Dating Versus Exercising (Or, Why Things You Don’t Like Can Be Good For You)

Most dates don't turn out to be quite as swell as this one.

I don’t know what to say—two posts about dating in one week! After writing about online dating on Tuesday, the topic of dating in general has really stuck in my mind, prompting me to dedicate another post to it. What I have been pondering, specifically, is just how awful dating can be. While there are good things about dating, and while the process of dating can yield positive results, there are also some downsides that sometimes seem to outweigh the positives. In scanning my mind for an apt comparison to dating, I keep landing on the idea of exercise. Exercise, like dating, is something that many people do not enjoy doing, however, most people would love to enjoy that results that come from regular exercise. I think the process of trying to achieve results through regular exercise is similar to the process of trying to achieve results from dating, and the resemblance is almost uncanny in some ways.

First, the worst thing about both dating and exercise is thinking about doing them. I don’t know about you, but I spend a lot of time thinking about the things in my life I need to do and should do, and a lot less time actually doing them. As I discussed in a previous post, I am a great planner and list maker, but I am sometimes lacking in the execution department. I will think all day about how I am going to go home from work and exercise, how I really need to exercise—yet, when I arrive home, I can always put it off  until a new day dawns and the cycle begins again. Something I have noticed during my time as a fitness procrastinator is that when I actually do buckle my butt down and do some exercise it is not nearly as awful as I had imagined it would be. Even on my tiredest days, if I manage to drag my ass off the couch and go for a walk I almost always feel energized rather than terribly haggard and exhausted, which is the way I had envisioned I would feel.

I think a similar thing happens when we think about dating. While, in theory, dating is the best way to meet a person with whom I might want to forge a longer-term relationship, thinking about having to do it builds up a lot of anxiety in my mind. These days, meeting eligible men is not something that happens to me very often, which is what led me to think about online dating in the first place. Meeting eligible men who are actually nice, reliable, intelligent, and don’t want me to play a board game with them that requires dice with more than six sides is much harder than it seems initially. Once you find a pool of applicants from which to draw, you still have to worry about weeding out the ones that you would not be interested in.

I was afraid my date would
look like Gary Busey.

But, as is the case with exercise, often anticipating having to go on a date with someone we don’t know at all, or who we know very little is much worse than the actual date itself. For example, when I was about 20 years old, my older brother set me up on a blind date with a guy I will call “Jack.” Jack was about 22, had finished college, and was working for a local book publisher. My brother’s boss, who was friends with Jack, and who was also a woman, swore that Jack was cute, nice, and intelligent. And so, Jack and I talked on the phone a couple of times. The conversation flowed easily, and it seemed like we would hit it off when we actually got together in person. I was worried, though, that Jack might not live up to the hype that my mind had now involuntarily surrounded him with. I had him built up in my head as someone with whom I would get along famously, and someone who I would find very attractive. But what if when I met him Jack turned out to be a jerk who was a dead ringer for Gary Busey? I was pretty anxious about my date, but I went anyway and, you know what? It turned out to be a great experience.

Jack was super-cute, had a nice voice, and we did get along just as well as we had on the phone. We had dinner, which went on for, like three hours, and then we said good night. We hugged each other as we parted, and he mentioned calling me in the following days, which he did. We had several more conversations on the phone, and I felt like he might end up being a good guy after all. But, just before our next date, which was scheduled for a Sunday afternoon, he called me up to inform me that he couldn’t make it. It was, literally, like 10 minutes before I was supposed to leave my house, and I was all dressed and ready when Jack called to tell me that he would not be able to come on our date because he had to stay home and help his dad do his taxes. Even at the age of 20 I knew that the tax deadline was April 15. It was October! Jack explained that he had to help his dad with some back business taxes and, assuming he just didn’t like me, I accepted his explanation graciously and got off the phone. I felt aggravated, but resigned to the fact that nothing would blossom between us, and that he just wasn’t into me.

