Funky Cold Medina

The laws of attraction are strange. I’ve recently begun making an effort to “put myself out there” and try to meet some people who could be a potential dating pool. My current cast of characters leaves something to be desired in the straight-men-who-are-sexually-interested-in-me category. Mostly because I’m often in groups of people who prefer their own sex, but also because I’m apparently a very specific type that only blossoms into desirability at oddly specific places with attention from oddly specific human archetypes.

Online dating-

I refuse to pay money to an organization that fails so miserably at matchmaking and consistently lies about the instances of attractive people using their services, so I stick to the free sites like Plenty of Fish (the worst) and OKCupid (only slightly less worst). I try to be forthcoming about my appearance so that in case I ever decide to meet one of the drooling miscreants in person, they don’t run screaming about amazon women or Carnie Wilson. So I include a full-body shot or two on my profile and I’m guessing it’s my “full figure” that sings the siren song of evolution and draws these very specific sailors to their rocky death. Er…to my inbox.

One of the pictures I use to be honest online. Although...I am definitely sucking in and standing strategically...

One of the pictures I use to be honest online. Although…I am definitely sucking in and standing strategically…

On Plenty of Fish, my inbox was flooded immediately (and I mean immediately) with Grand Rapids men who have recently arrived from Africa. They are very interested in the lord Jesus and also in how faithful of a wife I would be. As you may have guessed, these questions sent me flailing wildly from my laptop and directly into the arms of OKCupid. I fared slightly better on OKCupid but was struck with the realization that everyone is kind of a creep. Including myself. Should I feel bad about my level of standards? Is it wrong to want to date a normal human man? I didn’t think so but online dating has me reevaluating everything I thought I knew about the world.

In the Real World:

When I go out I tend to be the funny girl. I make self-deprecating jokes to try to make myself feel better about being surrounded by gorgeous people but on the inside I sort of feel kind of pretty too. I just have a lot more going on in the girth department. So when someone approaches me to chat me up, my confidence gets a little boost and I am able to go with it a bit until I realize they’re biding their time until my roommate/friend/homeless lady I happen to be standing near is free to chat about their future of happiness and babies. I end up being the fluffer in my own life. How does this happen? I’d like to think I have a pretty big personality. Maybe it’s too big? Maybe I’m a jerk. I do have it on good authority that I have a pretty serious case of “resting bitch face” so I guess that could be sending the suitors packing.

One Fedora Per Group. Duh.

One Fedora Per Group. Duh.

It’s generally tedious to be out until I get to the specific place I mentioned. As soon as I walk through the door of Billy’s in Eastown I am the prom queen. Women hit on me in flocks (not that it does me any good in the long run) and men in terrible fedoras stop to stare at me awkwardly before whispering about my “gorgeousness” in my ear. Strangers at the bar feel fine about grabbing my rear end and winking as they walk away. People are confused about my ethnicity and my exotic beauty (no idea) and the stream of chatting bar-goers is seemingly endless. But…again…women and terrible fedoras. Creepy whisperers. People who think it’s totally legit to walk up to someone and open with: “What are you?”

Crazy cat lady forever, it is!

Resigned to my future of throwing cats at you forever.

Resigned to my future of throwing cats at you forever.

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