I can’t put this in the dating files, because I didn’t actually date anyone.  After one month of having a seriously well written, honest profile in place with good, current pictures, I am more convinced than ever I’ve lost most of my faith in humanity.  My subscription is up, and I’m working to gather my thoughts to best describe the experience.  I’ll give you the ‘communication highlights’ and maybe follow this up with some in depth discussion regarding the more bat shit crazy, grown ass men I found in the expansive sea of nope online. 

First off, I have about 90 unread chat requests in my account and probably half of them contain nothing more than the text ‘wink wink’.  How the fuck is a girl supposed to respond to ‘wink wink’?  My gut says, ‘nudge nudge, your ex-wife, was she a goer?  Eh? Know what I mean?’  I’ll send a big, heartfelt thank you Eric Idle for ruining my ability to take this seriously.  I laughed at every one of these. 

Even better was the two letter special, ‘GM’.  This translates to, ‘I’m sending chat requests to every girl in a fifty mile radius of my home who doesn’t have a third eye on her forehead or excessive, unbleached facial hair’.  I mean, don’t strain yourself typing.  I got so exhausted reading this I don’t even have the energy to type a reply. 

Most of the chat requests, minus a few, are from people I am either not attracted to (60 is out of my age range, sorry, I’d give you a coronary), live over thirty miles away (who’s got time for that?), or didn’t make even a scant attempt to fill out the profile (if you are lazy about this, you are probably lazy about everything).  Here’s to you, one blurry picture from a bad angle guy, you will be single forever.  And I’ll probably be right there with you. 

I did choose to text offline with four people that I had exchanged chat messages with.  One requested we communicate offline after an hour and a half of chatting, texted me right away so I had his number, and dropped off the face of the earth. A city boy, but I absolutely would have met him if it had gone that far.  *sigh, only because this one is smart, Vin Diesel hot, knows all the great Monty Python skits and likes to dance* Good night, Irene. 

One proceeded to start sending me ‘gm beautiful’, ‘ga beautiful’, ‘gn beautiful’ texts every day until he forced me to ghost him.  How does one find the time to type out the word beautiful, you ask?  They abbreviate the rest of the statement.  *sigh*

The third sent me a weird text one evening a week or so into communicating and when I asked for clarification, he mentioned he had eaten some mushrooms.  By the texts, I’m guessing they were not morels.  I told him to beware of the dragon in his kitchen and stopped getting in touch. 

The last just hit me up 8:30 last night and expected I’d be available to go out.  And by go out, I really think he thought I’d invite him to my home for a campfire.  Um, no fucking way strange guy, the digits are one thing, the address is Nope Ass Acres. 

The one thing I hate the most about dating is it’s always extremes, always all or nothing.  They want to talk/be together constantly or you never see/hear from them.  Find someone who appreciates some middle ground and the timing will be bad.  Every. Damn. Time. 

I’ve laughed and I’ve cried; I do both often anyway.  I would like to thank the few crazy bastards I chose to talk to; you’ve left me quite sure I do know a good thing when I see it and I can’t just go out with anyone who might be interested, even if I’m attracted to them.  Of course, I already knew this, but recent events in my social life left me questioning my own motives.  The heart wants what it wants, and sometimes you can’t stop the fall, no matter how well balanced you are.  Clearly, my heart remains just as fickle as ever.  *wipes forehead, sighs with relief*

I’d also like to thank the last guy I dated, if we can even call it that.  Our timing sucked, but you are a great man, the kind of great man I’ll wait another three years for.   

And I’m quite sure it could take that long.  I’m left here without much of a fuck to give about that. 

Nopes with Nope, because running with scissors could get a prospective online suitor ‘accidentally’ stabbed. 

More ‘viewed me’, as promised.  Guys want a girl that’s hard to get.  I think I finally screamed past impossible.  This is now a social experiment.  Stay tuned, in case I do something useful with it.

