Coffee dates…are you kidding me? Meeting for drinks…ummm…if I’m driving just how many drinks do you think that I’m having?
It’s come down to calorie conservation in men. I get it—I really do. I have two brothers whose only potential for commitment is the commitment of getting laid.
So as a woman involved in online dating, it begins with a picture or two; maybe three. There’s one of you casual, one dressed up and maybe one of you with your dog; or your nephew; or in a group shot being out with your friends having a good time. So man gets a snapshot… and one quick glance of your life. Men are visual; it’s doubtful he’s actually going to read your profile—well not before instant messaging you. It’s a visceral gut reaction would I want to have sex with her? Do I see her fertility? Pass or play?
Lucky you, he’s momentarily intrigued. So maybe he instant messages you. You chat for a few moments…maybe at that point he goes back and glances at your profile…a glancing read of your carefully chosen words, endlessly poured over until it becomes absolute perfection of giggly, sparkling, polished vernacular in other words, bait. He looks at your profile again…and it comes down to an offer of coffee.
Coffee isn’t a date. It’s a pre-date; a once look over. Just past the “magazine advertisement”, he’s made a minimal effort to get himself into the show room—but is he actually going to spend money to buy? Nope. You get a test drive with the least amount of calorie and financial expenditure. Sir, I’m underwhelmed with your mating efforts.
I’m reminded of a male grey shrike—just a bird. His purpose in life is to reproduce; he knows nothing of dating; and yet he knows more than his higher thinking counterparts. Granted, both species know what brings them pleasure—sexual pleasure from a willing female. He competes with other males; the females size him up; will she or won’t she? He may not make the grade by comparison; so instinctively the shrike does something that would appeal to a female. He offers her stuff. He gathers food for her; bits and bobs of things to feather her impending nest. He places them within her view. He advertises that as a mate, that he’s good at gathering stuff for her. He gathers more than other males to impress her. The female shrike compares the male shrike’s stuff with that of other males trying to mate with her.
He pursues her for sexual pleasure which is his greater reward than the risk of the hunting and gathering as nothing more than an offering for her. He must be quick, he must be clever hunter, he must be efficient, yet conserve enough of his energy to be available for the mating. Survival of the species; it’s instinctual. And yet, there are coffee dates. The shrike knows that he has to offer a female stuff—food stiffs; stuff and more stuff. It is surprising to me that that for all of the higher brain functions that modern man has, conservation has outweighed instinctual ritual.
Truly, it is a man’s loss. I don’t want to put on heels or pressed clothes to be in a cold impersonal cafeteria for grownups. I’m not putting my best foot forward to be scurrying around waiting to grab a crumb filled, sugar strewn , impossible to get ‘table’ at your local in-and-out. And if you aren’t fortunate enough to get a table, sitting aside each other on wooden stools facing an outside window is even worse. I can’t get excited about a 20 minute meeting at Starbucks on the way home from the gym. I can’t get excited about you. I don’t have the anticipation of wanting to take an hour and a half just to meet you. Yes, I said it, an hour and a half. That’s exactly how long it takes to shower, shave, do my hair, put on makeup, be perfumed, and ready for the possibility of wanting to choose you to be my lover.
But I go in, compromising--when all he's offered is coffee and you haven't had a date in weeks and your choices are coffees, drinks or nothing... I go, because given the choice of either having a date or not, I took the possibility.
I walk in and question who are those people who sit there with their laptops for hours while caffeine addicted strangers scurry past their lives? Do they really have nowhere else to go nowhere else to be? Maybe they set up online date after date without ever leaving…maybe it’s a modern day opium den for lonely and addicted souls who would rather view the outside world as an ant farm then intimate interaction…maybe they need the noise as much as I need the quiet.
You show up barely cognizant that this is a date. Maybe you’re talking on your blackberry. Maybe you’re not quite done yelling at your secretary who hasn’t gotten the most important package in the world out the door yet; maybe you introduce yourself and slip up telling me your real name instead of your screen name and then backtrack. Maybe you tell me that you haven’t dated or had a girlfriend in years. Maybe you tell me that you’re “only” separated. Maybe you excuse yourself to go back to work. You give me a hundred reasons to never see you again all over a cup of coffee. Coffee--a duty date. Practice in being a feminine woman, practice in learning to receive what a man offers without complaining. Practice in grace. Practice in saying yes, please and thank you. Practice in learning to give a man a chance past his looks or initial impression of him. I gave my duty date an hour of my time--he would have sat there all night telling me how much better I looked than my pictures...how he thought two things about first dates…that if there aren’t any awkward silences between you then you have something to build on and that if you are attracted to someone you should let them know. He held my hand; he repeatedly tried to kiss me; I turned my cheek; I told him it was too soon to know if there was an attraction. If I’m not decidedly uncomfortable, I can talk to anyone for an hour; I can also be with a man without needing to speak to him. I’ve had some men tell me that in some ways, the silence is more intimate. It’s a level of comfort of not needing to be “on”; just being with a woman; her being in his space—his car, his home, being there with him, is enough.
