It's Kind of a Long Story... about TINDER

No sausage on the first date.

Hey Drama Goblins!

I know you were expecting a continuation of the Sister Ex story, and you will get it, but something happened this week that I had to get up and out of me.

And, as with Part III.5, this testimony speaks to state of mind, your honor.

The state of mind of a single woman in her 50’s trying to date. If you’re a mid-life single woman, you get it.

If you’re not, you may have a vague idea that it’s hard and the apps are full of creeps and also may secretly think that the single women you know are too picky or bitter or that it can’t possibly be as bad as that.

It is.

And I believe the reason it’s so bad is the reason that almost everything that is bad is bad: The Patriarchy.

The Patriarchy is not men, it is a system.

A system in which a man can post a photo of himself scowling into a bathroom mirror in his dirty shirt with a visible gaping-open toilet behind him and expect women to swoon is not a system that is functioning well and ultimately hurts everybody.

But it does make for some good stories.

I will be taking next week off to celebrate the holidays with my son and his boyfriend who are coming from Illinois to spend the week. I’m over-the-moon excited to see them and have a lot of fun things planned. I not only can’t carve out the time to write, I don’t wanna. That’s the beauty of a free Substack. I can do what I want.

And, I am so incredibly grateful for my loyal subscribers who are stickin’ with me and letting me know you’re pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down.

So never fear, the Sister Ex saga will continue first thing in the New Year.

And if you’d like a little preview of Tracy’s story, you can watch or listen to my interview on the Nikki Medoro Show talking about my Substack and Sister Exes.

And, a little housekeeping. A few folks have said they’re confused about the references to a tree falling on my house. Short story: in June 2021 a giant oak tree fell on my house and it took two years to repair. The long story is told here.

And if you land on the home page of my Substack, you’ll see I have pinned the first post about Sister Exes to the top. If you click the Archive button, you’ll see all of the posts in descending chronological order.

I’m so glad you’re here,

-Lara

Short in the tooth

Short story: 

I went on a date with a guy from Tinder. It started shaky, got promising quickly, and then went in a direction I did not expect.

Long story:

When I decided to start dating a year after my husband John died, a lot of people said I was brave. I didn’t feel brave. I was kind of excited about it! I had lost a lot of weight and looked great, and since John and I had met so young, I hadn’t dated as an adult.

In the weeks before I got on the apps, I thought about what my profile would read. I made a folder of good, recent photos that showed my looks, style, and personality. I wrote my profile out in Word and proofed it.

This is the written profile I posted on Match that caught Cris’ attention:

I love doing stuff. And not doing stuff.

I love my job, but they still have to pay me to do it.

I’ve always got at least one book going, sometimes more than one. Points in your favor if you do too.

My Spotify playlist tells you a lot about me (but not everything). It’s got a lot of 80s New Wave and “Sophistipop” (a genre I suspect Spotify made up)

I'm not gonna let a little thing like lack of talent keep me from signing karaoke.

Republicans need not apply.

Three random things that make me happy:

-Sparkly sidewalks

-Older couples walking hand in hand

-Firefighters in uniform shopping at the grocery store

My son is awesome and makes me proud every day (even if he won’t cut his hair, the darn hippie!)

I don’t pronounce the “t” in “often.”

Three of my least attractive qualities:

-Impatience

-Envy

-Sarcasm

There’s the Ben Affleck Story, and the Burrito on the Shoulder Story, and the Time We Stole The Germans’ Breakfast…

I listen to a lot of NPR. And watch a lot of Real Housewives.

Wine tastes like wine to me. I’m cool with the cheap stuff.

Three times I was really proud of myself:

-When I changed a tire on the side of the road on I-5

- When my son graduated from high school (I mean I know it was *his* achievement, but still)

- When I got the job I didn't think I was gonna get

I brake for yard sales, thrift stores and and flea markets.

George Lucas loves my “potato” salad.

The Library of Congress is the holiest site I’ve ever visited.

No way, no how am I waiting in line for brunch.

Black coffee is the best coffee.

I’m a really good baker, and a more-than-decent cook.

Topics of the articles I’m likely to click on when scrolling my Facebook feed:

- Racism/Social Justice

- Feminism

- Cooking videos

- Local San Francisco

- Education/Literacy

One of the truest things I've ever read about relationships included the advice, "The best question you can ask on a first date is, 'How are you crazy?'"

I mean, you’d date me, right?

I thought, “I’m awesome! All of my friends are awesome! I bet there are all kinds of awesome men to meet!”

Five minutes on Match.com cured me of that.

I was absolutely gobsmacked.

Man after man with blurry, scowly mugshots. Photos with other women. Shirtless selfies. Mirror selfies. Gym selfies. Shirtless mirror gym selfies. And the infamous fish pix.

