I Love You, Let’s Meet

here’s another alleged factor in online dating success — the site sounds like a weird mix of softer-than-jello social science and confession booth/bully pulpit.

Along somewhat similar lines is this voyeuristically fascinating site on which to alleviate some guilt (if you’re a mother) or enjoy your freedom (if you’re not). I’ve figured out some of the acronyms — SAHM is Stay at Home Mom — but what is DH? Devoted husband? There’s also DD for _______ daughter.

Update: I’m told “D” is for “Dear.”

see post below for headline explanation. This is one understanding wife, but as a single online dater, I’m wondering what are these women who get no reply from this man (that is, assuming the wife has correctly hacked his account) doing sending him sexy pix? And for how many men is online dating simply porn that you manipulate and mislead women into supplying for free? Ugh.

I wish there was more here about why this isn’t defamation (or libel or slander or whatever). I wonder if it’s anything to do with the truth of the bitching on the website?

Unless a guy raped or robbed or stalked you (in which case DontDateHimGirl is rather an understatement), why are you airing your date beefs on the Internet? I find this a rather horrifying development. There should be a site that warns men which women post on DontDateHimGirl.

Online dating is a natural for Baghdad–you’ll get killed if you go outside, and even if your city wasn’t under siege, you’d need a chaperone to date.

this sounds all well and good for single New Agers, but one of the biggest scoundrels in my book slithered around a similar site called conscioussingles.com.

I have a friend who’s using dharmamatch.com; perhaps she’ll give us a review.

Yet another good diss of my favorite online dating Goliath.

here’s things I observed in my book, borne out by experiments. Not surprising, but still interesting, that women were more disappointed than men because they were more caught up in romantic fantasy about their mystery dates.

Also fascinating in a rueful, Magnetic-Fields-song kind of way that one negative trait leads to an “avalanche” — that’s how fragile the fantasy is.

This link from that story was slightly more cheering: I’m not a slut after all, I’m creative!

Because of the sheet of ice that is much of the DC area for the next couple of days, tonight’s reading at Border’s (18th & K Sts, NW) has been cancelled.

The PUAs (pick-up artists) are storming online dating. I recognized the acronym and the terms in the headline from Neil Strauss’s “The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists,” which is leather-bound with a cloth ribbon bookmark, just like a bible. It’s hilarious and pathetic, about nerdy guys who develop a system to bag “HBs” (hot babes). The writer, skinny, pale, bald Strauss, had good luck with the techniques and was swept up into their subculture for several years, even living in a group house of PUAs.

Jan. 31 I saw my book next to The Game on the Valentine’s Day table of Barnes and Noble in Park Slope, Brooklyn. It was my first glimpse of my book in a bookstore and as I stared, I started an imaginary dialogue between the two. My book said, “you think I’m falling for THAT line?” and The Game said “I don’t care, you’re not a stripper or a model.” And my book said, OK, and they coexist in peace.

They may reschedule me, they may not. I’m sort of disappointed, sort of relieved, but definitely eyebrow-waxed.

And I get to go out tonight after all, no 6 a.m. call time, and bravely try to have fun despite this terrible loss of a woman who was famous for marrying an old rich guy. I just hope I and the country can move on somehow.