hypostian

When I worked at Starbucks, around the time when I was eighteen or so (give or take, I can't remember exactly how old I was when the question was asked), I had a younger gentleman ask me how old I was in a vague attempt to flirt with me. I was flattered by his attempts, but was more curious about his intentions. I gave the Trap Challenge every woman gives to discern whether or not you pass: Guess.
Taken slightly aback by my sauciness, he obliged my challenge and tried like a gentleman to ask with the most confidence he could muster. He stared at me for a bit, sizing me up and then when he thought he'd nailed down an age, he stood tall, and guessed.
32.
I immeadiately didn't know whether to be insulted or complimented, and I laughed and informed him he was about a decade off. He blinked at me then proceeded to guess 40, which was also wrong, and I finally just had to correct him to keep him from embarassing himself and myself any further.
Lets walk four years down the road, back in my hometown at a study group with a woman who had graduated with my oldest brother and my fathers dear friend's wife. We all guessed ages, and I found that the only one I missed by much was the wife. The woman I missed by two years. Both of them asked my age, and once again. The curiousity struck once again, and I let them guess. The woman guessed 35. The Wife guessed 30. Both of the men that were at the study group (my father's friend and the woman's husband who had also graduated with my eldest brother) were about as stunned as I was. I once again had to correct them by about a decade.
The best save I've heard yet is that I carry myself with the heir of a 30-year-old.
Once again - I can't decide if this is a compliment, or subtle way of saying to remove the large stick that has been shoved up my ass since I was 15 or 16.
This being said, its hard to imagine I come off to others with an older sense of self. I watch cartoons, read manga, and  on a usual basis, can be unusually petulant child and rather angry. I suppose my anger could also be mistaken as bitterness, which you only see in regretful old hags, which is quite possibly what I've painted myself as and why people could continuously be guessing a much older age than I am. There is a slight fear that the general population will mistake me for being twice my age when I'm 30!
This brings up the inquiry how does one come about that 'Old Soul' vibe? What must happen to a person when they are being mistaken as someone who has lived life a bit longer than the rest of them? My life has been far from traumatizing; in fact, I've had the courtesy and blessing of a charmed life in middle class. I've always lived in a five bedroom two bathroom house, with a kitchen and a dining room, and I have never known hunger as an intimate guest. To be completely honest, my anger and bitterness spouts from not being where I want to be and doing the things I've wanted to do that I keep promising to myself I'm going to do.
So how in the world does one increase in wisdom and power and glory forever and ever amen?
I have two theories at best.
One of which would be the sense of morality I've had and been trained to have since I was 9. Church started up and morality lessons were taught, to which at first I clung to; then dropped. I got tired of not having what I wanted, and scorned faith because faith was ruining my fragile jr. high sense of life. In the back of my mind, even now, I have always had a sense of right and wrong. Christianity has only strengthened that morale and made it to where it is harder for me to just do whatever I want without considering first the consequences of actions taken, and then the effect on others it might leave.
Had I done what both of my sisters have and just gone bat-shit crazy taking my fill of what I want when I want, I would most likely be in their very positions - either addicted to pain medications or living in a dump with a baby that I didn't really want. I like doing well by others. Now that I'm older its more muddled than it once was, because there is always an underlying gain to my actions, but feeling good that others feel good is something I strive for.
My second theory is that I really did have a traumatizing event that I simply don't remember, or were too young to experience it and didn't understand what was happening to me. There are few and far between memories beyond the age of 3, and those that are, are really creepy.
Being disgusted by the smell of mold because it reminds you of a damp cellar where laundry is done and where a dog is kept that you know you've been in at some point in life is not a good memory to call up. Mold is such a common scent that now that the memory has been chaulked up (I recently discovered this in the last year or so), everytime I smell it, the memory comes back stronger. I'm hoping I'll understand it better as I continue to experience the memories brought on by my senses.
Until then, I'm just another old hag with bitterness and anger issues. At least we can do a spin-off of Grumpy Old Men; it'll be called Bitchy Old Women.

