Remember the guy who thought my name was Douche?
Well, for him and those like him… here is Lori’s List of Tips For Not Actively Being a Dick on Dating Sites. For Men.
Don’t tell me you’ve ‘just had dinner and feel like such a fat sh*t’. Believe it or not, that’s a turn off.
Don’t tell me you hate kids. Because I..ummm… kind of have two of them. And we’re a package deal. You may as well tell me you hate my nose or my bum or something.
Try not to mention nudity or boobs in the first ten minutes. I’m not sure why, but this seems to be a very difficult one for blokes to get. It’s not rocket science. Please don’t discuss my boobies before you actually see them.
Don’t waste my time. I spend enough time chatting to people online… I don’t want to swap 100 emails before we swap numbers. I’m too old for that crap.
And on that note, actually asking me out would be good. How about a direct “Want to go out for dinner?” rather than “So, what are you up to this weekend? Wanna hang out?”
Treat me like a lady. Further to the last point, I’m a chick. And I may be a geek, but I’m kind of old fashioned. I don’t make the plans. You do.
Those plans should never include inviting yourself to my house. Seriously. You may have had the best of intentions, but think about it. I don’t know you. I have small children. I am not giving you my address.
Learn to spell. And use basic grammar. Or at least try. Or find someone else to bother. It’s not you, it’s me.
You do not look like a car, a dog, or a boat. So please don’t include those things in the ‘Images’ section. Like wise for photos of you with your ex (the one who looks like a stripper), you smoking a bong, you in a wig, you in drag, or a photo that may be of you but I can’t tell because there are 15 other blokes in it.
Don’t drunk dial. This should be obvious. It’s not. I don’t want to spend half an hour in the phone to a pissed person. If I wanted that, I could call her Woogness on a Saturday.
Practice the art of conversation. The way it’s supposed to work is… I ask you a question. You answer, and ask me one back. And so it goes. This makes a conversation. Me asking you a question, you answering, me asking you another question… that’s an interview.
Get a job, move out of home, buy a car. You are thirty five. Seriously.
Be honest. But only once you’ve completed the point just above this one.
Watch that auto correct. My profile clearly states ‘widow’. I’ve lost count of the amount of messages I’ve got that read like this…
‘How is your mourning going?’ is even better. I’m always tempted to reply “Well, thank you, but he’s not yet been dead a year, so I’m working on it.”
I think that shows I have a sense of humor. Or something.
Can you tell it’s not going well…? That dumb, happy optimism keeps me hanging in there.