There's nowhere to go from high expectations but down

I had more or less committed to let this blog sit idle but this was too good a story to pass up. And by good, I of course mean a train wreck. Let's call it the #2 Worst Sexual Experience of My Life. 

Prologue: A guide to dating Jewish girls 

Maybe it's unfair of me to expect the goyim to be culturally sensitive about issues that don't affect them. So in this public forum, let me just let you know, you need to warn a girl if you've still got all your original parts. We're a bit squeamish about it. 

Chapter 1. Anticipation 

There was quite a build up to my first time with the guy I'm going to call the Cap'n. Not only had we been dating several weeks, my body decided to go on strike when I was finally ready to sleep with him, which added an additional several days to the waiting period. There were the two things that got my expectations sky high. I talked to a friend about my new guy who mentioned that certain things might be in proportion to his 6'3" frame. I was also repeatedly guaranteed a great time by the Cap'n when I did finally sleep with him. Also, it was nice to have a lead up period to get the mood killing discussion of sexual health out of the way. 

Chapter 2. The main event 

I'm immediately hit with the little surprise from the prologue. No problem! I can roll with it. Would have been nice to be warned, but hey, it's business time. 

The next blow comes pretty soon after. After a relatively perfunctory foreplay period, it really is time to get down to business. What do you mean, you thought we could "do some stuff first?" Are these magical condoms that work as long as you're in the same room with them? Because the ones I'm familiar with only work when you put them on. 

And the hits keep coming! Because guess what happens when the condom gets on? Performance issues! Now my sample size is only two, but both uncircumcised guys I've been with complained about not being able to keep an erection with a condom on. There's a pun in there somewhere about giving me a hard time for insisting on condoms. 

But there's more? Why what else could there be? Ah, not just performance issues, but performance anxiety! The Cap'n's delicate sensibilities are too frayed for him to come the first time he sleeps with anyone. Yay, that just means I'm going to have work extra hard! But it will be worth it right? Because I was guaranteed a great time… 

Yes, amazingly I'm still thinking that somehow this guy is going to make good on that promise. But he in no way has the skills to back up that guarantee. But wait, by now you should know there's more! Not only does he not have the skills, he's not even that clear on the basics of female anatomy. I mean it. He wasn't even close. 

Chapter 3. After. Glow. 

Finally things wrap up, and it's time to get some sleep since we both have work the next day. Typical guy that I am, I'm lying there wondering what time it is and how many hours I have to go until I can get out of there. During my protracted musings on the nature of how much better it is in my bed, the Cap'n gets out of bed to start reading some stuff on the computer. The computer, which is in the bedroom. Not like in another room where I can't see the glow of the monitor. I'm lying there for what feels like four hours but is probably about a half hour, when I realize I actually can just go home. 

So I start getting dressed. He scrambles to save the situation by saying he was just about to come to bed. Because it's less rude if you're prepared to stop once the person is already pissed off. I am having none of this. I just want to get the hell out of there. So I leave, insisting that a 1am walk on a weeknight through the city is fine. Because I'm an idiot and don't have any cab money. I'm a block away from my place when he rides up on his bike. I should be glad that he did the gentlemanly thing and got his ass out of bed to come after me, but at this point I'm already safe. All I can think is, great, another awkward good night.

Chapter 4. That was easy 

Ok, so it's quite clear that I've got to get rid of this guy. My strategy is going to be keep the nighttime plans I already have with friends then dump him the first time I can get him to come out somewhere. Amazingly, shockingly, precedent-settlingly, I'm able to rid myself of him with very little fuss. 

Two days after the event, I get a long email that ends in the request for a do-over. Note to the Cap'n: when a girl literally risks her life and iPhone to get away from you, she don't want no do-over. Apparently the Cap'n is expecting me to make good on my promise to sleep with him regularly since I've asked him to forswear all other pussy in favor of mine (or forswear mine in favor of all others). This is also my sole purpose in his life, since he doesn't ask me to do anything, just requests that I let him know the minute I'm able to jump his bones again. I use the term bones loosely here. I stick with my strategy until I get a late night email saying he feels bad for trying to guilt me into a date, but the exclusivity thing has been doing a mental number on him. 