One of the most intimate moments I've ever spent with a man I liked happened around when I was 16 or 17, and it was the fiance of a good friend who I was crushing on hardcore. This guy was my size (super short for a guy), loved to ballroom dance (and was teaching me swing and tango), had a quirky weird personality, and knew how to be a friendly irritant. He lived at my parents house because he was a devout christian man, good with God but not great with finances, and was trying to find a job that fit his big personality. It was around January or February, because it was snowing around the time, and that is such a delight! Whenever it snows, I get this happy feeling in the pit of my stomach, and this calm that says everything is going to be okay just settles over me.
It was blanketing everything.
We went to the grocery store that day for SOMETHING, I can't remember what, but on the way out to the car I was vehemently denying driving in the snow; I didn't know how to and wasn't going to wreck his damn car trying. He opened the driver's side door, hit the lock button before I could get in, and only unlocked the driver's side door, then scooted over to the passenger side door and told me I wasn't leaving the parking lot until I drove us home.
That little bastard made me feel great about myself by the end of the drive.
We didn't leave the house again, and decided we would watch the snow fall with big blankets out under the front porch. When I started making hot chocolate with hot water, he grabbed my mug, dumped the water out, and poured milk into two mugs, then made me some absolutely delicious hot chocolate, which was served to me outside while the snow was falling. We stayed there for almost an hour in companionable silence, and everything was well in the world.
Since then I've only had one other decent 'date', where I was bullied out of paying the bill and then went back to his place for some R & R. For the record, this guy had been courting me for a couple of years and in comparison to the rest of the cheating bastards I'd experienced where I'm at, it was a total God-send. Later on I spent even more intimate moments with this guy as a Christmas gift to the both of us. I got a kiss on the forehead and snuggling, which is something I'd never experienced before and was fantastic in the arms of someone I'd trust implicitly with my bank account.
Its been so long since a guy has treated me like the first guy mentioned, that I've almost given up completely on finding anyone thats even one tenth of him. Before him, I'd dated a womanizing, cheating bastard. After him, I got another one that was just as stupid, and didn't even want what I wanted. After those two disasters, I fended off a jock and future model (both of whom work at fast food restaurants and are still waiting for their fame to be handed to them, although I will say that I do like Applebees and the Jock works at one... Free spinach artichoke dip for EVERYONE!!).
Its kinda depressing to think about how hopeful I was when I was younger, and how horribly angled that idea has become since then. I keep being told that if God wants me to meet someone, he'll bring someone into your life. God doesn't give you more than you can handle. God loves you and wants whats best for you.
To be completely honest, I believe there is an entity greater than anything I can possibly imagine capable of wonderful, horrible, awe-inspiring feats of grace and impossibility. God is just a flimsy name we can give to this Higher Being. Elohim comes a bit closer. I remember during a seminar hosted by Robert Bell (an incredible speaker), he spoke partly on the first Jewish name given to God. It was meant to be translated as something along the lines of the sound of breathing, something that we breathed in and out, so everytime we drew breath, we were saying God's name. That doesn't even compare to how big I think God is, because this entire enormous and unfathomable universe could only have been created so perfectly.
Recently I read in Genesis chapter 12 the story of the Tower of Babel. Everyone at this point in history has the same language and is trying to build a tower that reaches up to the heavens. God comes to examine their feat, and decides that if they were to accomplish this task, then nothing would be beyond them and that they would need to confuse the languages to keep them from being in one spot. At first I was in shock at what I'd read with a new understanding.
Was He inhibitting man's progression and unity? But then I realized this was after the flood and that the whole one language thing hadn't worked in man's favor in the first place. I also realized that not spreading over the earth would then have a problem when disease came around to wipe humans out. It would be this whole plague that man as a population would have to bounce back from every time or possibly just go extinct and God would have to start from scratch again. So really, in the end after taking in all the pros and cons, I understand a bit more, but still felt somewhat hurt somehow because part of me still just doesn't understand the whole story. The way it phrases what God says, "Nothing will be beyond them. Lets confuse their language!" makes me feel like man's progression is not what God wants.
Which in turn has me taking it personally. Normally, I get the feeling I know when something big is speaking to me. There are too many coincidences telling me that it applies to me and how I'm going to live the rest of my life. The last three weeks of sundays has been all about God being Late, Non-existant, or saying No. I hate it when I know He's a bit attentive and then consoling me with that little tidbit of what is supposed to make me automatically understanding and unfrustrated.
I'm upset with God, this entity, which I have no right to be but am anyways.
I would also like to tell the happy people of the world who keep telling me, "Don't worry, it'll work out you just need to be patient!" to go fuck themselves and their happy advice. If you were in my situation feeling what I feel, seeing what I see, being tempted as I have, you wouldn't be saying shit right now and just hanging on for dear life in a piss poor excuse of a dating scene. The only thing that gives me a bit of comfort is the verses found somewhere in the new testament where Jesus lets us know, God works in our Weaknesses. If thats the case, I have plenty of them to work with.

