10 things guys do when online dating that guarantee failure

Slow your roll. It's not that easy. 

As I ventured out into the sometimes inconsistent and disappointing world of dating, both online and offline, I made a few notes about what I found to be annoying and pointless pet peeves.

Let me point out that although I had a normal bio up on the online dating sites I tried, about two weeks into either one, I replaced my bio with some tips anyone should keep in mind when aiming for success in dating or securing a steady booty call. Instead of a thank you (you’re welcome), I received messages from guys who either didn’t read it or decided I needed an intervention from the obvious tools who made me resort to such list-making. And without further ado: 

10 things guys do when online dating that guarantee failure

1.     Thinking any girl on a dating site is desperate for the ‘D’.  No, those girls are on an entirely different site altogether. If you repeatedly send pics of your junk or keep spamming them with a dressed up offer for what would be – let’s be honest -  a regrettable hookup, you will not only look like a tool, but run the risk of getting banned. Good luck with that.

2.     Not posting your best, most recent photo or not posting a photo at all.  If you don’t know that your headshot looks like a mugshot, then assume it does and take a new one. If you continue to use said photo or even post no photo thinking someone will be drawn to your charismatic personality – sorry, but that show “Catfish” ruined it for you.  Until the first meeting, everyone thinks everyone else is either a fat bald guy, a single mom with eight kids or, judging by your mugshot, an ex-con.

3.     Posting a lot of photos of you in groups. You with your crossfit class, the Spartan race cadre, or even crowd shot of you and your friends at a rave or wine tasting bash – yeah, we get it, you like to hang with your friends and have fun. We will automatically assume you are the ugly guy or ask for a picture and hope you are one of the hot guys next to you. Most of the time, we just cruise over your profile because you’ve already made it too much work.

4.     Your About Me section should not be a novella nor should it be “Just Ask.” Stop borrowing quotes from movies and trying to sell yourself as “You’re Future Ex Boyfriend.” It’s cute, but tired. Instead of your bio telling everyone how funny, smart and interesting, why not just write a funny, smart and interesting bio? Because girls know a sales pitch when they see it. And unless it’s attached to a pretty face and muscular torso, it’s not getting much attention other than a single click to check it out after your initial “Hi” message that will get ignored. 

5.     Asking for photos. We know what photos you are asking for and those are typically not on the table until way later. I’m talking about if-you-make-it-to-a-relationship later, not, like five minutes after the first request.

6.     Writing a one-size fits all form letter and copy-pasting it into a new message to a few debatably lucky girls. We’re not dumb. We know you didn’t read our profile because if you did, you might have seen the part requesting to please include something in our profile you found interesting so we know you 1) read it and 2) are not a bot.

7.     Saying, “Hi,” “How’s your day?” or “What’s up, sexy?” in your initial message … and then repeating it several times when you continue to get no response. If we didn’t write you back after the first message, we’re probably not going to write you back at all. And now that there is a page and a half of you sending the same message over and over again, you’ve pretty much justified our initial impulse to ignore your first message because you are now a creep.  

8.     Why are guys lying about their age now? Then you wanna act shocked when you show up looking old enough to be our grandpa or young enough to be our son and we’re disappointed and pissed we wasted time getting dolled up for a catfish. You can’t lie in person, so don’t lie online. Even if people tell you that you look at least ten years younger, they’re lying to be nice. Assume you look your age and act it.

9.     Be realistic about your body type. Just because you play sports or just started a workout plan at the gym, that doesn’t mean you are athletic and fit. If you’re not toned and muscular, you probably are not athletic and fit. If your photos show you to have a muffintop, you are not athletic and fit. We know you clicked that option so that you come up in the search results of chicks looking for their d-bag Adonis. Those are the girls who aren’t going to message you or reply, btw.  

10.  Married or attached? GTFO sites dedicated to singles. You already have someone, so don't be greedy. We know who you are and we won’t waste time on you. 

Single mom dating … the truth about modern dating

See that face? It's the face of intimidation. 

I’m girlfriend material.

It’s what I’ve been told by guys I thought I was dating who I later found out were emotionally unavailable. They were either hung up on someone else or married. I’d like to think if any of them were legit single at the time we were together, I wouldn’t be single right now. 

Kidding.