Ieatassto – That’s right you read that correctly.  And yes, he probably kisses his momma with that mouth.  And, nope.  I won’t be having late night cereal tonight.

MyLastRide – is he looking for the Thelma to his Louise, or does he want to just hump the next girl over a cliff?  Nope and nope.

Tosexyformytown – well, you’re probably TOO sexy for mine. There is TOO much nope around here.  Sidebar: this one emailed me; it read ‘I bet yr challenging’.  If Nope had a face, it would be Xena, Warrior Princess.

Rustylova – Tempting, but nope.  And now I am listening to some Shaggy…Rustylova, Rustylova….oooh boy, nope, nope, nope.

Sporlover – Do you need a flu shot to meet this guy?  Seriously, I know you probably meant sports, but SportsloverImnotcarryinganydeadlypathogens would have been a better choice.  Nope.

Whippet – Does he like svelte dogs or does he whip it good?   Nope. And nope.  And I’m listening to Devo.

TonytheTiger – He’s Nooooope!!!!  And I’m ready for some cereal after all.

Dominate911 – W. T. F. ?   I’m not even looking.  Nope.  Update:  Screen name changed to Fudge Packer, because that’s less threatening.  Pack some nope in your ass.

AwfullyHappy – this wouldn’t normally make my list, but he looks like someone is wrenching his balls in his picture.  He’s got Resting Nope Face.

StrongHands69 – Seriously?  I have some wood that needs to be cut.  And where exactly is your other strong hand in your profile pic?  Nope, don’t tell me.

Picture Book – What kind of pictures?  Are the girls alive in them?  Nope.

Loverman77 – How fucking old are we?   And I’m listening to Shaggy again…

Twisted Cloud – Is he on mushrooms?   Is he a nutjob that likes to pillow fight?  Nope, we will never know.

Peepkang – If you arrange to meet him and can’t find him, he’ll be in the bushes taking pictures of you.  Lots of them.  Just say, nope.

LoveProvider – The cellular customer you’re trying to reach cannot be located.  Please scrap any idea of trying again later.

Rightfit4me – What are we, shoes?  I have a mental image of someone sliding their foot into a vagina.  I probably shouldn’t pick on this guy, but they are already verifying photos, next it will be the size of your nope.   But that’s a whole different blog.

Pickle67 – Yes, a nope pickle.  And we all know you were hoping for Pickle69, but it was taken.

AND TONIGHT’S WINNER….drum roll, please…

screenname  – Excellent.

These screen names are taken from a legitimate, popular, vanilla online dating site, not one of the many designated ‘adult’ sites out there.

Runs With Nope

I needed a distraction, so I joined an online dating site.  *sigh*

While I don’t enjoy trying to meet people with a few pictures and 2500 words or less, I am starting to find some humor in it.  Take screen names for example, a relatively simple thing.  You pick a name, add some numbers if it’s taken or pick something else.  I picked a variation of an old nickname and have been accused by one profile viewer of intentionally posing as a Native American to make myself seem more exotic.  That’s been keeping me up at night, sooo I started making some notes of my first impressions of the screen names chosen by the single, forty something males who have viewed my profile.  Good times.

Trust Me – Nope, no chance of that now. The skeletons in your closet are all the same age range, height and weight.  Their hair was probably the same color as mine.  You probably still wear their shoes.  I’m going to say…nope.

321Kaboom – Is he going to want my address so he can send me a package?    I’m afraid to look…*stands behind a wall of nope.*

SugarBear – seriously, WTF? I. Just. Can’t.  But I do want a bowl of Super Sugar Crisp now.  All I have is nope.

MerrilyFriendly – merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, WTF?, nope.

SecretlyEnergetic – It’s not a secret anymore…it’s marathon of nope.

SmoothDancer – Anyone else singing Smooth Operator in their head?  Nope.

FordCars – SALESMAN.  Nope.

PastModel –  I’m singing Smooth Operator in my head again.    I HAD to look at this one.  He reminded me just a bit of a clean cut Robert Plant, and now I’m singing Whole Lotta Nope.