Now, while, in the end, my story didn’t turn out well, my point was that the actual date itself was way better than I had anticipated. During the short period of time Jack and I actually dated, I had fun and a little more excitement in my life than was usual. It made me feel energized, just as exercise does even when I think it is going to suck. So, am I suggesting that we all just bite the bullet and go ahead and go out on some dates because they will not be as bad as we are expecting? Well, it’s complicated. The major difference between dating and exercise is that you are unlikely to experience any profound disappointment after an exercise session. You will probably not go out for a run, and then realize that you could have run a more scenic route, and then ruminate about why you didn’t run the more scenic route for days at a time. Plus, when you go out for a run or walk, or when you walk on the treadmill, the treadmill is not likely at the end of your workout to express how much it likes you, suggest making plans for future walks, kiss you goodnight, and then never call again.

I think what I am proposing is that we try to view dating and relationships more in the way we view exercise. When we exercise on a particular day—let’s say we do 45 minutes on the elliptical machine, while we know doing it will hopefully pay off in the long run, we are able to focus on the 45 minutes and how we feel during that time. We stay in the moment and typically don’t spend the time worrying about how the workout tomorrow or the next day or the next day is going to be (well, unless we have anxiety or OCD, but that is another post entirely). We are not expecting the workout to drastically improve our entire lives, or to make us happier people, or to complete us in some way. I think we need to look at dating and relationships through this same lens. We should, perhaps, not go into a date with the idea that something will blossom between ourselves and the other person, but should instead exercise caution as we get to know someone new, treating the interaction the same way we treat a new exercise routine we have just started. We may end up liking it or we may not, but we should not get too invested in it until it proves itself to be the type of exercise we need to be doing, and until we start seeing positive results.

I, unfortunately, have tended to get too involved with the men I have dated too quickly, based on some shared commonality, one or two good conversations, or the fact that said man might have been very attractive or charming. Instead, I will start handling the situation the same way I handled my free month-long trial of Netflix. I will enjoy it, but will reserve judgment until I get a much better idea of exactly what is being offered. I will not expect it to offer everything I need or am looking for, and will not allow myself to get so invested that I am massively disappointed when I find something to be lacking.

If your date tells you he collects Precious Moments
figurines you should proceed immediately to the
nearest exit.

And if one of my dates ever acts in a strange or unexplainable way—you know what I mean—ceasing communication for no reason, telling you he really likes you, but it is better for both of you if you not get involved, or dropping the bomb that he enjoys collecting Precious Moments figurines—well, I will not automatically assume that it is something I have done or that it is something lacking in me, or that if I were just skinnier things would have worked out. Instead, I will accept the fact that it is an issue with him, and that he has probably behaved this way before with other women, and will probably do so with still other women in the future. I will try to retain the good from the situation, such as that I may have gotten several free dinners out of it, that I had some good conversation, and that, despite said man’s neuroses, I will not be set back emotionally. I will also realize that, through going out a few times with said freakshow, I have gained valuable insight into exactly what I am not looking for, and am, hopefully, a step closer to finding someone with whom I am compatible, who does what he says he will, and who does not cancel on me to help a family member sort out tax-related troubles.

Then, as I do after I exercise, I will relax, take a nice hot bath or shower, and curl up with a cold Snapple and Netflix—which has proven its usefulness to me far beyond the free trial, and which will always be there for me, save a power outage or terrible solar flares. After all, men may come and go, but endless numbers of episodes of past and current tv shows are forever!
Gary Busey image courtesy of http://www.celebritynetworth.com
1950's date image courtesy of http://fiftieswedding.com/
Precious Moments figurine image courtesy of http://www.crystalcornergifts.com/

Reviews: The Third Love Bra Measuring App is Not a Bust (At Least I Hope Not!)

Finding the right bra size seems to take magic!

