Rules of Interwebs Dating, Part III

A few of you got a bit frothy about about GNTEP because you claim that Guideline Number Two Exit Phrase isn't very direct.* And possibly there are a few people out there who may think GNTEP borders on Playing Games. I hope that it goes without saying that Playing Games is NOT COOL. But I don't think the GNTEP qualifies as Playing Games. And this leads me to...

GUIDELINE NUMBER THREE
For the average intelligent Canadian dater, a little subtlety is perfectly acceptable.

We live in Canada. Or at least I live in Canada. (If you live in NYC, then I guess you can go ahead and ignore this next bit.) We are a polite people. We find overly direct conversations to be a bit like drinking Pepsi straight from the 2L plastic jug: uncouth, messy and bad for one's health.

Accordingly, I assert that it IS possible to let someone know that you're not into dating them without emotionally smacking them in the face with the details. But let me be clear: there is a small window in which Guideline Number Three is appropriate. Once you've been seeing someone for more than a few weeks, or you've had dinner and breakfast together consecutively (if you know what I mean), then the window CLOSES.

For example:

SCENARIO ONE: Are you breaking up with your live-in girlfriend of three years? Has her ongoing baby-talk and insistence that you refer to each other as 'My Wittle Wove Muffin' finally driven you to the brink of insanity? Yes? Well, you're going to have to have a few conversations with her about it before you can start looking for your own pleather-lined bachelor pad in Parkdale.

SCENARIO TWO: Are you just wrapping up a second date at Dufflet, wherein the zip of the luscious lemon tart was the only thing holding your attention as Heraysheeo spoke non-stop about his vintage album collection while asking NOT ONE QUESTION about you? Hit that boy with GNTEP and head on home, no conversation required.

Scenarios One and Two are NOT interchangeable, people. If you think you're ditching your Wittle Wove Muffin without having a couple of lengthy chats about the State of Things, then you're pretty-much a giant douchebag, and you deserve it when you find out all of your clothes have dyed baby pink and run through the office shredder before she packed them up.

By the same token, if your second date paramour rings you at 4:30 am to further discuss his fave albums from the late 80s (Spin Doctors' Pocket full of Kryptonite totally rocked my world in 1989!) on the same evening that he's been dealt Guideline Number Two Exit Phrase, you're entirely justified in glancing at your call-display and then rolling over to go back to sleep, return phone call not required.

* Those of you who know me In The Real World and would like to debate these issues are also welcome to do so in the comments section. But if you use My Real Name, your comments will be DELETED. Because... y'know... the anonymity of the Hurratios must be protected.

Rules of Interwebs Dating, Part II

I have this horrible end-of-date compulsion. (No, not that kind of compulsion, you sicko.) My compulsion is such that even when I plan to never see the person again, I continue to chirp out phrases like "yeah, we should DEFINITELY do this again!" and "okay, yeah, so give me a call and we'll hang out again soon!"

WHY DO I DO THIS?

I am not inherently the lying type. But I do like me some good manners. And I hate (HATE) hurting people's feelings. Which is goes a long way in explaining why I blurt out reassuring-but-completely-false maxims as the date is wrapping up. Of course, then I'm unjustifiably annoyed when Hyrastio rings me to see if I'd like to go to Canada's Wonderland with him next weekend (ugh... Canada's Wonderland. I would rather get myself soaking wet and shove my finger in a light socket).

Therefore, no more!

GUIDELINE NUMBER TWO
No lying to unsuitable matches:

But wait! This is not to say we need to be brutally honest. Or lengthy. If I've been on one or two dates with someone, is it really necessary to get into how he very much reminds me of my ex who, as it turns out, is gayer than Christmas? Should we be launching into hour-long soliloquies about how we could never kiss someone whose teeth jut out of their mouth like yellow weapons? Indeed, not.

So then, Internet, you may wonder what I say to these not-The-Dudes. Admittedly, it's been strikes and gutters on this issue. Sometimes I do the blurting before I can remember my allegiance to Guideline Number Two. But lately, I've been trying out the following Guideline Number Two Exit Phrase (GNTEP):

It was so nice to meet you. Have a great night/morning/afternoon. Take care!

And then... I WALK AWAY. Do you see how this phrase is both polite and final? Do you see how there's no glaring lie or encouragement to keep in touch?