THEGOOD1SRFARAWAY – stop screaming and get trucking.  There is too much nope between us.

Swamp Tromper – what does one wear to an evening of tromping in a swamp?  They wear nope.

TotallyBrave – like, totally, man.  I’m going out brave you, so, nope.

OnePlusOneEqualsOne – does any smart girl want to date a guy that sucks at math?  Nope.

Imadork –  I need wine.  And some nope and crackers.

Realman4u – Is he real, or is he Memorex?  Or is he Nope?

SeriousOnlyApply – fill out this application and have seat in the lobby.  Who’s got time to be serious?  Nope.

Ohnonotyouagain – well, nope, sure isn’t.

LoveIndependents – someone is sick of paying for dates or he’s being political or he can’t spell, either way, nope.

WickedRomantic59 – Wicked big pile of nope.

energizer –  I can’t look at his picture without imagining him in a bunny suit.  And now I am thinking about Easter.  I want chocolate.  Nope.

CrazyCuddly – so, you’ll be snuggling my corpse?  Cuddle up to some warm, inviting nope.

MA THE MEATLOAF – alright, I laugh every time this guy turns up in my ‘viewed me’ list.  Cheers to you for screaming when it’s appropriate and having a sense of humor.

Runs With Scissors

Forming intimate relationships is a process fraught with peril.  We tend to put forth the best version of ourselves and we tend to see the best version of those we engage through ever hopeful glasses of idealism.  Finding the ‘good stuff’ in someone else is the ultimate adult Easter egg hunt.  If you are still in the game, I applaud you for sticking it out.  It’s a long haul for some, for other’s not so much.  Everyone’s ‘good stuff’ is different and specific, the elusive unicorn, so it’s hard not to high five ourselves and everyone around us when we think we see even a trace of it someone whose looking our way. 

It’s not surprising when we consider a partner we emphasize all the things we have in common.  The longer the list, the safer we feel.  Dating websites gather statistics to match people based on their commonalities.  What about the funny uncle lingering in the background?  What if we wised up and asked the hard question on a first date? What if everyone you met for coffee brought along their crazy?   

Would the algorithm for compatibility yield more accurate results if it factored in what makes us issue a warm welcome to the clowns in our closets?  Would second dates hold more substance if we anted up our lack of a royal flush on the first?  Well, maybe, maybe not.  I don’t know shit; I’m not sure why you’re even reading this.

I recently told someone all women are crazy, it just manifests in individual ways, some good some bad.  I believe it to be true, but I also believe all men are just as crazy. Women get a bad wrap in the dating arena; we are the more emotional sex.  Men aren’t fighting their bodies most of their lives, struggling to calm the WTF that washes over us when life gets stressful at the same time the estrogen tsunami lays waste to our shoreline.  But we all have some crazy clowns in our closets.  How you rate the crazy of another depends on the freak hiding in your own shadow. *cue circus music* 

Maybe you lose your shit when you’re stuck in traffic or perhaps you lack tolerance for others of a different religious persuasion, or maybe you just break down and simply cannot handle when there isn’t enough half and half for your second cup of coffee.  I mean, who wants coffee with no half and half?  I’ll bring down the house, find the damn car keys and roll to the grocery store in my pajamas for half and half if I’m shy of my standard three cups of properly lightened extra dark roast.  Coffee should kick you in the throat, with a creamy smile. Crazy, right? 

So why do we roll through life attempting to partner up for the long haul without throwing our crazy cards on the table?  Do we believe we are perfectly delightful to live with and roll through life blissfully unaware of our inner nutjob?  Does anyone around us ever call ‘clown’ when they get a peek at our freak? 