An out? It can't really be this easy? Ah but it is. I agree to dispense with the exclusivity rather than risk his discomfort. He hedges and says it's fine unless I want to dispense with it for my own reasons. So I reply that I do and wish him the best. The Queen of the Email Dumps reigns.

The X factor

Everyone has an X factor. You meet someone, you like their personality, the way they dress, their taste in music, something else, and it piques your interest. And you find out that one thing that hits you right in the hormones. Do not pass go, do not collect a handful of awkward dates, proceed immediately to infatuation. The X factor will make you explain away or ignore any other attribute about the person. It will make you ascribe all sorts of positive personality traits that might not exist. In short, it will reduce you to the yearning, bumbling fool of your teenage years.

Think you don’t have an X factor? Make note of the next time you say “God, that is so hot.” It can be anything: his big brain, she reads science fiction, her sexy accent, he makes his bed. Ok, that last one is probably just me. Maybe you’re a guy susceptible to the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. Maybe you’re a girl who fails to notice that he’s not self-confident, he’s just an arrogant ass. Or maybe, like me, you’re reduced to a puddle when you find out someone has talent. Give me a guy who can sing or act or paint, and I turn all tongue-tied and shy.

If you’re really, really lucky, it all turns out for the best and as you get to know the person, you find out they are actually as cool as they seem. If you’re unlucky, you get strung along for months deluding yourself they’re better than they are. If you’re totally messed up, your X factor is something like instability or unavailability and you find yourself accidentally driving the getaway car after an armed robbery or telling all your friends that she’s going to leaver her husband as soon as the kids are in college. But you couldn’t help it—he’s just so hot.

The numbers mean everything

So the early results seem to say that changing the pictures was a good move. Traffic has increased. I actually went on my first date last night. It went well. I may see him again, and he definitely seems open to the possibility of friendship, which is a refreshing change.

Having changed my pictures, I’m left with another disturbing issue. I’m becoming too old to date. Apparently I failed to look at this before, but shockingly, guys prefer younger women. Not just young women—younger women. There's some 35 year old guy out there who won't even consider women his own age, but thinks as long as she can drink they can reasonably get along. This person was born in the 90s. THE 90s!!! This person has never owned or probably seen a Fischer Price plastic record player. This person has no idea what life was like before the internet or cell phones. This person's parents probably pay her cell phone bill. But whatever.

I find this strange. The majority of my paired up friends are either the same age or the woman is older than the man so there are plenty of men not bothered by that idea. And this is online dating-- by all means, only hit on the hot 34 year olds. There are still plenty of them out there. Or maybe they do and they're just trying to prevent the un-hot 34 year olds from hitting on them. I don't know though, my age limits don't stop 45 year olds from hitting on me. It's a mystery.

I actually tried to solve this mystery. A 37 year old messaged me and his profile said he was interested in women from 26 to 36. So I emailed back asking why he was interested in women his own age. He thanked me for pointing out his profile was out of date and went ahead and fixed it. So now he’s interested in women from 28 to 37. Argh.

A picture's worth a thousand words (from creepy old dudes)

I'm just not as popular as I used to be. Traffic on my profile has been way down compared to previous attempts. I should be delighted that I'm not getting tons of messages from guys who've never read a book, but I just feel rejected. Or old. There is just no pleasing some people. The decline could be because I outed myself as someone looking for the real deal, the new set of pictures, or the addition of a year to my birthday. Being scientific about this, I decided to change one of these variables. But not back to how it originally was. I mean, that would really be scientific. But I'm only a social scientist, so it's ok.

So I changed the pictures. When I set up my profile this time, I used three pictures.

1. Sultry stare: Following advice from OkCupid, I went with the sultry stare into the camera. Or as best as I can pull something like that off. The picture is brand spanking new too.

2. Quirky fun: Don't let that intense look fool you! I also drink beer, just like girls you'd want to hang out with.

3. Look! I go places!: The full body shot of me standing next to a Medieval wall. Just who you'd want to travel with-- the girl in a baggy t-shirt and weird shoes.

