Match.com Is Right: Why It's Okay to Look (Even If You're Not Looking)

Online dating is terrible. And great. And fun. And frustrating. But those same words describe dating in general. People complain about dating after divorce, or dating after 40, but from what I can tell, dating at any age is a test of one's endurance and sense of humor. Take a snapshot of a website's collection of profiles at any given moment, or trap everyone in a bar on a Saturday night, and you're going to see the same characters. Single people come in all flavors across all spectrums: they are hopeful and jaded, horny and uptight, desperate and cavalier, cocky and insecure, honest and deceptive. They're people. People who need people.

As one of those single people, I admit to being home alone on more weekend evenings than I want to be. Some of my married readers may be jealous, and I can understand why: a Friday night can be lonely, but also self-indulgent. Last night, for example, I did what I wanted: I watched “Sex In the City” and “What Not to Wear” and other chick stuff, flipping channels with the remote as often as I wanted; I ate a healthy salad and diet soda, followed by two bowls of ice cream, approximately (ahem!) number of cookies, and three glasses of wine; I wore my pajamas over comfortable cotton underwear and unshaved legs; I read online personal ads.

So, at this point, I have to admit that I read them all: m4m, w4w, m4w, w4m, and all kinds of other categories I am discovering with each visit to a new site (did you even know there is such a thing as mm4tw???). I should probably be embarrassed to admit that I read this crap. And make no mistake: it IS crap. But sometimes it is hilarious crap. And if I were too embarrassed to admit that I read it, I wouldn't be able to share it with my readers, who by now must know that I am all about sharing and caring, even if it makes me look a lot less cool than the persona I was hoping to establish.

Anyway, the point is that last night I saw a headline that gave me hope for all the single ladies, all the single ladies (whoa-oh-oh).

The headline said it all. It said This Man is Funny. Honest. Vulnerable. Sensual. Expressive. Enthusiastic. It said This Man Knows What He Wants. And surprisingly, What He Wants is NOT a teeny, tiny, prepubescent, stick-thin, wanna-be model-waif chick who is devoid of curves but compensates with a push-up bra. This Man? For many women, This Man is a beacon of hope. For others perhaps, This Man is a crude, sophomoric neanderthal. And for me?

For me, This Man represents a happy future, but not one related to sex or love. For me, This Man represents financial independence. Why? Because while he is trolling online for BBWs, I am going to take his headline, copyright it, trademark it, stylize it, and slap it on tee-shirts, sweatshirts, baseball caps, bumper stickers, and all manner of dollar store goodies. I will be rich because of This Man and his headline. I don't want to date him, but still I see a bright future because of him. And so, without further ado (and at the very real risk of having someone steal my great idea and make MY million dollars off it), I present to you the headline worthy of an entire blog post and the foundation for my future Fortune 500 company:

I Heart Big Giant Boobies!!!

(Yeah, he included all those exclamation points, too. Thank God for This Man and his unfettered exuberance. This Man is my muse. Hey, and if you see my merchandise in the future, mention this blog post and get 10% off your purchase. Such a deal.)

Overheard on The People's Court

I'm practically a lawyer. I didn't go to law school, but I think I have experience that is equivalent to a law degree. Why? Well, over the past few years, I have logged probably a hundred hours watching court TV shows—and if it isn't really a hundred, it just FEELS like that many. I tend to focus on Judge Judy and Marilyn Milian who are, at this point, not only my models but my mentors. These chicks get it DONE with a gavel. Surly old broad and hot-blooded Latina. Both awesome.

Recently, I watched a case where Tyrone was accusing his friend Lashawn of stealing his gun. They'd been friends for fifteen years, and even though they were close, Tyrone said Lashawn was a SNAKE. In fact, Lashawn had a habit of cock-blocking on a very regular basis. He steals females from his buddy, so maybe he steals firearms from him, too.

So, Lashawn drove the two of them to a club, and when they parked, Tyrone left his [registered and legal] gun in the car. But when they came out at the end of the night, even though the car was still locked, Tyrone's gun was missing. Apparently, Lashawn was victimized as well; his hoodie and skullcap had walked. (Gun vs. hoodie. Totally the same. Reminds me of those evil idiots who kill someone, shoot off a half-inch of skin from their own forearm, then claim it was all done by a masked freak during a carjacking gone bad. Whatever.) Anyway, the whole thing is--I am sure you agree--shocking. Quite shocking.

