mistaken identity

Speaking of having a name that's not uncommon.... I got a call this morning from a guy named Marty. I have a friend named Marty, but this was someone else, with a rather pronounced Minnesotan/Ontario accent.

Although I couldn't place him, he insisted that he knows me. He told me that he's Gwen's fiancé, and that I know her from working with Hobie (sp?). I told him it wasn't ringing a bell. I don't know anyone named Gwen, nor Hobie.

"Oh, sure. We've been over to your house a few times." No, I'm pretty sure you haven't been.

"You know Hobie?" No, I don't. "Oh, sure you do," he insisted. He went on to say that I'd been working with Hobie's escort service about two years ago.

Now, THAT I would have remembered. No, sorry, I'm not the Jen Willis you're looking for.

And, now that I think of it, I should have asked how the HELL he got my wireless number.

Later.... after spending fifteen minutes on the phone with the Department of Labor trying to track down how many people in the United States make their living as professional psychics....

I must be getting rather cocksure here in my mid-thirties. I called Marty back and asked to know how he'd gotten my wireless number. I'd done a Google search on the number, and it's nowhere on the web (that I can find). It's one thing to be mistaken for a call girl, and quite another to have someone call my private number looking for a call girl. (I'm not sure how these are different, but they are.)

It turns out that he'd had this number for Jen -- the gal he knew -- from several years back, but never knew her last name. So, apparently, someone named Jen had my number before I did. I think that's pretty sloppy work on T-Mobile's part. If this is really what happened, I'm amazed it took nearly two years for me to get this call.

further adventures in online dating

Yeah, so I think I'm done with this online medium of trying to meet someone. You can argue that I've not given it much of a shot, but I've tried online dating and connection sites on and off for awhile, and I am reminded of the definition of insanity: Trying the same approach over and over again, and expecting to get different results.

On Thursday, I finally took action against someone who had essentially been stalking me on OK Cupid. This is a fun social site that allows people to connect with each other -- as friends, potential dates, whatever -- based on profiles, fun and quirky tests, and answers to a variety of questions. I've met some interesting people through OK Cupid, and I've also gotten some really strange messages from that site.

About a week ago, I found a message in my OK Cupid mailbox from someone new. It had been written fairly late at night, and went on for the equivalent of at least a page-and-a-half, describing how he'd gotten a warm feeling in his heart while reading my profile, that he was "in very deep like" with me, that he knew he was coming across as intense but hoped I would understand, etc. I stared blankly at the message for a few minutes, and then left the site to do something else. I thought of what I might say in a response -- that I'd learned from experience that people who come across as too intense generally are too intense for me, but that I still try to give people the benefit of the doubt, etc. -- but I didn't compose any message.

A few days ago, I checked in on OK Cupid again, and found a second message from this man. It was another several-pager, and he was explaining that he'd noticed that my activity status indicated that I'd been online recently, and that he wanted to know if I'd gotten his message -- to make sure that it had gotten through to me, that I knew that he really wasn't as intense as he appeared, that I could e-mail him off-site if I wanted to, that he was worried that I'd tried to write him back but the site had malfunctioned. etc. He'd moved beyond intense and uncomfortable. He was monitoring my on-site activity? This was now officially creepy.

Still, I didn't respond. As mentioned earlier, I'd learned to let such matters alone, as usually any kind of response -- even if to say, "Please leave me alone" -- is often taken as a signal by the other person that they should keep writing. So, I let it go. I did, however, make a couple of changes to my OK Cupid profile, to update some old information and to change a few of the details on what kinds of activities and people I'm interested in.

I should mention that, at this point, a very good friend of mine saw the two messages he'd written, and responded to me with, "RUN! A LOT!"

Thursday, shortly after I blogged on my Craigslist misadventures, I logged in to OK Cupid. Again, there was another message from this guy. Again, he'd rambled on for several pages -- I'm really not kidding about how long these messages were -- about how he'd again noticed that I'd been online. He proceeded to outline the changes I'd made to my own profile, asking in each case if this alteration had been made in response to something he'd said or not said in previous messages to me. He talked again about how he knew he wrote way too much, but again tried appealing to the fact that I'm a writer, so I should understand the longing for self-expression, and that I must naturally appreciate the effort he was putting into these missives. He repeated himself a great deal, from one message to the next, and within the individual missives. He also talked about wanting to contact the OK Cupid administrators about their service, certain that it wasn't working properly since I'd not written back.