Profiles full of misspellings, juvenile attempts at humor, thinly veiled hostility towards women, oafish sexual innuendo, and the dreaded claim to be “drama-free.”

At the very minimum, a dating profile should have 4-5 decent pictures and 4-5 decent sentences. It is not an exaggeration that 98% of the men on dating apps are incapable of doing that, the 1.5% who can are dull as a bag of hammers (they “work hard, play hard”, are looking for a “partner in crime,” and are “fluent in sarcasm’) and the other .5% are decent, interesting competent men who make up the very, very shallow dating pool.

But, I jumped in. The first date I went on was a bust. When I came home I told Max,

“He didn’t make me laugh once”

“That’s not that hard to do.” - Max

<<laugh» - Me

“See?” - Max

The guy had money. He was some kind of stockbroker. He wanted to see me again. I was happy to learn I was not desperate and I am not a gold digger.

The second date was Cris, and you know how that turned out.

Before Cris and I were exclusive and when we were “off” in our on-again, off-again relationship, I went on a few dates with decent enough fellas who didn’t pass the Netflix test, and one total psycho who I may write about later. He wouldn’t wave and didn’t like butter. He wasn’t lactose intolerant or vegan, he just didn’t like butter. And that was the most normal thing about him.

After I met Susan and was reeling with everything I was learning, my friend Vanessa said, “Can I suggest that you consider putting a pause on dating?”

Oh yes. Yes, you can. And I did.

As I settled back into my house and went through my mental health leave and layoff and figuring out my next act, I was feeling the emptiness of the Love & Romance Skittle bowl less and less. My life was full and fun and getting fuller and funner. I truly didn’t feel the absence of a man in my life.

So I honestly don’t know what prompted me to fire up Tinder a week or so ago, but when I did I found a message from Matt.

“Hello Lara… “

That’s it. Nothing that referenced my profile, or made any attempt to make conversation. It’s usually the kind of low-effort nonsense that I ignore. But I was in a mood.

Me: “Hello Matt… (why are we using ellipses?)”

Matt: “Why not?”

Me: “Because it’s grammatically incorrect”

Matt: “That depends on what grammarian you consult. Ellipses denote an open ended statement. Common usage also causes grammatical evolution and ellipses have definitely become common usage. But then, I’ve also written advertising copy for 20+ years and I don’t really know anything.” Followed by the purple devil emoji.

Me: “Really? You write marketing copy and ‘Hello… ‘ is your best opener? Marketer, market thyself. Me? I’m a Strunk & White kinda gal.”

Matt: “Hello is pretty straightforward. I figured I’d let you respond and then we’d go from there.”

Me: “Hello isn’t ‘straightforward,’ it’s literally the least you could do.”

Matt: "Ouch!”

Me: “‘I figured I’d let you respond’ = women doing the emotional labor.”

Matt: “Ouch”

Me: “The truth hurts.”

Matt: “Hey, I used two words - and ellipses! I didn’t mean to force you to do emotional labor. I just wanted to give you a non-threatening/creepy hello… sorry that landed so wrong.”

Me: “Wanna try again?”

Matt: “Absolutely!”

Me: “ProTip: There are lots of interesting things in my profile to comment on. Tell me why you swiped right without commenting on my appearance.”

Matt: “Hello Lara, just wanted to let you know that I find you intriguing, your musical tastes align with mine, actually worked in a couple of SF nightclubs in the 80s and my music library has quite a bit of cool stuff from the era. KQED is also my go-to in the car (when not listening to history podcasts. My Kindle is my constant companion and it’s loaded, mostly with fiction.

Sadly, I’ve never Wordled.

Better?”

Me: Now THAT’s an opener!

That was a really good recovery. He had my interest. I’ve played this kind of cat-and-mouse game before, and the men usually just huff and flounce and call me crazy or worse.

Like this tool…

I think it’s only fair that since I’m calling this guy out, and am slagging on men for their Tinder profiles, and so you understand some of the references, that I share mine:

I mean, you’d date me, right?

The conversation went on for a bit, and I said,

Me: “Here’s my go-to getting to know you opener, ‘I’d love to know about a book, movie and/or song that really stuck with you. And why.”

Matt: “That’s the sort of thing I kind of prefer to have come up in actual conversation, rather than as an intro. For me, context is everything in conversation - and conversation needs to have active participation on both sides.”

“Active participation on both sides.” Put a pin in that.

He did answer my question though. A Kurasawa film. An Elvis Costello song and Dune. Good answers, although Cris was also super into Kurasawa and Dune. I dismissively called them his “sword movies.” I mean I appreciate the genius, but they are not my cup of tea.

They were definitely good enough answers to keep the conversation going. And ladies, I highly encourage you to use that opener if you’re on the apps. The answers are always revealing.