We talked about the restaurant across the street… some Mexican place I had never eaten at. He told me that he had. After an hour I was ready to leave with my half filled glass of lemonade tossed in the trash. I told him that I was going to head across the street to get dinner. He didn’t offer to take me. I said goodbye by telling him that I was going to send him home to his waiting children. If I were interested I wouldn’t have dismissed him; I wouldn’t have ever ended a date. That would have never happened over a meal which leads me to question if I would ever say yes to a coffee offering again. It’s a disappointing beginning…it’s a disappointing ending. Nothing good has ever come out of an offer for coffee; even if it’s the morning after.
I’m considering an offer for drinks equally bad; for different reasons. At the outset of an invitation for drinks there appears to be slightly more thought; it’s dark, it’s romantic, it’s seductive…but too seductive for a first meeting. Does a man hope that you might loosen your resolve through alcohol and be an easier lay? Does that make it more manipulative or does he come into the date with at least a more relaxed demeanor of wanting to spend more time with you? Does he want to know you; love to you or lay you? Does he have the potential to be 51% of what I’m looking for in a mate? Or is it excess sugary calories without any of the benefits of having had potential for life’s ultimate sweet treat—a partner.
Coffee or drinks; that’s it? In the sexualized, ritualized, instinctual game of pass or play, I’ve decided to pass. It’s not a good enough offer. Just like the shrike, men that are serious, will make a serious attempt at a real date. The men that are looking to increase their sexual partner pool try to get away with using minimal resources, effort and calorie conservation. I have to admit that on some level, I don’t blame the men. The world has turned into a place of instant information, gratification, and pleasure, but lost its intimacy in the process. It’s distasteful to me and I’ve began to realize what a waste of my time it is to say yes to such a paltry offer.
Oh you say, but I blog…is it not a waste of your time to in essence talk to yourself through these writings? It is not; for in doing so I affect the lives of others that they may learn from the wisdom of my errors.
It’s come down to calorie conservation in men. I get it—I really do. I have two brothers whose only potential for commitment is the commitment of getting laid.
So as a woman involved in online dating, it begins with a picture or two; maybe three. There’s one of you casual, one dressed up and maybe one of you with your dog; or your nephew; or in a group shot being out with your friends having a good time. So man gets a snapshot… and one quick glance of your life. Men are visual; it’s doubtful he’s actually going to read your profile—well not before instant messaging you. It’s a visceral gut reaction would I want to have sex with her? Do I see her fertility? Pass or play?
Lucky you, he’s momentarily intrigued. So maybe he instant messages you. You chat for a few moments…maybe at that point he goes back and glances at your profile…a glancing read of your carefully chosen words, endlessly poured over until it becomes absolute perfection of giggly, sparkling, polished vernacular in other words, bait. He looks at your profile again…and it comes down to an offer of coffee.
Coffee isn’t a date. It’s a pre-date; a once look over. Just past the “magazine advertisement”, he’s made a minimal effort to get himself into the show room—but is he actually going to spend money to buy? Nope. You get a test drive with the least amount of calorie and financial expenditure. Sir, I’m underwhelmed with your mating efforts.
I’m reminded of a male grey shrike—just a bird. His purpose in life is to reproduce; he knows nothing of dating; and yet he knows more than his higher thinking counterparts. Granted, both species know what brings them pleasure—sexual pleasure from a willing female. He competes with other males; the females size him up; will she or won’t she? He may not make the grade by comparison; so instinctively the shrike does something that would appeal to a female. He offers her stuff. He gathers food for her; bits and bobs of things to feather her impending nest. He places them within her view. He advertises that as a mate, that he’s good at gathering stuff for her. He gathers more than other males to impress her. The female shrike compares the male shrike’s stuff with that of other males trying to mate with her.
He pursues her for sexual pleasure which is his greater reward than the risk of the hunting and gathering as nothing more than an offering for her. He must be quick, he must be clever hunter, he must be efficient, yet conserve enough of his energy to be available for the mating. Survival of the species; it’s instinctual. And yet, there are coffee dates. The shrike knows that he has to offer a female stuff—food stiffs; stuff and more stuff. It is surprising to me that that for all of the higher brain functions that modern man has, conservation has outweighed instinctual ritual.