So, I finally replied. I simply couldn't allow this to go on. Trying to be diplomatic as always, I was also as direct as possible. Maybe it was harsh, but this has all been a great exercise in my learning new ways to say, "No" and "Get away from me before I call the police." My very short response indicated that his messages to me had left me with a bad feeling, whether he had intended it or not, and that I'd learned to rely upon my intuition in such matters. I explained that I'd not replied earlier because I hadn't wanted to encourage further communication. I wished him well, hoping that he'd find the right person for him, and that in the meantime, he shouldn't contact me again.

I also blocked him as a user.

While composing this blog entry, I've had some more Craigslist messages.... Why do men think it's okay to tell a woman that they think she is "too high-maintenance" and "snotty" for them, but that if she'd like to "come back to earth," they would very much like to take her to dinner?

The whole reason I'd given the online thing a chance was because I spend a fair amount of time on the computer anyway, and I wasn't having much success meeting people "in the real world." Obviously, the man for me is not hanging out on Craigslist, and it doesn't look as though he's on OK Cupid, either. I think I'll go back to just walking up and introducing myself to folks -- like I did in the garden on Monday, even though I felt like an idiot afterwards -- and hanging out in the archaeology section at Powells.

CL responses

I was sitting at my local coffee shop yesterday, pondering some of the responses I'd gotten from my Craigslist posting, and watching two guys at the next table test a pair of flame-retardant grilling gloves. One of the men put on the gloves, while the other tried to set his friend's fingers on fire with a lighter.

You just can't buy entertainment like that.

I've gotten some hate mail. I understand this comes with the territory of posting a personal profile. There are people who simply are not going to like what you have to say when you put yourself out there. Some get intimidated by other's postings and feel badly about themselves because they think they "don't measure up." Sometimes they lash out, trying to wound the profile poster.

In part, I can understand this. I think some people take these posts the wrong way, forgetting that the posters are looking for their next dates, or their life partners. They are looking for the specific person they are attracted to, rather than broadcasting some kind of Aryan Nation Manifesto. If a man writes that he's usually attracted to Latina women, that's not evidence that he's prejudiced against women of other skin colors or ethnic backgrounds -- it simply means he likes Latina women. If a woman indicates she has a college degree and is looking for someone similar, that doesn't imply that she's an elitist snob -- perhaps she's just interested in intellectual compatibility. If a man says he's looking for a woman who is disease-free, there's no sense in jumping to the conclusion that he thinks that anyone with an STD is a disgusting sinner who is going straight to hell to burn for all eternity.

Describing the kind of person you're looking for doesn't mean that you think that anyone who falls outside of those criteria is a bad person who doesn't deserve to live. And yet these are the kinds of reactions that some people have to online profiles.

The hate mail that struck me yesterday was, unfortunately, the first e-mail message I'd opened that morning. When I'm still waking up, I'm more vulnerable and am more likely to feel the sting of such an attack. So when this fellow wrote that I was "vain" and "pathetic" for saying I'd probably adopt children if I found I ever wanted to be a parent, I felt the barb. It doesn't matter that I still can't figure out how those two adjectives apply to adoption. It hurt that someone I don't even know would judge me so harshly, and would take the time to send this low opinion to me personally.

Experience has proven that it's best to just let such messages pass. Although I'm a Southerner who was reared to be polite, responsive, and forgiving, trying to smooth over these conflicts generally only opens the door for more vitriol to be flung my way. So I just shrug my shoulders and hope he can heal the hurt inside him that causes him to lash out at strangers.

Experience has also taught me that I'm better off reading messages from my friends first thing in the morning. Save the would-be suitors for later in the day.

A day earlier, I'd been messaged by a man who advised that I "trim the wings of the plane" I was on, since I was flying way too high where the air was very thin; I needed to come back down to reality and go out with him instead. Umm, no, I don't think so. Why do some men think that deflating a woman's hopes and aspirations, and even her concept of herself, is the best way to win her heart? I see some men go about wooing with insults, derogatory comments, and other demeaning behaviors, and then wonder why the entire female population isn't bowing down at their feet. Similarly, I've seen women expect men to be footstools, doormats, and house pets. Sadly, there are some people who respond favorably to this ill treatment.

Then there are the "writers" who have responded to my profile. I make my living as a writer, and said as much in my posting. One guy responded, telling me that he's also a professional writer, yet his e-mail was nearly incomprehensible. He'd strung together so many multi-syllabic, Scrabble bonus words that his sentences ended up having no real meaning. Do you remember the episode of "Friends" in which Joey uses a thesaurus to sound smarter when writing a letter to the adoption board on behalf of Monica and Chandler? The end result was a garbled string of gibberish. Same here. Still, I gave this guy the benefit of the doubt -- which I always seem to do, even though it keeps coming back to bite me in the ass -- and figured that perhaps he was just trying too hard.