I've noticed that this phrase works a lot better if I pay for my own drink/brunch/coffee - I try to insist if I'm pretty sure I'm going to use the GNTEP. Also, no fair using the GNTEP after having made out with the guy in the back of a cab for the entire length of Bloor Street. Mixed messages = unjustifiable annoyance on your part when he thinks he'll be invited into your apartment at the end of the cab ride/eating Ethiopian food with you next Saturday night/moving into your apartment in the Fall.

I know what you're thinking, Internet. You're thinking: That ProngTwo is a dating genius! The Guideline Number Two Exit Phrase could easily replace the Sermon on the Mount as the 21st Century's Creed for Dating. The Sermon on the Mount was about dating etiquette, right? Something about how fish, while a healthy choice, isn't always the best date food, and bread is all right as long as you don't eat the whole loaf? At any rate, HOORAY for the GNTEP!

Let's not get carried away, people. First of all, that's not what the Sermon on the Mount was about at all. Time to brush up on our Bible trivia, isn't it? Second, starting my own organized religion is Prong Five or maybe even Prong Six. I have a lot of prongs to get to before we get mired up in THAT business. Though I wouldn't refuse those of you who wanted to start tithing right away.

Stood Up

Internet, I've been stood up.

It's hard to tell why. The official explanation, offered 30 minutes before the date was slated to begin, was: "something came up". But because of the Dubai Man debacle, I don't give out my phone number any more. AND, since I still don't have an iPhone or Blackberry or Triage (Treo? Tree-o?), I didn't get the cancellation email until after I'd waited for over an hour at the cafe and finally headed home. LAME.

Luckily, I'm quite skilled at hanging out at cafes on my own. I'd brought a book my friend The Lawyer had loaned me - Gang Leader for a Day, by Sudhir Venkatesh - which was so fascinating that it took me 20 minutes to even realize that Hearratio P. Stand-Up was late. Also, we're in the midst of those glorious three days of Toronto Spring when it's no longer the shit-end of winter (wherein the heavens spit down angry sleet like a disgusted Polish Babcia presented with substandard pierogi) AND not yet the (oh-god-kill-me-now steam-bath sweat-drenched) scorching Toronto summer. A breezy sun-soaked hour on the patio at La Crema with arguably the world's greatest latte in hand and something good to read is not an hour misspent.

But back to the stand up. Even though I didn't have a horrible time waiting around for the no-show, 30 minutes does strike me as awfully late notice. Possibly even rude? I suppose I expected an explanation more involved than "something came up". Something more along the lines of "family emergency" or "car trouble" or "I'm terrified of meeting a total stranger for a cup of coffee." Am I being too anal? I realize that if I hadn't been so paranoid about the providing-my-phone number-to-potential-psychos issue, this guy could've just called me. But even then - EVEN THEN - I think I'd still be a little bit annoyed.

On the other hand, my Office Drone milk-bag complexion now has a tannish hue. Plus, I've made some excellent progress on my ongoing internal Crips vs. Bloods debate. I really do think I look better in the blue.

Getting the music thing

In addition to the Interwebs portion of Prong Two, I've also recruited my friends to do a little matchmaking. If they know an awesome single guy, they are duty-bound to introduce me to this guy. Of course, this prompts several questions about what kind of Dude I'm looking for.

Having been around the love circuit a few times, I've got some ideas about what works and what doesn't work for me in the romance arena. I do not subscribe to the "opposites attract" philosophy. I intend to spend lots of time doing awesome things and building a kick-ass life with The Dude. If he is, for example, deeply immersed in the world of ExTreme Mountain-Bike Paint-Ball Battles and plans to spend most of his free time charting battle plans and putting new shocks on his ride while I'm spending every spare moment feeding my music addiction ... well, that's not really in step with the whole Doing Awesome Things Together plan, is it?

Therefore, I usually tell my match-making friends that The Dude needs to be someone who Gets the Music Thing. But what the fuck does that mean, right? At first, even I didn't know. But I've been thinking about it recently, and I'm starting to figure it out:

Getting the music thing means that The Dude probably (probably) plays an instrument of some kind - not that he's making his own albums or gigging every Friday night, but the idea of spending an afternoon learning a few new chords on his guitar or digging out his old grade six book and bashing away at his piano isn't unheard of. Jam sessions or campfire singalongs or Friday nights in the basement with some guitars and some beer all sound like AWESOME ways to spend his free time. And if he doesn't play, that's okay too. As long as he 'gets it'.

