internet dating

Hope for the Hopeless

Posted on by akiwifreund

I had a date yesterday.

We met on OKCupid. He complained that women weren’t responding to his attempts to start conversations. I complained that men were opening with sexual demands. I’ll call him Nashville, since he is from Tennessee and still has quite a pronounced twang to his speech (which I think is adorable).

First we were chatting through messages on OKCupid. Then we graduated to texting on our phones. Though I haven’t asked him, he must have wondered if I was being flaky because I didn’t start texting right away, but I was worn out from a couple of doctor appointments. Then we graduated to actually talking on the phone; the first time we talked we were on for 3.5 hours, then we got on later in the evening and chatted for another 3.5 hours. Then we made a date.

It was just supposed to be a lunch date, and really just a coffee date, no food involved. I picked a spot two blocks from my apartment. We walked from my place, and luckily I didn’t end up getting the droopy face by the time we got back to my flat. Nashville asked if I had any plans for the remainder of the day, and if not, would I like to do dinner as well? I was totally game since we seemed to be getting on so well. We got comfortable in my little shoe box flat – he on the couch and I laying flat on my bed – and we spent the afternoon watching music videos from the ’80’s. Wham!, David Bowie, Scorpions, Psychedelic Furs and Def Leppard all got heavy play.

Nashville and I bundled back up and walked two blocks to a pizza place where we had the most flavorful pie we agreed we’ve had in a long time. Then we went back to my little flat and made out for about an hour. Nashville and I had a very frank conversation about how neither one of us wanted to immediately jump into having sex because we both had a history of picking partners who were a poor match for our values and lifestyles. He also asked if he could see me with my wig off, but immediately my sphincter tightened up and I asked if we could wait for a later date (it’s like being doused with cold water from what I understand, seeing me like that). I wanted to hang onto some of the attraction in case Nashville decided he couldn’t handle my baldness after all because I don’t want every dating experience to be colored by my need for wigs.

When it was time for him to leave, Nashville and I discussed his work schedule and agreed that we both wanted to see the other person again as soon as we could figure out a time, which will be next week.

I’m realistic about my challenges. He is getting a puppy on December 27th – something he already planned and paid for – but he knows I’m deathly allergic. Nashville also voiced concern about having to commute to my place and the fact that I’m not able to share in the burden of driving back and forth. He lives about 50 minutes north of me. Driving that in winter weather will probably stretch that to more like 90 minutes. But we also have some things going for us, including our age and desire to have a mutually respectful relationship, and neither of us has children. Nashville also doesn’t mind that I swear like a truck driver and it seems he has been raised right – he sees women as his equal, not princesses on pedestals and not second-class citizens either.

We traded texts this morning. Nashville said, “I really like you.” I wrote back, “I really like you too.” I meant it, too. I said it without hesitation and reservation.

To Date or Not To Date, That Is the Question

Posted on by akiwifreund

I hear this sentiment often from fellow “spoonies”: They have given up on dating. They enjoy my stories (thanks, I try!), but they are not putting themselves out there in the dating pool. And why should they? It’s tough. You’re naked and vulnerable and your waves of pain crash into your body so that you can barely stay afloat. You get tired sometimes – exhausted, really – of paddling just to keep your head above water.

But to borrow from Mindy Kaling’s new book Why Not Me?, all I can say is, why not me?

This song from Andrew McMahon reminds me of my teenage years. I didn’t actually go on my first date until a week before I graduated high school, when I was already 18. I was a late bloomer. But I felt free, and I couldn’t wait to live my life and choose my own adventure.

When I finally did get into dating, it was just how I imagined it would be. And by “it,” I really mean the men. The kissing, the making out, the talking about nothing and everything, felt just like I thought it would. I felt passion and I felt heartbreak. I felt excitement. Sometimes I felt like I was on fire.

It has been a very long time – possibly a decade, if I think about it – since I have had a love who freely returned love to me and wasn’t afraid to say it. Though this rare disease has eaten away all of my supposed “good years,” when I am finally relaxed and confident in my own body, I’m not ready to give up. I still think I can have the same feelings I did at 18, even if I can no longer stay out till the wee hours of the morning with groups of people I’ve just met, and then crash on a random couch or floor or bed and trade secrets with a man who is enchanted with my eyes and just wants to hold me and see a little of my soul.

So, man whom I don’t know yet, I’ll meet you at the high dive. Take the leap with me. I promise that I’m worth it.

 

Caught Between a Rock and a Short Bus

Posted on by akiwifreund

The problem with losing every hair on your body, or very nearly (because my big toes are always the last to shed), is that you have to find a way to define your facial features but still blend in with the rest of civilization. My eyebrow tattoos were last touched up almost two years ago and were fading and turning a pinkish hue of tan, prompting me to color over them with a combination of pencil and powder. This is not a durable solution, though. I still have really oily skin like a teenager and usually within an hour, if I go to push my wig bangs out of my eyes, I end up schmearing my eyebrows in the process, so I look like a crazed devil.

It took me a while to find a permanent makeup artist in the St. Paul/Minneapolis area – first because there don’t seem to be many at all, which I blame on everyone being a tree hugger and shouting from the rooftops how “natural” they are; second, because I don’t want to get just anyone to ink my face. I finally found someone who seemed to use the methods that I was familiar with to give me the most natural-looking brows possible, who also has a decade of experience under her belt.

The ride out there via Metro Mobility (http://www.metrotransit.org/metro-mobility if you’re curious) was pretty uneventful despite the dispatch center’s computers being down – everyone just made do. My driver was on time and there was only one other lady on the bus. The ride back, however, was a little more interesting.