My ex of almost four years proved that theory wrong anyway, because he was actually single when we met – no wife or girlfriend in another state. Yet, he cheated all the time. It’s amazing his penis wasn’t chafed. But I digress.

I’m not desperate, but I am picky. Within the first few sentences of a message or minutes of a meeting, I’ll know if I like someone enough to date him or just have a little fun*. It’s nothing personal on their end, it’s just me. I know what I like and don’t like … and apparently, some inner part of me is drawn to emotionally unavailable guys.

*For the record, I did not initially want to date my ex.

While I can be happy single, I like being in a relationship. However, I’ve been mostly single for almost two years. There was a short period of time I fell off the future cat lady wagon and was reminded – even though it didn’t end well – that I’d like a boyfriend. But the game has changed so much since I was 18 – which is when I started dating. And it keeps changing and I don’t know where to find the rulebook. So, everything I’ve learned, I had to learn on my own or make up as I went along.

Check it:

Everyone wants to play the “let me pretend I don’t like you as much as you like me” game – including taking hours or even days to text or call. This usually backfires because if I feel you don’t like me, I will lose interest. Some even pretend to like you while weighing all their options.

Good luck figuring that one out. I don’t have time for that.

I was told guys will go the extra mile to show you how much they do like you. I’ve had a guy drive 14 hours to visit me … that seems like a lot of like. At least, it’s a lot of miles to go and not get laid. Which may have been why it didn’t work out. Or maybe it was because he had a baby with his buddy’s wife?

Sex is as integral part of the courting process now as holding hands was back in the 30s. There’s a definite time limit to when you’re expected to put out, and you can’t do it a moment sooner or later. However, no one has given out the actual time frame of what’s whore-early, acceptable, or too late. It’s literally hit or miss. You’re either a slut or a prude until you meet the right guy who could give two f***s because he’s just into you.

Right? Right.

Phone calls are almost non-existent, so I’ve had most of my relationships in the past eight years play out through text. It is the single most detached form of personal communication, but the convenience fits everyone’s schedules – admittedly, even mine sometimes. When I get a call, it’s like Christmas and I’m so damn excited I can’t even bring myself to speak coherently or intelligently.

 “I’ll let you know” is a text I see often when trying to make plans to do anything within the parameters of my limited schedule with someone whose schedule is almost always open when mine is not – and never open until the last minute just in case there’s a better option.  

* By the way, your texts are going through. If they didn’t text back it’s because they didn’t text back. Not because they didn’t get it. I employed that trick, too.

I learned the hard way that “wanna hang out?” really means “let’s hook up;” Especially if it comes via text and between the hours of 11 p.m. and 5 a.m.  It explains why guys were unnecessarily upset when the answer was, “no, thank you.”

Let’s talk about sexting. Tell me why I want to waste eight hours of my day either recapping the previous night or sexting a hypothetical plan of action to a night in the future? Mild, sexual flirting = okay. Blatantly pornographic scripting sessions = exhausting … and you will owe me a lot of dollars for that effort.

Ain’t nobody got time for that ... unless you have the money to pay for it. #bitchbetterhavemymoney

Everyone is always shouting they don’t like labels and papers because making things “official” ruins a good thing or puts their personal life at risk on the social network. 

There’s only so long you can blur that line before you have to make a decision that’s (let’s be honest) really based on whether you think you can do better. Sure, you can do better, but how long will it take you?

Oh, and all you hot ladies who date down because you think your guy won’t cheat on a hot chick: check yourself. You just gave him the confidence to creep. Learned that the hard way, too.

And no, karma doesn’t come after them when they brutally dump you over text (because it’s inconsiderately convenient).Your ex will move on faster than you, with an upgrade (even the ugly ones), and will probably do well in life, and don’t we want to be an instrument of karma to speed up the payback? But we can’t, because karma will definitely come after US faster than a painful bowel movement after a night in Mexico.

Social media plays a huge part in relationships nowadays and it’s unfortunate. It’s an enabler. Private messaging and options for flirting under the cover of seemingly innocent comments and status updates create an environment perfect for douchebags - that would cheat anyway. Not saying everyone in a relationship that has a social media account does or will cheat, but it’s like a menu of options for a lot of guys and girls who may get bored with monogamy. Oh, and I can’t leave out how many times I’ve found out, via Facebook, guys I’ve been seeing were married or attached.

It also offers more drama than Lifetime Television Network.