So thanks be to a dear friend of mine, she let me borrow this fantastic thing from her website (I ASKED! Its okay!). I love this post she did for her website - Inspiring and dark.
From the recesses of GS come Wreck!

She was told she was a wreck monday morning.
Her clients brashly accused her of doing her job and failing miserably even in the wake of the old woman's pains and sorrow. This time it wasn't her fault, and she was simply an innocent victim in the mess of the old woman's life, taking the blame and agony away for a moment while the old woman screamed her grief.
Tuesday she is still a wreck because what started monday, carried on to tuesday...
And not only was she unable to speak, she couldn't even pick up the phone to face the old woman's wrath. After careful instructions and obvious explanations, there was still a hesitation and fear that prevented her from doing her job in the first place and now her co-worker has to pay the price for her inability.
She's a wreck on wednesday because the one she wants won't call her back.
She's lost on whether or not she should give in and call him because she does not want to sound as desperate as she is, but she can't stand the growing darkness of foreboding as other start to knock on the door to her heart that are so much closer... The truth of a close distance relationship is frightening and real.
Nobody notice's she's a wreck on thursday.
The pain in her shoulder keeps spreading like a burning firey itch and it just won't go away. She hasn't slept through the night in two days, and with the way its throbbing, protesting to every movement, she knows tonight will be another sleepless night as she turns on her lamp to read in a last ditch effort to ignore the burning.
Mother knows she's a wreck on Friday;
Because keeping secrets is a sin and the relationship she wants to be in is an uneven yoke even though mother doesn't know that there is no relationship; just a joke of a friendship. Mother also knows that she's afraid of moving on to become something for fear of something she just can't say. With the knowledge that no matter how its phrased or who says it, telling her mother the truth would mean certain death to everything she needs to hold onto to keep from going crazy.
The massage therapist can feel it in her bones during her Saturday appointment; this girl is a wreck.
She says it out loud and asks what she does with her stress, and she can only admit to bottling it because there is no outlet, no sacred place to scream and cry and let it be. The pain in her shoulder, the knots in her back are all a physical reminder that she's a big mess still needing to be picked up, and there is no one willing to help her pick up the pieces close enough to deal with the aftermath. She still hasn't slept through an entire night and the circles are starting to form under her eyes when she ducks under the covers and grimaces, knowing she'll be up for another four hours placating her physical, spiritual, and mental wounds.
It isn't Sunday....
But she knows as soon as she walks into that building with a coffee in her hand and a croissant in the other that they will remind her she's a wreck. A big ball of imperfection, wanting the things she can't have, being angry, frustrated, tired of fighting and crying and not being able to just let go: Be a human being. Its getting harder to cope with each passing day and she prays the scathing accusation will end: She is an unadulterated, unpassified, undignified, unsanctified, pent up, pathetic, simpering, slaving, wreck.
When Monday rolls around, it will be swept up and put in presentable pile. She'll still be a wreck... But at least when the week starts, nobody will notice as much.

