, it's hard to find energy to meet a decent guy. Luckily for me, I am equipped with a sassy entourage of women who indulge me in this quest.

Mazz, a New York transplant, is a fashion diva who looks for the creme de la creme in everything from organic restaurants to designer dog leashes. She can accessorize a man, a bulldog, and a motorcycle helmet with her outfit.

Alexis, is a type A adrenaline junkie who has a black belt in karate and a list of savvy titles on her resume. Although passion is the main prerequisite, Alexis also needs a man that is able to take her on in an arm wrestling competition.

Eva, my childhood friend, is happily married yet loves the single gossip and mishaps. Eva, having successfully secured the love of her life, provides solid advice and saves me from sending out yet another photo collage of myself to a man of interest.

Holly is a single mother of one who surprisingly has more sex drive than the four of us combined. Holly's new weakness is the bartenders of our favorite watering holes. Her nanny is about to intervene.

And now, with the introductions in place, I can tell you about my latest adventure....

Too Much Wine

It was time to meet my over-concocted fantasy man and turn him into reality. As much as I wanted to Google, Facebook, and sleuth him to death over the internet I decided to actually wait and see what he was like in person. Well, ok maybe I did a tiny bit of internet research (and sent my findings immediately to Mazz for her opinion) but I was much better behaved than in my past stalking endeavors.

8.55pm: I went out to meet John, the surgeon found on match.com, at my favorite winebar/restaurant/art gallery. For some reason it is very trendy to have eateries double as art shows these days.

8:58 pm: I ignored all text messages from Mazz and Alexis taunting me about meeting Dr. Luv. Please!

9:01: I arrived, safely one minute late (I just cannot do that fashionably late thing) and gave John a hug. John was "good looking in a nice guy way" as was later described to me, and an engaging conversationalist. Now just because John graduated Ivy League with honors and solved infectious disease crises in Sub Saharan Africa doesn't mean I was about to be intimidated. Or that I would feel like a sell-out because I decided to pursue a career that would guarantee me a shoe collection (soles) rather than anything altruistic (a soul).

9:03: Well, forget about what I wasn't going let happen. I realized that the only way to solve intimidation was to drink heavily. Alcohol is lovely, isn't it? My date gets better looking, I become funnier, and the world rearranges itself in harmonious order. I promptly ordered a large glass of red.

9:30: After downing the first glass of wine and failing to keep the conversation about current events (as recommended by 'The Rules'), I remembered that alcohol ALSO tends to make us talk nonstop about ourselves ("While in Orchestra Camp in the 9th grade...."), become overly emotional at the cheese plate selection, and suddenly have a soft spot for Sarah Palin.

10:00: After the second glass, I also noticed that wine also inhibited my ability to walk in a straight line to the bar for round number three. I wouldn't have needed a round three had the following not occurred:

9:45: Just as I was starting to get comfortable talking to John without nervously flipping my hair three times per sentence, my friend Eva strides into the bar with her husband. "Jules! How fabulous to see you! And who is this?!?" she asks with a wink.

"This is John."

"Oh John, I have heard all about you. Let's see...you are from New Jersey, you love jazz, and weren't you just in Senegal...." Eva stops abruptly as I purposely kick her.

I had no idea Eva was going to come to the winebar turned art gallery. I mean, if I had WANTED my friends to spy I would have sat them in the back and given them speakers to my microphone set up like any normal first date experience.

Sigh. So yes, I felt this deserved a third round. I told John I had an amazing tolerance, praying he didn't note my signature trip on the way to get more vino.

10:15: I came back with new wine confidence and decided to finish telling John my life story. When Eva interrupted us I was only up to the part where I ran for election in college....

11:00: It was time to go. In between my life story tales, John and I DID have a lot to talk about including favorite steak frites venues, why mountains are cool, his medical emergencies in the jungle, and my personal emergencies in fashion. I THOUGHT we were having a good conversation??

But I was praying my tipsyness wasn't obvious. That's when John asked me if I would mind giving him a lift home to a neighborhood close by. Oh dear.

11:10: After a walk to my 'not cleaned in three years' car, I started the engine and prepared to drive. I shouldn't have driven....I was high DUI material. I ground the gears, did some interesting U-turns navigating the city, and almost went the wrong way down a one way street. Upon finally finding John's house, he gave me a quick hug, LEAPED out of the car (it may have been still moving), and ran away.