Today’s post is the second in a multi-part series of reviews. Now, this series probably still doesn’t require much explanation because it includes reviews of things I decide I would like to review. From movies, to apps to food to anything else, if I think you need to hear about it I will review it for you! Today’s review is of an iPhone/iPod Touch app called Third Love. Third Love is a free app designed to measure a woman to find her perfect bra size. Now, I pray, tell me what woman wouldn’t want to feel a little more comfortable as far as bras go? I am sure that many of the women reading this post have experienced pinching bra bands, sideboob, underboob, and the myriad other problems that come from wearing an ill-fitting bra. I know I have, and I think I have probably never worn the correct bra size in my life, which is one reason I was so excited about this app. Now, men, I know it may seem like this post won’t hold a whole lot of interest for you, but you may want to keep reading anyway because: 1) this post is about boobs, essentially, and 2) you might be able to share this new app with a family member, friend, or your significant other.

My mom is the one that first told me about the Third Love app. She recorded a segment from Good Morning America in which the hosts discussed ill-fitting bras and how to measure yourself for a bra. If you have ever tried measuring yourself to find your bra size, then you probably know that it is not the easiest thing to do. The measurement can change depending on where and how you hold the tape measure, and then you can end up falsely identifying your bra band size as either the circumference of a t-rex’s torso, or as the approximate distance around a number two pencil, neither of which is conducive to a good fit! Also, I don’t know about you, but I am not too keen on going to a store to get measured for my bra size by a stranger. First, if I went somewhere like Victoria’s Secret or Macy’s or Bloomingdale’s, I would wonder if the person working there who might measure me would actually know any more about measuring for bra sizes than I did. After all, I worked retail in high school and college, and I was hardly knowledgeable about some of the items I sold. But, if I went to a higher-end underwear store, like Intimacy in Phipps Plaza, where I would have a little more confidence in the staff’s bra-measuring ability, then I would feel compelled to purchase a bra from them for their trouble, and I cannot afford to buy a super-nice bra right now, but will more likely need to go the low cost route and fashion one from coconut shells and a jump rope.

And then there is the fact that I don’t really want some strange person I don’t know fiddling with my chest area. It would be embarrassing and uncomfortable, and I simply don’t think I would enjoy the experience very much. Perhaps when the new lingerie store staffed by highly qualified bra-measuring male models who love animals and also have PhD’s opens up I will decide to go get measured in person, but until then, I will have to rely on myself to find out my appropriate bra size. Lucky for me the Third Love app is ready to step in so that I never have to touch a measuring tape again, unless, of course, I learn how to sew and need to measure the fabric to make that really swank poodle skirt I’ve been thinking about.

The Good Morning America hosts mentioned that the Third Love app was developed to measure you for a bra based on pictures you take of yourself. It uses some kind of 3D technology or something. The hosts also discussed the privacy you can expect from the makers of the app, and the makers swore that no one would ever actually look at the photos you took of yourself, and that such photos would be stored under encryption. Good enough for me! I went to the app’s website, and found that I had to sign up to receive an invitation to download the app. I signed up and a couple of weeks later I got an email with a link in it that allowed me to download Third Love.

After downloading the app I had to sign up with a username and password, provide the current bra size I am wearing, and then state if I thought it was too large, too small, etc. The app then began to show instructions. It told me to put on a supportive underwire bra without any padding, and that I could put on a form-fitting tank top over it if I wanted to. Because I am lazy, and because I decided to do my measuring not long after waking up one morning, I just put on the bra without a shirt. In my tired state, searching out a form-fitting tank top in my darkened room was just a little too much to ask of me. The app then instructed me to stand in front of a wall mirror in a room with good lighting. I chose my bedroom because my closet door has mirrors on it, and I actually turned on the light too! The app told me to remove my iPhone case, because, apparently, it wants both you and your phone naked before it measures you.

