The focus of what I intentionally set out to do with writing has taken a turn towards always writing about dating and finding ways to your love yourself. It is supposed to be about things that I do and, since dating is a thing I guess I do, you get this gem. A friend posted a link to this story about a new dating website on Facebook and wrote “I immediately thought of you* when I saw this. (*You know who you are.)”
I took this as a challenge and signed up for Tag Me a Date. Yes, it’s exactly what you’re thinking: a dating service for wrestling fans.
My hope was that I would get a few yuks out of the format. Best case scenario? The Miss Elizabeth to my Macho Man. Yup, that is exactly what I meant.
Anyway, here’s a little blurb from the CEO/Co-Founder about how they do their matching.
Our site will allow people to find matches based on questions such as favorite wrestler, favorite manager, and favorite tag team. We also provide space for users to talk about what drove them to wrestling and to discuss the experiences of any live events they may have been to.
Could it be? Could I finally find that man that agrees Alicia Fox’s ring work has improved tremendously since being trained by Sara del Rey? Would he admit to originally thinking The Shield break up was a terrible idea, but has loved that dynamic between Seth Rollins and Dean Ambrose? Does he know all of RD Evans personas and love them all equally? DOES HE HATE JOHN CENA AS MUCH AS I DO?
The first step is creating your “Wrestling Name”, referred to as a user name on every other dating website in existence, displayed to your future Ravishing Rick Rude or The Mountie (if you’re into that sort of thing.) I fought every single urge to call myself HardFartVictory. For the record, it’s The1in21and1 and I am now the coolest person you know. The options under gender were “Male” or “Diva” which is how I imagine their headquarters hilariously labels their bathrooms that way. They should have been labeled “Superstar” and “Diva.” That earned a five chuckle shuffle from me. (I’M SORRY!).
Following the typical demographic information, I went on to answer a series of “What’s/Whose your favorite _____?” culminating with “Which wrestler would you want to be?” Surprisingly, I chose Emma because she dances and is oblivious to everyone else. None of my answers were from the attitude era because I want a man with the same preference for PG entertainment (who really hates John Cena. Mandatory.)
This site must have been created by a fifteen year old that is approaching the midterm of his C++ class. I spent a solid twenty minutes trying to remember/(re)create my password and, no, it’s not because I am a 32 year old NARC. I began to worry that this week long project would not go forward due to a lack of people my age signing up for this. Oh god, what have I done?
Once I logged in, my eyes immediately focused on the “In Ring Action” button at the top of the screen (because it was the weirdest). The search fields were exactly what the CEO stated their matches would be based on. I typed in my Favorite Wrestler (Dean Ambrose), Favorite Tag Team (Team Hell No) and Favorite Manager (Paul Heyman) and a list of available gentlemen to watch wrestling with online not at all based on location was generated for me…with each man and their photo listed twice. What IS this? I selected the first gentleman by clicking on a link below his photo reading “Tag Me” hoping to get a glimpse into some more interesting information.
It brought me to my own profile.
Okay, we’re done here. Now, if I can figure out how to delete this thing forever, I’ll be thrilled. What a hard fart…fart.
(The above picture was taken at a WWE House Show in Providence, RI in 2012. Please do not steal. Not that you would.)
Earlier this week an episode of the FX comedy Louie aired entitled “So Did the Fat Lady.” The episode focused on a waitress at the Comedy Cellar, Vanessa, who asks Louie out after his stand up set on a few different occasions. Without explanation, he turns her down. It isn’t until she gives him Bruins/Rangers playoff tickets with the promise she can’t attend that he asks her to go for coffee. To be very clear for Louie’s sake this was NOT a date.
Vanessa off-handedly says she’s fat and Louie immediately replies, in a slightly patronizing tone “You’re not faaaat”. Vanessa begins….
Vanessa: Ugh, dammit. That is so goddamn disappointing, Louie.
Louie, you know what the meanest thing is you can say to a fat girl? “You’re not fat.” I mean, come on, buddy. It just sucks. It really really sucks. You have no idea. And the worst part is, I’m not even supposed to do this. Tell anyone how bad it sucks, because it’s too much for people. I mean, you, you can talk into the microphone and say you can’t get a date, you’re overweight. It’s adorable. But if I say it, they call the suicide hotline on me.
