Wednesday, February 14, 2018

Bumbling Through Bumble, Part 6: Ghostbusters Edition

Guess what, y’all? It’s Valentine’s Day! The day for lovers. The day for people who have had good luck on Bumble. The day I don’t post a rant about Valentine’s Day on my blog because I don’t want to be a clich√©. (Single + middle aged + bitter on VDay = major clich√©.)

Anyway…remember that I invited The Guy to join me for Movie Church? Turns out he had to work that Sunday. (Or at least that’s what he said, and what I believed, at the time.)

I invited him again for the next Sunday. He seemed interested. Specifically, he said that, yes, he would join us.

AND THEN I NEVER HEARD FROM HIM AGAIN.


He totally ghosted me…I can’t decide if I’m really pissed off, or just incredibly relieved. 

Either way, I've got this stuck in my head now. 





Wednesday, January 31, 2018

Bumbling Through Bumble, Part 5: A little bit of progress

If you haven’t heard, I joined Bumble a few weeks ago. It’s been a humorous, sometimes-ridiculous, emotionally-exhausting, and completely-humbling experience, and you poor things have been subjected to reading about all of it.

Thank you. And bless your hearts.

With that in mind, I’m happy to report to you, the unwitting members of Team “Help Shelley Find A Man’” that I’ve been talking to a guy (who I will refer to as The Guy from now on) for the last couple of weeks.

When The Guy and I matched on Bumble, I tried to take everyone’s advice into consideration before starting the conversation. I finally went with a combination of the “Britta Approach” and the “Madison Approach.” (I gave them proper names in case you ladies want to trademark them.)

Me: Important question. Star Wars or Star Trek?
The Guy: Boba Fett is my boy!!!!

Yeah, he’ll do.

So we’ve been texting. And talking on the phone. But we haven’t met yet. He called me one evening and said “I’m bored, let’s go cruise around. You can drive if that would make you feel more comfortable.” Cruising around with music blasting is seriously one of my favorite things, but I was already in my pajamas with my make up off. Yes, it was ridiculously early in the evening for me to be in my comfies already (only about 7pm), but you gotta give a gal some warning! Frankly, even if I’d had my make up on still, I would have needed some advance notice. You know, a day or so to psyche myself up for social interaction. I’m weird. I know.

When Olivia (the little shit) found out I’d been chatting with The Guy, she was happy for me. Then started in with the questions, wanting to make sure that he isn't a creeper,  hasn't acted like a creeper, won't likely turn into a creeper. 

Ultimately, her advice was “MEET HIM, but do it somewhere public. You're too snarky to do well in a kidnapping.”

She’s a little shit sometimes, but she’s not wrong.

So, with Olivia’s blessing (not that I needed it, but I’m glad to have it), I invited The Guy to join me and my friends for Sunday’s Movie Church, and then lunch afterwards somewhere public.  That would give me plenty of chaperones/witnesses and daylight. 

He hasn’t let me know if he plans to come or not. It was only a few hours ago, so I'm not freaking out by the lack of response just yet. See, I can be well-adjusted sometimes. Anyway I’ll let you know what he says….in Part 6.

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

Bumbling Through Bumble, Part 4: These profile pics are worth a thousand dirty words

I really wish I’d gone into this Bumble experiment with the “screenshot everything” mindset. Because holy hells bells. I am self-aware enough to know that not only am I the most far-from-perfect person on the planet, I am also a walking/talking hot mess of sarcasm-masked insecurity. But at least I can pick a decent prolife picture. Unlike these guys…

One guy actually used a wedding photo in his profile. FROM HIS OWN WEDDING.

One only put pictures of his kids. No pictures of himself, just the kids. I’m sure those little rug rats are the most wonderful and well-behaved children in the world*, but is he trying to attract a pedophile?

One guy’s main profile pic was of a 90-ish year old lady who looked like she’d survived the Hunger Games. I assume she was his grandma or something, and I’m sure she’s lovely (assuming she’s still alive), but she’s definitely not my type.

And the muscle heads. Geez. These are the guys whose only profile pictures are the “shirtless in the gym bathroom mirror” kind. (I know it’s the gym bathroom because I used to be a Planet Fitness member, so I recognize that bathroom tile.) Do they have ANY other interests? I mean, there’s more to life than working out and getting tattoos. (I don’t have anything against tattoos, don’t send me hate emails.)

But the worst, the very worst ones were the Patagonia/Northface guys. You know the ones. Guys whose every picture is them hiking, climbing mountains, snow skiing…and running the occasional marathon. I really need Bumble to have a filter that not only looks at age and miles apart, but also sorts out dudes by interest in outdoor activities. I AM AN INDOOR CAT.