We easily slipped into an easy banter and unlike poor Angelica’s husband, he was good at turn of phrase. Some of the topics we talked about included:

• The Clash, specifically “Straight to Hell”

• Miles Davis

• Frank Lloyd Wright

• American Presidents Totalus Rankium podcast

• Caligula

• Luca Brazzi

• Absolute Beginners

• Jean and Agnes Varda

• Agnes Moorehead

• Joe Bob Briggs

Two Agneses! And a lot more. And the banter was easy and clever and we were picking up what the other was putting down and the phrases were turning.

At one point I told a few girlfriends, “We started the day exchanging Squeeze lyrics and ended it trading Max Fleisher cartoons. That’s HAWT foreplay for a gal like me.”

When he suggested we meet, I said I’d love to, but…

Me: “Before we waste each other’s time, there is one dealbreaker and one caveat.”

Matt: “What, pray tell, are they?”

Me: “Deal Breaker: I am very uncomfortable with drinking to excess. I’m not sober and enjoy wine or a cocktail socially, but cannot tolerate drunkenness.

Caveat: All of the photos in my profile are current, but I have gained a bit of weight in the last few months. I’m healthy as a horse, but even at my most comfortable weight I’m not and never will be fit as a fiddle. Totally legit if that’s not your bag, but I’d rather put it out there and not have you be unpleasantly surprised.”

Readers, it was not him who was unpleasantly surprised.

He had good responses for both my deal-breaker and my caveat, and we agreed to meet about a week later because I was swamped until then.

“The sausage” is his pet daschund

We texted a lot in the intervening week. Many friends had told me to not put too much stock in even the wittiest texter, it’s easy to get swept away by the very, very rare guy who can hold his own.

I mean, that’s pretty good, right?

We were chatting about artist Jean Varda, and his niece Agnes and the next day Agnes Varda was the Google Doodle! What are the chances? This more-than-a-little-superstitions gal saw it as a sign that this could be going somewhere.

But there were some pink flags with the potential to turn red:

• The texting was frequent and consistent. Almost suspiciously consistent. He seemed to have a lot of time on his hands.

• I sent him a couple of selfies as the occasion warranted. I even labeled one where I was all dolled up for a holiday tea party, “blatant fish for a compliment and low-key flirt” but he never sent one to me.

• He sent several photos of “the sausage,” his pet dachshund, and one or two looked like they were in a basement bedroom. I couldn’t really see much, but it didn’t give off grown-up living situation vibes.

• I did as deep an online dive as I could with what little information I had, and found an old Flicker account from many years ago that included one of the photos in his profile. His photos were not current.

• He didn’t ask me about myself. At all. I mentioned my late husband, my kid, my career, hobbies, and travels and he not once asked about any of it.

• It’s pretty rare for me to find anyone - much less a potential date - who has the wide and deep knowledge and interest in pop culture as I do. And I think it’s pretty remarkable that I was able to play along and keep up with all of his references. He didn’t appear to. He certainly didn’t remark on it.

I mean, you’d date me right?

As fun as the texting had been, on the day of the date I wasn’t nervous or invested. I don't know if it’s because my experience with Cris has made me jaded, the Wellbutrin, or my Spidey Sense telling me those pink flags were gonna get redder.

That said, it was fun to get dressed and ready to go. I haven’t gone out with a man at night for a very long time. The few dates I have been on in the last couple of years have been in the daytime. I was in the bathroom drying my hair and putting on makeup and perfume while bopping around to my playlist feeling pretty cute and thinking, “If this guy plays his cards right, he might get lucky!”

Which would be a first for me. I’m not opposed to one-night stands or sex on the first date in theory. It sounds kind of exciting to be that attracted to someone right off the bat. But in my limited dating experience, I’ve never met anyone that dangerously cute.

I texted him a selfie with a flirty, “I’m leaving now. Just look for the cutest girl in the room. Then look for me.”

I mean, you’d date me, right?

He responded with a photo at an ATM. I replied, “Are you robbing an ATM? That’s not necessary. I can pay for my own dinner.”

He made a joke about bumping off a guy at the ATM and something about the sausage.

I got to the restaurant and he was at the host station. He was 6’4” as promised. Wearing new black cowboy boots he had sent me a picture of, a leather moto jacket, cool glasses, and a nice haircut. And soon as we started talking I noticed…

HE WAS MISSING TEETH!

At least one missing tooth on the bottom and one on the top and the teeth that were still there looked discolored and mangled.

What. The. Hell?

I had gone out of my way to warn him that I’m currently carrying a few extra pounds so he won’t be unpleasantly surprised and that doesn’t prompt him to mention he’s MISSING TEETH?

To paraphrase the old joke about Mrs. Lincoln and the play, “Other than the missing teeth, Lara, how was the date?”

