I have taken the plunge, sort of. I signed up for a three-month subscription to eHarmony, the (mostly Christian) Web site for singles trying to find their soul mate.
I have plunked down $117 for the privilege of being matched according to my likes, dislikes, personality traits, distance, and so forth. So far, I've been matched with 10 prospects. Five of them have turned me down because of distance, dating outside eHarmony, or "other," which really annoys me.
I have tried eHarmony before, in 2004. I kept getting turned down by prospects for one reason or another. Frustrated, I quit after three months.
But I wasn't happy about my dating situation. So, I decided to at least give eHarmony a try.
I'm not a big fan of dating Web sites. I tried Match.com and met this one guy who lives in Oakland. He was a year or two younger than I and described himself as a self-employed entrepreneur who was selling his home in the North Natomas area of Sacramento to move to the Bay Area to meet more singles. We arranged to meet at the Barnes and Noble bookstore in the Jack London Square area of Oakland. (I was working in San Francisco at the time.)
He described himself as 5'7". When we met, I noticed I could see over his Jheri-curled head. I'm 5'5". This was not a good omen.
The back of his car was stuffed with all sorts of clothes and stuff, as if he were either moving or living out of his car. He wore a sweat suit and an undershirt. For our first meeting! For crying out loud!
We had coffee at the Starbucks inside the Barnes and Noble. He was looking to date me, but I said that I don't know where I would be in a year because (at the time) I was looking for another job. (It was true. I was looking for another job. I ended up working in Sacramento.) When I mentioned that I had a cat, he said, "A kee-at? If we're dating, we'll have to do something about that." Like what? Give Tuff-Punk away? I don't think so! That turned me off immediately.
Shortly after our meeting, I canceled my subscription with Match.com. I was so discouraged by the lack of choices.
As for my signing up with eHarmony, it's an experiment, nothing more. I'm still getting out and doing things, taking classes, and enjoying my hobbies. I just want to see what happens. I do not expect to hear Natalie Cole's "This Will Be" while I'm doing this. I'm just seeing what (or who) is out there.
Writing Diva
Friday, July 25, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Ich bin nicht ein Kuguar (I am NOT a cougar!)
This past Saturday I attended a New Life Church singles potluck hosted at the home of one of the church members. There were 15 people there, including four men and a 4-year-old boy. With lots of food, two rousing rounds of "Guesstures," (a game based on "Charades" using word cards) and a long walk, I had a very good time.
Early in the evening, we discussed older women dating younger men. One of the women there said she knew a man 15 years her junior who is interested in her. (The topic resonated with me because I have a flirtation with a male work colleague who is 17 years my junior.) Then we discussed the term "cougar" -- not the mountain lion, but a single women who dates younger men. I asked, "Why are older women who date younger men called 'cougars'?"
One of the men at the potluck made the gesture of a puma about to pounce.
"But I didn't ask him out, he asked me out," the woman I spoke to protested.
Some of us females there didn't like the term. According to a July 14, 2008, article in the Contra Costa Times, the term, which germinated in the bars of Vancouver, B.C. in 2001, originally referred to a woman in her early 40s pursuing a man in his late 20s, but has come to define any women in a romance with a younger man. And, by definition, cougars are stalk-and-ambush predators.
Why is it that older women dating younger men are called cougars, but older men dating younger women aren't? After all, aren't the older men the ones who ask out the women?
So what are the older men called? "Dirty old men"? "Coots"? "Lechers"?
I think such derogatory labels should be abolished. As long as we're two single adults who like each other and want to get to know each other (Note that I wrote adults.), why should we have labels? OK, maybe one label -- happy.
Writing Diva
Early in the evening, we discussed older women dating younger men. One of the women there said she knew a man 15 years her junior who is interested in her. (The topic resonated with me because I have a flirtation with a male work colleague who is 17 years my junior.) Then we discussed the term "cougar" -- not the mountain lion, but a single women who dates younger men. I asked, "Why are older women who date younger men called 'cougars'?"
One of the men at the potluck made the gesture of a puma about to pounce.
"But I didn't ask him out, he asked me out," the woman I spoke to protested.
Some of us females there didn't like the term. According to a July 14, 2008, article in the Contra Costa Times, the term, which germinated in the bars of Vancouver, B.C. in 2001, originally referred to a woman in her early 40s pursuing a man in his late 20s, but has come to define any women in a romance with a younger man. And, by definition, cougars are stalk-and-ambush predators.
Why is it that older women dating younger men are called cougars, but older men dating younger women aren't? After all, aren't the older men the ones who ask out the women?
So what are the older men called? "Dirty old men"? "Coots"? "Lechers"?