Realizing I could not just go home to ponder the evening alone, I drove back to the wine bar, and discussed the date with a microscopic lens with Eva and hubby. "Well....you are a terrible driver anyway so driving a man around even sober is probably a deal breaker. And as far as talking too much, Juliet, that's you! And so is drinking too much wine! If he likes YOU, he'll love the sequence of events. And if not, well, move on to the next. That whole hospital gown fantasy was creepy anyway."

The Men We Dream Up

I was about to throw in the towel for online dating and cancel my subscription to once again hit up the bars, clubs, and other cheesy groping spots of San Francisco. As I was on hold for a match.com "end my subscription now before another 50 year old hairy man contacts me” representative, I got an interesting ping in my inbox. A seemingly normal, well-traveled man wrote me. He was in my age category, had ski racks on his car, spoke French, and what’s this…was a surgeon who had volunteered across the world in international medicine brigades? I immediately hung up the phone.

What is it about doctors that bring women to their knees? Even hedge fund gurus cannot compete. There is something alluring about a man that is not only intelligent, but also does something positive for the world. Perhaps it is because I really don’t…unless you count making peanut butter cookies for a barbeque as a good deed. Although you can bet that in my response email I am going to mention how I volunteered with troubled youth in the slums of Guatemala back in ’99. (This is a true story...kind of...I also spent a lot of time in Guatemala salsa dancing, which can also be considered being a good Samaritan depending on whom you dance with).

I am doing what I advise women to never do which is extrapolate one tiny first contact into a full blown relationship. I cannot wait to bring my new doctor boyfriend to cocktail parties. "Marcia, you know that sore throat you have been complaining of? Well, you should let my doctor boyfriend look at it. He is an expert. In fact he treated village dwellers with the random Morlionopoliosicko virus in southeast Asia for two years.” “George, is that a paper cut on your right hand? Let’s let my boyfriend doctor look at it to ensure it is not infected. You never know these days…while my doctor boyfriend was in the remote island of Hunu Hunu, he saved thousands of lives by merely disinfecting common injuries.” "Yes, Portia, my new doctor boyfriend not only saves lives but he also is on the ski patrol, writes a column for the New Yorker, and didn't invest in any funds with mortgage-backed loans."

Okay, I know this is ridiculous. Not only am I sketching out annoying ways to present (i.e., brag about) this potential guy to my friends, I have not even met this man and I already deem him perfect. Time to cancel my dating subscription now before this daydreaming gets the better of me.

Why is it that when women first meet a man (or in my case, read a two paragraph email), they immediately take one tidbit of information and concoct a perfect man out if it? Why can’t we wait patiently and let things develop (or not)?

As usual I poll the peanut gallery.

Mazz (single with multiple crushes herself): After being out in the dating cesspool for a few months, it’s easy to get excited about someone halfway normal. As long as the fantasy stays in your head (no more writing the new man poetry, Shoe Girl) there is no harm done. Crushes are a good thing—it is what motivates us to keep putting ourselves out there. Remember my fantasy with Gabriel, the bartender in NYC? It didn’t go anywhere but it did keep me excited to wear Manolos every time I went to The Modern.

Eva (married and concerned about my dating future): Yes, Shoe Girl, you do really need to stop writing poetry to men who you barely know. I am not sure letting your fantasies get the better of you is a good thing. Stay focused on your life, your two thousand sports and let the man slowly reveal himself to you before you plan your wedding theme song. Think of him as a flower unfolding…isn't reality more exciting? It certainly is more sustainable.

C.B. (single, male): Why do women do this? Men don’t. In fact after we send you an email we don’t think about you until we hear back from you. The we spend four minutes picturing you naked and another two minutes writing you back or calling. That’s it. Perhaps you should start a fantasy football league. Now there is a fantasy worth spending time on.

Sigh…okay okay. I’ll pace myself. No extrapolating. No fantasies. Although the one with the hospital gown is pretty darn good…

The Online Dating Show

We buy our groceries online, we pay our bills online, why wouldn’t select a mate online while we are at it?