The woman who was our driver for the trip back was very, very nice and good-natured. Unfortunately, I realized that she was used to a certain clientele because she was talking to me as if I was deaf instead of mostly blind. She was shouting, actually, and using small words. I was only the second rider on and she had to pick up four more people before she could start dropping us off. For most of the ride I was the only female on the bus. My trip lasted almost two hours.

By the time it was my turn to get dropped off, I was mostly blind. The last passenger we picked up was an elderly lady who seemed pleasant enough when she boarded, but when the driver went to escort her to her seat and strap her in, the woman refused to sit down. I could immediately feel the tension ripple through all of us. We had been on for quite a while, someone in the group wasn’t really big on bathing and we were in that odd space of being too hot or too cold on a winter day trapped in our layers of clothes and dependent upon the driver to run the bus’s heater. We were all individually and collectively ready to pounce on the woman if she didn’t cooperate. Luckily we didn’t have to, the driver distracted her by saying she was carrying a lovely bag; the woman was still confused by the seat belt the driver was hooking up for her (“What in the world are you doing??”). So when the driver was required to escort me to my front door, she just kinda did an “Okayareyougood?Ineedtogoincaseshedecidestoescape.”

I discovered that while I was out getting my eyebrows put back on my face that the financial coordinator from Johns Hopkins had called to tell me that medical assistance didn’t have any record of my request to be seen at JH. Since I had had four separate conversations with the company in charge of my Medicaid and they had actually called the PCP who was supposed to submit the request, I knew that was not correct. I spent another hour on the phone trying to find out who had ignored the notes and faxes on my file that I had sent in myself; I had to leave another message for the financial coordinator to ask her to try again. I really don’t want to piss her off because she is the first person I’ll deal with at Johns Hopkins, so what she does or doesn’t do is going to greatly influence my time there.

The eyebrows, the special request for medical assistance, the stuff that fills my days now instead of a job and trying to plan my next social event, is not anything that normal people can relate to. How can I explain it? I can’t even summarize it all in a sentence or two.

I also had messages waiting for me from two men – one from OKCupid, and one from Match. They are actually both ten years younger than me and seem to be very physically active. I’ve traded messages with them before so I have a somewhat superficial handle on their personalities. I instantly developed anxiety when I saw their messages. One made it very clear to me that he is a fair weather friend; I told him that I thought he would be a fun person to know, but he would become bored with me because I can’t go out and do things like he does. He responded by saying that I should contact him when I’m “better.” Well, there were only about two weeks between his last message and today’s, so this just proves to me that he thinks I’ve got the equivalent of a cold. The other one suggested meeting up in our last exchange. I told him that it had to be in my neighborhood and within walking distance for me, and then he didn’t respond for a little over a week. Today he indicated I should call/text so we can meet up. Does that mean he’s okay with my circumstances, or that he’s hoping that it’s not as bad as I am saying? I’m trying not to let my self-doubt rule, but now I’m fighting the urge to crawl under my blankets and overdose on emo music.

How do I explain having to use the short bus? And dammit, now I have to wait another week to even try to go on a fly-by date with the second guy because my tattoos need time to heal. Right now they look like two greasy, dark, flat caterpillars have been smashed on my forehead because I have to keep them moist with ointment. If I keep throwing these obstacles at him, am I driving away a good date?

Tonight’s music selection reminds me of Heath Ledger every time I hear it (a la 10 “Things I Hate About You”). It makes me sad because I remember thinking that when I saw him in it, I was convinced he was very quickly going to become a star and would be easily recognized – and he did.

 

It’s That Time Again

Posted on by akiwifreund

I’m not talking about Daylight Savings Time (I really think that should be done away with). I’m not talking about burning a yule log and sipping a hot toddy. I’m talking about putting on the most ridiculous paper “gown” and having my girl parts checked.

Five years ago this month I made the best decision I ever could have made and that was to push for a hysterectomy. I had had many, many problems since the age of 19, including some fast-growing fibroids that had taken over my uterus and prompted a quickie biopsy (without any anesthesia or numbing). I remember the doctor coaching me through the pain of that biopsy and at one point saying, “You’re doing good, we’re halfway done.” And like Satan’s wife, a deep, hideous voice came out of my mouth that said, “Only HALFWAY??” By the end of 2010, if I was lucky I had a whole week off every month from bleeding, rather than the reverse being true. So at age 36, I kissed my uterus goodbye – or rather, I gave it a good shove and told it to kiss my ass.

Thank goodness I don’t have to worry about birth control or how to control a flow. But I still worry about diseases, so I requested a full workup from my doctor – peeing in a cup, scraping the “pouch” that was left behind where the cervix used to be, and a couple of vials of blood took care of all of the testing. The person I saw today was new to me, so it was kind of odd that I had to convince her to check me for everything, as if she was thinking I was too old, too disabled or too nice to have had multiple partners – or all of the above. What I didn’t say was, “Yes, I’m still sexually active even though I look like Quasimodo right now. You’d be surprised what guys will overlook with the promise of getting a piece of ass.” A couple of times she paused as if she was waiting for a number. I finally said, “Look, I’ve never been married, and I’ve been single a lot, so yeah, test for everything.” I don’t like to leave anything to chance.

Then we had a conversation about the hair “down there.” She wants all ladies to go back to the ’80’s, when porn didn’t dictate the majority of women under a certain age shaving. She was singing the praises of how the hair kept pollutants out when women weren’t punishing themselves for being adults rather than little girls. I reminded her that I really didn’t grow hair ANYWHERE, and she said that she didn’t want me to get rid of anything – that I should try to keep whatever I could get. I snicker now because the next logical progression if I made that choice would be explaining crop circles in my kitty hair when I’m naked with my next partner. Alopecia makes hair fall out in perfectly round circles; when you have universalis, most or all of the circles have melded into one universal loss of hair everywhere, but I sometimes have some patches. If you have ever thought to yourself, “That dude should just give up trying to grow a beard because it ain’t happening,” that would apply to my situation too.