I followed the app’s instructions to stand facing the mirror and hold the phone at belly button level. The app then gave minute instructions to move the phone up, down, left, or right. It counted down and snapped the picture, and then informed me that there was not enough light in the room and the picture hadn’t come out. I looked at the snapshot it took, and found that, because of my white bra, the image looked like two faceless ghosts rising from the ether and not much else. I moved to my bathroom, because that is the only other place where I have anything remotely resembling a wall mirror, and I know there is enough light in there. The mirror is not exactly a wall mirror, it is the mirror on my medicine cabinet, and it is actually divided into three parts because that is how the medicine cabinet doors open. Plus, when I stand on the floor only my face is visible in the mirror, so I had to drag a chair in to stand on.

The trouble was that when I stood on the chair my bra was a little too high for the mirror, so I settled on standing on the chair with my knees bent to make sure my bra was smack in the middle of the mirror. One problem with this setup was that I was probably in danger of falling off the chair, because the muscles in the fronts of my thighs got very tired, though, on the bright side, I probably also strengthened them quite a bit during the measuring process! As I stood there, thigh muscles quivering, I successfully completed the photo with me facing the front, but in that snapshot I have my face squished down into my neck, and I appear to have a double chin, which I really don’t have in real life. Since the photo was for measuring my bra size, though, and not for fitting me for a feedbag, and since the company promised no one would ever see my photos, AND since the photography process was so long and laborious, I accepted the image and moved to the side view photo.

The app instructed me to turn to the side so that both my front and my back were visible in the mirror. Now, I don’t know about your medicine cabinet mirror, but mine is not the widest thing in the world, and, for one heart-stopping moment, I thought there was no way to make both my front and my back visible in the mirror at the same time. I figured out a way, though, and crouched in my thigh-straining position, nearly having a heart attack because I was wearing my jeans that I just bought in a new, smaller size, and the jeans are just a teensy bit small for now, so not only did I appear to have a front muffin top in the side photo, but I also appeared to have a muffin top in the back. What do you call a muffin top in the back, anyway? A butt-fin top? Who knows? It will suffice to say that seeing that image in my mirror was horrifying beyond belief, and the fact that the app kept telling me to change the phone’s position made it even worse. My legs were tired, and my poor psyche could only take so much of seeing such an unflattering image looking back at me from the mirror. The app kept having me move the phone all over the place to the point where it was almost turned downward taking a photo of my toilet, which I don’t think would help find my bra size at all! Feeling overtaxed, and with my legs about to give out, I gave up and shut down the app.

The Macy's fitting room is the most promising place for me
to take my bra-fitting photos.

I would love to tell you what happens after you get the pictures correctly taken, but I will have to save that part for a future review. I am hopeful that the fantastically-fitting bra I might be able to find if I successfully use the Third Love app will be worth the trouble. My preliminary advice is for you to find a good, stable, well-lighted wall mirror in which to take your pictures. Don’t use a mirror that has two breaks in it where the medicine cabinet doors open, and do not, by any means, use a mirror that is so high or low that you have to contort yourself and/or balance in precarious positions in order to take your photos. I myself plan to take my app to the fitting room at Macy’s, because it is always well-lighted, and to take my pictures there. The Macy’s fitting room is pretty long with lots of doors, so if I go to the back no one should be able to hear the app instructing me to take pictures. Once I take the photos successfully, I will let you know about the next part. Here’s hoping that a better-fitting bra waits somewhere in my future!

Vintage bra image courtesy of http://www.huffingtonpost.com

Fitting room image courtesy of http://justtheway-rae.blogspot.com/

Completing a Half Marathon Without Being Chased

This post will serve as my official announcement that I am exercising again! It’s such a big deal that I thought about going on to one of those websites parents use to order Christmas cards and baby announcements, and making an announcement to send out featuring a photo of my muffin top hanging over the top of my jeans on the left, and then a photo of the stomach of a Victoria’s Secret model on the right, with a saying like “Out With the Old, in With the New,” or something like that. But then, because of the saying, people would probably think the card was a New Year’s card, and they would be confused about why I was sending it out at the beginning of September. I have, thus, nixed the announcement idea and decided to just make this blog post instead.