Getting the music thing means that sometimes the music is on as background noise, but not always. Often I'm not just hearing the music, I'm LISTENING to the music. I know what tunes to turn on when I've just kicked ass at work; I know what'll make me feel better when I've had my heart broken; road trips are all about the playlists for me; there's a soundtrack to my life and it's something I've spent time thinking about. The Dude gets this.

As Ian McEwan said:

There are these rare moments when musicians together touch something sweeter than they've ever found before in rehearsals or performance, beyond the merely collaborative or technically proficient, when their expression becomes as easy and graceful as friendship or love. This is when they give us a glimpse of what we might be, of our best selves, and of an impossible world in which you give everything you have to others, but lose nothing of yourself. Out in the real world there exists detailed plans, visionary projects for peaceable realms, all conflicts resolved , happiness for everyone, for ever - mirages for which people are prepared to die and kill. Christ's kingdom on earth, the workers' paradise, the ideal Islamic state. But only in music, and only on rare occasions, does the curtain actually lift on this dream of community, and it's tantalizing conjured, before fading away with the last notes.

The Dude is the kind of person who will totally dig that quote.

So... easy peasy, right? There are bound to be several thousand guys kicking around who are awesome and single and 'get it', They're probably hiding out in some underground bachelor jam session wondering where the hell girls like me are hanging out. If you see them, tell them I say "hey".

Rules of Interwebs Dating, Part I

You may think, Internet, that the world of online dating is the new Wild West. Lawlessness! Mavericks! PISTOLS AT DAWN. Or is that a British thing? Maybe I'm thinking of high-noon, which does seem more fair in terms of sun in people's eyes. ANYWAY. Screw this whole Wild West idiocy. There may not be an edition of Emily Post 2.0 (oh god, that's bad. I know, I know) but perhaps there should be? As I sally forth into the dark, nefarious world of the eDate, I'll see if I can dole out a few observations and maybe even some guidelines.

GUIDELINE NUMBER ONE
Would you say that to a person you'd just met in person? No? Then maybe don't say it on the internet:

One of the great things about online dating is that you've got free reign to contact anyone on the site. Presumably, you sign up for online dating so that you can meet new people; that's the point of being there. That reduces the Risk of Ego-Shattering Rejection by about a thousand. Before you even say 'hello', you know that this person isn't going to hit you with the I'm Married/I'm Gay/I'm actually from the planet Zoltan and don't date outside of my Zoltaniarwan Faith shtick.

However, it appears that without Risk of Ego-Shattering Rejection, a number of enthusiastic online daters feel free to blurt out anything that pops into their minds. Here are a few topics that may not be successful conversation starters:

1. The size of your... *ahem*... "endowment."
   
2. Starting the sentence with "my therapist says that..."
   
3. Discussions involving preferences in the bedroom.
   
4. Starting the sentence with "hey bitch."
   
5. A lengthy description of how intuitive your pet lemur is.
6. Compliments involving sexual organs.
7. Starting the sentence with "so... how many kids do you want to have? I like Hurratiaetta for a girl and Hurratio Jr. for a boy!"
8. ANYTHING about your ex.
   
9. etc.

Of course, these could be perfectly fine topics of conversation with someone you're already dating. At some point, one may be very keen to discuss the intuitive powers of a love interest's pet lemur for hours on end, for example. But do we want to come off as a Crazy Lemur Wingnut right off the bat? Probably not.

Gym Guy

A lot of people who hear about Prong Two have suggestions as to where I can meet prospective dates. One of the more popular suggestions has been the gym. "There are LOADS of single guys at my gym," they boast! "You're way more likely to find someone who takes care of themselves and who's in great shape," they claim. I sort of don't care about The Dude being in great shape. But that other stuff is probably true.

And yet, I am not keen on the gym as the dating Mecca. Unless! Are we thinking of the gym as a litmus test? Because then maybe we're onto something. Any guy who sees me flailing around on the elliptical machine, purple-faced and sweaty in my ratty Canada! t-shirt and the boy's gym shorts I purchased at Zellers seven years ago and still thinks I'm eligible may be okay with me.

