1975

Often I am reminded of the day that I realized I was different. I was 4 years old. It was Christmas Eve 1975. Standing in my aunt’s kitchen, lost in the hustle and bustle of preparing dinner for the many mouths in our family, I listened as the women cooed over my older cousin. “She’s so pretty,” one aunt said over and over. Then my cousin bounced past with her blondish hair pulled back in a bright red ribbon and I followed her into the next room. I studied her.

Then I moved to the basement where all of the older cousins were playing pool. Blonde-haired and brown-haired boys laughed and wrestled while the blonde-haired girls sat at the piano. I loved them all so much, even at 4, but I felt so different from them. My black hair and big brown eyes were a vast departure from the rest of the family.

I remember, later that night, asking my mom why I was so different. I don’t remember her answer. Deep down, I think I really wanted to know if I was pretty too.

People tell me now that I am pretty. Men, women… lots of people tell me that I am pretty. People that I don’t even know have written me poems and beautiful notes after having merely seen pictures of me online or after having seen me sing on television. In my adventures in online dating, I have received hundreds of responses and requests to meet. Hundreds. It’s not an exaggeration. And I say that not to brag but to make this point:

When I was 4, I equated the compliment “she’s so pretty” with acceptance. It meant that people were paying attention. And as a child I just wanted people to pay attention and to recognize me and, most of all, to understand me even though I was different from the other kids. The pretty part was the easy part. The rest is still a struggle.

People who don’t know me come the closest to “getting” me. That’s because on paper, I seem worth “getting.” What guy doesn’t want to talk to a girl who cooks and loves football? What man doesn’t want to spend time with someone who is content with having a beer and watching an old John Wayne flick or someone who is ok with just sitting… in silence? People read my profiles or check out my facebook page and they get me a little and they want to know me.

But there must be something that comes in really knowing me that makes me seem less important or less fascinating to others. Or perhaps it is the shallowness of this town that looks past the big brown eyes in the picture or my list of likes and dislikes and maybe even my talent and just sees a big girl. And in this town... that's not what people are looking for.

And it takes me back… to 1975… all over again.

Out of Your League

A friend of mine said something interesting the other night. She said, "Michele, guys don't know when they are out of their league." And I've seen evidence to that. I would never consider myself out of a guy's "league" but I do know when I am not a good match for someone. Men seem a little more naive about that.

I hate to keep referring tot he online profile but I must. Your online dating profile is your resume. It speaks of your experience, outlines your desires and details talents. When you post a resume on a job site, you choose the categories or industries in which you would like to work. When you post a profile on a dating site, you select preferences for your mate.

When sifting through the resumes on a job site, employers look for characteristics that are suitable for their open positions. If you have an extensive background in finance, a bank may contact you. If you have years of experience as a forklift driver, the bank is going to pass you over and keep looking.

So it seems to reason, if an online dating profile says "seeking a man between 30 & 40 years of age," guys who are 59, for example, should pass over that resume and keep looking. Or an online dating profile might say, "I'm a tall woman with a little more to love" and viewers of that profile who are obsessed with the gym and would rather not date a woman who weighs over 150 should not even attempt contact. It just ends badly and quite frankly, you're out of your league. Your league is the one with all the petite girls.

It's funny because all for this resume and profile business reminds me of the whole "NO MEANS NO" thing. "No" does not mean maybe. "No" is not another word for "I'll think about it." "No" is not code for "if you keep asking, I might change my mind."

My advice to everyone dating online would be this: read carefully. Know your limits. Know which team your playing for and don't try to play outside of your league.

Is It Just St. Louis?

Is St. Louis the most difficult place in the world to meet someone?

I've believed for a long time that there are a lot of idealists living in St. Louis. On some level, I think it's fantastic. People living by a set of standards that they believe their world should live up to... Why shouldn't you have everything that you believe you deserve? There's a part of me that lives that way. I want the job I want with the pay I am worth. And I want the man that I want too. The problem is... I don't think he's in St. Louis. And I also don't think that I fit within the set of requirements that St. Louis men have set up for their mates.

Four online dating sites and a slew of friends out there keeping their eyes open for my mate and while the "matches" are pouring in, nothing seems to fit.

Is it just St. Louis? Or is this being single after 35 thing a problem everywhere?