I am like a hybrid of Doris Roberts and Arnold Schwarzenegger.

What I have decided to do is to train for, and actually participate in, a half marathon. I know! I must be crazy, but, really, I have wanted to do a half marathon for a long time. You see, back in my younger days I was quite the avid exerciser. I used to exercise six days a week, and on four of those days I did a full hour of cardio! The other two days I did weights for my arms, but no weights for my legs, and I did this for a couple of years, so I was like Arnold Schwarzenegger on top, and Doris Roberts on the bottom. On the arm weight days I only worked out for about 30 minutes, and I was kind of lax about it, but a photo of me does exist, from 2004, in which I am holding something up, and you can actually see my bicep muscle in the photo! Seeing that photo was a watershed moment in my life, let me just tell you!

But, as is the case with most things in life, all good things must come to an end sometime. And, alas! I slacked off on my exercising, gained weight, and my illustrious bicep muscle went into hiding, and apparently is more difficult to locate than Elliot Spitzer’s pants. I do have high hopes that, after adopting my new exercise routine, my bicep will reappear in some future photos, but I guess we shall see.

Anyway, I must mention that I am walking the half-marathon because, first, my orthopedist told me after my knee surgery in 2011, that I have the knees of someone twice my age, and that if I don’t watch it I will need a knee replacement by the time I’m fifty, and, second, because running is really hard, and I actually walk faster than I run. The unfortunate thing about walking a half marathon is that you have to figure out a way to finish the race before the time limit is up. My half marathon is on Thanksgiving Day, and it has a three and one half hour time limit, which means that I have to maintain a consistent pace of about 16 minutes per mile, at the very most. Keeping this pace can be somewhat of a challenge, because it means that I cannot just walk all leisurely like I am window shopping at the mall, and I will actually have to work for it. If I do not, then it will be the end of the race, and they will be closing the course, and I will not be finished, and all of the people will be driving by on their way to eat Thanksgiving meals, and I will be the only one, walking sadly alone on the side of the street, and I will be the only one without warm rolls or pie.

My current training schedule gives me Monday and Friday off, which is important, because who wants to work out on Monday or Friday? I mean, on Monday you are dead tired because you actually had to work all day after you slept late for two days and the most work you did was loading the dishwasher (if you’re me anyway). And, also, on Friday, you are dead tired because you have worked all week, plus done half marathon training and all you want to do is lie on the couch and you will maybe raise your head up long enough to eat, but that is all. Getting to take both Monday and Friday off was one of the main selling points of the walking half marathon-training program I chose. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have to walk three miles, and on Wednesdays and Sundays I do an easy 30-45 minute walk, or I do an easy 30-45 minutes of cross training. The inclusion of the word “easy” was another one of the program’s major selling points. On the cross training days I take my dog, Betty, out for a brisk 25 minute walk, and then I come home and do 15 minutes of arm weights, an then the P90X Ab Ripper routine, which is the same thing as getting kicked in the gut by Jack LaLanne in his prime.

The kicker, though, is that on Saturdays I have to do my long day of walking. Right now, at the end of my first week of training, the “long day” is just a four mile walk, but as it gets closer to the race day, the Saturday distance will increase up to 13 miles, which will seriously kick my butt. I consider my three walking days to be the most important in my training program, and when I go out walking I am very conscious to keep my pace pretty fast. In fact, I use an app called Map MyWalk that lets me know what my pace is, and also when I have completed each mile. When I go out walking I put on my sunscreen and my hat, and I turn on my music, typically Ella Fitzgerald, which doesn’t seem like it would lend itself to working out, but which works for me. The problem is I get kind of obsessive about monitoring my pace, and the first time I kept the walking app open the whole time, and my phone barely had enough juice to get through the whole walk.

