Match(less) Game...

 Author's Note: Apologies for not having posted much recently. There are a variety of reasons for such, prime among them having run afoul of Google's newest (and most-pernicious) algos that have been flagging posts retroactively as "in violation of community standards", a situation in which a) no one, even Google, can specify exactly what standard we're talking about, and b) why something that wasn't a violation five years ago suddenly became one now. In addition, work has been a bear -- I'm now working night shifts -- and massively chaotic. Post about that to follow. In the meantime, check this out.

P.S. I'm definitely going to stop doing this sometime soon, and switch back to podcasting, which I rather enjoyed. Stay tuned.

It had to happen, eventually.

The day would come when the loss of Mrs. Overlord would have me seeking a replacement, and that time has been "recently".

I know that I will never find someone exactly like her, and I did not set out upon this task with that idea in mind; I understand that what comes now in life will be different and that different is both quite alright and will also require some compromise on my part. Thirty-seven years of being emotionally attached to the same person is something of an obstacle when it comes to dating, especially at my age (56), and I understand all-too-clearly that my days of bagging the unicorn -- the nubile, young nymphomaniac who owns a chain of liquor stores -- is not realistic.

Besides, that sort is not even on my radar; what I require these days is someone who first and foremost makes a good companion before anything else.

Something of a joke over the years between the late Mrs. Overlord and myself was the conversation that sort of went this way::

There will never be anyone like me in your life ever again. You will never love anyone like you loved me, and you know it. I can't ever be replaced.

Angel, after you, why would I want another woman ever again?

She very often missed the sarcasm in that response. Primarily because she knew that she was right.

But there are other circumstances at work here that need to be addressed.

I'm in a new city and state (both of which just barely qualify as 'civilization', if you ask me); I don't have any friends here; I have scads of free time on my hands with a three-day work week, and I can't spend it all hanging around bars or sleeping. Some company would be welcome, and something to do in my spare time would be a pleasant distraction (there is an absolute dearth of leisure activity that I find attractive/interesting in these parts for anyone who doesn't play golf, hunt or fish, or attend church).

Truth to tell, The Overlord is starting to feel really lonesome. In the past, this would have been something of a Godsend to me, as I regard most people as one would fleas, but maybe its age or maturity or something I haven't identified yet, apparently there is a need for company, after all.

So, what does one do when one is seeking out companionship in a strange landscape of inbred family trees and tractor pulls?

Well, your first stop would be the local watering holes. These are rather few and far between and the differences between one and any other are stark; each caters to a particular clientele, and finding a place you actually like to go to is difficult. If you find one where you do feel sort-of comfortable (say, anyplace where the predominant types aren't wearing an oil-stained John Deere hat or Daisy Dukes leaking cellulite and bad tattoos and where people have their own teeth or at least could afford bridgework) you quickly discover that the sorts of people who hang in them aren't exactly your kind of people (dammit, I'm picky!).

If, by chance, you do manage to find an attractive woman of the right age and agreeable enough in these charnel pits, it doesn't take very long before you hear The Magic Words...

"Muh Husband"

This has happened to me twice. When you ask why is it that hubby let her loose to spend the night cavorting in the local taverns, you usually get an answer along the lines of "he went huntin'/fishin'", "he's home watchin' the game/race", or discover that hubby is working on some form of mechanical conveyance (pickup or tractor) and too engrossed in the project to accompany her.

Major buzzkill. And while I'm fairly certain at least one of those ladies might have obliged me carnally, I'm a firm believer that there are certain moral and ethical standards one dare not circumvent, especially in a region where the majority of the population is armed.

And so it is that you find yourself scanning the digitized meat markets that are euphemistically referred to as "Internet Dating Sites". 

Think of it as "Amazon-Past-Your-Prime".

For those who have never partaken of this modern convenience, this is where legions of self-proclaimed very-eligible people are posting pictures and snippets about themselves in which everyone is always 'pretty, fun-loving, athletic, educated, adventurous, intellectual, well-traveled, considerate, agreeable, and seeking a 'soul mate'', and yet all of these examples of the Ultimate Companion are here, advertising themselves online as if they were a used car or second-hand furniture.

If you are that good, why hasn't someone scooped you up?

If one wasn't already aware that at least 75% of what people say about themselves is unadulterated bullshit, the actual first meeting very quickly confirms that it was, indeed, bovine fecal matter.

Now, about what The Overlord is seeking out: a woman of about my age (say, mid-40's to 60), who is simply pleasant, well-adjusted, has some attractive feature that intrigues me, and who isn't a complete pain in the ass or simply flogging her wares in the digital bazar looking to fill the empty spaces in her life by having complete strangers merely fill the empty holes in her body.

