Business Ethics

 

business-1753098_1280If you’ve been around the OL dating game at all you’ll probably start to notice all the complex relationship statuses. The shit labeled like it is straight out of a math book, with poly- and mono, and all the three letter acronyms. One that always cracks me up is

“Ethical Non-monogamy”.

It’s not polygamy, which any idiot can deduce from the non part of the monogamy section.

It’s ethical dammit! These people make it sound like Mormons don’t have any ethics to them.

Adding the word ethical is what makes me scratch my head at the entire identifying statement.

Why does the person identifying with the label need it to be “ethical”?

If I walk down to a bar at 10 am on a Sunday and order a beer, I don’t say I’m an ethical alcoholic. Oh no, ethics has nothing to do with it. Nor do I give a fuck what anyone thinks about it. Moscow mules taste just as good in the am as they do in the pm.

But this Segways into a bigger picture to why the word is added for the person. It softens the phrase by giving their brain a positive idea to latch on.

Personally it makes me think that on some level they think what they’re doing is wrong. Whether or not they are conscious of that idea is irrelevant, but it’s stands out like a 70 year old European in a banana hammock.

When you truly are indifferent about something you just put it out there and let the other person deal with it. It’s like handing someone a blank canvas with a color palette.

But a throwing out a leading phrase like that is like handing someone a coloring book. You can use any color you want, but it’s still obvious what the picture is.

On a subtle level, it clues me into how the person thinks about this particular concept. We all generally accept various connotations of words.

But in reality is nothing is black and white, just grey. Our brains place shit in categories for us to help digest these bigger complex ideas. This is how the human race has evolved.

The thing is, when you take a stance on a widely accepted issue, you’re going to get scrutinized.

It’s instinct to want to push down the nail that sticks up above the rest. It is, what it is.

So at the end of the day,

that is what bothers me the most about the “ethical non-monogamers”.

I don’t give a fuck about how many people you are in a relationship with.

I just want you to leave the ethics for your Social Studies class,

and be proud of who you are.

Riddle Me This

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Her profile reads:

Paul’s height is six feet, he’s an assistant at a butcher’s shop, and wears size 11 shoes. What does he weigh?

There’s multiple levels to a good riddle.

99.9% of the time the answer is always in the question. But the smartest thing you can do is keep your eye on the big picture.

Two are measurements, one is an occupation, and the question is a measurement.

Add in the fact that it’s a riddle, and you can start to see why one phrase sicks out above the rest.

Also why the other three have to match.

Misdirection.

It’s a great tool that helps bring novelty to the familiar, but this post ain’t about relationships. It’s about a bio.

Now I’ve read a shit ton of profiles, but ones like this really stand out to me. Most are generic, not because people don’t like to talk about themselves, but because most people don’t give themselves permission to be themselves around strangers. The ironic thing is, the finger prints of your personality is all over everything you do.

What you write,

or what you don’t write,

What you wear,

What’s in the background of your picture

These things speak in volumes.

And much like the answer to the riddle, they aren’t on the surface.

Which is why this sparks my curiosity.

So why a riddle? Why this one? When did she hear it? Does it mean anything to her?

Now I’m not retarded. The odds of the stars aligning, us meeting up, her looking remotely like her pictures, so I can even get the faintest opportunity to see if she’s the person she claims to be is fucking terrible.

It’s the never ending Zeno’s paradox of online dating.

But I guess those minuscule odds is why I like to play the game.

I type:

Paul weighs meat. Who doesn’t love a good riddle?

One Step Closer

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I messaged her on a whim. Not because I didn’t think she wouldn’t respond, but because my luck has been so bad lately in the Tinder world. She was a Latina princess. Looked like she had back dimples, and had to walk sideways through some closets.

As much as I enjoy this type, it means about dick and shit compared to a personality. It’s unfortunately taken me almost 30 years for me to figure that one out. My problem is I’m a perfectionist. I may only have 4 or 5 hobbies, but I plan to do those 4 or 5 hobbies the best I can until I die. For some reason, dating seams to fall in that spectrum. I could be out with a girl that the bartender is downloading mental snapshots for his spank bank as we order a drink, but if she doesn’t meet most of the criteria, my eyes are already wondering. But I digress.

The online game is hit or miss for me. The Engineer part of me wants to believe in technology bringing the world together. But the other part who has ran down this path 400 times, knows I can save more time asking out every girl I see at the local Jewel Osco.

So I send out this message and she bites. I can tell right away that her English isn’t so hot, but I don’t call her out on it. When I speak my broken Spanish, I get self conscious as fuck. We message back and forth about when and why moved to Chicago. She’s an Au-pair wanting to learn English.