What Vanessa is saying is 100% true. Being fat sucks. If you saw this episode and your response was “Eh, it can’t be that bad,” well, just let me break it down for you.
Being an overweight guy is easier in the dating world. If you don’t believe me, spend your lunch hour walking around your neighborhood. Take note of the couples and observe who is wearing a wedding ring. Now, watch any Kevin James or Seth Rogen film. Even cartoon men are drawn fat and have hot cartoon wives for whatever reason. I’m not denying that fat men don’t have struggles, but based on my observations, they don’t. They get nicknames like “Big Guy” and “Hoss.” They can talk openly about how much it sucks if they want without fear of judgement. They can tackle eating challenges and be yielded a hero. There are a million more examples, but it’s bumming me out to list them. There is a double standard. The end.
If you ask me (you didn’t, but you’re reading this) people throw the word “fat” around way too much and have made it into the hugely negative word it is. I like to say that I’m not fat, but I have fat, because I do. We all have those friends rocking the size six jeans that say “I’m so fat” after they have dinner. If you are one of these people that say “I’m so fat” constantly, just stop. You feel full. Fucking say that. Being able to eat enough food so that you’re full is amazing!
I mean, can I just say it? I’m fat. It sucks to be a fat girl. Can people just let me say it? It sucks. It really sucks. And I’m going to go ahead and say it. It’s your fault.
Look, I really like you, you’re truly a good guy, I think. I’m so sorry. I’m picking you. On behalf of all the fat girls, I’m making you represent all the guys. Why do you hate us so much? What is is about the basics of human happiness, feeling attractive, feeling loved, having guys chase after us, that’s just not in the cards for us? Nope. Not for us.
I’ve been fat my entire life. And Vanessa is right when she says it sucks. It sucks….so much….. Otherwise, my life is pretty amazing. I have a great family and wonderful friends that I am thankful for everyday. I’m college educated and hold a steady job. I own my own condo in a city I love. I’ve been blessed with an ability to make people laugh and a heart bigger than however many sizes the Grinch’s grew that day. I’m outgoing. I can cook and do a variety of domestic things. I have my own hobbies and interests that I am passionate about. If any or all of that is important to you, I’m a catch.
We get shut down all the time. Much like Vanessa, I feel no shame in asking out guys that I am interested in dating. That fear of rejection sailed so long ago. I have never been asked out after meeting someone. I’ve never had anyone ask for my number or give me theirs. It just doesn’t happen. And it’s really hard not to get sad about it.
I understand though. Everyone has their deal breakers. I don’t want to date a smoker, but I’ve never looked at a smoker and thought that they were a disgusting human being unworthy of love because of their habit. I don’t look down on them or judge them or lump them into one group of a certain type of person. I just think it smells bad and it gives you cancer.
When I report about how my biannual dates go and how I may not be into that person for any number of reasons, I’m met with a “Well, you never know!” or “Just see what happens.” Consistently other women can say “no”, “I didn’t like him” or any other reason that is legitimate and their disappointment is shared. Sharing in how tough it can be to date for anyone. How to negotiate this world of dating and commiserating with friends of mutually discovering who is right for us, and if they are out there. If I don’t like someone the assumption is I need to give it a try. Why should I continue to go out on dates with someone that I don’t like? Is it because that’s my only option? I had date once where I locked my keys in the car and the guy left me alone in the parking lot to wait for AAA. I waited for them for over an hour. Alone, in a parking lot. I was asked how it was left between us. I was left alone in parking lot at 11pm. I think that’s how it was left. As if there was some hope for me, that somehow it was something I could overlook as a funny quirk of a fun guy.
What would it be like to be pursued? To be asked for my number? We’re apparently not worthwhile enough for someone’s time and effort. I’m always the girl in the group of friends that you befriend to get to my hot friend. It accomplishes two things for gentlemen : 1) They can find out all the details on my friend because I am so thankful that any man would want to have a conversation with me. 2) They can show my friend how compassionate they are by taking the time out to chat up her least physically desirable friend and earn massive lady boner points. You’re teaching me that I am a hurdle to get past to get to the better goods. You are the worst.