I haven’t given up yet. I’m still checking that stupid app every day. For the last three days I have had no matches. None. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Part of me is disappointed and hurt. The other part of me is thinking, “whew. Another day of not having to socialize and trying to act like a normal person. That was a close one.”  

In an effort to improve my results, I have changed my search settings. I bumped up the search criteria to include guys up to 52 years old. Maybe I’ll find a guy with an AARP discount. Stay tuned.


*Sarcasm. There is no such thing. Much like Sasquatch or comfortable high heels. 

Wednesday, January 3, 2018

Bumbling Through Bumble, Part 3: Single Bells, Single Bells, Single all the way…aka…The Post-Holiday Update

This year I asked Santa to bring me a boyfriend for Christmas. He didn’t. He brought me Olay cream that “corrects the seven signs of aging.” Santa is kind of a jerk. (I do really like the cream, though.)

Wow. This is a new record. I have gotten off topic before I even got on topic. Which is...

Despite what all those uber-cheesy Hallmark holiday movies imply, finding a guy at Christmas isn’t easy. There was no snow for me to get my car stuck in to then have the hunky local tow-truck driver come rescue me literally and romantically. I didn’t go to the grocery store and reach for the last box of hot chocolate at the very moment that the hunky local veterinarian reached for it, leading to the moment we share the hot chocolate in front of a roaring fire at his (non-creepy) cabin in the woods. And there certainly wasn’t some wacky mix up where the hunky local councilman thinks I’m a visiting princess and falls in love with me, and yet still loves me even when he realizes I’m just a regular gal. None of that. And, seriously, who at Hallmark thinks up this crap?

So, since my life is more like a National Lampoon’s flick than a Hallmark movie, I maintained vigilance over my Bumble profile for the duration of the Christmas/New Year holiday. I even got a few new matches.

One guy seemed pretty awesome until he just suddenly disappeared from my messages. He totally unmatched himself with me. WTF? I didn’t even say anything inappropriate to him, which we all know is a freaking miracle.

And then there was the guy who didn’t seem to understand that I was spending the holiday with my family and therefore couldn’t answer him immediately any time he messaged me. Not that I would have anyway. Strangely, the slower I responded, the more eager he got to hear from me. “Are you still there? Am I interrupting something? I hope you’re still interested.” Geez, stalker much? I WAS interested…until I realized he was even more insecure than I am. If he’s like that now, imagine how needy he’d be if we were actually dating.

Finally, there was “Mr. Super Smartass.” Long story short, I wasn’t thinking about Bumble being GPS-based and how that would change the cities that my matches might come from since I traveled during the holiday. I just assumed he was from Lubbock and started chatting about something Lubbock-specific. (I can’t remember what it was now, and since he also unmatched me after I called him a super smartass, I can’t go back and look.) He thought I was rambling like a crazy woman. I figured out the problem, told him what it was, and he totally called me on being an idiot. Over and over. He had 6 or 7 snotty little one-liners. He was kind of a jerk…much like Santa.


So, yeah. That’s where I am on my search for romance. No holiday happily-ever-after, but I’m going to keep Bumbling through. I’m also going to make sure not to watch the Hallmark channel when Valentine’s Day comes around.



Saturday, December 23, 2017

Bumbling Through Bumble, Part 2: I've got a match. Now what? Crowdsourcing my love life.

So yeah. Bumble

I've been on Bumble for a few days now. I haven't gotten many matches*, but I have gotten EVEN MORE advice from friends. 

From Olivia (the little shit): If the guy is holding a monkey in his profile picture, you HAVE TO SWIPE RIGHT. 

From Courtney: Don't mention that you can't say "Alexa" when you're wearing your retainers. 

From someone who wishes to remain anonymous: Maybe you should be more serious in your profile. 

Hmmm....that's the least helpful advice ever. Especially the profile part. If anything, I want to make it more 'me' because I'm pretty sure men just look at the pictures and don't actually read the bio. So I should definitely update my bio. I mean, if I'm going to be single forever, I'm going to be single on my own terms. 

Current version: 


Under-consideration version:

I'm a goddess disguised as a Star Wars nerd in Converse sneaks. I run on sarcasm and Diet Coke. I love to watch football (American), football (what Americans call soccer), and Spanish telenovelas. I figure I've got a 54% chance of surviving the zombie apocalypse - 72% if there are still tacos in the apocalypse to give me something to live for. 