Reading in between the lines, I get the feeling that she wanted a little more than that. What exactly, I have no idea, but it was obvious. The rumbling in my gut wanted to find out more. We talked about meeting for coffee. I knew a few spots around her place. I wanted help with “mi espanol” y she wanted help with English. The perfect set up in between talking about our commonality about our young nieces.

She said she just met her one year old niece, right before moving here. I asked if it was hard, leaving all that behind for a dream.

……

……

She unmatched me.

……..

……

Damn it.

Yet, at the same time. I’m one step closer.

 

 

 

Tinder Date #137: A Review

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Today at noon, I received a message from her about an argument we had the night before. It said something about the Mexican refugee camps and how the kids born in this country aren’t citizens. It was one of the first conversations we had and I wanted to leave right then.

It wasn’t about what she was saying. Truth of the matter is, I could give a flying fuck in the night about her stance on political issues. But it was something about how she was saying these statements. Each one was connected to another idea with no supporting structure, like a tangled mess of cords in the bottom of your suitcase. I snacked on kung pow chicken as I listened further.

“Look people don’t believe me, but I know. I’ve lived in 14 countries and can speak several different languages. I use to live with a rich Jewish family that had connections. Like they told me Obama was going to be president back in the 90’s. Like I knew then!”

I took a sip of my Moscow Mule. This girl fully believed every syllable she was saying. It reminded me of a group of 70’s year olds sipping coffee at 6 am in a Greek Restaurant and talking about the Illuminati.

“I believe you. I’ve heard some of these¬†conspiracy theories before.

“THESE ARE NOT CONSPIRACY THEORIES! I HATE WHEN PEOPLE SAY THESE THAT!”

I smiled and ordered another drink.

Things actually calmed down after that and we started talking about cities in Michigan. Then moving out of mitten.

She mentioned that she always had to keep moving to the next thing. It’s why she traveled so much. It’s why she had these crazy lifestyle stories. Like living on the streets in London, or stealing a passport from an Irish drug kingpin and leaving it in a taxi.

After she told me that, I knew exactly who she was. I think that is the reason why I wanted to leave. A lot of people I’ve met who travel have this calmness to them that’s hard to put into words. I like to think it’s the things they’ve experienced coming through their actions. But I think it only happens when you reflect and compare which is hard to do when you’re chasing the next thing.

Her stories were like a season of Weeds or Orange is the New Black (Yes I know, same writer). Lots of self induced shit, piled on with more self induced shit. I mean the reason she’s in Chicago in the first place is because she is traveling back home to Michigan and decided to not get on the last bus. All I kept thinking about is what is this girl running from? Do I really want to find out and get tangled in all that?

I sure as fuck didn’t but I’m always game for an adventure and a good story. So I stuck around.

#

Later today, at 5:00pm a few more messages came in from her. All this is really strange considering she still has my number. It’s never good when someone jumps back a level of communication.

They read:

“What’s it like being gay and dating women? Like I’m just curious?”

Hahaha

She was cute. Definitely one of the better looking girls I’ve met off Tinder. She was throwing the cat at me all night. But I wasn’t interested and ended up going home alone. My mind kept running with the last handful of shitty one night stands where I felt like an ass hat.

Hank Moody would say “A morning of awkwardness is better than a night of loneliness.” That fucker doesn’t know what he is talking about. There are worst things than being alone, but it often takes a while to figure that out. I’d rather be alone than with someone I can’t seem to find anything beautiful about. It feels too much like settling.

I had my first one night stand when I was 18. I was at my buddy house and I didn’t catch her name. It was like a badge of honor. Friends cheered me on. But 10 years later, things are different. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me and most of the one night stands go one of two ways.

Sometimes they’re like a cherry on top of a gorgeous night where two people meet randomly, click on different levels, and have an adventure around the city. Those ones stick with me forever.

But the ones I have off this app are closer to the other kind. Their all business, like the red light district in Amsterdam. Two humans borrowing each other to masturbate with because they have this emotional urge inside of them. I use to be okay with that, but lately it’s been feeling less like free will.

Dating use to be fun, why does it suck now?

#

In summary,

Don’t use the phrase “Conspiracy Theories” ever.

Cute girls aren’t use to getting rejected by their personalities.

Always follow the golden rule: “Never bump uglies with crazy” even if that means you get called gay.

Tinder sucks.

And I feel like an alien for preferring some type of deep connection with a few people as apposed to just skimming the surface with hundreds of people.

2 out of 10, would not date again.

If Tinder Profiles Were More Than 500 Characters: Pt. 3

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Part 1 Part 2

You:

-Hold my hair back when I puke

-Gives honest thoughts on my writing

-Are up to blow off work one Thursday to go to Navy Pier but happen to run into your boss when drunk walking down the boardwalk. You duck behind a Red Eye paper dispenser while I walk over to distract him, kind of like Julia Styles in 10 Things I Hate About You, only I keep my clothes on but would flash as a last resort.