Today I remembered a doctor’s visit a few months ago when I was waiting in line to check out. There was a kid in his early 20’s who didn’t have much experience with going to the doctor or the intricacies of dealing with insurance. He was bounced back and forth between the front desk and the back one because he really just wanted an appointment for STD testing, but it wasn’t included in his “free” yearly exam as he had hoped; he finally left the office without getting anything done. I could tell he was worried about paying his co-pay and co-insurance. I wanted to step up and offer to pay for it, but I would have violated what little privacy he tried to keep – I didn’t want him to know I heard everything, but I also didn’t want him to walk away without getting tested. In the end I had to let him go. I sure hope he was able to take care of it sooner rather than later.

Today is World AIDS Day. The prognosis has changed greatly since the early ’80s thanks to advancements in medicine, but I’m more than happy to get tested regularly so I don’t end up being part of that demographic. I’ve got enough going on as is.

Duck – Here Comes Another Turkey!

Posted on by akiwifreund

The Quiz Master (previously referred to in “What’s Going On With Your Face?” post) messaged me today and wished me a happy Thanksgiving. It was not his first message to me since he signed off with a “goodbye and good day” after I told him to stop contacting me. Oh, no. I knew he couldn’t be counted on to leave me alone, considering how obsessive he is. The Quiz Master also texted me on November 15th and said, “Hey, how are you?” as if I hadn’t cut him off. As if I would come to my senses and say, “Oh, you’re the best Quiz Master ever, I don’t know what I was thinking in telling you to go away.” He, of course, told me that I was pushing him away just because I am stubborn – not because I actually want him to leave me alone. “No” doesn’t actually mean “no” and all that bullshit, according to him.

I also got a cutesy cartoon from the church guy who went radio silent in “Showing Up is Half the Battle.” This was after he sent me messages saying “happy turkey eve beautiful” yesterday, and before that a message saying his aces were up while playing poker and that he wished I was by his side as he was winning.

Don’t worry, I didn’t reply to either of these jackasses. And in perfect harmony with this post, “A Little Respect” by Erasure played on my Pandora while I was typing.

On a different note, I traded emails with one of my mom’s sisters and updated her on what was happening with my situation. She said she had contacted my cousin, who is a doctor of osteopathy (DO), and he said that the doctors are turning me down not because I’m giving them too much or too little info, but because they can’t “win” with me – there is no way they can diagnose me. As it stands right now, there are approximately 7,000 diseases out there in the world that have no name or etiology, and the majority of them are similar to mine only in that the symptoms are neuorological in nature. I have been in contact with some groups that I think should be able to put me in touch with the proper researchers, and there are rare disease groups that focus on finding resources for patients. However, I’m feeling a bit like I’m drowning again. A lot of these groups talk specifically about patients that are children. I know it’s especially troubling when children are stricken with major illnesses; after all, I was sick for most of my childhood. However, now that I’ve managed to become a middle-aged adult while this particular disease popped up, does that mean that my life is worth less? I had my chance to reach adulthood so am I therefore not worthy of assistance?

Every person I talk to tells me not to give up. I am not sure I can anyway. I mean, I had to give up my house, my car and working – what else am I going to do with my time? But at some point I need doctors and researchers to fill in the blanks. I can’t imagine going another 10 years like this and waiting for technology to catch up.

Today was the first time in about 23 years that my sister, my mom and stepdad and I were actually in the same state for a holiday, so we pigged out at my sister’s place. Yesterday and today were pretty difficult for me and I think it has to do with the temperature, air pressure and humidity; we got snowfall that actually accumulated and stayed today. I had to spend most of the time in bed because of fibromyalgia pain, but also my CSF was accumulating like the snow. I was hoping I’d be able to hang out for a few hours before my brain started being crushed, but instead I began drooping noticeably as soon as my stepdad picked me up, and I had only been upright for about 45 minutes at that point.

Wherever you are in the world, I hope that you can find things to be thankful for every day. I’m working on my list.

 

The Dog Days of Dating

Posted on by akiwifreund

I’ve got two accounts going, one on OKCupid and one on Match. After making one acquaintance and laughing about my crazy exchanges, it really drove home the fact that I am likely expecting too much from one and too little from the other (Match is supposedly where the more serious people go to look for love). So I changed the first line of my OKCupid profile to say, “I’m not looking for a hookup.” I also removed some items and added some more to dumb it down. For instance, my introductory paragraph has bullet points and includes, “I’m a feminist. This includes the concept that no means no” and “I don’t believe in organized religion.” Further down for the section that starts with, “I spend a lot of time thinking about” I finished it with “equality, healthcare, social justice, cats and dogs and why I can’t have them, and how much I want pizza.” Lastly, in the section that begins with, “You should message me if” I entered “- You are a non-smoker (of all things); – You really are single, not looking for a third in your threesome or looking for someone “discreet” so you can cheat on your wife. C’mon, it’s NOT complicated – you just wanna catch you some strange, let’s call it what it is; – We live in the same country. Please, no penis pictures. Seriously.”