Recently I've continuously come across a circumstance in my field that is the highlight and bane of my job: This job constantly changes. When you think it's set in stone, it changes with a new twist to cover up a recently discovered loophole. Unfortunately it also true for the Agency I work for. Rules change to keep up with the consistent demands and dishonesty of our clients to protect our clients as well as ourselves. Because of this, we've changed our process on ONE particular piece of paperwork that is part of processing.
Now normally I take criticism with about a shake of salt - I'm not great at it, but I'm slowly getting better. When you work with your mother it gets tense no mater what the situation is. The idea to this processing is to call the client about their renewing paperwork without alerting them to changes in premium. It isn't dishonest - if they ask about the premium we are required by law to discuss it, and it really isn't that big of a deal to me. The problem with it is in doing this you recycle alot of business in rewriting them in other companies; its not cost effective for us OR the client. I have changed my greeting and questioning around six or seven times to come to the START of this conclusion - only to be told that I'm doing it wrong again.
Now once again - the idea is to keep insured from asking about any increases in premium. Of the fifteen phone calls I've made, about six have inquired about their premium and why it's gone up. Usually, its only minor and it had a reasonable explanation thats easily found, but one or two companies have recently had increases that are ungodly and unjust. When the policy looses premium, we make less money on renewals, which makes it even harder to stay afloat. What can I say, people want free insurance.
Because I'm having trouble, I inquire more about it to my boss - mother. Her conclusion to my greeting is that I must still be doing something wrong. Normally, I don't mind being told I'm wrong. The problem is, I've asked about this multiple times and still had problems after their solutions. Anyone would be frustrated at this point!
To continue the frustration, I'm a single person living in my parents house paying of a 10K car. The payments on the car keep me from renting an appartment of my own with a roomy, so I'm trying to make do and save where I can. I was approached in around August about going on a vacation with said mother. My first response was no: I didn't want to go somewhere I didn't like and didn't care to visit again, rather save for a place I'd never been and go with my best buddy. I don't mind going on vacations with her at all! In fact, I do enjoy it,quite a bit, and its always a great experience with a dear friend and parent. She threw a fit and threatened to go with my older brother, which I shrugged off and went on my way.
SHe finally managed to convince me to go when she invited my bestie to ride along with us, as long as I paid the plane ticket and she paid for herself on the trip. I invited, she said yes, all good, right? Now on top of my car payment, health insurance, gas expenses, and her demand to keep up with my food and rent which include my phone and insurance along with a bit more, I had to save up for tickets to really expensive places to go. Now I'm being ridden for not saving enough and being called horrible with my finances.
She wins there. I said yes to a vacation I really couldn't afford and should've simply said no. In fact, I still have new tires to save up for, work clothes to buy (I was working all week in one pair of twenty dollar walmart slacks....), and updated room furniture to buy when I'm ready to move out.
So here I am, angry and frustrated with people telling me one thing and then asking another out of me, then letting me know that I'm wrong for doing everything at every turn. Like I said before, I don't mind criticism. I enjoy trying to better myself however I can, recognizing that its hard sometimes for me to take criticisms on things that are hard for me to change. But I don't like when at every turn I try to change it and find out that once again I'm wrong. The first story I can think of that explains it, is The Man, the Boy and the Donkey.

A man and his son were once going with their donkey to market. As they were walking along by his side a countryman passed them and said, "You fools, what is a donkey for but to ride upon?" So the man put the boy on the donkey, and they went on their way.

But soon they passed a group of men, one of whom said, "See that lazy youngster, he lets his father walk while he rides."

So the man ordered his boy to get off, and got on himself. But they hadn't gone far when they passed two women, one of whom said to the other, "Shame on that lazy lout to let his poor little son trudge along."

