Honestly, some days I wonder why I even bother to open my e-mail. It's full of spam. It's becoming like my regular mailbox, overflowing with junk mail. Except that my regular mailbox wants me to have my curtains and blinds cleaned, and my e-mail wants me to buy Viagra. I can't decide which is more irritating.
I got some great new matches on-line. As tough as it is to find a good man, it's even tougher to quit an online dating service. With the paid services, you can remove the credit card, then, usually, they get the point. The free online dating services, well, they just keep on sending you men; I haven't figured out how to get rid of them. Being human, I am naturally curious, so of course I keep looking at the matches. When you look, the service tracks, so they keep sending you more. I'm not interested in dating anyone else, but I can't help myself; sometimes the amusement factor gets me through my workday. I got some good ones this week.
My first match proclaimed himself a sensualist, open to any and all experiences. He said he was bi, and interested in not just one-on-one experiences, but two-on-one or even three-on-one.
The second match is in an open marriage, with a wife who would like the opportunity to explore her secret desires while he watches and occasionally joins in.
I'm not interested in threesomes. However- do you think my cat counts? Oops- I think that's a different kind of genre entirely. (That was sarcasm, by the way.)
The third match was really young, in his twenties, and, believe it or not, was interested in sex without commitment. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Really, I was shocked. (More sarcasm.)
I found out that these men qualify as my matches based on some algorithm. I'm not sure how or why, but it has to do with the answers to these stupid questions that they ask you, deep yes-or-no stuff like, "Do you think all is fair in love or war?" or "Would you consider sleeping with someone on the first date?" or "Would you date someone who does drugs?" The dating site also shows you the people that checked out your profile, which you discover when you go look at the profiles of your matches. I discovered that if you change your status to "seeing someone," the site immediately sends you a note saying that if you continue trolling for dates, (my phrase, not theirs-) what your prospective dates will see when they look back at your profile is "single." Genius. They help you cheat. (I admit it: I am a very sarcastic person.)
My favorite e-mail was from a "free" astrologer who is also, apparently, my new best friend. This one was my fault; I was reading an online horoscope, and a window popped-up, telling me I could get a free, in-depth report, and much like the matches that show up in my inbox every week, I couldn't help but take a look. Into the inbox of my e-mail came a really long description of the wonders of the universe that are coming my way this year. It's confirmed, the stars are aligning in my favor. Apparently nothing bad is going to happen to me, just a lot of good fortune, money, love and travel. The astrologer used my name as punctuation throughout the narrative, to give the whole thing that personal touch. She kept assuring me, using my name maybe twice in that particular sentence, that not only was she my personal astrologer, but also my friend.
Isn't is nice that she's my friend, and we've never even met? This is much like that man who proclaimed that we were soul mates, based on looking at my picture.
At the end of this verbose report chronicling my wealth, love and good fortune for the upcoming year, she warned me that my transit was coming. That in fact, I missed my last one, way back in 2008, and I certainly didn't want to make that mistake again. As my friend and personal astrologer, she wanted to guide me through this important time, helping me, paraphrasing the words of the Army, to be all that I can be.
How nice is that, considering we've never met, and don't know each other at all! Those must be some pretty powerful stars I move.
Alas. In the last paragraph, she told me to send her a credit card payment of $80, insinuating that if I didn't, heaven and earth might collapse on me, and civilization as I know it will cease to exist.
That was the end of a beautiful, albeit short relationship.
It reminds me of those sincere, illiterate, English-as-a-second-language letters I get from the fax in my office, from people wanting to give me a million dollars, just for helping them out a little by sending them a money order for three hundred dollars. Boy, what a deal.
Well, gotta go. I've got mail.
I got some great new matches on-line. As tough as it is to find a good man, it's even tougher to quit an online dating service. With the paid services, you can remove the credit card, then, usually, they get the point. The free online dating services, well, they just keep on sending you men; I haven't figured out how to get rid of them. Being human, I am naturally curious, so of course I keep looking at the matches. When you look, the service tracks, so they keep sending you more. I'm not interested in dating anyone else, but I can't help myself; sometimes the amusement factor gets me through my workday. I got some good ones this week.
My first match proclaimed himself a sensualist, open to any and all experiences. He said he was bi, and interested in not just one-on-one experiences, but two-on-one or even three-on-one.
The second match is in an open marriage, with a wife who would like the opportunity to explore her secret desires while he watches and occasionally joins in.
I'm not interested in threesomes. However- do you think my cat counts? Oops- I think that's a different kind of genre entirely. (That was sarcasm, by the way.)
The third match was really young, in his twenties, and, believe it or not, was interested in sex without commitment. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Really, I was shocked. (More sarcasm.)
I found out that these men qualify as my matches based on some algorithm. I'm not sure how or why, but it has to do with the answers to these stupid questions that they ask you, deep yes-or-no stuff like, "Do you think all is fair in love or war?" or "Would you consider sleeping with someone on the first date?" or "Would you date someone who does drugs?" The dating site also shows you the people that checked out your profile, which you discover when you go look at the profiles of your matches. I discovered that if you change your status to "seeing someone," the site immediately sends you a note saying that if you continue trolling for dates, (my phrase, not theirs-) what your prospective dates will see when they look back at your profile is "single." Genius. They help you cheat. (I admit it: I am a very sarcastic person.)
My favorite e-mail was from a "free" astrologer who is also, apparently, my new best friend. This one was my fault; I was reading an online horoscope, and a window popped-up, telling me I could get a free, in-depth report, and much like the matches that show up in my inbox every week, I couldn't help but take a look. Into the inbox of my e-mail came a really long description of the wonders of the universe that are coming my way this year. It's confirmed, the stars are aligning in my favor. Apparently nothing bad is going to happen to me, just a lot of good fortune, money, love and travel. The astrologer used my name as punctuation throughout the narrative, to give the whole thing that personal touch. She kept assuring me, using my name maybe twice in that particular sentence, that not only was she my personal astrologer, but also my friend.
Isn't is nice that she's my friend, and we've never even met? This is much like that man who proclaimed that we were soul mates, based on looking at my picture.
At the end of this verbose report chronicling my wealth, love and good fortune for the upcoming year, she warned me that my transit was coming. That in fact, I missed my last one, way back in 2008, and I certainly didn't want to make that mistake again. As my friend and personal astrologer, she wanted to guide me through this important time, helping me, paraphrasing the words of the Army, to be all that I can be.
How nice is that, considering we've never met, and don't know each other at all! Those must be some pretty powerful stars I move.
Alas. In the last paragraph, she told me to send her a credit card payment of $80, insinuating that if I didn't, heaven and earth might collapse on me, and civilization as I know it will cease to exist.
That was the end of a beautiful, albeit short relationship.
It reminds me of those sincere, illiterate, English-as-a-second-language letters I get from the fax in my office, from people wanting to give me a million dollars, just for helping them out a little by sending them a money order for three hundred dollars. Boy, what a deal.
Well, gotta go. I've got mail.
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