So the first message I get after my revisions is from a guy with one photo where he looks like a total mouth breather, 34:
Him: How are you doing today? I would love to talk with you more. You are very beautiful by the way 🙂
Me: Hi, thanks. What would you like to chat about? What style of literature do you normally read?
Him: I read all sorts of books. What are you doing today?
Me: Today is laundry. If you are going to say “Let’s do something,” I have to warn you – I can only be upright for about 30 minutes, tops. We could probably do a high five on the sidewalk. 🙂
Him: Why only upright for 30 min?
Me: Super rare brain disease.
Him: Well we could have fun lying down? Lol
Me: Nope, not looking for a hookup. That was just a line about wanting to chat, huh?
Him: Why no sex
Me: Am I just here on this earth to fulfill every man’s fantasy and whim? No. You want to stick your dick in me without treating me like a fellow human being with value. I’m not interested. After that he blocked me. I am just going to assume it’s because he’s trying to stop himself from making the same stupid mistake again because he won’t remember soliciting me for exactly the same thing I specifically said I didn’t want.

Man, 50, lives 80 miles away:
Him: you want to take me out to lunch your treat
Me: Aerosmith, “Dream On.” It’s my song gift to you.
I blocked him. I didn’t have the energy to educate him on how to score.

Man, 39, local:
Him: Wow…..you are absolutely gorgeouz!! I wish I was your type.
Me: Thanks. So why aren’t you my type? Would you be mean to me, or try to send me inappropriate pictures? Or rub your cats in my face and send me into anaphylactic shock? (He has a couple.)
Him: None of the above…I’d actually treat u like a queen….but I’m sure my cats would cause an issue……hence..not ur type??
Me: Yeah – I looooove cats (and dogs), but have to take four meds and only hang out for two hours, tops. Maybe in my next life I can have pets. 😦 So best wishes to you in your search!
Him: Well….I could always,come over…undress and.hang out. No cat then. 🙂
Me: Would it surprise you to know that’s not the first time I’ve heard that offer?
Him: No….but I’m sure I’m not gonna be the first you say yes to though…
Me: Well, that got weird.
Him: Lol….how so?
Me: It’s never fun to be on the receiving end of implied sluttery.
Him: Oh…no…I was implying the opposite my dear. That you have yet to accept an offer…
Although I’d dig being the first….
After 8 hours:
Guess not
I didn’t bother responding. How would you respond if he acted the exact same way he claimed he wasn’t acting? It boggles the mind.

Kid, 26, 80 miles away:
Him: Hi you’re sexy
(I’m marginally impressed that he knows the proper usage of “you’re” but not enough to reply)

Man, 48, local:
Him (obvious copy and paste without reading anything about me): I am a single father, a bit shy at first. New to the dating scene. I actually look forward to just meeting and getting to know someone, I want that someone to enjoy my company as much as I enjoy theirs. I do not like to play games, I like honest and sincere people Have a blessed Day…
Me: Hi, honesty and sincerity are great. Is your work winding down for the winter, or do you stay busy with projects?
Him: am off work for Now … How Are you doing ? would you like to txt me .. i don’t get don’t the site that much ….. what’s your name Beautiful
Me (cringing at being called “Beautiful” – not at all sincere – and the “blessed day” already rubbed me wrong): I’ve had a few stalkers, not comfortable with immediately giving out my cell.
Him: I understand How you feel … i can see you real an honest and open minded woman … and that what i want in my woman … what do you like doing sweet woman
With only 45% of our answers being marginally close and 70% flat-out enemies, I am going to let him pass me by.

Then I got a message from a man, 30, and in the U.K., and I immediately went on high alert:
Him: hello how are you today?
Me: I’m okay, how are you?
Him: im doing well thank you
just back home from work
i ve had a long day
Me: Ah, you’re working late!
Him: a little bit but have u seen that im living in england and im just having a trip soon to MN and lookining for friends and maybe more….
Me (really, really frustrated at this point): Ah. I’m not open to a hookup or a long distance romance. I’ve got a lot going on with my health right now.
Him: what are u looking for in here ?
Me: I’m looking for a long term relationship. What about you?
Him: im same really just its not easy o meet the right one
After this, I decided to put away my baseball bat before I smashed my computer to bits and give him a chance. We actually had decent conversation and it seems like he is sincere, but obviously I don’t know him at all, so I’m still on guard.

Man, 38, Philadelphia:
Him: hi how r u
Me: I’m fine.
Him: Don’t let the distance fool u I get to fly for free
Me: So, whose photo are you using for this site?
Crickets. I did a reverse Google image search and found that he had downloaded some photos from a bodybuilder’s site who was in the UK competing at the same time we were chatting.

Lastly, I got a message from someone that I knew 24 years ago. My gut reaction was to say “CRAP!!!!” because I’ve never lived in a city long enough to have my past come back to me like that. Now that I’m back in my old stomping grounds, I have to reconcile concepts like my family being fully aware of my dating life, and for previously-known people to find me again. I asked this guy about what his experience has been on OKCupid, and he said he’s had bad luck. I commiserated with him and told him that a lot of guys were just approaching me for sex, and he said he was getting the same thing from the ladies. (Really???? Man, I have a hard time believing that. I mean there’s always going to be the ones who have been married for 20 years and want some action, but I don’t think that’s all of us. Maybe I’m naiive.) He told me that not all men were just looking for sex. I then reminded him that he messaged me out of the blue about 2 years ago on Facebook to tell me that he was horny after we hadn’t talked for 20 years. His reaction was, “Oh, sorry about that – I must have been a little drunk.”

The quest continues!

 

 

What’s Going On With Your Face?

Posted on by akiwifreund

This morning I woke up and said to myself, “I’m going to urgent care.” Not for fun, mind you – I have been having horrendous heel pain in my right foot and haven’t been able to bear weight on it; I couldn’t even stand to rest it on top of my covers to sleep at night. Nothing has helped either, including ice and ibuprofin. Getting my shoes on took seven tries and a few tears.