We don’t ask about each other’s crazy and most of us don’t acknowledge our own.  We want to know our potential partner’s favorite color and how they take their coffee.  We both love kayaking, what could go wrong?  Even if we go deeper, comparing lifestyles and future desires, we never want to look at what’s behind the curtain.  The clowns don’t march out of the closet until the circus music starts to play and when you hear singing, it’s the relationship fat lady.  *cue circus music again*

Maybe the idea isn’t to find the right partner.  There is no ‘right’ partner unless you are referring to which hand they use to guide a pen.  Maybe the idea is to find the partner that’s wrong in the right ways.  We can find something in common with just about anyone, but how often do we find the Bozo to our Bongo?  When the attraction is there, all we want to see is the highlight of the Big Show.  Look past the lights of the big top, there’s a clown waiting in the wings.  Whether it’s a Pennywise or a Bozo, it’s best to know before buying a season ticket to the circus.  It would suck if the last date you go on ends up wearing your skin like a jacket.   

In my family, we keep our crazy on display, and we don’t even charge admission.  If you know me, you’ve already met it. 

RunsWithScissors…trips all the damn time and has the scars to prove it

No one ever mentioned it

No one ever said

If you want to do it on your own

You’re fucked in the head

Most days it’s almost easy

Most days I’m not concerned

Then comes snowmaggedon

Boy do I get learned

The cold white suck of winter

Blowing at my door

Mother Nature piling up

She’s a dirty whore

Drifting all around the acres

One foot, two feet, three feet, four

And the weatherman without delay

Reminds us there is more

Every time it happens

I feel smarter than the last

Why is it so easy

To glorify the past?

I’ll limp to the liquor cabinet

I’ll have a nice strong drink

I’ll question all my choices

I’m standing on the brink

Opening gates and running away

Seems like the thing to do

But I’m not going anywhere

Until the plows come through

So I’ll keep on going

And know this too shall pass

I’m tougher than some boy band snow storm

I am Team Sweet Ass

My heart goes out to Paris today.

I see a lot of love and support on social media.  I also see finger pointing and blaming; the politicos scrambling to identify their angles and the people condemning them on both sides from both sides for different reasons.  Some people are crying foul in defense of the refugees radical extremists are using to cloak themselves from law enforcement and others are suggesting we abandon the lot to protect ourselves and our borders.

Radical extremists entering peaceful countries disguised as refugees seeking asylum pose a serious threat to the safety of ours and so many other countries.  The answer does not lie in complete exclusion, nor does it rest in overall acceptance.  There is some middle ground, some serious of solutions to best our chances, but we will remain at risk.  Letting everyone in unchecked would be dangerous, excluding everyone would be inhumane.

The best solutions to difficult situations can rarely be found in extremes.  Even if you’re not religious, take a break from choosing a side and say a prayer for Paris today.  It could have been us.  Check your “all or nothing” at the door when you find yourself on the acres.  As for me, well…

My heart goes out to Paris today.

Perhaps my case is special, I live alone and I take care of ten acres mostly on my own and have a demanding work schedule.  I don’t go out very often, because I’m too damn tired when my day is done.  I spend too much time on social media when I break for the day or when I take a break during the day, because it’s an easy way to substitute the social interaction I’m missing while expending the absolute minimal amount of energy.  I don’t have to commit to anything.  I don’t have to shower.  I don’t need pants.  I’m aggravated because I don’t meet new people and it gets lonely here on the acres, but my tired, pantsless ass sits here night after night toggling between the daily crosswords and the news feed on Facebook.

A friend of mine rides a horse who loves to mess with my tack when we take a break.  He unzips my front bag and I finally caught him doing it on video.  The first thing I did was get on my smart phone and post it to FB.  I had a small party a few years ago, something funny happened, all five of us immediately posted it on FB.  I go out for drinks and someone tags the group at the bar.  I post a picture of my fucking drink.  I am a dumbass with a smart phone.  It’s crept into my actual social time.  I check FB during the rare times when I’m hanging out with other people.  Hi, my name is Alison and I have a problem.  I’m not alone either.