Truly, it is a man’s loss. I don’t want to put on heels or pressed clothes to be in a cold impersonal cafeteria for grownups. I’m not putting my best foot forward to be scurrying around waiting to grab a crumb filled, sugar strewn , impossible to get ‘table’ at your local in-and-out. And if you aren’t fortunate enough to get a table, sitting aside each other on wooden stools facing an outside window is even worse. I can’t get excited about a 20 minute meeting at Starbucks on the way home from the gym. I can’t get excited about you. I don’t have the anticipation of wanting to take an hour and a half just to meet you. Yes, I said it, an hour and a half. That’s exactly how long it takes to shower, shave, do my hair, put on makeup, be perfumed, and ready for the possibility of wanting to choose you to be my lover.
But I go in, compromising--when all he's offered is coffee and you haven't had a date in weeks and your choices are coffees, drinks or nothing... I go, because given the choice of either having a date or not, I took the possibility.
I walk in and question who are those people who sit there with their laptops for hours while caffeine addicted strangers scurry past their lives? Do they really have nowhere else to go nowhere else to be? Maybe they set up online date after date without ever leaving…maybe it’s a modern day opium den for lonely and addicted souls who would rather view the outside world as an ant farm then intimate interaction…maybe they need the noise as much as I need the quiet.
You show up barely cognizant that this is a date. Maybe you’re talking on your blackberry. Maybe you’re not quite done yelling at your secretary who hasn’t gotten the most important package in the world out the door yet; maybe you introduce yourself and slip up telling me your real name instead of your screen name and then backtrack. Maybe you tell me that you haven’t dated or had a girlfriend in years. Maybe you tell me that you’re “only” separated. Maybe you excuse yourself to go back to work. You give me a hundred reasons to never see you again all over a cup of coffee. Coffee--a duty date. Practice in being a feminine woman, practice in learning to receive what a man offers without complaining. Practice in grace. Practice in saying yes, please and thank you. Practice in learning to give a man a chance past his looks or initial impression of him. I gave my duty date an hour of my time--he would have sat there all night telling me how much better I looked than my pictures...how he thought two things about first dates…that if there aren’t any awkward silences between you then you have something to build on and that if you are attracted to someone you should let them know. He held my hand; he repeatedly tried to kiss me; I turned my cheek; I told him it was too soon to know if there was an attraction. If I’m not decidedly uncomfortable, I can talk to anyone for an hour; I can also be with a man without needing to speak to him. I’ve had some men tell me that in some ways, the silence is more intimate. It’s a level of comfort of not needing to be “on”; just being with a woman; her being in his space—his car, his home, being there with him, is enough.
We talked about the restaurant across the street… some Mexican place I had never eaten at. He told me that he had. After an hour I was ready to leave with my half filled glass of lemonade tossed in the trash. I told him that I was going to head across the street to get dinner. He didn’t offer to take me. I said goodbye by telling him that I was going to send him home to his waiting children. If I were interested I wouldn’t have dismissed him; I wouldn’t have ever ended a date. That would have never happened over a meal which leads me to question if I would ever say yes to a coffee offering again. It’s a disappointing beginning…it’s a disappointing ending. Nothing good has ever come out of an offer for coffee; even if it’s the morning after.
I’m considering an offer for drinks equally bad; for different reasons. At the outset of an invitation for drinks there appears to be slightly more thought; it’s dark, it’s romantic, it’s seductive…but too seductive for a first meeting. Does a man hope that you might loosen your resolve through alcohol and be an easier lay? Does that make it more manipulative or does he come into the date with at least a more relaxed demeanor of wanting to spend more time with you? Does he want to know you; love to you or lay you? Does he have the potential to be 51% of what I’m looking for in a mate? Or is it excess sugary calories without any of the benefits of having had potential for life’s ultimate sweet treat—a partner.
Coffee or drinks; that’s it? In the sexualized, ritualized, instinctual game of pass or play, I’ve decided to pass. It’s not a good enough offer. Just like the shrike, men that are serious, will make a serious attempt at a real date. The men that are looking to increase their sexual partner pool try to get away with using minimal resources, effort and calorie conservation. I have to admit that on some level, I don’t blame the men. The world has turned into a place of instant information, gratification, and pleasure, but lost its intimacy in the process. It’s distasteful to me and I’ve began to realize what a waste of my time it is to say yes to such a paltry offer.
Oh you say, but I blog…is it not a waste of your time to in essence talk to yourself through these writings? It is not; for in doing so I affect the lives of others that they may learn from the wisdom of my errors.
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