Single’s Profiles

Ladies, Behaviors of a Man that you Deserve


Ladies, find a man who you deserve.

Find one who notices the goosebumps on your thighs, rubs his hands together and blows his hot breath on his palms, then rubs his warm extremities on your legs.

Find a man who is dependent on you in some respects, yet invaluable in others. You should both better the other.

… opens his eyes on a lazy Sunday morning, smiles sleepily, and kisses your elbow, because it’s the first skin he can get to, and he needs to touch his lips to you immediately.

… who makes you laugh uncontrollably and genuinely.

… who appreciates YOU: your sense of humor, your quirks, your un-made up face.

… who doesn’t even flinch when you storm in the morning, angry and ugly; pissed at everyone, pissed at life, pissed at the morning sun. He just simply says “Coffee?” (Bonus points for making it himself)

… who doesn’t lie.

… who doesn’t judge.

… who hopes that you’ll talk back, then truly LISTENS when you do.

Ladies, you deserve the best, as do I, though sometimes it’s hard to realize that. We make excuses, we try to change them.
Love isn’t supposed to be hard.

P.S.- I compiled this list based on my son’s actions toward me within the past 24 hours.

P.P.S.- Before you all “aww” about his behaviors, please note that on the flip side he outwardly refused to make his bed and/or clean his room, smacked his sister on the arm, and made up a song with the chorus, “Girls are such stupid-faces, with dumb butts.”

First Date With a “Friend” (Segment C)

Segment A

Segment B


When Maggie cargot home, nine minutes late, I was already in the car. “Get in,” I said through the open passenger-side window, sounding remarkably predator-esque.


“Get in the car; I’ll explain on the way.” Now I was beginning to sound like a marauder who’d just finished off a bank heist. After a hasty explanation of the plan and a promise of 50% of the payment when I received it from the Morgans, I was on my way back home.

When I pulled into my driveway, my insides screamed. There, in back of my mom’s sedan, sat an unfamiliar silver Honda Accord. Shit! How long had he been here? Did my mom say anything embarrassing? Are there going to be baby pictures of me naked in the tub out on the coffee table for him to peruse? I took a breath, hoped that my face had returned to a normal color (rather than the fuschia-shade that it tended toward when I was flustered), and opened the front door.

“HeysorryI’mlateIwasdroppingmysisteroffattheplacewhereI’msupposedtobedogsittingIhopeyouweren’twaitinglongsosorry-” My mom, thankfully, cut me off from my nervous, incoherent rambling.

“No, no. Chris and I were just talking about your plans to see the concert tonight. It sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Yeah, I haven’t been here long. We should probably get a move on though, if we want to make it on time. Thank you Mrs. Anderson.” He was so freaking polite. I kept my mouth shut tightly this time and nodded, then kissed my mom goodbye.

We jumped in his car and were on our way. The radio was playing Kashmir. “Oh! I love Led Zeppelin!” I was thankful that my voice had toned down in volume and speed.

“Yeah- great song,” he replied. “I figured we’d stop at a liquor store on the way in to grab some drinks for our journey”

God forbid a couple of 23 year olds didn’t have alcohol while participating in an activity.

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Becoming the Bad Guy

I’m a hard sell; I know that about myself. A 35-year-old single mother of two small children with a degenerative disease of which there is no cure? There are not a lot of available men who want to take on that project.

I learned (from my daughter) of my soon-to-be-ex-husband’s girlfriend, and I was pissed, but I think that was a fairly standard and pretty mild reaction to the situation at hand.

When I moved through each day quickly enough, I was easily able to avoid any real feelings. Though this is the approach that I had taken, at times such as these, feelings started to creep up, usually at night. Heartache, fear, anger. As much as I may have tried to suppress them, they tip-toed into my stomach then ran rampant in my heart. Now, he was moving on, and I was left here, in this place of loneliness and sorrow.

Yeah, I was pissed.

Where does one turn when dealing wDating app on cell phoneith the pain of rejection? Why, dating sites, of course. I immediately typed the pincode into my phone and downloaded the application that allowed me to live-chat with singles in the area. It wasn’t long before I was being flirty over text messages and eating up all the complimentary things that these guys were saying (in order, of course, to get into my pants). The time was now 1 am,which was well past my bedtime. Turning off the ringer on my phone and swallowing a couple sleeping pills, I fell into a vacant slumber.

The next morning I groggily woke up to several inappropriate messages from men who I didn’t care to hear from. I immediately trashed the app, regret settling in the pit of my stomach, as though I was a college student who had made a drunken mistake the night before.

A new text message appeared on the screen. My heart sank. It was him. “Listen, I realize that you’re angry with me, but please don’t put pictures of our kids up on dating sites like you did last night.”

I was the bad guy now. “Sorry. I didn’t realize [in my black-out rage]. It has been taken care of, so you needn’t be concerned.” I thought for a moment, “How did you know about the pictures I used anyway? Do you have access to my phone or something?”

“No, no. I have an account with that site from a while ago. I saw you on it.”

“So, let me get this straight: you have a wife, a girlfriend, and an account on a dating site? You’re quite a catch.” Strangely enough, I didn’t hear back.


I have been typecast in a role that is, at times, difficult to play: I am the sweet one. I am the nurturer. I am the eternal optimist.

I am exhausted.

As much as I would like to be characterized by such descriptors as these, it is simply impossible to keep up: sometimes I am nasty, sometimes I am stand-offish, sometimes I am cynical.

Humans are multidimensional.


That said, how do I create a profile that accurately depicts the real me; the person who goes beyond the facade and shows others that I, like them, have many different layers to my personality?

It has become abundantly clear that only those who portray “good” qualities are eligible for complete happiness, so will it ever be possible to show that other side of me, the one that makes me, well, me?

It is my vulnerabilities, my inabilities, my talents, my lack of, my sweetness, my nastiness, my bossiness, my willingness to go along with the crowd, my silliness, my seriousness, my optimism, my pessimism, it is all these qualities, both good and bad, that complete me as a human being.

So, do I say this all to someone who I’m meeting for the first time?

“Hi! I’m Kirsten. You may think I’m nice now, but just wait until you get to know me better. Sometimes I’m a total bitch.”

This probably won’t lead to a second date. Light-hearted it is, then. Easy-breezy, as they say. Maybe a little dim? That’s not me though.

Well, maybe it is me, in some ways. We all have different facets. During the course of life one grows and becomes more informed, yet it is also possible to regress, and it is important to accept that.

Great Catch

endless laundry for a mom


36-year-old, recently divorced mother of two young children, the youngest of which, at 4, tends to tantrum about seemingly trite everyday occurrences, the older, more mature first-grader gravitates toward a more dictatorial attitude.

Diagnosed a few years ago with Multiple Sclerosis, my symptoms are not too severe, often coming about when overly muscle-fatigued, and resembling a college student stumbling into her dorm room after a heavy night of drinking.

My interests include watching stupid and mindless comedies on tv, playing games with my kids, and hanging out with my friends over good food.

What I actually do is laundry.

Where do you fit in? Well, you can start by helping me with all this damned laundry. Or, you could donate enough money that I could hire someone to do it for me. Oh- and long walks on the beach (actually, scratch that… sounds incredibly boring).

That’s it. That’s me.

– GreatCatch79

I slid my laptop over to Jenn, who quietly looked over the contents of my profile. Perturbed, she exhaled. “I knew you weren’t taking this seriously!”

I put on my best offended face.

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Kir. Now cut the crap and be sane for once. If you were to think like an eligible bachelor, what would you want to see?”


“Ugh. I hate you right now.”

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