I also had conversations I’ve had many, many times. The first was with the nurse. As we were talking about my meds and allergies, she said I was lucky to have a cane handy to help me with walking through this problem, and I told her I use one anyway because of vertigo, and warned her that I could feel the CSF pooling and starting to press on my nerves. I had been laying down until right before the cab picked me up, so I looked normal when I first hobbled through the door. She was watching my face as it became paralyzed and asked, “So you have Bell’s palsy, right?” I answered, “No, it’s not that, and it’s not Myasthenia Gravis or anything else you’ve heard of. It’s a rare condition without a name and I can’t get a diagnosis. But that’s okay, I really want to find out what’s happening with my foot right now, I don’t want to unload all of the stuff about my CSF issues on you.” We finished up with the vitals and she left to get the doctor.

He came in, introduced himself, and said, “I understand you’re here for foot pain. My nurse filled me in with that and gave me background on your really big issue. What’s going on with your face?” I explained briefly that it is yet undiagnosed, and that the latest of a series of rejections from the Mayo Clinic to see me came from a neurologist and a neurosurgeon stating that what I had is so rare that they wouldn’t be able to diagnose me or treat me. But then I said again, “It’s okay, I don’t expect you to do anything about that. I would really like to try to figure out what is wrong with my foot.”

I went through a couple of cab rides for nothing, it turns out. The x-ray didn’t show anything wrong with the bones and that’s as far as they could go with imaging. The doctor offered me a walking boot, but I declined – I don’t want to set my foot down at all because of the pain, it’s not a stability issue. Well, okay, that’s a problem too because of my vertigo and penchant for leaning to the right because of my imbalance, but we’re not trying to stabilize the bones. He also offered me some opioid painkillers but I declined those as well. His conclusion: it’s a nerve problem. Unless there’s something wrong with the soft tissue, which can only be checked by MRI. Either way, I have to wait until Monday to see what the next neurologist says.

For the entire time that I was dealing with that, I was getting bombarded by texts from a guy I met on OKCupid. He is an H1B transplant from India whom I will call Quiz Master. Quiz Master is quite a bit younger than me – 28 years old. At first when he approached me online, I was extremely cautious because I am not attracted to younger men at all. He seemed okay, though, because he was actually asking thoughtful and non-standard questions, and he wasn’t trying to get in my pants or show me his penis. Still, though, I knew that culturally we would be very different.

Quiz Master would ask me questions, sometimes four or five in a row, and I would try to answer as quickly as I could, but I’d only be able to type up one answer and he would throw another five at me. He would then say, “But what was the answer to the question I asked you before?” I’d have to scroll through a bunch of stuff to figure out what he was talking about. It was very tedious. And then he’d say, “Now you have to ask me something,” while I was still trying to answer his questions that he insisted that I answer. Sometimes he would message me days later and say something like, “I’m still waiting for your answer.” A couple of times I had to tell him I had no idea at that point what he had asked because we had moved forward with the conversation.

Against my better judgment, I agreed to give him my cell number, because, again, he wasn’t trying to get in my pants. Quiz Master asked if we could meet, so I told him why I wouldn’t be able to go out on a traditional date, though that would be my preference (as opposed to having a parade of stranger dangers through my apartment). Quiz Master first told me that if I went to bed that night, every day that I got up I would feel better and better until I’m cured. I told him that applies to things like having a cold, but has absolutely nothing to do with what I have going on. Then he told me that I had to be positive and that if I keep up my hope, I would be fine. Rather than telling him to screw himself, I told him that he should try that experiment, but that his mission was to make his eyes turn from brown to blue. If he didn’t succeed, then it would be his fault for not hoping hard enough.

So Quiz Master said fine, let’s not talk about that anymore, and then he proceeded to bombard me with questions again. I think he was really embracing his role as an enthusiastic questioner way too much, because he would ask things like, “Are you different from when you were little? Why and in what way? Do you think growing up made you think of things different? How do you think you think different?” (I’m slightly improving the grammar he used – you get the picture.) I finally asked for a break because I really don’t like to text. Quiz Master said, “Oh, but we’re getting to know each other. You are doing fine.” That really grated on my nerves because I wasn’t asking for his approval on my texting skills, I just wanted to take a break from the hundreds of questions he was insisting I answer.

Since Quiz Master also found out that I don’t work, he started texting me all day, every day, for about five days. If I didn’t respond right away, he would send me repeated messages saying, “What are you doing right now?” I started avoiding reading his messages for a few hours so he couldn’t see the “read” stamp. It was taking just way too much effort – he would hound me if I answered, and he would hound me if I didn’t. Then Quiz Master started asking if he could come over. Actually, he was asking if I could ask my parents if he could come over. I was starting to lose my cool. I said, “I don’t live with my parents and I never said that I live with my parents. Why do I have to ask my parents if it’s okay for you to visit?” Quiz Master said that he just assumed that I did because I’m single. <insert eye roll> Huge cultural gap right there.

Then he switched up his questions, saying that he wanted to play a “game” with me: we could say an actor’s name, and see if the other person is familiar with the actor and if they like them or not. I only tolerated about three actors from Quiz Master and then said I don’t like texting all day, every day, and that I wanted to take a break. Again, he told me I was doing “fine.” Finally, I told him that I don’t like to constantly text anyone for hours, and that I wanted to not text with him for a few days. Quiz Master said he wanted to call me then. I told him no, that I didn’t want to talk at that point either, and that I really wanted to get some stuff done.