Ahhh…remember the days when everyone wrote paper checks and online dating carried a stigma? During the 90s the only people who found love via their computer monitor were cyberdorks with tape on their glasses. Well those cyberdorks were light years ahead of us in terms of the new dating scene (not to mention everything else involving the internet). They are also now Silicon Valley millionaires.…but I digress.

Yes, the online dating industry has passed the ‘early adopter’ stages and gone to the masses. Match.com is about as mainstream as Starbucks, Facebook and Gardenburgers (soy based burgers are mainstream in California anyway).
Even if we don’t publically admit to have browsed the match.com site, we all secretly have while in the privacy of our own home. Most of us have free profiles posted. And about a solid third of us have actually made the leap and paid for a subscription, showing our cheesy smiling profile picture and “love to laugh” headline to the world.

So what exactly happens on these sites? Can true love be found in cyberspace or is it still reserved for the cyberdorks? I decided to find out.

After a few weeks online, I have made a few noteworthy observations that may serve to assist other men and women out there.

1.Cancel your weekend plans to devote to time to profile writing. Setting up the profile is a bitch. Be prepared to labor over text and multiple editing sessions from your pals. And when it comes to pictures, just select a few good ones (not the one of you in a Sombrero kissing a pinanta, no matter how ‘fun’ it makes you look)

My first attempts at writing a profile were attacked mercilessly . ‘Shoegirl,” Holly chided me, “you cannot say you are fluent in five languages. Number one, it’s too intimidating. And number two, ordering sushi in Tokyo doesn’t really count as speaking Japanese!” (Hmm…what about making love in French then? ) Alexis then found fault with my attempts to be humorous ‘Writing limericks may be witty, but I do not think rhyming ‘anatomical’ with ‘economical’ is going to get you a date “ And Mazz didn’t like my Mad Lib approach when I let the reader fill in blanks how he wished. “But I am a chameleon! I can be and do anything!” I protested. After hours of edits, the final profile was specific enough to describe me, yet vague enough to have them wanting more. I gave a few examples of my hobbies, (must sound active and literate), my job (must appear to have one), and a descriptions of places I like to go. (If you are not well -traveled, don’t bother posting a profile or just lie—everyone on this site seems to be Rick Steves).

2. Winks are for wimps. Hold out for an email. I have heard from male friends that they cannot be bothered to write everyone, so they just give an easy wink to women they don’t care as much about. In fact, they may wink at as many as 25 women during one session. So if you get a wink you are not special. You aren’t special either if you get a cut and paste email that could easily be sent to 25 women. ‘You seem cool. Nice smile!” If a guy likes you, he will actually *gasp* read your profile and write you an email that references things about you in it. “I like that you speak 5 languages, I myself speak 4. Let’s make love in French.” These are the guys worth writing back. Mais, bien sur!

3. Weeding them out takes patience. For every halfway decent man that writes you, about 50 not-so-decent men will. They are either 56 and bald or 35 and four feet tall or are 23 and have had “some college” and misspell the word ‘college’ (A ‘collage’ is a collection of photos, dummy). I don’t think people bother to read what you are looking for before they contact you. There are also just some plain weirdoes out there left over from the chat room days. I recently got an email from some man in Idaho (geographically undesirable) with this message ”Look into my eyes! I have been telepathically willing you to respond to me.” Along with the other match.com pariahs, I ignored him. When a good one writes you, take the time to write back. Don’t become a winker yourself.

4. As women lie about their weight, so do men lie about their height. I do not know if men seriously all believe they are 6 feet tall or they know they have a higher chance of a write-back if they pretend to be. It really works against them. I once was excited to finally meet an engaging 6 footer out. However, when we shook hands for that important first hello I realized that he was actually my height (in flats)! He was a cool enough guy that I could have gotten over the tall thing had he not lied! Was he lying about his Ivy League education as well? Guys—be honest. And women too—do not say you are 115 llbs when that was your weight when you were in junior high. From body stats to incomes….unless we stay in a virtual relationship we’ll find out sooner or later.

5.Casual please. Although most men behave casually, some men are REALLY READY to get married and have kids and see match.com as their last chance. I am not a baby machine. If a man asks me about kids on date numero uno, he’s out. I mean yes, someday I hope to be a mother….but please we met ONLINE…isn’t talking about daycare options a bit premature for the first outing? I think that everyone who goes on an online induced date should go thinking of friendship only. Anything more than that needs to develop from in-person encounters. Chemistry is the one thing that the internet cannot predict nor control.


