There comes a time post-divorce when you heal enough to get a vague sense of curiosity.  They say there are plenty of fish in the sea. What do they look like? What kind are they? Is it as bad as they say?

I’m not sure what it says about me that I returned to dating for the same exact same  reason I crane my neck to look at roadkill, but I’m sure it says something.

Internet dating has always worked for me. After all, I don’t drink, I go to bed around 8:30 pm, and my weekdays are filled with work and kids, and my weekends are filled with, “Man, I don’t think I can let this farm chore be postponed even a second longer, I guess I better do it today.” Where else am I supposed to meet people, other than the internet?

Internet dating is also a pretty decent choice for someone with my social skills. I’m decent at carrying out a conversation when I have a keyboard under my fingers. I’m not so great at the real-life small talk thing.

As I began to research I was amused to discover that OkCupid was still around. I briefly considered reviving my old profile from back in 2003/2004, but there was something depressing about that, so I decided to choose another site.

Only… only, it’s not like it was back in the early 2000s, where you chose from OkCupid (where the young folk went), or PlentyofFish (where the Christian folk went) or eHarmony (where the “I actually wanna get married” people went). Now?

Dude.  DUDE. There are SO MANY DATING SITES.

SO.

MANY.

OPTIONS.

Oh, sure, OkCupid, eHarmony, and PlentyofFish are still around, but so are a bazillion different others, and they all have their own private little niche.

What is it about people and creating niches, anyways?

Figuring out dating apps is a bit like trying to learn how to read those old ads for horses, back when you used to have a strict character limit. You guys remember the ones I’m talking about –  16hh OTTB chsnt H/J Gld…You had to know what you were looking for and understand the lingo before you could even start looking.

Who would have thought there would be such a steep learning curve for love?  And yet there was. You had to know what you wanted out of a relationship before you could even figure out how best to present yourself, and you had to create an account and figure out how best to market yourself before you could even look at who else was out there.

Did you want long-term commitment/marriage? You should probably choose eHarmony.  Everyone knows what Tinder is for, although I was surprised to discover that it has actually become a fairly popular dating site, not just an… errr, fairly popular “dating” site. Where you interested in speed-dating? Try Hinge.  Did you want more security as a woman? Try Bumble. How about long-term dating? Match. And so on, and so on. Each site had their own quirk.

Also, they all want you to swipe right if you like someone, which pretty much everyone knows and understands….

Except for my brain.

Every single time it mattered I ended up overthinking it too hard, and then panicked and swiped the wrong direction.

Oh, lordy, it’s a nazi axe murderer who is looking for a third in their open thruple, and that third needs to be diaper kink-friendly….  NOPE. Nope, nope, nope.  Not for me. I need to not swipe right. Don’t swipe right, Becky.  Left.  Swipe left. I definitely need to swipe left.Left, left, left…..

And then, like a horror film, my finger would slowly descend to left hand side of the cell phone screen, and swipe.

Do you know what happens when you put your fat, useless finger on the left-hand side of the screen and swipe?

Yeah, that’s right.  YOU SWIPE RIGHT.

The same thing happened with people I was legitimately interested in.

Hi, I’m the sexiest man alive, and I’m currently in the market for a single woman in her 40s with ADHD and a bunch of kids.  I breed Morgans and Andalusians and own properties all over the world. I’m looking to find someone to drink coffee, read books, pray, volunteer at soup kitchens, and admire beautiful horses.  If it develops into something more, that’d be great.  If it doesn’t, maybe I could just pay you to travel the world and ride my horses in exotic destinations….

And every single time I’d panic and swipe the wrong way, and “YOU MISSED A MATCH” would flash across the screen.

I suppose this is how it all starts.  One moment you’re young and hip and good with technology, and then the next thing you know, you’re talking about “the Google” and responding to Nigerian prince scams.

Technically speaking, if you swipe the wrong way it’s not a total loss.  Most of those places offer monthly memberships for a premium price, so you can go back through missed matches….But I hated the idea of it. It felt like a tax on me being stupid.

Plus, I wasn’t even sure I was ready to go on a date. The idea of dating had me lingering somewhere between nervous and nauseous. It felt too weird, and too soon. Mostly, I was just kind of playing around with the idea. Window shopping available men became my new evening hobby. I’d curl up on the couch after the kids were in bed, listen to the rain outside, and flip back and forth between a dating app and Zillow, happily browsing other people’s personal lives and personal homes.