Quiz Master waited all of twelve hours to start hounding me again. Did I get done what I wanted to do? What was I doing right then? How about a few minutes later? Why wasn’t I answering him???? He’s JUST TRYING TO GET TO KNOW ME. I’M DOING FINE. DID I FEEL BETTER? I MUST BE FEELING BETTER BECAUSE I WENT TO SLEEP. I HAVE TO TALK TO HIM. He was getting really, really demanding.

I started getting a feeling like I couldn’t shrug his arm off from around my shoulders, weighing me down like a yoke. I couldn’t breathe. In fact, I was suspicious that he somehow got lodged UP. MY. ASS. And I just do not enjoy that at all.

Quiz Master bombarded me with texts the next morning again, asking me exactly where I was and what I was doing. I told him that I was at a doctor’s appointment. He offered to pick me up so we could meet and visit. I told him no, I was exhausted and uncomfortable, and did not feel that it was the best time to meet. He told me that it would be a good time to meet. I told him no, I didn’t want to. Then he started asking me the stupid actors’ questions again and insisting that I ask him more questions. I told him that I needed to rest and I didn’t want to text anymore. Quiz Master gave me six hours, then started in again. I seriously wanted to kick him across a field like a football.

This morning, when I got the now-familiar text telling me to tell him exactly what I was doing, I responded by telling him that I no longer wished to pursue any relationship with him, and that I wished him well. Quiz Master then sent me 16 texts about how he was respecting my space but I had to answer him, and we were just getting to know each other, and he still wanted to come over – oh, and, did I think he was trying to have sex with me? I simply wrote back, “Knock it off.” His last two messages to me were that he was assured that he didn’t do anything wrong, and that he wished me a good day.

Obsessed much, Quiz Master? I suppose I’ll have to be looking over my shoulder for a while. Good thing I don’t have a pet rabbit for him to surprise cook for me.

Is It A Date if You Can’t Actually Go Out?

Posted on by akiwifreund

This has been a tough seven days. Last week was the 19th anniversary of my father passing away; two days later it would have been his birthday. It also would have been my sister’s birthday; we lost her in July the week after I moved to Minnesota. My father’s brother is losing his battle with stage IV throat cancer. And I got my fifth rejection letter from the Mayo, supposedly the #1 neurology/neurosurgery center in the U.S., saying they don’t think they could come up with a name for my disease or a prognosis or a treatment plan.

Like with most major obstacles, I had myself a good cry, and then I called my family and gave them the update on my denied referral. I waited until I had a conversation with my disability attorney; that did not go well either because he seems to think that there is no way I can win my case if there isn’t a name for my disease. Yet his website repeats over and over that when our cases go to court, we should focus on the symptoms and how our quality of life is affected, not the name of the disease.

I have friends all over the U.S. and in locations around Europe, so it’s sometimes easier for me to get the word out on Facebook. I feel a little silly “liking” everyone’s message of support because it feels like I’m fishing for sympathy. However, it’s also nice to know that some of my friends are outraged on my behalf and willing to write/call/tweet in order to call attention to my plight. A few people have stepped forward to say that they have media contacts, so I’m widening my reach with giving them documentation to pass along to their people. The theory is that if the doctors won’t take me, maybe the news will?? My medical coverage is through medical assistance in Minnesota so I would not have any expenses covered if I went to a different state. However, Johns Hopkins has a “remote second opinion” option (for a minimum of $550) and they will review my case without me having to fly to Maryland. I may end up doing this. However, I do not think it’s very effective because it’s one thing to read about my symptoms, and quite another to actually see my issues in person. I have taken to scaring my friends by moving the fluid around in my brain so that my face stops being paralyzed momentarily – aka my “party trick.”

I’m a very social person by nature and being stuck in bed all day and night is really wearing on me and definitely changing my outlook and attitude. Last Friday night I caved and reopened my OKCupid account after a four-year hiatus. I barely had time to update the city when I started receiving messages – I was fresh meat! Generally speaking I don’t reply to obvious copied and pasted notes who claim they like me (without knowing me), but they just restate what they have written in their profiles. I also don’t like to talk to anyone who can’t write a sentence. I know it’s a huge reach to think that I can find anyone willing to just chat and not go on dates, but I have been up front with everyone who has contacted me to let them know that I can’t go out anytime soon. Dare I say I’m lonely??? It feels so whiny to say that. Yet here I am.

I talked to about three of the 20 guys for more than a few messages – most guys were either put off by my request for no penis pictures or my warning that I can’t actually go out. One was far, far too young for me and located a good hour away, but gets kudos for truly creative questions. One was obviously a social recluse and did not do anything outside of his janitorial job, which is really a bit sad. That one would send me messages saying he was lonely and bored and he wanted to come over. I get a serial killer vibe, though, or he’s just not capable of conversation, which is just as bad. He would kill me with social ineptness. I have asked probing questions and he only answers with “yes,” “no,” “ok” and “oh.” I suggested that he check out Meetup because he would never have to spend another night alone and bored if he didn’t want to, and that way it doesn’t solely fall on my shoulders to entertain him. I have enough going on. The third guy was really, really responsive, funny, age-appropriate and not put off by the fact that my bed is getting a lot of my action. I’m actually hoping to meet that one very soon.

The last time I went on a date through OKCupid, it was with a tall, southern gentleman who was ex-military about four years ago – I’ll call him Mr. Army. Mr. Army met me out at one of my favorite restaurants in the Phoenix area. It started out nice enough, though I could tell immediately that he was used to dominating all conversations. I would describe him as being a perpetual mansplainer. Mr. Army was too old to have served in Iraq this second time around, but he made it clear that he had very strong feelings about being over there. I’m a tree hugger and liberal at heart and his very vocal support of George W. Bush and Cheney made my skin crawl.

