like Bridget Jones, only not as well put together.

So I am attempting to dip my foot into the dating pool again. Attempting. I’ve gone back to online dating because I live in Atlanta and while there are men here, the chances of meeting a single, good one through a friend are pretty slim, at least on its own standing. Sites like Meetup are full of wonderful women… but men– single, eligible, date-able men– typically don’t attend meetup/etc.  events. In order to widen my pool of availability I decided to re-open a closed door.

And when I reopened that door, I got a whiff of what I used to hate about it. The ‘poses with his shirt off, in front of his car’ guy. The ‘I hate women, guy’. The ‘passive aggressive message to all the women on this site that rejected me, because this totally makes me seem like a winner’ guy.

And the ‘moves way too fast before he even knows my name’ guy. I don’t know how to stop this from turning me off but it is an instant dryer-upper for me.

It’s called Online Dating. There’s a process. Online Send Me Your Phone Number Cause You Don’t Feel Like Typing ? I cannot.

I mean… am I the only one this happens to? Yesterday, I got a response from what seemed like a real nice guy. HE  emailed ME. I responded. Then I get maybe two lines in 2 emails. I don’t know this dude, he barely knows my name, he doesn’t know I’m (not) psycho, he gives me his phone number.

What are we supposed to talk about? Invariably, this is how it goes.

Me, calling some dude I don’t know: Hey, how are you? This is [username] from [dating site]
Him: Hey. What’s up?
Me: Nothin’ much. What’s up with you?
Him: Nothin’.
[silence]
Me: So what’s up today, what are you doing? Got any fun plans?
Him: Not really. Just hangin’ out.
[silence]
Me: Oh. Okay. I’m just hangin’ out too. There’s a Criminal Minds marathon on. What kind of shows do you watch?
Him: Little bit of everything. You know. I’m versatile.
[silence]
[silence]
[breathing, yawning, TV blaring in the background]
[silence, while he waits for me to entertain him]
Me: [sigh]. Well…I guess I will go take care of a few things around here. Nice…uhm… talking to you.
Him: Yeah, you too. Feel free to call anytime!
Me: [hangs up] [throws phone across the room] [searches for cats and a rocking chair and a porch on which to place rocking chair online]

I’ve gone through that enough times to know that’s how it’s likely going to pan out. It is painful and annoying. And a severe turn off. I have tried, really hard, to overcome it… I can’t help but feel like it’s really lazy and it makes me feel like I am chasing someone and that’s just something I won’t do.

It seems, yet again, that I’m expected to do an awful lot of work and he gets to sit back in his comfort zone and let the ladies come to him. I don’t wanna do it anymore, bBut it seems like that’s the only response I get.

How do I make it stop?

Please do note that when I try to circumvent having to call the guy, or let them know I’m just not ready to go there yet, I’m dropped like a hot potato. “Too much work” I’m guessing.

MJoy sent me an article, a recurring meme that I’ve seen going around ad nauseum about how it’s been “Black Women Ain’t Sh*t” Year for a few years now. Never in the history of black women have we been so maligned and disrespected and reported on in such a negative fashion. These sorts of reports and articles and blogs perpetuate the idea that the black man is a hot commodity and even if he looks like roasted ass, he might have (or feel like he has) the pick of the litter. These reports have made single, eligible Bachelors feel like a million bucks, so if they don’t wanna work for it……..they don’t have to. The women will come to them. Like I said to MJoy, “I can’t compete.”

In my journey I’ve shared some prime (and by prime I am being very sarcastic) choices with Sarah and Green Eyes. I mean, we all need something to roll our eyes at. Something Sarah said to me, after staring at the latest ad riddled with bad grammar (subject-verb agreement, anyone? Spell check? Buehler?), she noted that some of the ads specify a distinct distaste for black women and openly requested other races. “You know,” she emailed back, “I think you have it harder. I don’t have to worry about the race thing.” I responded to her that I had to find something funny in every encounter because if I did not laugh, I would cry.

This is frustrating and demeaning and my self esteem is taking a beating. We’re about to have a MAN DOWN situation!

The answer, instead of giving some of these dudes a dose of reality and a roundhouse kick to the throat is to lower our standards. Don’t be afraid to date the plumber, the cable installer, the trash man.  He got bills, 2 teeth, no car and lives with his mama? Girl, you better be lucky a black dude wants you! That is a good man! Let me just say, here, that single does not equal eligible. Mkay? Don’t make me pop somebody.

Or… the answer du jour… go outside of our race. Date other races of people. This would be an awesome answer if I lived in a city (and a time) where men of other races were vying to date me. Dating a man that isn’t black seems to be harder– harder to find him, a challenge to keep him without becoming the spokesperson for my race. And really, I love me some Eminem, but I am not looking for a white version of a black guy.  The idea doesn’t scare me.  I’ve dated outside my race, but I moved to Atlanta so that it wouldn’t be the only way I got a date. Ya know? Alas, I did open my profile to all races.  As Green eyes would put it, I’m now down with the swirl. I immediately got some……..savory characters. We’ll see what happens.

I’m frustrated, though. I feel like I am being asked to bend over backward and step completely out of my comfort zone so HE can be comfortable. That’s just wrong. Inside my head, it’s wrong.

It would be so much easier if I just deleted my profile and quit trying.

But my Chocolate Nerd! He’s out there! I know he is!