The Great Online Dating Debate: Week Three -- 3 More Revelations

It's starting to get a little tricky.
Publish date:
September 13, 2012
online dating,

I’m still hanging in there (but starting to lose a little steam). Here’s what I learned about myself as it relates to my life on last week:

1) I’m a winker. ;)

I’d never be so bold as to send a man an unsolicited message first, but I am quite comfortable utilizing the wink feature. I’ll admit it -- I'm a wink slut. I’ll wink, wink, wink, wink, and wink until I can't wink any more. Problem is, I wink first, then he returns the wink, and then there’s radio silence. Is he expecting me to write him a message because I winked first? I mean, should I go ahead and make the first (second?) move and message him? (The fact that I’m even discussing this just feels utterly idiotic.)

2) I Hate Phone Boning.

I’ve graduated again! I took three men off of the text-only list and spoke with them over the phone. (Baby steps!) This is good, right? Wrong. One stutters like his life depends on it. (Bless his heart -- I think we’d get on just fine if we could actually have a five-minute conversation in five minutes -- not 20.) Another asks me any and every thing he possibly can to drag the conversation out for as long as he possibly can. (Annoying!) The third guy actually seems really, really cool, only, I foolishly introduced him to the gloriousness that is this Honey Boo Boo Child video, and now he ends every -- EVERY -- sentence with "Honey Boo Boo Child!," complete with faux Southern, finger-snapping inflection. He’s like a fucking broken record and I can’t damn deal. He even asked me if I'll rub my tummy for him. (Piss the fuck off with that, my dude.)

I think I may go back to text only for a while -- actually speaking to these men makes me start to understand exactly why they’re still single. They’re all GREAT on digital paper, but with the sound of their voices comes the proverbial delivery of their baggage down the conveyor belt. I'm not sure I want to carry it.

3) I’m Going to Cross the Color Lines.

I’ve hooked up with a few White men before -- one even told me he had to get home to his wife (that I never even knew he had!) immediately after fornicating -- but I’ve never had a meaningful, loving relationship with a man of any other race than Black. I’m not at all opposed to it; the opportunity just hasn't presented itself. Yet. But that may be changing, because I’m continually inundated with messages from handsome, seemingly successful Caucasian men. I’ve decided that I’m going to start writing them back.

I think.

OML (remember him?) told me that I’m limiting myself in love by not giving White men a chance at all -- I should at least give a serious look at their profiles and consider meeting up for coffee…

But that’s the problem -- actually meeting up for coffee. Thing is, as you already know, I’m a certain type of Black girl. I'm no one's conservative in any way, shape, or form. I’m crazy curvy (size 8 waist and size 12 breasts and hips). I shave the right side of my head. I’m perpetually dressed in all black like the omen. I’ve perfected my screw face. And I have to visualize myself standing alongside each guy who messages me (it’s my thing -- don't you dare judge me and my crazy), and when I see myself doing this with the White men who have reached out, I actually start to imagine what others will think when they see us out together, too:

  • If he’s decked out in a dapper business suit, they’ll probably think he’s paid top dollar for me.
  • If he’s older and graying, they’ll probably think that he’s paid for me with his pension.
  • And if he’s young and hipster-ish, they’ll probably think he’s paid for me with marijuana.

I know I shouldn’t care what other people think, and it really isn’t about that. It’s more about the fact that I have to feel comfortable with whoever I date. For me, our looks have to be in sync. It's a deal breaker. With us being from different races, we already face such a major divide. If his personal style is more "farmer in the dell" or "adventurous and active mountain climber" and I’m all "serious NYC power bitch editor," -- I’m sorry, it’s just not going to happen.

But maybe it will. I have to get off of the bench and into the game, so I will be writing back to every man I think I’m compatible with, despite the way he looks -- final answer. Besides, they say opposites attract, and perhaps our story could be something like Rihanna’s; we too could find our love in a hopeless place.

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