But what was even more shocking was that Lashawn kept insisting that he never took the gun out of the GLOVE DEPARTMENT. There is no lock on the GLOVE DEPARTMENT, and everyone knows that when someone breaks into a car, the first place they look is the GLOVE DEPARTMENT. Besides, he never even saw the gun in the GLOVE DEPARTMENT, but maybe the two other buddies who were riding in the back seat saw it and had opened the GLOVE DEPARTMENT and taken it. He was innocent, obviously.

Of stealing, that is. But of murdering the English language? Verdict: GUILTY.

I don't have a single drop of Latin blood in me to my knowledge, but I know I would have gone loco listening to that guy. I would have held him in contempt. Found him guilty of irritating me. Climbed over the big, high judgy desk thingy and strangled him with his own sloppily-knotted, Walmart necktie. Judges exact justice, not mercy...right?

But the Honorable Judge Marilyn Milian? She kept a straight face and didn't even correct him. Didn't even flinch. That hot-blooded Latina kept it cool, banged that gavel, and let the dude go without sentencing him to mandatory English classes.

Yeah, that was probably the right way to handle it. Never mind. I can't be a judge.

Overheard: Hitlerism

Me: Now, what was happening in the 1960s that had a profound impact on all of America, including and especially the rural South?

Devon: 9-11?

Me: No, that was less than ten years ago, remember? Something important was happening in the 1960s that you have been learning about since elementary and middle school. [attempt to reactivate a topic that is arguably OVER-taught in the early grades]

Brian: The Civil War?

Me: Well, that happened MUCH earlier, but you are right to be thinking about issues connected to slavery and its long-term ramifications. [attempt to let student save face and hoping to push thoughts in the right direction in spite of the fact that I KNOW the student is not thinking about these issues]

Luis: Hitlerism?

Me: Nope. And that's still not a word. [attempt to remind student that he has used this non-word in multiple situations, none of which was remotely related to World War II or Nazi Germany]

[During a classroom conversation with sophomores in preparation to read Harper Lee's novel To Kill a Mockingbird.]

Yes, I know it's a terribly important piece of literature for multiple historical, cultural, social, and literary reasons. But somehow I get the feeling this class may suck dry what is left of my already anemic enthusiasm for the the novel. It's going to be a war of attrition. Can I chip away at their ignorance, apathy, and general hatred of reading more rapidly than they can drain my resolve to show them why this book is worth their time and effort? I remind myself (as I so often remind them) that I get paid the same no matter what, which means I can surrender at any time--resort to worksheets and SparkNotes and showing of the movie--and no one outside our little disfunctional classroom community will find out or even care.

I do a quick gut check, take a deep breath, and begin. Fake it 'til you make it. That's my motto. We will make it to the end of the novel and find things to love about it. And I will make them embrace one of the novel's important messages--that human love and compassion are powerful and influential forces for good and can defeat hatred and intolerance and violence--and they will learn this...even if I have to beat it into them.

Overheard: Cuban Sandwich

Me: Have you ever had a pressed Cuban sandwich?
Students (all aged 16+): What's that?
Me: Doesn't anyone know what a Cuban sandwich is?
Jose: Is that like lasagna?
Beatriz: No, of course not!
Lynette: What's lasagna?
Beatriz: It's cheese.

[During what should have been a discussion about Nora Ephron's essay, "A Sandwich" about what she claims is the best hot pastrami sandwich in the world and which can be bought at Langer's Delicatessen in Los Angeles.]

Cuban sandwich = lasagna = cheese. As if that weren't enough, other points of clarification that needed to be provided to my students included explaining what a bodega is, what you do at a pawnshop, why one might refer to a famous landmark as a "shrine," and why businesses would charge people to use their bathrooms. Suffice it to say that we only got through the first two paragraphs. So much for lesson planning.

Overheard: The Shotgun

"I hope I have a daughter so I have a good reason to buy a shotgun."

From a 14-year-old freshman who was asked to write in his notebook about how many kids he hopes to have one day and why. Brilliant.