*I haven't gotten many matches, but I have had some. It's kinda cool. I get that match notification on my phone and I get a little excited. And then I get a little nauseated because clearly what I've been saying in my opening messages to my matches hasn't been working. And suddenly a phone app has me second-guessing myself. I can't decide. I just don't know. WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY IN MY OPENING MESSAGE? 

That's right. Me, the girl who talks too much, the girl who talks for a freaking living, does not know how to open a conversation and/or flirt with a man. No game. I have no game. So I think I need suggestions (not advice, because my friends seem to suck at advice). 

Tell me how you think I should start up a conversation, and I'll use it if it's reasonable (by MY standards of reasonable you have a fair amount of wiggle room). And then I'll let you know how well it worked. 



Tuesday, December 19, 2017

Bumbling through Bumble. Part 1: Being dumb enough to tell my friends I went on Bumble.

So, I did a thing. 

I went on Bumble. For those of you who don't know (Mom & Dad, I'm talking to you), Bumble is a dating app. I uploaded some pictures, made a bio, and sent my high hopes and equally-low expectations out into the world. 

Almost immediately, it showed me men in my area. So many men. Most of them didn't even bother to write a bio! For some reason, that really bothers me. But they did post pictures. So many pictures. And every one of these pictures made me think the same thing. "WHY DO MEN MY AGE LOOK SO FREAKING OLD?"

Naturally, because I'm idiot, I posed this question to Facebook with the following post:





And then things happened...just not on Bumble.

Right away I got a message from a friend from high school giving me tips on which apps are best for finding nice guys versus finding guys who want to hook up. (For the record, I'm looking for nice guys.)

Immediately after that, my college roommate texted me saying she wanted to set me up with a lawyer she knows! She said he's my level of smart, so she knows to play to my ego. He's roughly 10 years younger than me. Hmmm...I wonder how she would sell this same set up to him. 

Immediately following the roomie text, Olivia (the one I have previously identified as "being a little shit sometimes") begged me to let her write my profile bio. She also begged to let me HAND HER MY PHONE AND LET HER DO THE SWIPING. (She's a nervy little shit, too.) To my credit, I was willing to compromise. I let her write a draft for my bio, I showed her what I had written, then we combined the two (see below). She's not getting anywhere near my phone, though.





It's very me. It's also very good that I have pictures to go with that bio, or everyone would think I'm a nerdy frat boy.

Anyway, since my profile went live, I've had a couple of matches. And I've sent a couple of messages. I have NOT gotten a couple of replies. Or any replies, for that matter. That kind of sucks. It's also kinda awesome because, frankly, I'm so bad at the dating/flirting/talking to normal people thing I wouldn't know what to do next. I suppose I could consult Facebook again...





Monday, December 4, 2017

One of those 'train of thought' derailed days....Stranger Things Spaghetti Night

I hate going to the grocery store. (Side note, when I was little, Mom told me to never, ever say I hate something because 'hate' is an ugly word. And it is. And it's exactly how I feel about the grocery store. Sorry, Mom.)

As I was saying before I rudely interrupted myself, I absolutely hate going to the grocery store. It's partly because I was a cashier through a few of my college years, and I still have nightmares about never-ending conveyor belts of produce that I don't know the codes for and I keep having to call for a price check, and the veggies are followed by SOOO MANY old ladies with coupons for things they didn't buy, and I wake up stressed and sweaty....

Anyhoo, I mostly hate going to the store because it feels a lot like what I assume going into the Upside Down would feel like. (If you don't know what that means, you need to get a laptop, a Netflix subscription, and a free weekend.) I feel a sense of dread as soon as I pass through those automatic doors. I wander around, lost and forlorn. The lights flicker, and I just know that Winona Rider is trying to save me. Demogorgons (aka...jerks with shopping carts) come at me from every angle, and when I finally escape, I just want a comforting meal of frozen waffles, or, in my case, some pepperoni pizza. 

Tonight, I managed to escape with everything I need for a great spaghetti dinner, which is pretty much the only thing I cook. And let me tell ya, I cooked up what we in Texas call a "mess" of spaghetti...which is to say I made a ridiculous amount so I can eat leftovers for at least two meals. I've always been amused by "mess" as an quantifier, and while I've never confirmed my suspicion, I'm pretty sure the term "mess" is derived from the amount of clean up a large meal requires afterward. Which reminds me...

Dear Prego, 

Have you ever considered selling your sauce in plastic jars instead of glass? I only ask because I'm a bit of a klutz who tends to cook barefoot. 

Please think about it.

Your faithful customer, 
Shelley

#HardToDistinguishSpaghettiSauceFromBlood