How many times are fights started over who liked which b****es pictures and comments on whose page and why an ex is a ‘friend’ or is that status update about me, can you please delete these people and …#omgicanteven.

So much drama on the FB Newsfeed, it’s kinda hard being normal in relationships, but somehow, everyday, people come up with stupid ass s*** with every update.

Oh, and guy/girl code? It doesn’t exist. Yes, I learned that firsthand. Your best friend is only as loyal as his/her non-attraction to your ex who may or may not be looking at revenge sex for getting dumped or for not being welcomed back with open arms once he/she realized how badly they f***ed up and came crawling back.

There are people who will not hesitate to overstep boundaries.

But probably the biggest lesson I learned was that the person who cares the least in any relationship has the most power. Maybe that’s why everyone pretends to not be as interested – because #reversepsychology.

I’m a single mom and really don’t want to waste time on anyone who can’t be honest and know what they want – and that what they want is me. The time and/or money I spend on a date or with someone pushing for a one night hook up is money and time taken away from my kid. That’s how I look at it.   

So if anyone has that rulebook I can’t seem to find, can you shoot me a copy? I feel like it would help me decipher the cryptic world of modern dating. 

Confession: How I taught myself to talk dirty using Google

I’m a terrible flirt.

You guys are probably like, “no way.”

Okay, so, maybe you’re not. But … I’m saying … yes, way.

I remember auditioning for a George Clooney movie a few years ago and the scene was that I had to flirt with some guy who was off camera and whose part was being read by a female casting director – which made it pretty awkward.

My agent didn’t give me the sides in advance, so I couldn’t really prepare with a Google search or by employing the help of any one of my female friends who could possibly teach me the art of flirting so that I knew what the hell I was doing.

And I’m not even sure what I did (think I twirled my hair, winked a lot and pretended to smack on gum), but knew it was bad because the casting director told me (in not so many words), “that was terrible; let’s read you for another role.” There was no re-direction.

It’s like she knew I’d be terrible no matter what angle she gave me. And she’d probably be correct. Either way, I wasn’t cast in that film – or in many others.

I also was not able to get out of all three traffic tickets over the years. But I digress.

This came up in conversation over the weekend when I was talking to a friend and I heard that Jason Derulo song, “Talk Dirty To Me.”  

That was another thing I was terrible at; you might as well have handed me a bat and told me to hit you. It’s just as painful to watch/hear. It was okay, because unless I was planning on a career in porn (which is scripted anyway) or as a phone sex operator, I didn’t really need to know how to talk like that.

Or … so I thought.

Because there was the time I dated a chronic sexter and I had to employ the use of Google to translate and reply.

It’s true. I did.

See, the guy I was dating liked to revisit the activities of the night before by rehashing it in pornographic detail the following day. That led into a marathon sexting session meant to prepare for the follow-up.

I had never sext before. The first time caught me off-guard because it went from asking if I liked it to what was my fave part to a series of dialogue from what I could only assume came from the potty mouth of a dirty porn star.

But it was directed at me – and accompanied by dirty pictures and videos.

It was meant to turn me on, but I was scared. It felt like an audition – a test. And I was going to fail because I had NO idea what to send back. He was def not getting pictures or video of my lady bits and I don’t speak porn.

So, I told him I was busy at work and would text later.

“Boo, no fun.”

That was almost a challenge. But seriously, who does this?

I decided to consult with Google on: how to sext. Which was a waste of time. The problem with Glamour, Cosmo and Vogue is they make a lot of promises and never deliver – however, they will write circles around the subject, quote experts and include testimonials on the etiquette of sexting. Just not actually what you’re supposed to say.

I needed to know WHAT TO SAY.  

And there was not a site called howtotalklikeadirtywhore.com.

Really, I was left with one other option – to consult porn for a reply that would be deemed acceptable. Even that wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. As a matter of fact, it was the only time I paid any attention to the dialogue of a porn scene and found myself wondering why they even bothered writing a script at all.

But, I learned the preferred terminology for penis, vagina and breasts as well as slang words for different positions, fetishes and situations.

All my replies came between 5-10 minutes after his (no pun intended), because I kept getting distracted by work … and by what I was finding out via Google. It was the most porn I’ve ever watched in my life.

Him: so, what was your favorite part?

Me: of what?

Him: last night?