You know what else that accomplishes? Making it so that if a guy ever does talk to me because he really is sincerely interested in me, I assume he has an agenda completely unrelated to me. That hasn’t happened yet though. So, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
Louie: You know, Vanessa, you’re a very, really beautiful—
Vanessa: If I was a very, really beautiful, then you would have said yes when I asked you out. I mean, come on, Louie, be honest here. You know what’s funny? I flirt with guys all the time. And I mean the great looking ones, the really high-caliber studs? They flirt right back, no problem. Because they know their status will never be questioned. But guys like you never flirt with me, because you get scared that maybe you should be with a girl like me.
And The Speech. I’ve been given the speech more times than I can count. Recently, a guy ran through a list of everything he thought was awesome about me and told me to keep doing all the things that I am doing with my life. My ability to commit myself to things made him admire me. When I cut him off because I didn’t want to hear the same self-serving speech I’ve been given before, he told me not to “sell myself short.” I was not selling myself short. I never do that. He was selling me short and trying to make himself feel better in the process. Surprise, guys! We’re hip to this tactic, but we’re polite enough that we usually just let you run your mouth. We are secretly hoping that by being so nice to you, you’ll change your mind and call us someday. I’m tired of pretending that it’s okay. It’s not.
If you’re having a hard time relating to this, here’s a great example. Let’s say you apply for a job that you really want and know you’re qualified for. After your interview Human Resources calls you and lists all of your skills that qualify you for the position and speaks personally on how great you are. You didn’t get the job, which sucks, but man, don’t you feel real good after being told how perfect you were for it and not getting it? Doesn’t that just make you want to run right out and apply for all the jobs and not question your self worth in any way? I mean, they said you’re great! Why are you crying so much?!
And why not? You know, if you were standing over there looking at us, you know what you’d see? That we totally match. We’re actually a great couple together. And yet, you would never date a girl like me. Have you ever dated a girl that was heavier than you? Have you?
Louie: Yes I have, yes I have.
Vanessa: No no no, I didn’t say have you ever fucked a fat girl, Louie. I’m sure you have. Every guy has. I mean, when I met you, if I had said, “Hey, do you want to go to the bathroom and screw on a big can of peaches?” you would have gone for it. No, I’m saying, have you ever dated a fat girl. Have you ever kissed a fat girl? Have you ever wooed a fat girl? Have you ever held hands with a fat girl? Have you ever walked down the street in the light of day, holding hands, with a big girl like me?
Anyone can get laid. I understand that I am a woman and, behind closed doors, I’ll meet your immediate needs regardless of what I look like or who I am to you. I’m not stupid. I’ve learned it is as easy as saying to someone “Do you want to go home with me?” What I should say is “Do you want to go home with me and talk for a little bit about where we are in our lives and find out that we really like each other and have tons of stuff in common and maybe we’ll leave it open because we’re two super cool people, but it will never materialize because you actually think I am a 6 out of 10 and you’re ballsy enough to say that to me in front of other people?” because that’s actually what happens. We’ll hope that they’re nice to us the next morning. We hope that they treat us not as a mistake, but as someone that they actually give a shit about after the fact. We are filled with hope for some reason every single time it happens. This is not goddamn Circle of Friends. It could’ve been anyone in those situations, but it will never be me again.
Why shouldn’t it be? Is there something absolutely terrifying about being seen with me?
Go ahead. Hold my hand. What do you think is going to happen? You think your dick is going to fall off if you hold hands with a fat girl? You know what the sad thing is? It’s all I want. I mean, I can get laid. Any woman who is willing can get laid. I don’t want that. I don’t even need a boyfriend or a husband. All I want is to hold hands with a nice guy, and walk and talk —
Hold my hand.
For the past few months I’ve been playing around on Tinder. My activities are limited to responding to perverted messages with even more perverted things until I get a “…Best of luck to you” from the instigator and chatting with guys that are either on a layover at Logan or send me messages in the style of Prince (“Hey Grl. Wat r u up 2?”). The one Tinder date I had left me in a parking lot late at night after I had locked my keys in my car. It was going really, really well.