Well, the man didn't know what to do, but at last he took his boy up before him on the donkey. By this time they had come to the town, and the passersby began to jeer and point at them. The man stopped and asked what they were scoffing at.

The men said, "Aren't you ashamed of yourself for overloading that poor donkey of yours -- you and your hulking son?"

The man and boy got off and tried to think what to do. They thought and they thought, until at last they cut down a pole, tied the donkey's feet to it, and raised the pole and the donkey to their shoulders. They went along amid the laughter of all who met them until they came to a bridge, when the donkey, getting one of his feet loose, kicked out and caused the boy to drop his end of the pole. In the struggle the donkey fell over the bridge, and his forefeet being tied together, he was drowned.

I'll do my best to take it like Thomas Edison and his fantastic inventions.... But It does get discouraging when you can't satisfy anyone's expectations of you.

Stereohearts... Not only is that song the bomb, but the cover-art always makes me smile.

Today is Sunday.
In a completely uncharacteresitic move, I decided to doll up a bit today.. In classic 60s pinup mode, I teased my red hair in the back to bump it up a bit, gave myself the trademark Amy Winehouse eyeliner, blushed my cheeks, and wore a black long-sleeved button up and a pair of dark jeans with traditional black Mary Jane platformed stillettos. To complete this look, I decided that I would pull out the bright red lipstick to top it off. Upon looking in the mirror, I was smokin'! I looked good, felt good, and walked out with swagger to teach Jr. High School students their Genesis Bible lesson. I felt like the naughty teacher when I walked out the door carrying a cake made from scratch for the kids.
As soon as I stepped into the church, however, my ego deflated like a limp balloon.
The first compliment I recieved was from my chauvinist but well-meaning pastor, who is a fantastic gentleman for the most part, but had been encourging me that the more weight I lost the more attractive I got as a person. Breezing past him I met my grandmother and aunt, and got the desired speechless ness I was going for - even the dropped jaw! I would've stayed to soak in the positivity from those two if I hadn't already been just a bit behind my usual early morning schedule. 
For the rest of the morning though, I was looking for those idiots that hadn't given me a second glance, with all manner of condemnation for their degredations, so caught up in how awesome I looked. I'm pretty sure if I had no self control, I would've simply wanted to stand on my chair in the middle of church just so I could say, "Look at me now! Think I'm pretty now? You want a glimpse of my horrid inner self esteem NOW that you've completely destroyed it? HUH?!" To be completely honest, I don't think I took a one compliment from men to heart today. I kept thinking to myself, Yeah. Sure I look gorgeous now that I've lowered myself to YOUR standards, you jerks! It was like I had nothing good to say to those people.
I'm semi-guilty about it now, but throughout every single thought process, I kept the small voice in the back of my head trying to get in a word edgwise over the demon that kept clouding my judgement. Small things, like how my pastor really did mean to have my best interest at heart, and how the other older gentleman confined to his walker only meant to attempt to find me a boyfriend...?  (I will have to say, of anyone that offended me the most, he was it. When the man blames you for not looking good enough to haul in a catch rather than most of the men in the county being uneducated, narrow-minded jackasses, it tends to hit a sour note with any true lady.)
So now, I'm completely dressed down, in nothing but a cami and underwear with the lipstick all cleaned off, I'm feeling a bit better... I can't say my thoughts  have changed in the least though. What's horrible is that I went into a chatroom and totally projected my stereotypical view of younger men onto a poor soldier from Washington that most likely didn't even deserve my wrath! I gotta start taking my own advice. Instead of swearing left and right towards those I feel bring me down, I need to remember that if not for their close-minded comments, I wouldnt' be the angry, unconventional Betty Crocker I am. And I kinda like being the pissy, baking, sunday school teacher with a sense of fashion. Might as well make some lemon juice to blind the suckers that gave them to me in the first place!
Now if I could only haul my lazy butt out of bed....