I did give the gym a go a few years ago. The results were not good. No wait. That's not entirely true. When asking myself if my ass looked good in various skirts, the answer was mostly a resounding "Daaaaaamn. YES." But as way of generating dating prospects: not successful. As it turns out, I'm not the sort of person who can pick up guys at the gym.

First of all, the only way I could convince myself to go to the gym was to go as soon as I woke up, before my brain could form enough compelling arguments to not go. And since my daily routine included a long journey on the Bus of Hellfire and Damnation to my office in scenic Industrial Mississauga, this meant that I was at the gym at dark o'clock each morning. This may be shocking news to you, internet, but there were not a lot of likely dating candidates at the gym at 6 am. In fact, most of the other patrons were of the geriatric variety. I'm not being unkind; without me in the mix to skew the results, we're looking at an average age of 72.

But then! Then Gym Guy started showing up. And soon, me, a dozen seniors and Gym Guy were there every morning at 6 am. It was miraculous! Frankly, Gym Guy was waaaaaay out of my league. Each morning he performed countless fancy maneuvers on the weight machines, muscles rippling and flexing effortlessly as he smiled dazzlingly at the other patrons. He helped the seniors adjust the machines and made pleasant conversation! He turned the t.v. channel to Newsworld, but first checked with other gym-goers to make sure it was okay! So polite; so blindingly handsome! I looked on, gasping and flailing from my post on the elliptical machine, smitten and mute. I thought about doing something drastic, like buying yoga pants at Lululemon. But who are we kidding? Are a pair of $90 yoga pants going to magically transform me into a glowing and fresh and graceful exercise ninja instead of sweaty and raspberry-hued klutz? No. No they are not.

I felt sure my relationship with Gym Guy would be limited permanently to the maniacal grins and muttered greetings I flung compulsively his way as he passed by on the way to the water fountain. But then something truly amazing happened: one morning Gym Guy made a sharp detour from the weight machines and climbed onto the elliptical machine NEXT TO MINE.

I decided to play things cool. I continued my flailing. I kept my eyes glued to Newsworld. And then, for reasons unknown even to me, I deviated from the 'playing it cool' plan. Or maybe I took the plan too far? Regardless, saying 'hi' to Gym Guy while casually taking a swig from my water bottle proved to be an insurmountable physical challenge:

Me: [picking up water bottle] Hi!

Gym Guy: Good morni..

Me: [sputtering the entire contents of water bottle down my shirt] *cough* *cough* *cough*

GG: Oh hey! Are you okay...?

Me: [trying desperately maintain footing on the elliptical machine] *cough* *cough* Sure! *cough* *cough* I'm o.. *cough* okay!

GG: Are you sure?

Me: [catching my toe on the pedal thingy] *cough* *cough* *cough*

GG: Woah there!

Me: [spectacular wipeout and subsequent face-plant on gym floor] *cough* *cough* *cough*

GG: [turning off his machine] Are you SURE you're okay?

Me: [leaping to my feet] I'm okay! I'm okay! Yeah, that bleeding should stop any time now. No big deal! Woah, is that the time? I should head out. Work! Gotta keep that ear to the grindstone! Or is it 'nose to the grindstone'? I can never remember. Ha ha ha! Anyway. Don't worry about me, I've got a trick knee, I always limp like this. Time to hit the salt mines! Have a great day!!!

GG: ....

Gym Guy steered clear of the elliptical machines after that. Shocker. And now, anyone who suggests I try meeting guys at the gym hears that story. There's always a brief pause followed by ..."The grocery store! That's supposed to be a great place to meet people!"

Instant Messaging: the down side of online dating

Hurrazzio [aged 48, from Tallahasse, FL]: Ur ass is hawt.*

*There are no photos of my ass or the vicinity of my ass in my profile.

Me : Really? That's the opening line you're going with? Ur ass is hawt?

H: Ya babe.

Me: Excellent. You're hitting it out of the park so far.

H: lol u like being spanked?

Me: We're already at the spanking portion of the chat? You're quick.

H: Thx. So do u?

Me: [logout]