Imagine my surprise when Jacob (not his name) messaged me one Friday night and asked me to meet up for a drink. I declined at first, because it was late (9:30pm) and I was already in my donut pajamas and watching Wrestlemania II, but after some seemingly normal conversation void of red flags, I threw out a few suggestions of bars in our neighborhood we could meet up at. He refused all options due them being his usual hangouts and I suggested a place I knew no one ever frequented.
“This place is so dumb,” he said as he walked in.
“Hi, I’m Dana.”
When he asked me why I ever set foot in that place I explained I had come in with a friend after having dinner across the street at one of my favorite restaraunts.
“I hate when people do that. I hate when people say ‘That place is so great’ all the time.”
“When did I say anything else was ‘great?’ You should go there and form your own opinion. It’s a really nice place.”
Then it just became a spiral of negativity.
“I think pub trivia is annoying and I don’t know why people do it.”
“Well, everyone has their own thing. What do you do?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m unemployed. Thanks for bringing it up.”
I resisted the urge to slam my fist on the counter. I should’ve been watching Hulk Hogan slam Andre the Giant. “Well, I meant, like, what do you do with your life? Your time?”
“I told you. I’m unemployed. I’m not into sports. I hate basketball.”
“I love basketball. I lived in San Antonio….”
To show his disinterest he made some face like he was trying to hold in a sneeze and a fart at the same time while waving his hands in the air.
“I got so upset about your question about what I do that I didn’t ask what you do.”
I wanted to say “FOR REAL? HOW COULD YOU NOT EXPECT SOMEONE TO ASK YOU THE MOST BASIC, GENERAL QUESTION ABOUT YOUR LIFE AND THEN STILL BE REALLY COOL ABOUT IT WHEN YOU ACT LIKE A GIANT DICKMUNCH?” Instead, I played nice.
“I’m a social worker, but I do a ton of other things with my free time.” As I began to answer his question I am almost positive that I saw his spirit physically leave his body in search of discussing his hatred of people that use the term upcycle instead of refurbish – a topic I actually would’ve agreed with him on. “Anyway, I just moved into the neighborhood. How long have you lived here?”
“What’s your living situation like? Roommates?”
“I have a roommate, yes. A woman.”
“Like an old woman?”
“…You could say that….”
“Like an old woman that you care for and is going to die soon?”
“I live with my girlfriend.”
I smiled. “That’s cool. How long have you guys been together?”
He leaned away in his chair. “Three years. I’m a terrible person. I’m an awful person…”
I watched him squirm in his seat for a little while. Even though I had decided about two minutes into meeting this guy that I wanted nothing to do with him, I was pissed. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted to get out of the house. I’m sorry for wasting your time.” He looked guilty. Finally, a different emotion!
“Okay. I’m going to finish my drink and go.”
“Yeah, me too.”
I laughed one of those high society type laughs I didn’t realize I was capable of doing. “No. I’m going to finish my drink. You’re going to leave.”
And with that he chugged his beer and ran out.
The soundtrack to my walk home was notifications of new messages on Tinder from Jacob. “I’m deleting this app!” “You don’t understand!” And my personal favorite: “I FEEL BAD!” Realizing I had given him my phone number at some point, I blocked him so the information would evaporate into space.
Another notification. Cool! Someone new!
“Hi Dana! How do you feel about circumcision?”
And then I deleted Tinder. And I deleted okcupid. And I just deleted a bunch of other unrelated apps out of rage to make a statement.
It’s important to see people for who they really are. Technology hinders this by making it easier to hide behind a chat box. It also gives people a chance to be completely disrespectful and inappropriate with no repercussions. Try asking me about my thoughts on circumcision as a pick up line and see what happens (Hint: Mase).
Share the things that you love with people, because that is what is the most interesting. Don’t waste my time with your negative garbage. If all you have to share is negativity and you love absolutely nothing (including your girlfriend of three years), then I don’t want to spend one second in your company. It’s not the things that you like or what you do with your time, but you’re approach to them. I make zero excuses for the things that I enjoy and I shouldn’t have to make any. Your compatibility with someone doesn’t stem on your hobbies or interests. Don’t compromise who you are because someone doesn’t like that you like basketball. (Go Spurs!)