Towards the end of the meal I explained to Mr. Army that my friend had moved to the U.S. from Iraq twelve years prior to that to marry a man through an arranged marriage, and that she was currently trying to sponsor her parents, brother and sister and their spouses for asylum because they were still stuck in Iraq. Her brother had even been shot in the leg during a failed kidnapping attempt; people in his community knew he had a sister in the U.S., and the kidnappers were hoping to extort money from her. Mr. Army became outraged and asked me, “How do you know that your friend isn’t part of Saddam Hussein’s family? How can you trust her? She has no right to be here!” I told him it was obvious she did not come from some super secret bloodline; she would not sponsor them and put her name on all of the documents if that were the case. She was not being “kept” by anyone through a super secret account. It was an insane exchange. I am not very good at keeping a poker face either.

As I was walking to my car, Mr. Army stopped me to say he wanted to go out with me again. I declined. Did he not see my face??? I’m not certain what we would have fought about on the next date, but I’m betting it would have been about guns or religion. He who squeezes his eyes shut and yells the loudest wins, right? No thanks. I’d rather have a no pride night and sit on the couch for four hours in my pajamas, sprinkle chocolate chips in a jar of peanut butter and eat it while watching “The Notebook.” If Mr. Army is the alternative to that, I’ll gladly stay home.

He Looks Good on Paper

Posted on by akiwifreund

One of the hazards about internet dating – and I’ve said it before – is that you can get wrapped up in making your grocery list. Shopping for men! In my 20’s I decided that my ideal mate would be tall with blue eyes, be smart and not have any back hair. The problem with this list is that I left out very important requirements, such as my partner should actually like me (and women in general, no misogyny allowed), pay his own bills, do his own laundry, be willing to help me if I needed it…well, I could go on and on. But after the two live-in boyfriends in Cincinnati, I altered my list a bit.

In my 30’s, I still wanted an educated man with whom I could hold conversations. I also added the need to have a sense of responsibility so that I wouldn’t be stuck with having to take care of everything including bills and hard labor. I mean, when I had to work two jobs to make sure the bills would get paid, or the guys sat on their asses while I hauled heavy stuff or packed for a trip, it was exhausting. I also got incredibly tired of hearing why the boyfriends wouldn’t help clean. Both of them said they didn’t know what to clean, and I had to tell them. I asked them how they thought I figured out what needed to be cleaned? I never got an answer to that question.

So around 2005 I was dating heavily through internet sites. I was very excited to start up a conversation with a guy I’ll name Al. He was a high school history teacher, and he could string complete sentences together and speak in a respectful manner. Al was completely average looking with straight brown hair and blue eyes and a very thin build. I thought he had everything I had been missing previously in other dates and relationships. Al was also very responsible.

Our first date was dinner. The conversation did not flow easily. I tend to be animated when I speak, and he was the complete opposite. I felt a little sorry for his high school students because he did not seem to be an impressive orator. But I thought I was probably being too harsh, and so when he asked me out again, I agreed.

It did not take long for me to reveal to him that I was wearing wigs to cover up my bald head. Al took it well and asked a few questions, but the conversation went much better than I expected, so it was a huge relief. We had more dates at museums and bowling alleys. We did not kiss very much and we never had sex or even got close.

For what ended up being our last outing together, we picked a random music venue at the northern end of Phoenix. Al picked me up and drove us there at exactly five miles per hour under the speed limit the whole way. If you have never been to Phoenix, one important thing to know is that no one who wants to live to see the next day drives under the speed limit – most go 5-10 mph over as a standard. Anyway, that evening’s feature was a singer/songwriter that neither one of us had heard of before, and there were maybe eight people in the audience, but we both really enjoyed the performance. Al even bought the artist’s CD and had it signed.

Afterwards we went back to his house and talked for a while on the couch. Al made his big move and kissed me. I am not a fan of kissing with tongue (especially if my counterpart is a huge producer of saliva and I nearly end up drinking it). Poor Al had no technique whatsoever. It was if a fat worm stuck its head out of a hole and wiggled back and forth a bit. I was startled and consciously fought the urge to do the crab crawl backward. Suddenly, he grabbed my right breast and sort of did a “wax on, wax off” motion. I could not stop myself from making a sort of whimpering sound to match my thoughts, which were along the lines of, “Oh shit, this is very, very bad.”

Al sat back and said, “You know, that is the first time I have heard you respond with passion.” I lost all faith that he would know where any of my important bits were located or what to do with them. I extricated myself and told him I was tired and was heading home.

A few days later I called him and told him that I didn’t think we were a good match. Al was respectful, or stoic, or…gosh, nothing! I am sure he was probably disappointed because he wasn’t getting laid anytime soon, at least not by me, but I couldn’t tell from his voice if he was or not. And that is why I couldn’t carry on. This proves that a list is great as a guideline, but checking items off when they are met does not guarantee a love connection.

I’m in my early 40’s now and I still keep a list. If I would combine all of my previous and present requirements, it would look like this: The person I take on in the next relationship must be tall, have blue eyes, play the guitar and sing, have no back hair, do his own laundry, pay his own bills, give me back and foot rubs, not be a follower of any sports, love the arts, enjoy traveling and have an active passport, be at least a fair cook, be nice to me, be a feminist, not grab my boobs while we’re grocery shopping, take the initiative to clean, love animals but not have any, love kids and maybe or maybe not have any, not steal from me, have a witty sense of humor, chew with his mouth closed, brush and floss every day, be a master of lovemaking skills, and be a good driver.