I wrote a short reply, careful not to come anywhere close to mirroring his (mis)communication style, and asked a direct question -- a good way to cut to the chase and avoid another vocabulary lesson. His response was much shorter this time. The first two sentences were actually clear and concise, but then he fell back into attempts at erudition for the remainder of the message. *sigh* I don't think I'll be writing back.

Still other "writers" have sent me e-mails asking for dates, and for advice on how to get published. Could I send them contact information for editors and agents? Would I read the first draft of their first attempts at a novel? One young man even offered to let me read his manuscript for free. Oh, be still my heart! Rather than replying to accept these offers of coffee and dinner, maybe I should respond with my professional fees for these editorial services.

There's at least one really interesting pagan guy I think could be a new friend, though probably not a match. So perhaps this online thing hasn't been a total waste. Still, I continue to learn.

may day missed connections

I attended the annual May Day celebration this morning at Portland's International Rose Test Garden. The Morris dancers -- with performances from a variety of local Morris dance groups -- were superb once again. I even remembered to bring my camera this time, and I may upload some photos later. Next year, perhaps I'll try for video.

I should pause here to mention that I've had less than three hours' sleep. And yet I'm posting a blog entry anyway. As I am sleep-deprived and therefore braver than usual at the moment, I may regret this after I've had a nap.

This past weekend, I posted a personal ad to my local Craigslist. I'd tried this once before, at the beginning of the year, and received such an unexpectedly large volume of responses that I was overwhelmed nearly to the point of inertia. Most of the replies, however, were from people who had obviously not read one word of the ad, but may have been simply responding to every posting they saw, although maybe there really was something about my profile that drew the weirdos and illiterates out of the woodwork. Some of the messages I received, however, were downright frightening, making me glad that I live with big dogs. There were a couple of promising leads, even though they didn't turn into anything.

So, now, several months later, I decided to try again. I've been working hard at a professional push lately, to attract new clients and assignments, and I figured it wouldn't be inappropriate for me to push personally as well. Especially since, I'm sorry to admit, I've not had a boyfriend since the last millennium -- frustrating, considering that I'm only 36.

In this new CL posting, I decided to focus more on the kind of mate I'm looking for, rather than concentrating on describing myself. You can see the posting here.

There have been fewer responses this time around, and for the most part, the replies are more sane, more comprehensible, and aren't terrifying. Maybe now that spring has arrived, the horny nutcases are out trolling the streets rather than the online profiles.

This morning, however, I realized that I'd closed my profile with the disclosure that I'd be at the Rose Garden for the May Day sunrise dancing. Though I'd intended that more as a whimsical factoid, a few of the respondents had mentioned that they might show up and look for me, so it occurred to me that others who hadn't messaged me at all might be planning a similar outing. To be on the safe side, I worked out a signal with my friends to let them know that I needed rescuing, should I get cornered by someone not altogether pleasant.

Luckily -- ? -- no one approached, so I'd no need to remove my scarf and drape it over my arm as a plea for help. But I did find myself exchanging occasional glances and smiles with a nice looking man on the other side of the garden. My friends even pointed him out to me, mentioning that he kept looking my way and indicating that he appeared to be an appropriate and possibly even half-way normal suitor. I'm usually too shy and self-conscious to take advantage of such a situation, though I was determined not the let the opportunity pass this time. It's Beltane, I reminded myself -- the perfect day to meet a mate.

At the end of the may pole dance that closed the festivities, I noticed this same man lingering behind. Being me, and being true to my current push to put myself more "out there" personally and professionally, I walked right up to this gentleman to introduce myself. It must be mentioned that I don't use "lines," nor do I respond to them. So I extended my hand and said, "Good morning! I wanted to meet you. My name is Jen." We shook hands while he said something brilliant like, "Hi. Jen?" and then fell completely silent. Nothing more was forthcoming, not even a returned introduction. So perhaps we hadn't been exchanging glances across the garden after all. I recovered without missing a beat, however, turning my attention to the Morris dancer at his side, complimenting him on the dawn's fine performance. A friend of mine jumped in to demand that we leave for breakfast -- affording me a graceful exit -- and so we were off.

I felt like an ass. At least I'd made an effort, I suppose. My friends tried to make me feel better by suggesting that the man had no social skills, that he was gay (even though he appeared otherwise), and/or that he had simply been stunned speechless by my radiant beauty (I may have been the one who came up with that last excuse). It doesn't matter, really. I got to practice stepping outside my bounds this morning, and it will be better next time.

And Beltane is far from over.

For now, however, I think it's time for a nap.