After my walks I have to curl up in the fetal position
so I don't vomit.

I’ve got it worked out now, though, where I just look at the app periodically, and I don’t run the phone’s battery down. About halfway through my walks, because it has been hot and because I have literally, been hauling ass like I was being chased by a mountain lion, I start to feel sick, and then I have to take out my headphones because listening to music becomes too taxing. At this point I realize I have probably 20 minutes left, during which I will gasp for breath and drag myself on until I finally reach my door, enter my house, and then turn the fan on full blast and literally lie down on my carpet and curl up in the fetal position until I stop feeling like I am going to vomit. Though it doesn’t sound like it, it is actually a great feeling!

Every time I go for a walk I know I am approaching my goal of completing a 13.1 mile walk without being chased by a large predator, and I also know that I am improving my mental and physical health because, you know, exercise is good for both your mind and your body. Perhaps the biggest reward I will receive will come on Thanksgiving Day, after I finish the race. Feeling the glorious tiredness that comes from a good workout, I will get a shower and then proceed to my grandparents’ house for a Thanksgiving lunch, and when I get there, I will stuff my face with absolutely any foods I want. Because everyone knows the real reward to exercising comes from being able to eat more!

Doris Roberts image courtesy of http://www.wikipedia.org

Arnold Schwarzenegger image courtesy of http://www.ew.com

Fetal position image courtesy of http://www.comicvine.com

It’s Raining Men (Or, Will I Consider Online Dating?)

It's raining men! But, unfortunately, they are not quite as
well-dressed as this.

I have this friend who shall remain nameless, and my friend met her husband through an online dating service. She has told me of the good experiences she had while immersed in the world of online dating, and has also assured me that, even when the inevitable weirdo or creepazoid turns up, I will have some great stories to tell should I choose to date online. I am still not sold on online dating as a way to meet the perfect man for me, though. First, how am I going to sift through my possible matches to makes sure that my potential dates are both mute and orphans? Second, is there a filter to ensure that my potential dates are neither too clingy, as was the person I most recently dated before deciding for the umpteenth time that I would never date again, nor too aloof, as was my ex-husband? Come to think of it, there should be search filters for every conceivable fault known to mankind. For example, I would love to rule out any man who uses the phrase “It is what it is,” or any man who would ever consider wearing a fanny pack, except in the form of a money belt while traveling in a foreign country.

But, unfortunately, even online dating can’t help me make sure my potential future matches are fault free. Lately, although I would not say I am at the point where I am ready to start dating exactly, I have been getting kind of curious about what’s out there. Well, I don’t mean that I wouldn’t date anyone right now, but it would have to come from a situation in which I was friends with the person first. I would want to get to know a guy so I could see what I was getting into before allowing the situation to progress to a dating relationship. I think I would be much more comfortable that way, though I must sadly say that it is difficult to even find suitable male friends. First, as a teacher who works with 99% women, I don’t have all that many places to meet guys, and, second, many guys either want to date you up front, or they will not be interested in hanging out with you at all, particularly now that we are all no longer in our twenties, and some people don’t want to waste their time with anything that isn’t likely to turn into a long-term relationship. But, I am not one of these people.

I would like nothing more than to have a male friend or two who I could get to know and do fun things with, plus, it would help me to remember how to interact with men because I am around women so much of the time. And, when you are around women all the time you tend to forget that men don’t want to hear things like the story of the new automatic bra sizing app you’ve found, or that Spanx are more comfortable if you buy them in a size larger than what you usually wear. However, as I said before, meeting suitable men is hard, even when you just want to be friends with them. You can’t go online to meet a male friend, because, in the code of online dating, you would have to mark that you were looking for a “casual relationship,” and then, as soon as you marked that down, you would start receiving private messages of photos of men in their underwear or worse. In online dating speak, a “casual” relationship means that you don’t want a relationship at all, and, to use nineties lingo, really just means you want a booty call.

