Dickstracted (dik-strakt-ed). adj. 1. Having the attention diverted by good dick. “She was too dickstracted to focus on her work.“
-Jack From Brooklyn
Yep. I was that girl.
But if I was going to get over Disappearing Didier, I was going to need a new dickstraction.
I had actually decided before I met Didier that I was going to take another break from internet dating. But this was clearly not the time for that. This was the time to pick myself up by the bootstraps, polish my profile and cast a wide net. On Match, on Cupid, on Nerve and Plenty of ‘fishin’. On Opposites, How About We, and Dating Revolution. It was an attack on all fronts.
My inbox pinged like a popcorn machine. I caught plenty of kernels. Trouble was, they were burnt. Soggy. Stale. Bland. Unopened. And otherwise inedible.
Still, the mere appearance of them was enough to point my focus in another direction. Even if an actual dickstraction was ne’er to be found.
My profile actually states the following:
I think winks are uninspired, uninformative and unlikely to receive a response from me. I’m sure you’ve got something more interesting to say, so go ahead and say it.
Within three hours I’d received 18 winks. Obviously, the male population of the interweb dating world must either be illiterate or lazy or both. It seems that not one man took the time to read the under 200 words I had written.
Two of my winkers were over 60. Six were over 50. Four were under 5’6″. One had no teeth. Three lived in California. One in Nova Scotia. And one in Alabama. Winking aside, by my count that was zero eligible bachelors. Really, universe? That’s all you got?
Of course not. The universe served up this gem. And the only thing it had going for it was that it was an actual e-mail.
Hi. I’m a nice guy, looking for some nice women to have fun and good times with. I’m hoping to have women over, and also go to a few places with, maybe. If you’re interested, please write back. We can have a fun time.
Yes! Lemme just grab a gaggle of my girlfriends and we’ll be right over. And I can tell you’re a nice guy. Because nice guys always e-mail one woman that they are looking for several women to “come over” and have a “fun time” with the promise of going out “maybe”.
If that’s not enough to make you cream your panties, this wünderkind has no qualms about confessing that he is over 40, unemployed, has no degree, makes less than $25K annually (I assume from his unemployement checks), is “kinda nice looking” (Note: He has not posted a photo, but I’ll take him at his word since that’s gotten me so far with every other man I’ve ever dated), he’s tried on several religions for size and is “looking for what’s next”. Also, he “had a nice cat. Maybe [he'll] get another one someday.”
On second thought, I don’t need a dickstraction. I’ll just stick with knitting.
.
I found my way here through loverville’s site. Your writing is exquisite.
I was (and still am) a big voice of gloom and doom vis-a-vis internet dating. After meeting approximately 400 guys, I just couldn’t stand it any more. The risk of damage to my psyche was greater than the chance I would meet someone. The process has so many built-in failure mechanisms that you have a better chance of ending up with someone you meet in the grocery aisle than you do with someone you meet online. New York is another problem. It creates or attracts weirdos.
I am getting married at the end of the summer. They say it happens fast. It does.
I think there are several factors behind this remarkable fact. (1) My soon-to-be-husband was not a New Yorker. (He lived in a city within driving distance.) (2) He was totally ready for commitment, with many of his friends married with small children. (3) There was an enormous physical attraction from the get-go. He told someone I was a total knockout. In fact, I am purely ordinary-looking. But he is the cutest thing I have ever seen.
I don’t pretend that there’s a lesson in this, or a hopeful thought, or a message or anything else. I think it is sheer dumb luck that we met. May your luck also be dumb.
Thanks, PT, and welcome to How Very Lucky! I’m happy you’re here!
Mazel Tov (Jewish Congratulations) on your engagement! Thank you for sharing your story and for shining a light on hope for me
Here’s to dumb luck!
xxoo
Staci
lol, he sounds really awesome! At least you have a sense of humor about the whole thing…
Yes, Pilecat, he’s clearly a winner! Glad to know I have “options”. And the ability to laugh
I love this about your blog: there are posts which provoke much feeling and thought, and then there are posts like this which provoke much laughter and incredulity! It does sound like he wants you to bring along a little harem for him! And I like to think that he wrote “…and also go to a few places with” but then thought “No, that’s committing to too much” and added the priceless “maybe.”
Matt,
I love that you love How Very Lucky. Especially for the moments of feeling and thought. As you may know, I’d never written before I began this blog in November of 2009. I’d fantasized about writing, but had lacked the courage to invite anyone to read what I’d written. When I found that courage, it was rooted in the idea that “bad date equaled funny story”. I’d intended to tell my funny tales of dating. What I hadn’t anticipated was sharing moments of vulnerability, loss, sadness, fear, stupidity and generally exposing my deeper feelings. That has been a process of growth and one I’m still learning to be comfortable with. With each one of those posts, I found myself wishing for more funny stories, concerned that my readers would leave in search of something more hilarious. The prize I found in this box of Cracker Jacks has been the catharsis of setting my truths free. The fact that your comments help to prop me up in moments of weakness and doubt, that my stories have done that for others and that I have found, in those moments, an outpouring of love and support.
I love that you all have not only granted me the opportunity but have supported my growth both as a person and a writer in allowing me to freely explore those avenues. I promise to keep on trying. And I hope you’ll keep on reading
Love,
Staci
haha can’t believe it… there are so many freaks out there! I used to be in Match – never found anything interesting btw – and once received a message from a guy telling me he was going to Milan Italy next weekend and wanted me to go with him. Eeeerr… sorry, did I mention somewhere I was an escort?
Katherina,
You lovely little escort vixen, you! What’s his profile name? I could use a trip to Milan…
hehehe
Welcome to How Very Lucky! Thanks for reading and for commenting!
xxoo
LG
Hee!! Very funny! Can anyone blame us for thinking that we are the intellectually superior sex?
Hey Carpe! I don’t know if I’ve ever gone so far as to think I’m intellectually superior to the male population. I always thought Stephen Hawking had a few IQ points on me – until he started warning me about all the aliens and stuff. But here’s what I do believe. I believe I’m intellectually superior to the guy who “wants to go places with girls, maybe”.
Thanks for stopping by and for commenting!
xxoo
LG
Oohhhh, can I be part of your harem when you go to visit Mr Nice Guy? MAYBE we’ll get lucky, and after all the fun in his den / cave, he’ll take us to TGI McFunsters! Yes!
Loverville, you ARE my harem.
TGI McFunsters! HAHAH Loves it!
Except I think Mr. Nice Guy may be out of his element for anything beyond a Dollar Menu. And that’s if you can get him to leave his house.
Just sayin’…
You’re welcome! It’s a pleasure anyway, interesting blog you have out there!
True that, but we must compare likes with likes! So, imagine Marie Curie in her 20-somethings and Stephen Hawkings in his 20-somethings, and I am pretty sure Marie Curie would rank a couple notches above him!
This doesn’t go to say men are stupid. They just take too long to mature! I can’t relate to a man who is not at least 8-10 years older than me! (Of course, it is quite possible that I only have a thing for older men! 
But I’d like to think it’s because our maturity levels match! 
)