|Blogs > sfvcpl818 > Confessions of a Sexual Mind|
How to Respond to a Profile ... (Particularly Mine)...
How to Respond to a Profile ... (Particularly Mine)...
I've come to expect several things from men around Los Angeles. These are my qualms with your responses to my profile:
Oh, how sweet! You recently moved to Los Angeles to become a writer/actor. So does that mean I get a discount during your shift at Starbucks? Awesome! You say you just moved here with your band to work on your music? Don't ask if you can move in with me and/or if your guitar-playing cousin can sleep on my couch until after our third date, okay?
Say something more than "Hey girl how u doin? Got a pic?" Well, yes, I'm doing just great and I do have a picture. I included it in my profile. Were you just so mesmerized by my words that you neglected to see it? I hope so.
Speaking of my picture... Yes, I'm well aware that my chest isn't small. No, I will not show my breasts to you on the first date. That requires more alcohol than you can afford on your meager Starbucks paycheck, buddy.
If I ask that you be between the ages of 30 and 42, then that means your birthdate should fall between 1976 and 1964 ... I'm willing to stretch a few months, but a few years or decades? No dice.
When I ask for a picture, I don't mean one of your penis. I've seen plenty of those... and by plenty I mean way more than I'd like to (sent to me by a plethora of generous dudes responding to past profile editions). My gay male friends thank you... my sex drive does not, though. I want to see your face... particularly your eyes. Some of you guys happen to have very nice washboard abs, but your eyes give me that whole "creepy serial killer" or "crazy cokehead" vibe. And quite frankly, I don't dig that.
Don't send me a well-angled shot that uses light, shadows and Photoshop to rid you of that triple chin and the huge mole that it would take a few weeks of exercise and paying a plastic surgeon a whole $150 to permenantly remove (rather than just a few clicks of a mouse to hide it until I meet you).
Tell me about you. No, I don't want to know about the generic "you" that you think you need to be. I want to know more about YOU. None of that bullshit about you being "funny, confident, smart and cute" and don't tell me that you "like to party" and "hang" with your "homies"... I don't give a fuck. If there's no substance to your personality and you don't do anything worthwhile in your spare time other than drinking your brain cells into oblivion, don't bother writing to me. I can go to a bar and get hit on by those types of guys (and they'd actually ply me with alcohol to get me to believe their bullshit... all you're doing is spending two minutes typing an email!).
Which brings me to my next point... just emailing me with your phone number and a cute pickup line? Please don't bother. Again, I can go to a bar and get that. Don't waste our time.
If I ask that you be taller than me and I tell you that I'm 5'6"? This means that you should be 5'7" or taller. Not 5'5" or 5'6"... 5'7" or above. Remember when you were 9 and your older brother used to fight with you over who was taller and there was only a 0.5" discrepancy? That half of an inch doesn't cut it as adults, kiddo.
If I ask that you have a lot in common with me, this does NOT mean that you:
- think Aqua Teen Hunger Force is hilarious (but only when you're stoned)
- think Boondock Saints was great (but only because there were lots of gunfights)
- think one of your friends might have a Nine Inch Nails CD somewhere
- went camping once when you were ten
- know how to use a computer
It means that you:
- enjoy watching the same types of movies/television I do
- listen to the same types of music that I do
- enjoy doing the same sorts of things I do
- are geeky/nerdy (you had an iPod before everyone else in your office and you know how to reformat your hard drive)
When I ask that you have a job, it means that you are paid enough to not be way over your head in debt. I don't want to pay for your Social Distortion ticket or for our last-minute trip to Vegas next weekend. I'm more than happy to pick up MY half of the expenses and even treat you to a lapdance at the stripclub now and then, but constantly covering your broke ass? Not even going to happen, so don't even think about it.
When I ask that you live on your own, I mean that you:
- don't live with your parents
- don't share a three bedroom house with four of your buddies and one of their girlfriends
- don't live with your ex (because it's convenient)
- don't share an open loft with your best friend from college
I do drink. I like drinking. I don't like blacking out in strange places. I also don't like crashing my car into a wall or getting a DUI on my record. So, when I thank you for the offer of a beer but order a water, because I'm driving home? Don't get upset.
When I say no drugs, I mean NO drugS. This includes marijuana. Why? Well, let's put it this way...
Say things work out between the two of us and we end up in a relationship. I spend the night over your house one night. Your house smells like weed because you smoke it in the living room and your bedroom.
I end up smelling like pot because I was sitting on your couch playing X-Box with you and then I slept in your bed with you.
How does this work? marijuana smoke seeps into fibers and hair. My backpack, with my clothes for work the next day, was sitting in your living room that consistently reeks of smoke from your bong and/or pipe. My hair? It's really long and with the complexities of hair... yeah well, you ever smell your hair after you've been around a potsmoker? Not a pleasant smell (unless you like that skanky weed smell, that is).
Because of my decision to spend the night at your house and because washing my hair takes forever (so, I don't do it at other people's houses unless I absolutely HAVE to) I'm stuck walking into the office, where I work at my awesome job, smelling like marijuana. I get weird shifty looks from management. I don't like weird shifty looks from management. Why? BECAUSE I HAVE AN AWESOME JOB.
I'd like to keep my awesome job. So... I don't hang out with potheads.
As far as prescription medications go... if you're on prozac or lithium or valium or xanax... you don't need to talk to me... you need to talk to your therapist.
If I ask that you not have kids and/or psycho ex-girlfriends, I mean it. No stalkers, no drama, no rugrats, no further explanation needed.
When I say that I'm not skinny, this does not mean that I am fat. Quite the contrary! It just means that I do not live up to the heroin-chic standards that most males in Los Angeles have placed upon the females in Los Angeles. I like to cook, I don't give a fuck about the caloric content about the food going into my mouth and I do not go to a gym obsessively. I have better things to worry about and more interesting ways to spend my time. I am quite active and enjoy being outdoors, but I am not going to waste my spare time running in place like a hamster on a wheel, thankyouverymuch!
Please use spell check if you don't know how to spell simple words (or better yet, just don't email me... I like guys with an IQ higher than their shoe size and that actually managed to graduate high school). And for the love of my eyesight... please don't make use of caps lock. We're not in a bar, so there's no need to shout.
These are just a few suggestions to make our lives much simpler and more fluid. I'm not asking much... just for you to learn to read above a third grade level and be able to follow instructions, that's all!
4/5/2006 2:02 pm
I absolutely LOOOOOVE your blog!! I now feel better knowing I'm not the only one getting emails from idiots. I can't believe we have to give instructions to grown men. Check out the updates in my profile. I wrote them for the same reason as yours.|
4/5/2006 3:55 pm
I was reading asphixiateme's blog and saw a reference to yours (courtesy of femalesquirter); I enjoy your frank, funny style. It's fun reading so I'll keep on going. This should be required reading for anyone registering on this site. Still wouldn't work probably, some people really embrace their roles as assholes. Thanks for a good read. And thanks for the heads-up, squirter.|