A positive attitude is also consistent with the way you talk everyday. Try to cease and desist swearing. Have you ever noticed how much more positive someone is when they say Fiddlesticks instead of MotherF*cker when they're frustrated...? I mean, even I sound nicer when I say shoot! instead of sh@t!

Society has ruined ladies for beauty. I  might also add to be fair that Beauty has ruined ladies for society as well. Whatever is asthetically pleasing to society is accepted, admired, encouraged. Nowadays, you see more and more objectional examples of beauty gone wrong, from Toddlers and Tiaras to celebrities in general. The most uprorious thing that I've seen so far are little girls getting collegen injected lips and cheek implants to better win Texas Beauty pageants.
Now when I was younger, I was a cute kid. I liked being me as I was, with long brown hair, freckles everywhere, and always hyperactive and just enough weight to be a healthy little one. I started to grow from my childhood into puberty and the insecurities started to set in, but my childish love for my body stuck for a while: I vowed never to own a purse, never to dye or cut my beautiful hair, never to wear dresses. As I entered Jr. Highschool, I wore big baggy clothing because I didn't care - although I will admit to having one of the girls drag me into the girls bathroom and give me a makeover before picture day to make me look older and prettier.
Now, I have dyed hair, have cut it short to make it easier to deal with, and occasionally wear a skirt (my entire body still rebels against a dress, but I do own ONE). Sometimes, I find that a part of my childhood me is disappointed with the choices I've made. In my late teens, I was accosted by my pastor as I got older that "if I just lost some weight, I'd feel so much better about myself." Keep in mind, this man is in his fifties and has a tall, slender, blonde haired woman for a wife with legs that go on for miles and no chest. She could be a fake mom in a commercial. Comparing me to that is like comparing a frog to a fish. They both like the water but are nothing alike in the least. I have massive cleavage and a roundish bottom - I'm pinup material, but not model material.
Now I find this man guilty of Chauvinism. His wife not only looks like the perfect woman that should be living in the forties - sixties era, but she's a trained housewife. She cleans, cooks, and even dresses in forties -sixties era dresses and loves it. While I do think this is one of her hobbies, I also think that its slightly implicated by her husband that he wants her to do these things. I used to be able to eat a pint of icecream guilt free. Now, just like her, I cannot.
To continue, as I continued to grow up, I worked for an outside job where wearing pretty clothing just didn't fit the job description. I couldn't! I would be goggled at and cat called - thus I adopted jeans that would hold the sledgehammer I carried around in-field, and wore shirts that allowed me the maximum amount of movement. Because I didn't feel the need for pretty clothes, I opted for comfort and practicality. This did not sit well with others. At one point in time, someone approached my mother and inquired quite seriously whether or not I was a lesbian. She then pulled me aside to see if I was.
I've never been more offended by labels in my life. I was so angry and upset I was speechless for a long two minutes before I rose from the dining table and stormed out before anyone could see me burst into tears in frustration.
I'd always been instructed to dress appropriately. I love the way Dave Chapelle says it in one of his standups - the way you dress does say something about you. If you see a man standing in the street dressed as a police officer, and go up to him for help, only to have him say, "I'm just dressed like one. Not really a cop. Sorry!", its akin to a woman dressing in a short skirt and a midriff baring top. She's either a stripper or a hooker most cases. I agree with this concept to a point - Now I'm finding more of a balance, but I am now so leery of the way I look, I spend at least an hour a day in broken chunks of time checking for zits, making sure my makeup is applied propperly, and that I'm comfortable and semi-sexy in whatever it is I'm wearing. For the record, I've even dropped a good thirty pounds and am trying to drop another ten.
While I keep telling myself that its for health reasons, because my family is associated with a history of obesity and diabetes, I also secretly want to look like a bombshell model. I want to be attractive. I want to look like this to find my potential mate, and try to shake off the doubts in myself that I look horrible in whatever I wear and thats why nobody will date me. Its an ever lingering demon that loves to poke fun at my efforts. Even today, I'm sore and aching because of the strenuous workout I put myself through last night because of a big breakfast dinner.
Now onto the too skinny side... Don't you love the condemnation for Leann Rymes? Her bikini shots are definitely annoying, I won't deny that because I will never fit into a bikini... But she does look a smidgen skinny for her size. The argument is this - Isn't this what the public wanted? Isn't this what is socially accepted and encouraged every day? Even in the 1600s, when corsets were introduced, studies find that women with tinier waists were more attractive. Its continued on this day even if corsets are the "It" style.
One of the stories I read last year in the news was a woman who was diagnosed with leukemia. With the weight on when she was healthy, she got comments here and there about how good she looked. When the leukemia kicked into overdrive and caused her to loose weight with treatments, she got more and more compliments, and more people asking her what it was she was doing. Offended, she let them know she had been diagnosed with Cancer, and that her weight was unhealthy, and extremely dangerous for anyone, and that it was possible because of the weightloss incurred by treatment that she wouldn't live to see the next day. I would be pissed too!
Society has ruined me for beauty. I'm a made up monster now, and no side of the fence is pleases anyone.