After about 6 weeks online, I really did meet some amazing men. I had enjoyable drinks and dinner dates on Tuesdays when I would have normally been in my PJs watching ‘Love Actually’ for the 14th time. However, I can’t say I found anything resembling true love...or even mild interest for a fling. To be honest, I find online dating daunting and quite time consuming. I know many men and women have had much luck on this site and I would love to hear from them. (In fact I know two married couples that met on one of these things!). There is also a new site that has gotten press from Forbes---millionairematch.com. You don’t actually have to be a millionaire (I obviously am not), but I do think it weeds out the “some ‘collage’” educated and high school janitors. Apparently Charlie Sheen met someone on it. And we all know what good taste he has in mates. I may try it out and meet a movie star or just throw in the towel on cyberdating. Perhaps I am old fashioned but something in me prefers the good ol’ sleazy pick up bars. I guess I’d rather have a hearty ass grope and ‘yes no’ dance than a string of “so you rock climb too?” emails

Damn the Hang Ups

Argh. Okay so I promised that I wouldn't let the "no ski rack on my car" statement deter me from a potential Mr. Right. But sadly I have found a new slew of hangups that keep me from falling for an otherwise perfect man.

Meet Stu--VC genius, dirt bike racer, tri-lingual with a summer house on the Italian Riveria. Trust me, there are very few of these types in the San Francisco Bay area. Over a plate of sinfully stinky cheese and decadent red wine, I wanted to swoon and promise to have his tri-lingual children. I couldn't wait to discuss our wedding plans. Sadly, Stu ruined the dream by standing up. He was 5'6". I knew if I dated him I would have to forever relinquish my collection of perfectly heeled Manolos.

Stu or high heels? Well, since I have had a long term relationship with the latter, it didn't seem seem right to abandon them for a mere romantic notion. And my shoes speak Italian too.

After we parted ways, I spent some time alone in my closet second guessing my choice of 'sole' mates. I wondered what on earth was wrong with me. Why do I need to date a jolly green giant? Smaller versions seem to have a lot more to offer on the checklist front (i.e. personality, European homes, etc). I knew Stu could make me happier than any larger versions if I could just be okay crouching....

I asked some other girlfriends what had prevented them from falling for a perfect man.

"Joe was balding. Our first date was outdoors as he looked adorable in a baseball hat. However, when we went out to dinner on date number two and the venue had a strict 'no baseball hat' policy, I saw more of his scalp than I cared to. It shouldn't matter...but I found myself overly focused on his extended forehead when I should have been enjoying my filet and our conversation. 'What's that? You took Rogaine to Las Vegas? Oh! A plane A plane. Got it.' Ridiculous I know....but I need hair! I need to run my fingers though it!"

Mazz reported on her too stable man that she recently dumped while on the phone in my living room..."Maybe it was that all around he was too stable...but the real clincher...the real hangup was that he kissed like a guppy! I don't want to train a 38 year old man to kiss! Kissing...honestly it makes or breaks them."

Another girl reported that she had a thing against stale breath. What exactly IS stale breath?? "It's not exactly bad...it's just....stale...like the smell in your grandparent's closet. Even though Charles was an accomplished and very sexy attorney, I didn't want to be close to him when he exhaled. He later met a girl that was an open mouth breather (she couldn't smell and I think was pretty stale herself) and they got engaged."

Eva told me that when she first met her husband he had a bad haircut. "I couldn't look at him straight on, let alone go on a date with him. A few years later he went to a new barber and drastically changed his appearance. I promptly talked him into a redo date...and now we are married. I do oversee his hair stylist appointment schedule though. Don't need to ruin the marriage over his hair."

Why do such silly shallow things keep us from true love? How much should trivial things matter when everything else rocks our world? And it's not just women....men complain of cankles, flapping upper arms, and women that always seem to get salad stuck in their front teeth. (Oh dear, I think this is me).....

As I dig into my stash of dark chocolate, the item that never lets me down, I question if we can ever get over all of our dating hangups....It certainly would widen the dating pool if we could.