Get in line.

Take a number.

I’ve heard it all before…

You’re singin’ to the choir.

Blah, blah…and fucking blah.

You think I’ve been living under a fucking rock for the past two years? Give me a break. I’ve been here. Single. Solo. Alone. Out there. Doing this on-line-dating-dance that we are all doing. The Mambo-of-Mating Madness, I like to call it. And in seven days, my time is finally up. My Match .Com subscription is DONE. Over. And I swear to Goddess I am never rejoining again. EVER. It has been the absolute worst. And I don’t mean it’s been horrible meeting the men. No! It’s been nice, actually. Some of them have been quite lovely. And kind. But when they are not, wow. Do you guys ever think before you push “send”? I mean, really. And sure, I’m not saying that women aren’t fucking coo-coo. But there has got to be another way! It’s the constant lying. And the stalking. And the messages that keep coming, and coming….and coming. I had 13,874 men view me in the last 8 months. I feel dirty. Its like I have a peep-hole in my bathroom. And I actually paid for it. And wrote a profile to go with it. Gross, I need a shower.

And if you give a guy an inch…

Just one response. They take a fucking mile. And I’m that girl! I’m the one that says ,”Thank you!” I’m that one! Well, I always think, what if it was Jonah? Or Zac! I don’t want to be rude. I don’t want to hurt a guy’s feelings. He’s putting himself out there, right? Wrong. I know…I have to be that MEAN GIRL! I just can’t return the “wink” or the “message” from the nice fella from Gastonia that says my smile is “bright like the sun”. Omg. But it’s so sweet! I just feel like I should say thanks. I have to learn to just shut up. I have to. Because next thing you know, you’ve got a live one laying across your kitchen counter… shirt off, posing like a Playgirl model. I shit you not. Literally jumped up, and laid across my island. Shirt off. Posing. Can’t make this shit up. I just can’t.

But this on-line-dating shit is the worst. You make a connection with a person before you even meet them. And you like them. And you even maybe really like them. And then what? I mean what happens, when you get to them in “real life” and it’s not there? The connection you had on the phone, or texting. Or Bumbling. Or Tindering. Fuck. It’s just gone. It’s all such a horrible, maddening mess. And its mean. And hurtful. And sad, really. We are receiving false impressions of each other, and setting ourselves up for failure. Especially, if you’re not completely honest about your expectations in a relationship. But it’s so easy over text, right? You let your guard down. I know I do. Ugh. And timing is everything.  You have to try, or you might not ever find the one. I mean, isn’t that what we all ultimately want? To find the one. THE ONE!

And that’s the worst fucking thing! We are doing this with more than one person! No one wants to commit until you meet for fucksake! It’s just how it’s played…keeping one on the back-burner, and one on Tinder, and one on Match. And one on Bumble. Have you heard of this Bumble bullshit? Ya, it’s newer, I guess. Fuck, one more thing to piss me off. Where the GIRLS have to make the first move. Really? Like we don’t do enough already?  So, you’ve got them all over the place. And I love the guy that says, “Oh, I’m off of Tinder, you should go off too.” So, I do. Cause I trust him. First mistake. And then my friend sends me a screen shot of his Tinder profile. Love it. Busted, asshole. But who’s the loser? Me for trusting him, or him for being an uber prick? I hope you say the latter. I am not the loser in this scenario. I trusted the fucker. Bitter, party of one?

Oh! Did I mention my Match.Com subscription is up? And perfect timing! Cause I just happened to find this kick-ass guy, that I met in real life. Ya know, we met in person?  And we spoke face-to-face. About all kinds of stuff.  And we touched each other. And I had my hair in a ponytail sans makeup when we met. I was wearing the stupidest outfit. I mean, I looked like shit. Ask Tammy. And I could barely speak, cause I’m so used to texting. But there was no stupid profile, no photoshopped pictures. Just me. And we are still talking! What the fuck? And I have no idea if it’s going anywhere. But I don’t care. I’m just excited that for once he doesn’t know me from a website. Wow. I feel so circa 1990. Is there an emoji for that? ;)

xo j

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