Ever like your own picture or status?  Ever post what you had for dinner?  Are there more than ten selfies in your timeline album less than three months old?  Do you read the feed more than once a day?  Have you ever posted something cryptic but vague enough someone has to give enough of a shit to ask what happened?  Maybe you’re the type to silently keep abreast of goings on without ever posting or commenting and revealing your online presence, a virtual stalker?  Or perhaps you are out there promoting yourself, others, a political agenda or sports enthusiasm with the fervor of a hungry jackal?  Maybe you even get pissed off when someone doesn’t acknowledge or comment when you feel they should have.  Have you lost a friend or lover because of your online behavior or their own?  You may have a problem too.  It may not be exactly the same problem I have, but it’s manifesting itself in the same online way.

Social media has a useful place in our changing world.  Sharing pictures and a laugh with people you may not even still be touch with otherwise, the virtual world provides an amazing opportunity to communicate and stay in touch in these busiest of times in our lives.  Information sharing is easier than ever, although I would remind everyone to check sources and check them again.  Misinformation drives like a drunk on the information super highway.  Social media is not an acceptable substitute for pants and real time interaction.  It’s not a substitute for the vet or doctor.  It has no place when we are face to face.

I am doing my best to abstain from reading the feed, posting the most, or picking up any of the other chronic social media habits evolving in this new, look at me online world.  If I miss your birthday or I don’t comment on something, please don’t take it personally.  Life is passing me by in half hour clips and I need to go find out what has changed in my world.  I’m not going to swear off all social media.  I’m just putting on some pants.  Things are changing and I want to be there in the flesh…with pants.  Because who would go out without pants?

Twenty something Alison may have, if FB been around then, making it part of my permanent, online record.  Educate your kids and check yourselves at the door to the application you favor the most.  Don’t let the online black hole replace what’s happening around you.  And for pity’s sake, wear some fucking pants.

The Management, Sweet Ass Acres

The tractor has a flat

The 4-wheeler just stalled

Call the rent a husband

They must be Johnny Halled

Always full of patience

He’s never kicked a tool

If you take your shit to the dealer

You’ll be April fooled

The McGyver of the farm world

He’ll find what he needs

So many of us would be lost

Sans his skilled repair deeds.

No rent a husband would there be

If Mary didn’t love us

He should be fixing her stuff

But she never makes a fuss

If I was religious

I’d liken them to saints

Even when it’s last minute

There’s nary a complaint

I’m sure they wish I’d find a man

But picky I remain

They get just anyone won’t do

Even though I am a pain

Great friends don’t grow on trees

Of this I am certain

The best of the best, I dare say

Won’t mind when you’re a burden

So Happy Birthday Johnny Hall

It’s almost time for haaaay

I could never thank you enough for your help

So have the very best day!

PS, The tractor really does have flat, so I’ll be callin…muwahahahaha.

If you are tempted to stop by, please abide the following until at least noon every day until Spring thaw is complete:

You will not get in my driveway without 4WD.  You will slide out.
There is no safe way to open the gate by the house, just hang on and slide around with it.  Park your vehicle on exposed gravel so it doesn’t follow you through.
Think of every plowed spot on the acres as a skating rink and adjust your gait accordingly. If it’s shiny, it’s not my fault you busted your ass.  If we are friends, you know better.
There are no safe entrances to the house or barn, enter at your own risk.  NO. SAFE. ENTRANCES.
If you go in barn and tell anyone what you saw, we are through.  The real kind of through.  The stalls are clean and dry, so fuck you.
If you get in the house safely, hold your comments on the dog hair, cat hair, horse shit, salt, wood chips and winter clothing strewn about.  I’m not cleaning up until it’s over now.  Don’t judge unless you want to take a shift.
The smell in the house?  Cigarettes, restless dogs and depression.  Don’t judge unless you want to take Watson for a hike in ten inches of snow through an untouched pasture.  It really sounds a lot nicer than it will be.

The Management,

Sweet Jesus When Will It End My Ass Can’t Take It Acres.