Unfortunately, the best picture anyone's ever taken of me did not make the cut. It's really out of date at this point. But it makes my boobs look really big (not a lie), so I wondered if its absence explained my sudden lack of popularity. Also, the large rack cuts both ways. In a baggy t-shirt it just makes me look chubby or pregnant as evidenced by picture 3.

Since I don't spend my time on vacation standing in front of things, I was limited for a substitute. I also apparently spend my time at parties making emphatic points to people. The evidence doesn't lie—there are loads of pictures of me talking, hands caught mid-wild gesticulation. Do I want to date this girl, or just engage in hand-to-hand combat?

In the end, I put in a picture from my birthday last year wearing a sexy top. It's waist up so should be enough to convince people I didn't lie about my weight class. The disadvantage is that I have a drink in my hand. Chubby girl who travels or hot girl who drinks too much? I guess we'll find out which is better. Since the re-post, I got a few more your-picture-is-amazing messages so that's not actually an improvement. (Seriously. No pleasing me.) But we'll see if the change convinces guys I contact to email me back.

Third time's a charm

So I'm back online. I reactivated my profile with a new focus on finding Mr. Right. Shut up. Apparently people know people who met their spouses online. Just like people know people who have been abducted by aliens. This time I decided to be brave and risk making two classic mistakes in online profiles. We'll see if it produces different results.

You definitely want to avoid looking desperate on your online profile, especially if you're a woman in her 30s. So saying that I am looking for something serious seems pretty risky to me. I tried to be honest about looking for someone who wants to support me as well as being supported.

The other change I made was to tell people what I'm not looking for. This article on Slate is just about the worst thing I've ever read about online dating. The guy completely lies about who he is and it all magically works out for him? Too bad for all those women whose time he wasted, I guess, because he got his in the end. And yes, I take this personally. I've definitely had dates with his type.

Saying what you don't want is incredibly dicey. Often these synopses come across as the bitter rants of someone who just got dumped. So me saying that if your online profile is aspirational instead of honest implies I've been around the online dating block a few times. No idea if it will even work.

The post-hiatus danger zone

It has been several months since my last relationship ended. Usually, the relationship ends, I go into dating hiatus for a little while, then decide to re-enter the world of dating right around the time I start to feel lonely and horny. This is a precarious time. This is the time when I do something stupid. This is the magic few weeks when I hook up with an ex or have a random one night stand. Unfortunately, knowing I'm going to do something stupid doesn't mean I don't do the stupid things I fear. 

The only way out of the post-hiatus danger zone is to do the stupid thing. Which I then regret and usually scares me straight until I can get into a relationship or until I enter another dating hiatus putting me back into the post-hiatus danger zone some time later. If anyone has alternative (read: better) solutions to surviving the post-hiatus danger zone, please submit them in the comments section. The only idea I can come up with is to go completely dry for the entire period. This could backfire as then I'd have to face doing something stupid completely sober. But it would also mean I wouldn't wake up the next morning filled with remorse and a hangover.

And, not to leave you in suspense, the stupid thing I did was sleep with a friend. This is probably my most frequently committed error while in the post-hiatus danger zone. I tend to have a least a couple of guy friends in the mix that I've never dated, but I've never been too sure haven't wanted to date me (best defined as a gaggle). I've actually managed to get through it ok on occasion. No idea about this time. Luckily, he was a relatively new friend so not someone I'd agonize over burning. But still, when my friends ask me how come he never comes around anymore, I really don't want to have to tell them I accidentally slept with him. I'm not sure some of them are aware that it's possible to accidentally sleep with someone. Some people apparently don't experience the post-hiatus danger zone. Lucky them.

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you."

Today's blog post is a homework assignment. I've apparently become rusty at dating because when a date ended on an awkward silence, I filled it with "email me when you get back from your holiday travel." Gah. So I must practice. Because no matter how plummy your English accent, I just can't deal with blond eyelashes. And nothings says have a nice life like it was nice meeting you.