-Thinks swing dancing in New Orleans is one hell of a vacation

——————————————————-

I:

-Can flip eggs without a spatula

—————————————————–

Pretty fair trade if I don’t say so myself.

The First Time I got Laid as a Writer…

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The first time I got laid as a writer, she smiled when I asked to smoke outside. I don’t think she heard me over the bar chatter. She just saw me leave into the patio and came with. I lit a Newport in-between October wind gusts while she filled the silence.

“So what have you been writing about?” she asked.

“Well, I applied for a non-paid writers position at a satire magazine on campus a few weeks ago. My friend told me about it. She gave me her editor’s contact and told me to send a sample of my work. Right now, I’m managing/designing a protection scheme for the school’s solar car. It’s my senior project, one of the most difficult Senior Engineering projects in the school’s history. Between that, not missing a game of the Cubs historic 2015 playoff run, and getting yelled at by my restaurant manager who hasn’t been laid in 20 years, I found time to write the sample,” I said.

The cherry on my menthol lit up my face as I took a quick break from my speech. I exhaled and continued.

“I showed it to every one I knew. I mean EVERYONE. My roommate, my lab partners, my fellow engineering nerds, my friend that worked at the magazine, the girl I had a crush on at work, the girl I had a crush on in my History class, and etc. I got a lot of notes. Some I implemented, some I didn’t. I re-wrote the damn thing four times. Waited to the last minute to send it over,” I said.

“Wow” she said. A piece of grey ash smeared on her blue dress. “So what happened?” she asked.

“Well, days went by. I’d check my email but nothing. I’d hear a ding on my phone, only to read flights from Chicago for only 79.00! Orbits bastards. I got asked by everyone that helped me if I heard anything yet, but I had to give them the same lame answer.

Then a week and a half later, I saw an email from an address I didn’t recognize. I quickly pulled it up and read it.

Dear Darby,

Although your piece was entertaining, we don’t feel you’re a good fit here.

Take care

“Oh I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, ” I know writing can be tough thing to get into.”

The wind from the maple leaves rustled and almost blew out my half smoked cancer stick. We took a couple steps back behind a side of the bar.

“You’re not kidding, I ran into my friend who works there. I asked her what the editor thought about it. Now we’d been friends for a while, but she didn’t come clean with me until later in the conversation. Apparently, they spent the first 20 minutes of their meeting talking shit about it. The word choices, the grammatical errors, the sad attempt to be funny. I became a running joke, ” I said.

“Oh my god!” she said. “Did they really?”

I slammed my butt on the ground and looked at her brown eyes. My head slightly nodded.

“Yea they did. I guess one guy kept calling me a no talent ass clown. He even got up and drew a picture of his interpretation of said ass clown. He scribbled the face with red marker and the hair with green. She took a picture and showed me.” I said.

“Wow,” she said. She swayed back and worth trying to keep warm from the chill fall weather.

“Yea I was pretty hurt but what can I do? I just need to get better. You know, work a little harder. I decided to open up a shitty blog. I’m also reading articles about the craft and asking questions daily on a forum.

So as of right now, that’s what I’ve working on,” I said.

She looked back at my wide eyes. Her words hesitated to exit but I already knew what she was going to say.

“Do you still have the piece? Like, do you mind if I read it?” she asked

“Not at all,” I said.

I grabbed her hand and we walked two blocks to my apartment.

The Neighbor and Shape

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Dear Neighbor at 303,

I believe your name is Hannah, or at least that is who the March issue of Shape is addressed to. Although we’ve never met in person, this magazine was sitting in my mailbox a couple weeks ago. I meant to give it back to you then, but I became enthralled with the issue. Majority of the shit I read is a mixture of bad online dating profiles, technical work shit, and lots of fiction. Needless to say, it was a breath of fresh air when I read the 62 ways to nurture my body and brain. Apparently I already do number 36, so I’m ahead of the game.

Unfortunately, not everything is gold in this zine. On page 28, they say Go Bold with your Tights Game! This is horseshit. Every bimbo at L.A. fitness in the DFW area is doing that right now. Fashion is an expression and they’re saying with that is “I got dressed in the dark and I’m replacing my fashion sense with squat reps.” Don’t be that girl. Nobody likes that girl. Also on page 2, they have a picture of Shay Mitchell from the cover standing in a tall grass field when it’s obvious she just had a Brazilian done before the shoot. Kind of a dick move on the photographer’s part, don’t you think? I would imagine her thighs would be itchy enough without the wind rubbing tiny blades of grass on them. But I’m a guy, so what do I know?

Anyways, I apologize for having this for so long, but technically you’re still getting the March issue in March, so I think your still making out okay.

Sincerely,

Your neighbor at 302.

PS. To answer your lingering question: Yes, I was loaded when I wrote this.