“I hang out with people younger than me.” 

“I look so much younger than 60.” 

“If I stand up really straight, I am 5’10”.”

“I feel 32, so I just said I was 32.”

“I can keep up with any guy half my age.” 

“I had knee surgery, so I’ve put on a few.” 

Oh, and my personal fave…

“I am mentally, emotionally, and physically more capable of having a relationship than any man in his 40’s.”

And all y’all wonder why women have trust issues? 

You wonder why we are all just a lil bit nutsy-koo-coo? Maybe it’s because you have already set us up for failure!? Look, I’m not saying it doesn’t happen with women on these sites, but I have had just about enough. I have hit this subject before, but I have to say it again….

You are all FUCKING LIARS. 

Oh, I’m sorry. Was that too harsh? The caps-lock was on, so I guess I was “yelling”. My bad. I’ll bring it down a notch. You guys lie. You are lying sacks of doggie doo-doo. So, really, tell me…why do I want to start anything based on a LIE? A fib. Grrrr. We exchanged emails. I chatted with you. Texted for days. We met for a date. And now, you are 10 years older than you said you were. What are you thinking? WTF is wrong with you!? Do you think it’s OKAY? What if, just for shits and giggles… I said I was a woman, but I was really a man. Ya. What if, like you showed up on our date, and I had a dick. A flippin’ penis, instead of a vagina. Would you just “be okay” with a dick instead of the vag you thought you were getting? Just like the 41-year old I thought I was getting, ended up being a 56-year old-fart knocker! Maybe not the best example..a tad bit drastic, sure. But I am pissed. And so annoyed. And trying to make a solid point.

Just be honest. Be upfront, and real. Give it to me straight, if you are 55….then you’re 55. And I have no prob with 55. Sexy, mature…hot. But not if you lie. I swear to Goddess, I am going to start carding these assholes. When they show up for the date, I’m going to ask to see their drivers license. Then, I’m going to pull my out my Weight Watchers scale. If they want to take off their clothes, fine. I don’t care. Clothes add an extra 2 pounds, I fully get that. But jump up, you fucker….and let’s weigh in. You said on your profile you were 190, you best be with in 3 pounds either way, or I am cutting your balls off. And I’m sure the waitress will find it odd…when I reach in my purse, get my tape measure, and back your ass up against the nearest wall….but fuck it. I have no shame. Time to get your height. Stand up straight, you little shit. Oooooohhh, you heard about me, huh? You have your lifts on, I see? Trying to get away with murder. Well, take those shoes off, Sylvester Stallone. HA! You are 5’9″! NOT 5’10”!! Sneaky little thing…every inch counts. Size does matter!

Well, I’m onto you. And with each lie, I spin deeper and deeper into this downward spiral of untrusting hell. If there is such a thing. And with each guy I go out with, my walls go up higher and higher. And I get more and more jaded. I find it hard to believe anything they say. And it’s not fair to the good guys. The ones who actually tell the truth. Remember them? In fact, I was just texting with this guy, and he told me his age. I totally called him a out. He said, “I’m 40.” And I texted back, “Oh, I’m so sure.” OMG. Ummmm. I was looking for an “undo” button on my life. By the way, who is gonna make one of those? A delete, or undo… or erase. A “go back 10 seconds”. You’d be a millionaire. He texts, “Excuse me?” And I texted, “Haha. Just kidding.” Could I be a bigger freak? I mean, maybe. Maybe, I could have asked him to take a picture of his drivers license, and text it to me. Now that would have been bat-shit crazy. I mean, really who would do that? What kind of nut job would make a guy do…

Onward, and upward! I have changed my profile on Match. I actually did. I wrote, “If you are lying about your age, or your pix are not current…move it along….cause you suck balls,  and I will never trust your lying ass.” That should get me some major traffic. I’m gonna have to hire a bouncer. And not the kind you actually fill with air, and jump on. Like a big, strong man with a weapon. Oy. My brain hurts. This shit ain’t easy…being me.

Now, who wants to go out next weekend? I am free!! And if you don’t mind, can you bring a copy of your birth certificate, pleeeeaase? ;)

xo j