Me: (googling, watching, gasping, reading – DO PEOPLE DO THAT? DID SHE REALLY JUST SAY THAT?- oh yea, reply) um, you know … that thing

Him: you mean (telling me what that thing was he thought I liked)

Me: oh … yea, that’s it

Back to work.

Repeat.

For EIGHT F’N HOURS.

Ain’t nobody got time for dat.

I was getting annoyed and getting irritated and getting pissed.

One thing I wasn’t getting was turned on.

It got to a point that every time my phone vibrated on my desk, my vagina curled up and tried to hide inside my uterus, and I started to sweat and hyperventilate. This may have been the only time I half WANTED a guy to dump me and he eventually did because I stopped sexting  and – well, cheating douchebag.

No more scouring the net for material to sext.

It was useless material; when the hell was I ever going to employ this knowledge again?

I’m soooo glad you asked.

I’ve written previously about an ex and his addiction to porn star booty, porn, his penis and sexting – who still texts and sexts me even after I left him for being an asshole and it’s been almost two years.

The Ex-Chronicles: Sexting the masses

I didn’t find out his obsession until a year into it, when he left his email up on my computer and I saw that he had sent a picture of his junk to several different girls because his phone was not sending MMS messages. #dedicated

He even personally and pornographically captioned each one for each girl. And I was not one of those girls. Which may have pissed me off more than the fact that he sent the pics out at all. But I digress – different story.

Anyway, that’s how I found out he liked that stuff. And he was my boyfriend, so instead of dumping him for being a douche, I decided to actually employ what I’d learned and play the game so he’d play with me and not anyone else.

In hindsight, this may have not been the best course of action.

But I surprised myself with the amount of material I was able to call up from memory – and he liked it. I had to draw it out, though. Because, truthfully, everything you ever need to say can be said in, like, two sexts. So I learned to ‘loop’ around and say the same thing more than … twice, but in a slightly different way so it was like new.

It was work. But he dug it. A lot.

And in the beginning, everything was short and pretty tame:

I’d be sitting at my desk, designing the front section of the newspaper, dressed, FULL COVERAGE PANTIES, eating pop-tarts and drinking coffee. But according to the sext messages, I was “touching myself under the desk,” “short skirt, black thong,” and “so hot for” him. 

Blah, blah. 

He’d reply, "Sexy," “So hard,” “I’m coming,” and then in detail, describe his orgasm and where he wanted to put it. (Ew, no.) #youdidntpayforthat, #notapornstar, #checkyourselfboo, #Catholicgirl,

To which I’d reply, “That’s hot,” “love it,” which it was not and I did not. Then I’d say I’m almost there, put my phone down, do some work, check my email and talk to my co-workers. After a few minutes: “I just came, baby.”

I didn’t.

But after a while, he would get bored and push for more, so I’d have to get creative – which is where most of the looping came into play. No pun intended.

Mind you, when I was telling him all the dirty things a porn star taught me to say, at no time and in no way was I ever that hot for anything. I was usually working, working out, grocery shopping, hanging out with friends, watching a movie or anything other than what I told him I was doing.

Which means I wasn’t shaved, horny, made up or the girl in the pics he received (thank you, Google) sitting around with nothing better to do than sext him. #ratchetcatfish

But, it was my civic duty as his girlfriend, and honestly, I would have been playing Words with or Scramble with Friends anyway. So, I traded in one game for another.

But why did it have to last so long? One porn scene is like, 30-40 minutes (if you take out the set-up). One sexting session is like, hours.

HOURS.

Plus, you can watch porn when there’s time. I’d get ambushed by sexts in the midst of being busy.  Like I said before, ain’t NOBODY got time for that.

For the almost four years we were together, I studied, practiced and became proficient in the art of sexting. And I say art because I had to find a way to take dirty-whore-porn and turn it into something with a little class. Seriously, one more semester and I could have had a Bachelor’s Degree.

Could I open my own sexting line with that where I turned guys on with sexual text messages?

Because if I had to actually say any of that out loud, I’d not only lose my composure, I’d lose a paycheck afterwards.

I know I probably just ruined it for a lot of couples. But seriously, how often can you sext before it just gets redundant? Guys have to know by now that their ladies aren’t always walking around in lingerie, horny and waiting to send selfies of their lady business by request.

This girl def is not.

#sextingqueen, #couldteachyou, #butIdhavetocharge