But since the Keebler elves aren’t exactly making men to my specs, I suppose at this point I’m going to settle for someone being nice to me.

The Broad Squad

Posted on by akiwifreund

CutBanana

The internet is a fantastic invention and I don’t know what I would do without it in my life at this point. I use it to search for rare health cases and symptoms like mine. I use it to communicate with my friends around the world. I watch movies and TV shows via four different streaming services while my laptop is propped over me at a tilt. I’m talking to you stranger dangers, for Pete’s sake.

One of the first ways the internet was initially used for “evil” was that producers and distributors suddenly realized how they could reach a much larger audience to pander their porn.

Another is that it is super, super easy to create a profile and an entire backstory for a person that is not at all based in truth.

Hulu has every episode for the show “Catfish: The TV Show,” produced and distributed by MTV. I was a fan of the movie, and now that I have loads of time on my hands, I am watching that show like I’m loading it up on an IV leading directly to my veins. The movie “Catfish” was made because a guy in his mid-20’s, Nev (pronounced “neev”) started an online romance with a woman long distance, and his brother and their friend taped the progress of his relationship. He is a good looking guy (dark hair and eyes, strong jaw, lovely constant 5 o’clock shadow), and the woman he thought he was talking to was gorgeous with caramel-colored hair and big turquoise eyes. Thought. Nev was crushed and confused when his journey that ended with him meeting this mystery person face-to-face. This is not how he imagined his fairy-tale story would end. Turns out the woman was a middle-aged housewife with special-needs kids who wanted to momentarily escape from her life.

Now Nev’s mission is to help others facing the same dilemma. People write to him because they have been carrying on long distance internet romances with someone who they aren’t sure is being truthful about their appearance, their job, their marital status, their gender, their location, their offspring, their names…you get the idea. “Catfish” is no longer a subject – it’s also a verb.

So, have you been catfished?

Internet dating sucks. I’ve said it many times and I’m sure I will again. At the very least, people don’t like to post their recent pictures, usually because their weight has changed from when they were 17. I get it – I would rather people see me at my best too. I actually haven’t taken any pictures of myself for the past few years because bed rest has not been kind. But I have never lied about my marital or relationship status, the city where I live, my age, my name, my gender, or any other item you can dream up. I don’t tell men up front that I’m bald, but those same men also don’t tell me if they have a 4″ dick that is bent at a right angle.

A good friend I’ll call Svetlana is still braving internet dating, and I am presenting you with just one of her stories with her permission. She had closed down a profile after feeling disgusted and defeated by the men who approached her, but she stayed in touch with a few, including one I’ll call Fernando. Up to this point she has not met him. Fernando had finally asked her out on a date, but Svetlana hadn’t had a chance to accept or decline; instead, she received this message:

Hello Svetlana, I am the girlfriend of Fernando and I don’t think you know anything about it. Since July I live in Germany. 10 days ago I came to his sister’s home in Skokie to visit him for a week, just yesterday I came home. I had seen in his phone and the text messages that he sent to you (unfortunately you are not the only one with who he communicate, at the same day another woman probably from Brasil because it was in Portugese language got from him a love message the same words that he said to me words that he said to me a lot of time, I know that because my friend translated it)…so sad because at that time I was with him, what he would do is ruthless,phony and disrespect. He used me just for his advantage and benefits, he needs european passport to stay legally in Europe and after that study in Amsterdam. He asked me to marry him, now I understand that he wanted just passport and then just cold bloody leave me for another woman. Now I know that he is just liar and cheater, he promised me never to hurt me because my ex boyfriend did it and he knew whats happened in the past to me. I am very angry, disappointed and upset what he did to me, everybody helped and like him cause he looks as innocent and lyal person but he is not like that…unfortunately not! I release my self from him. Why I send you this message? because I want to warn you, no woman deserves this pain. He promised me not to dating you when we stay together but I don’t want to share my life with somebody like him. So enjoy his company.”

First and foremost, Svetlana felt like this took a lot of courage for this woman to reach out to her and warn her. Svetlana has done the same thing when she has discovered men who have been lying and cheating, but sadly, she has had vitriol thrown back at her – other women calling her a slut, whore, desperate, and any other derogatory name you can think of. Second, she responded to the woman and thanked her for warning her, because she wanted nothing to do with men who conduct themselves in this manner. Third, she felt immense relief because this woman did not treat her badly, especially since she had not knowingly become one of many other women he was working on.

How would you react if someone contacted you to warn you that the person with whom you were conversing with or in a relationship with was being duplicitous or dishonest? Would you listen to them rationally, or would you call them names and try to shame them for telling the truth?

Svetlana suggested that she could send a message to Fernando saying, “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” But really, I thought it would leave much less room for him to wiggle out of if she asked him when he’s planning on moving and who he is going to marry in order to get the proper passport. She did and then blocked him.

My wish is that women would stop buying into this theory and practice that we should compete against each other for the attention of men. Every woman Svetlana warned should have thanked her and cut off all ties to the liars rather than turn against her. I would love to start up a Broad Squad, where we take the time to research things like marital status, number of offspring, jobs, cities, etc., using our favorite tool, the internet (because I can’t very well drive around in disguise and take pictures). Then we warn each other. Then we believe what the other women are saying with proof to back it up. Look, I know we don’t want to think the man who is sticking his dick in us and saying very pretty words could possibly be saying the same to other women, but it’s time for the women to stop hating other women for the lying that men do. And it’s time for men to change their internal recordings from “that bitch messed up my plan, now I have to find new victims” to “I’m sorry, and I will never be a shit again.” Really, wouldn’t we all be happier if we were trying to be our best selves?