For the most part, I'm still young; I hate going into any kind of chat room because I feel old at heart and listening to idiots ramble about crack rocks and nude cooking for breakfast in the morning just don't seem like great topics of conversation in a Christian based chatroom. Really. And because people take offense to being called immature idiots and raging out on people for reasons that are beyond them, the only thing one can really do is leave the room. Its kind of embarrassing to go into a chat room meant for older people way over your age because the rest of your group is filled with a bunch of incompetent boobs that can't manage one sentence throughout the conversation with proper grammar.
My hope is not in our generation.
The original idea before attempting on-line dating was an agreement between myself and my lover that because we live so far away from one another, we would both attempt online dating to find someone closer to fill the need for companionship. So far, our efforts have been nothing short of disasterous and humorous all at the same time. On night one, setting up the profile, I realized my profile needed to sound more like a handshake of words that introduced me as a lady of culture- not a marriage-crazed-nazi-bride (which when you are only listing off your good qualities, it completely sounds like you're shopping for a goldmine). The downside to the profiles is that the company has to approve of the photos and content of the profile. They have the right to say, NO, you cannot post a picture of Angelina Jo Lee in place of yourself. Its practical for idiots that actually try to pull that off - not for those that are really looking for a decent relationship.
Upon fixing this, I started surfing the website for decent men to associate with. While you surf, it shows a photo of the guy, then a YES MAYBE NO selection for if you would like to let them know you're interested. With me being the Grammar Nazi I am and having to have great spelling to indicate some sense of intelligence, I read through every single profile very carefully, check the things about that person, then the compatibility matches, and try to view the photos last (so as not to qualify them before I deem them worthy of time, and vice versa so I'm not wasting their time). After about an hour of surfing, I ran across a problem. After three hours of browsing (this flows into the next evening of messing around on the computer), I had finally had it.
Why in seven hells do all men think they are "pretty laid back."?
This statement was on almost 78% of all profiles! Even some of the promising ones turned completely distasteful upon reading that trite explanation for why the all seemingly don't care! Because at this time I didn't have the paid profile, I couldn't send any of them a message asking, "What exactly do you mean by laid back? Like, I could take your credit card and run up a bill buying shoes, shirts, and books and you're going to shrug your shoulders, smile, and say, It's okay honey! Or is it like you just wanting the excuse for why you haven't showered in two days? Perhaps another reason for why you don't care to take pride in your work outside of work, and why you sound so sloppy when you don't capitalize in a chat?"
Now, I have a rule of thumb: Even if you have a great compatability level, if you have, "I'm pretty laid back." on your profile, I will first scream in rage, then tear out a small bit of my hair, and then give you a big, fat, frowning NO.
>:C