Joys of PMS

As I sit here with tears in my eyes . . . which is nothing, just hormones. I know it's that.

I pulled my profile on matchdotcom yesterday. But I didn't pull the other site. In my mailbox was a notification that I had received a "personal communication" from another member. Pulled up the site (it's always slow), looked at a cute guy with an Oscar the Grouch puppet in New York on a whim. Then pulled up who's looked at me . . . somehow they decided to display who has "hotlisted" me in the last, oh, year . . . so face to face with the picture that I took of RB. (I have blocked him every way I can block him, but evidently the site really wants me to SEE him) Okay, it's okay . . . over it.

So I check the email. From a 60 year old man. Who wants me not to disrespect his hometown (when did I?) and "the multi-colored hair is a tad bit too much".

So the computer wanted me to totally lose faith in humanity for today? Someone spent the points to tell me that my hair is too much? AAAHHHHHhhhrrrggghhhh. I'm so done. And I can't even go buy shoes . . . because I bought them all yesterday.

And I've met so many cool people because of this "journey" that I choose to take but sometimes on days like this, I feel like not trying anymore. And all those bullshit lines that just flowed into your head just now about "when you stop trying you meet someone" aren't true. I stopped trying for about six years. Just shut down and accepted spinsterhood. You don't meet anyone that way . . . good guys or creeps. It just would be nice if people wouldn't bother to email if they didn't have anything nice to say . . .

And even that's not true, he said I had nice eyes. But in a totally socially inept way.

Okay, have to go run.

("tired of watching them wind you up to see if you'll run" -- MG, Sort of a Protest Song)