Famous last words:

I will not replace knitting with online dating.

Though I do think that this is pretty objective proof that a lot of my motivation to knit is sexual/lackofman frustration.

Ok, I'll start from the beginning: last Thursday night, I drank most of a bottle of wine. It was a stupid choice (as I painfully realized sitting at work with my eyes glazing over "Communications in Algebra" manuscripts), but yielded humorous results, as it always does. On a whim, I logged onto okcupid, and created a profile. I've been telling myself that I would start online dating (meeting people the regular way has CLEARLY not worked out for me thus far), but you know, I kept putting it off. I'll lose ten pounds and then I'll start. I want to give myself a chance to meet men in person, like in bars or group Philly things. The former is still something that's nagging me, but I'll let it go because black on black is in this season and my black pencil skirt paired with a plain black spandex top and pumps are just perfectly suggestive while still remaining classy.

The latter on the other hand, this idea that I'm going to meet anyone out in the world is sort of bullshit. Every morning, two homeless men harass me about 10 blocks away from my apartment. But in that sort of sweet, deranged old man way where they force me to make eye contact and then call me gorgeous like the weather outside. I got called "hey hotstuff how you doin'" as I was walking back from the bus last night at NINE AT NIGHT. From a dude on a bike. What does he expect? That I'll wave him down and we'll go at it on a sidewalk? And every time I go to a bar, I kick myself for spending $5 on a beer that I could have spent on half a bottle of wine or the weeks worth of veggies. You're not a good dancer or conversationalist, and the Phillies are not god incarnate. And consider my hobbies? Knitwear, design work, and reading. Three of the most female oriented things I could do. Believe me, it is slim pickings out there.

So I made a profile that went through several drafts, because my immediate reaction in foreign situations is to make myself better than everyone and puff out my elitist feathers while using words like "esoteric." I toned it down, made myself cute and quirky and someone you wouldn't mid waking up to (aka, non-clingy and out the door before you say coffee), talked about daisies and my love of runny yokes. All very nice. All very PG.

So what is the first message I receive? A man quotes the last section of my profile, the "Message me if," (where I filled in something along the lines of funny and fun, smart, kind, interesting, etc). Generic, but true. Underneath, he simply writes: "Message me if you want to fuck."

Whether I take this as a joke or an entirely serious thing, that is GROSS. Ewewew. I work. I'm an adult. Adults should not speak to each other like that. I mean, I'm sure as much as he may have wanted to fuck or talk about fucking, it's all a bit of a farce because he's a eunuch. (Reverse kharma. In action.)

Things are looking up from there (thank god), but I've accidentally gotten into a message chain with a republican. Stay tuned for that one.

Tomorrow, I will finish my Aran sweater. I will. The bearded man getting a vague PhD (who Danielle, my roommate, and I have nicknamed the burrito man) can wait.