People have asked me what I would do if I ran into Jacob at a bar along with his friends or his girlfriend. The answer is nothing. I will stand my ground with my vodka soda and refuse to let it bother me. He knows what he did and it’s up to him to figure out his next step as far as his relationship is concerned. Let’s hope that meeting a beautiful, fun, and fancy lady for a drink might have been some type of wake up call for him and, if it wasn’t, there will be one eventually. It’s not my problem.
A few days before this event took place, I sat across from my friend Vincent enjoying a fantastic sushi buffet. “I think I’ve realized that I don’t care if I am alone forever. It’s all I know,” I said.
He shook his head vehemently. “No. It’s actually something I’ve been thinking about lately. We need companionship. You need companionship.”
I didn’t need much time to craft my response. “I just want to eat sushi, watch wrestling, and knit with my cat forever.”
He shrugged. “Well, then maybe you will live alone forever.” We both laughed, but in a way I knew what Vincent was saying was true. And what I was saying is true, too. At this point in my life I am totally okay not dating.
I need to preface this entry by saying that I was doing speed dating for the wrong reasons. I did it because I wanted to do some thing different, hilarious, and totally out of my comfort zone. I was not doing this to find my soulmate.
“I think I am going to do a different character for each interview.”
“But what if one of them is a your soul mate?” We both laughed, but in a way I knew what Kamille was saying was true. And what I was saying is true, too. At this point in my life I feel like dating is just interviewing people.
My dating experience is limited. I went out on a date with a guy who wrote me an email saying “I just don’t think I can give you want you want.” My response was “Hey, Sorry to write back, but I am so thrilled that someone can tell me what it is that I want, because I wasn’t really sure myself. SPILL IT!” I dated a guy who told me he wanted to make plans through the now defunct AIM and made it a point to tell me, on every date, just how much he disliked Mick Foley because of his college roommate. I went out on a date with a guy who after we finished our beers and I said “What now?” he leaned in, said “this,” and followed it with a kiss. “So, ice cream?” I asked. It was all I could do to not vomit in my mouth. What I really wanted to say was “Get away from me. I have a scarf I need to finish and last nights Smackdown on my DVR.”
I knew I was going to be a tough sell and that was fine by me.
This list has been revamped quite a few times. Some of the easier or more boring things have been replaced by completely ridiculous things. When Speed Dating jumped up as a Living Social deal, Kamille and I took advantage of it. So, along with our friend Jess, we made our way to Om in Cambridge on a beautiful April evening. We’d received an email a few days before saying that it had been moved to Om from Petit Robert in Downtown Boston because there were so many people they needed a bigger space.
I thought of a few different ways I could present myself to my potential suitors. I could sit there and stare in silence; I could put a tape recorder on that table, say “go” and sit there with my arms folded; or I could put my arm on the table arm wrestling style and say “If you lose the first one, we will make it best out of three. I’m a good sport.” All endearing and very true to who I am.
Someone who is totally bad at this interacting thing.
Overall, it went well. And, strangely, a little fun. Of the nine guys that I spoke to, most were normal. Some were really totally weird. Here are a few of my favorite interactions for varios reasons:
“Is this your first time doing speed dating?”
“No, they told me that they needed more guys, so I’m here for free.”
“You’re an engineer? Awesome! What type of engineering?”
“I make organs.”
“How long have you been doing that for?”
“All my life.”
and my contribution?
“I did a year of community service in Texas.”
“Uhhh…not court mandated?”
I won’t even go in depth about the kid that said no one got him because he was “super nerdy” and then judged me when I mentioned that I like wrestling. For the record I mentioned wrestling one time and my cats giant penis zero times. In retrospect, I probably should’ve opened with the cat bit, it’s a great conversation starter. One of my friends has bedded many a women by telling my own life stories. Apparently, I’d kill with women.
So, after you forcefully engage with nine questionably suitable bachelors, you list your top five on the card. If they list you on theirs, you get an email in 24 hours with each others email address so that you can spend more than 6 minutes together. Neither Kamille, Jess, or I received an email stating that any of these dudes were interested. And you know what? That’s ok. I have a yoga mat bag to knit and Daniel Bryan is about to cut an awesome “YES! YES! YES!” promo on Monday Night Raw.