And this is where the 'Internet Dating Sites' fall short, in my opinion.

To start with, no one is particularly HONEST about who (sometimes even WHAT) they are. You will quickly discover that the ladies in my age range have a tendency to distort the truth about themselves.

It goes beyond mere exaggeration and borders on 'delusional self-vision'.

There is almost a requirement that all profile pictures be taken at an acute angle, so that you hardly, if ever, get a straight-on shot of someone's face, so as to prevent you from immediately discovering that something is sagging, wrinkled, or perhaps indicative of enjoying (lots of) one's meals and perhaps someone else's, too.

Red Flag #1.

Second, comes the fucking 'Duck Lips', something the younger set feels compelled to do all the time (did someone tell you this was 'sexy' or even mildly attractive?) which gets me to thinking that those who photograph themselves in this manner have a serious issue with maturity. I don't like women who either inject crap into their lips (or any other part of their body) or purse them in a still photo in an effort that makes them look as if they had a plunger embedded in the middle of their face.

Whatever happened to the simple smile?

Red Flag #2.

Third, why is it that when someone posts multiple photos -- all taken at severe angles or distances, natch, few, if any, showing anything below the collarbones, many obviously older and doctored crudely -- fully two thirds of them will show the subject wearing sunglasses? Why are you presenting yourself like the Unabomber? What are you hiding? Besides your crow's feet?

I understand Crow's Feet. I could even deal with them. It happens with age. Give the rest of yourself a chance!

Red Flag #3.

Then comes the 'Personal Information'; which makes you go Hmmmm.

Apparently, when asked to describe 'Body Type', Match, etc., does not have an option beyond 'Curvy', which is to say, there is no way to effectively communicate 'I'm morbidly obese' or 'won first prize at the County Fair', or "have my own gravitational field'.

On the other end of the spectrum, 'Athletic' or 'Slender' pull double duty as a codeword for 'Anorexic', 'Severely Unhealthy', or 'Totally Bony'.

Now, The Overlord is not exactly svelte and his own Adonis-like days are far in the rearview, but still, I'm going to find out, eventually, and so what, exactly, is the purpose of hiding this vital piece of information -- i.e. I'm rather large, excuse me, massively rotund, or so unnaturally thin as to almost disappear if I turn sideways?

I've already walked out on two 'dates' where someone who looked somewhat interesting to me turned out to be something men used to throw harpoons at, and I feel fully justified in doing so: if our first encounter is something that was contrived in a spirit of deceit, you're already giving me bad vibes.

What else have you lied about?

There is also, usually, a section on these sites where people speak of their relationship status. Something I have noticed is that a goodly number (perhaps even a majority) of the women in my preferred age range report their status as 'divorced' (but not how many times), 'separated' or 'never married' (and a surprising number of these have children, who might still be living at home. If I had wanted children, I would have had some -- I don't want someone else's headache, thanks).

Very few report being widowed.

I wonder if this indicative of some more-profound social truth/problem, or simply more obfuscation.

As it is, the (literal) handful of 'dates' I have been on have produced the following results:

1. A woman who looked perfectly fine, so long as she was seated with a heavy table between us, only to stand and reveal a hindquarters that would not be out of place on a head of Angus beef or a Clydesdale draft horse.

2. A woman so overweight that her belly entered the restaurant 30 seconds before the rest of her did.

3. A divorcee who made it easily discernable as to exactly why she was in that condition.

4. A woman who obviously used photographic tricks to deceive others about her true physical condition and/or looks, and possibly, her true age.

5. Someone with such disgusting personal habits (picking your teeth at the dinner table? Really? No, it isn't okay to dig in your nostrils, even with a tissue which you then leave crumpled up on the table next to your plate) that it put me off my meal.

And, honestly, it takes A LOT to put me off my food.

There is no amount of alcohol and poor judgement that overcomes those shortcomings.

I'm perfectly aware of my own demerits, thank you -- I'm stubborn, opinionated, very often arrogant, and I love to argue (as in 'intellectual exercise', not 'being an ass for the sake of it', something that is often missed). I'm also sarcastic (often abrasively so), which is something I'm discovering does not go over very well in this part of Dixie -- people either don't get sarcasm, at all, or they immediately become defensive. Something I'm going to have to work on.

In the meantime, I will have to continue my search for the as-perfect-as-I-can-manage companion by other means.

I might start scoping out churches, for fuck's sake.