I think such derogatory labels should be abolished. As long as we're two single adults who like each other and want to get to know each other (Note that I wrote adults.), why should we have labels? OK, maybe one label -- happy.
Writing Diva
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Because...it's my money
"...with my mind on my money and my money on my mind."
-- Cordozar Calvin Broadus Jr. (A.K.A. Snoop Dogg)
There are few things I will discuss with people outside of family and close friends. One of those things I'm reluctant to bring up is my money. I've made many mistakes regarding my handling of money, for which I'm still paying. (Talk about irony!) With soaring gasoline and food prices, I'm having to cut some things out of my household budget. I've just canceled my subscriptions to the San Francisco Chronicle and Newsweek. The Chronicle wants $78 for 26 weeks. BAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!
I haven't gone to lunch with my coworkers in recent months because the costs add up -- $5 here, $10 there, $15 in other places. That's money that could go a long way at WinCo Foods, especially with coupons. It's not that I dislike my coworkers. But these days I need every dollar I can get my hands on. I may even have to take a second job in the coming months.
On Thursday, I made the mistake of joining my coworkers for lunch at Vallejo's. Actually, I didn't order lunch, per se. I ordered a lemon-lime soft drink, nothing more. One coworker asked if I was fasting. "No," I replied, tersely. My supervisor asked if I was hungry. I said I had my lunch back at the office. Then the coworker asked if the union had negotiated a cost-of-living raise. (Considering we're represented by the same unit, she could go ask an SEIU Local 1000 representative that question.) Eventually, I became uncomfortable and was about to pay for my drink and return to work. My supervisor said to keep my money since she was paying for lunch.
"You're a cheap date," she said, perhaps half-jokingly.
"Ah, but not easy," I half-jokingly retorted.
I was pretty grumpy on the walk back to the office. How I spend my money is not their business. I don't ask them how they allocate their finances. Lunches like these are under my "entertainment" budget, which has been spent for the month. If they want my company, it shouldn't matter to them whether I eat or drink or just plain hang out.
Maybe I'm calling too much attention to myself. From now on, I'll eat my bag lunch quietly and disappear when they do future group lunches.
Later that day, my frugality (or cheapness, however one wishes to call it) was justified when my air conditioner went out. I'm taking Monday off to get the thing fixed. One-hundred-degree days are coming this week, and I refuse to swelter in my home.
As Bill Cosby said in a commercial for the now-defunct E.F. Hutton: "Because...it's my money."
Writing Diva
-- Cordozar Calvin Broadus Jr. (A.K.A. Snoop Dogg)
There are few things I will discuss with people outside of family and close friends. One of those things I'm reluctant to bring up is my money. I've made many mistakes regarding my handling of money, for which I'm still paying. (Talk about irony!) With soaring gasoline and food prices, I'm having to cut some things out of my household budget. I've just canceled my subscriptions to the San Francisco Chronicle and Newsweek. The Chronicle wants $78 for 26 weeks. BAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!
I haven't gone to lunch with my coworkers in recent months because the costs add up -- $5 here, $10 there, $15 in other places. That's money that could go a long way at WinCo Foods, especially with coupons. It's not that I dislike my coworkers. But these days I need every dollar I can get my hands on. I may even have to take a second job in the coming months.
On Thursday, I made the mistake of joining my coworkers for lunch at Vallejo's. Actually, I didn't order lunch, per se. I ordered a lemon-lime soft drink, nothing more. One coworker asked if I was fasting. "No," I replied, tersely. My supervisor asked if I was hungry. I said I had my lunch back at the office. Then the coworker asked if the union had negotiated a cost-of-living raise. (Considering we're represented by the same unit, she could go ask an SEIU Local 1000 representative that question.) Eventually, I became uncomfortable and was about to pay for my drink and return to work. My supervisor said to keep my money since she was paying for lunch.
"You're a cheap date," she said, perhaps half-jokingly.
"Ah, but not easy," I half-jokingly retorted.
I was pretty grumpy on the walk back to the office. How I spend my money is not their business. I don't ask them how they allocate their finances. Lunches like these are under my "entertainment" budget, which has been spent for the month. If they want my company, it shouldn't matter to them whether I eat or drink or just plain hang out.
Maybe I'm calling too much attention to myself. From now on, I'll eat my bag lunch quietly and disappear when they do future group lunches.
Later that day, my frugality (or cheapness, however one wishes to call it) was justified when my air conditioner went out. I'm taking Monday off to get the thing fixed. One-hundred-degree days are coming this week, and I refuse to swelter in my home.
As Bill Cosby said in a commercial for the now-defunct E.F. Hutton: "Because...it's my money."
Writing Diva
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