I’ll let the text I sent time the next morning answer that question:

I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, and it's pretty clear you're not interested in getting to know me and that we're not a match.

Did you happen to notice you have not asked me ask me a single question about myself?

I lobbed a lot of softballs. I said a giant tree fell on my house and I was displaced for two years and that barely seemed to register, much less prompt an, “OMG, how scary!” or any curiosity about what happened.

I mentioned my husband had died and no, “I’m so sorry” or “When did he die?” Or, “That must have been difficult.”

You interrupted the stories I tried to tell and took the conversation on another tangent.

You subtly put down with gentle teasing things I am excited about and interested in.

You noted I have mentioned my Substack, but instead of asking me about mine and what I’m writing about and why, you talked about Tim Goodman's.

Not even feigned interest in my son or volunteering work or career or travels or hobbies. No compliments on anything except one “HAWT” on a cute photo of me looking super cute.

You didn't even acknowledge I was right about the lemon pizza you were skeptical about without my prompting. It was delicious.

I may be wrong, but I think it's pretty rare and wonderful to find a woman who can trade Squeeze lyrics and Max Fleischer cartoons and talk with knowledge, excitement and witty humor about Agnes Varda, but maybe we're a dime a dozen. I certainly haven't found many men who are.

I'm pretty confident I'm a fun, funny, and interesting person, and it's apparent my charms are lost on you. So be it. I'm not everybody's cup of tea. I wish you well finding someone who is yours.

Take care.

To his credit, he didn’t reply.

---

So why am I telling this story? Yes, all of us have dating horror stories. This isn’t that. This is the story of the absolute arrogance and audacity of Dating App Dudes.

Can you imagine if a woman showed up for a date MISSING TEETH? Never.

And that he talked AT me for almost three hours with no self or situational awareness that he was doing so, after claiming conversations need “equal participation.”

That when I went out of my way to tell him my photos were all current, that didn’t prompt him to admit that his were not.

Behind every bad date, and every bad profile, is a man convinced by the patriarchy that their low effort is enough. That women will primp and preen and swoon. And if we don’t? We’re “a piece of work.”

I’m telling this story because this is the kind of insidious sexism that causes real harm, both to men and women, but mostly to women.

I want to peel back the weirdness and craziness - of which there is plenty - to expose and examine the underlying systems that support and sustain them.

And then smash them.

Know someone who would get something out of that story? Please share!

Lara sez… Christmas Edition!

Listen!

80s Deep Cut of the Week! My favorite track from Erasure’s “Snow Globe” album.

Make!

A card garland! For a couple of years, I was in a holiday card exchange with a women’s Facebook group I was in. It was a little silly. Am I really so hard up for connection that I need to trade cards with strangers? But it was absolutely delightful to find the cards in my mailbox, particularly since I was in exile after the tree fell.

I hated to toss ‘em, so I cut them into triangles, punched holes in the sides, and strung them like garland.

Watch!

Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol! Hear me out, it is delightful. Songs by the incomparable Jule Styne, and a script that hews very close to the original text. “And razzleberry dressing.”

Eat!

I keep my copy of The Joy of Cooking for two recipes: Lemon Bars and Gingerbread Cookies

Joy of Cooking Gingerbread Cookies

Preheat your oven to 350°

Blend until creamy:

1/4 cup of butter

1/2 cup of white or brown sugar

Beat in:

1/2 cup dark molasses

Sift:

3 and 1/2 cups of all-purpose flour

Resift with:

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon cloves

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1 teaspoon ginger

1/2 teaspoon salt

Add the sifted ingredients to the butter mixture in about three parts, alternating with:

1/4 cup water

You may have to knead in the last of the flour if you are not using an electric mixer.  I roll mine out on parchment paper and cut the gingerbread men out and place them on a cookie sheet on the parchment paper. Bake them for about 8-10 minutes depending on thickness. Touch the cookie and if it springs back after 8 minutes it is ready to cool on a rack.

Do!

A fun tradition in the Starr House is to label the gifts “From” a person who is a clue to what the gift is.

“Julia Child” gave me a cookbook, “Willie Wonka” gave Max candy. I can’t for the life of me remember what my mom and John got from P.T. Barnum and Mr. Kotter, but I’m sure it was clever.

Before I let you go…

My pal Pat shared my Substack on her social and won a Drama Goblin notebook!

Be like Pat!

For a chance to win your own Drama Goblin notebook, please SHARE It’s Kind of a Long Story About… with someone you think would like to read it.

Someone…

• You think would get a kick out of it

• In a Sister Ex sitch

• Dating someone you have a funny feeling about

• Super into Jon Hamm

Or share it on your social!

If you use this button, BOOM! You’re entered.

If you forward the email, please “cc” or “bcc” me at: lara@larastarr.com

Thank you so much and I hope you win!