Plus, if you do somehow manage to meet a nice man who is willing to be friends with you, you still will likely have to deal with his baggage in some form, or he will end up wanting to date you and you will not want to date him, or worse yet, you will end up wanting to date him and he will not want to date you. Although I am only really looking for friends right now, at least until I have known someone for a while, or until George Clooney moves into my neighborhood, I did go online to peruse some dating sites, you know, just to see what’s available. The results were truly terrifying!

I went onto a free online dating site called O.K. Cupid. I chose this site because Buzzfeed, one of my favorite places online to waste time, has mentioned it several times. All I did was choose a username and password, and I did not put up a profile or any photos. The site then allowed me to browse eligible men in the Atlanta area. After spending 30 minutes on the site, my main question was, “exactly what are these men eligible for?” Some appeared to be eligible for parole, while others appeared to be eligible for an immediate shower, and still others seemed eligible to take up residence on the feminine hygiene product aisle of Rite Aid, right next to the box of Massengill. I mean, many of these profiles were frightening!

I didn’t even bother to read through most of them. One of the first things that made me stop reading was when I could see that the guy had written a mini-thesis for his profile, meaning what he wrote was very serious, or that he was clearly trying to be very clever, or, my favorite, when he listed so many of his favorite books and movies that there was hardly any room for anything else. It was also a big turn-off to me when I recognized the names of many of said books and movies from top critics list of the last 20 or so years. I mean, let’s be honest here folks, while we all probably have read some award-winning literature, and watched some deep and meaningful movies that probably make us better people for seeing them, who doesn’t enjoy kicking back with a book so trashy or un-erudite that you have to hide it when your friends come over? And who doesn’t want to just watch Tropic Thunder, or Team America:World Police every once in a while?

Also, aside from the novellas these guys wrote to detail the facts that they don’t like to eat leafy vegetables, or that they are “always sarcastic, and if you can’t deal with it call the wambulance,” there were the profile pictures. Oh my, were they terrible! I mean, some of these photos were such that if I were tagged in one on Facebook I would remove the tag immediately, and then delete it from my profile hoping the online ether would swallow it up and keep it from reappearing ever again. There were profiles in which guys included pictures of themselves dressed up as sci-fi characters, as pirates, in swashbuckling attire, wearing MC Hammer pants, and wearing kilts. Now, my friend Larry likes to wear a kilt sometimes, and he is a very nice person, and, in my opinion, the only person who I consider it acceptable to ever wear a kilt. Men, please wear normal clothes in your dating profile pictures!

Men, do not post shirtless photos on your online
dating profile, unless you are this man!

Then there were the men that felt the best way to entice women was to not wear shirts in their profile pictures. When I see a shirtless man in an online dating profile picture, my first thought is not, “Ooh, look at those muscles! Does he work out?” My first thought is, “Can this dude not afford a shirt or something? Does he even have a job? DELETE.” The other phenomenon I noticed in some of these men’s profile pictures was that some of them seemed to include photos of themselves all cozied up with women that I guess were their female friends, or maybe their former girlfriends, or something. Now, guys, let me just tell you that, at least for me, showing me the other ladies you might possibly be out in the evenings prowling around with is not the way to my heart! After my half hour search, I had found one man who was attractive, wearing normal clothing, wearing a shirt, not pictured with his former high school prom date, and who didn’t write a Tolstoy-esque tome about the finer points of his taste in board games. However, because I am not ready for the world of online dating, I clicked right on past him, exited the site, and then proceeded to play about five rounds of Scramble With Friends.

Maybe one day I will be ready to start dating again, but, in the meantime, perhaps I will just continue to enjoy the company of my knitting and my cats.

Rene Magritte painting courtesy of http://www.wikipedia.org/

George Clooney image courtesy of http://tvrecappersanonymous.wordpress.com/