Actually, internet dating and shopping for a house isn’t a bad comparison. When you first start looking for a house your list of needs is a mile long. I want a 2500 square foot single story ranch home with 3 bathrooms and 5 bedrooms, on 15 acres, under $200,000, with a barn and indoor arena and an in ground pool…

After a couple of months of looking at homes, and seeing the actual market availability, your needs become a little more…. reasonable.  “I’d like a house, with a bathroom, and it would be nice if the roof didn’t leak.”

I remember the first night I started looking through different profiles.  There was a person in a town about an hour away from me, and he had horrible serial killer eyes….except, I suppose, not really? If he really had serial killer eyes they’d probably be soft, and sweet, and approachable. After all, everyone knows that serial killers don’t actually look like serial killers…

I digress. How about this: he had the kind of eyes that looked like what you’d would imagine serial killer eyes to look like.  They were flat, and hard, and I’m pretty convinced that he was born without eyelids and had never blinked once in his entire life.  Every single vein in his body was sticking about 2 inches out of skin, like his blood was straining to escape his body.  He glared. Angrily. Plus, his neck was literally 100% the exact same size as his head.

I screenshot him and sent him to my friend.  “I should swipe right on him.  He looks friendly.”

“Oh, yeah, you definitely aren’t going to die going on that date.”

We both laughed, and I continued on.

But you know what?  A month or so later, the app became annoyed at how picky I was and started to recycle some of my old rejects through. CreepyEyes popped back up, and this time I briefly hesitated.  “Huh.  Not for me, but not so bad” was my thought, as I swiped him left… or rather, put my finger to the right, so I could swipe left, which resulted in us being paired, and me frantically trying to unmatch him.

And then a month later, when he came by again, I actually considered swiping right on purpose. “Oh, sure, he looks like he’d kill me… but you know, I don’t see too many red flags, aside from the fact I’d probably die….”

On the other hand, for all that I’m joking about other people’s profiles, do you have any idea how hard it is to write one of those things? It’s awkward as all get out, trying to brag on yourself without actually, you know, bragging on yourself.  It’s stressful creating a sales ad for your entire personality, asking people to pick you without seeming too needy.

In the end, like I always do, I decided to just go for blunt honesty.

I figured that was about as straightforward as I could get, and it seemed to work pretty well. Also, I was surprised at how easy the whole process was. There was no sudden onslaught of photos of male genitalia.  There were no inappropriate requests, beyond the one guy who said hello and then wanted me to drive an hour into the woods (out of cell phone reception) so he could cook me dinner. I’m sure he had nothing but the best of intentions, and while I do enjoy a nice homecooked meal, I’m sure you are all shocked to hear I didn’t take him up on his offer.  Gas is expensive, after all, and a single mom must be frugal.

Eventually, I decided to go out on my first date.

Life isn’t all maudlin and sadness over here, despite how my last post sounded. I have found a new rhythm, and it suits me.

Reverie is four years old now, and away at training.

Can you believe that?

I know, I know.

She was born, and then life got busy and crazy, and now she’s four.

Reverie is probably as tall as she’s ever going to be (14.3), but she only recently began to fill out.  She’s shaped just like her mother so I know she will fill out, but I almost waited until she was 5 to start her. It’s not that she needed time to mentally mature, just physically, since I’m not exactly a tiny dewdrop fairy of a woman. On the other hand, that filly has been aching for a job since she was two. In the absence of me giving her something to do, she assigned herself her own job, which is to gently and lovingly dismantle every. single. gutter. on. the. farm.

It’s like that old saying goes – nature abhors a vacuum, luck favors the prepared, and Reveries abhors proper building drainage.

Anyways, she’s away at training at Silver Mesa Morgans in Monmouth, Oregon, and she’s doing great. When they picked her up they asked me what my goals were, and like any prepared owner, I told them my detailed plans: “Uh…. don’t make her hate being ridden?  And make her sorta rideable?”

It’s good to have goals.

I went out to visit her this past week, and they’re doing an amazing job. Every horse pricked up its ears and came to say hello with a friendly expression when I walked past their stall (a fantastic sign!). Reverie heard my voice and somehow managed to get the top of her chin over the 7 or 8 foot wall on the back of her stall and strained to catch a glimpse of me, which made me feel really, really good about myself.

I haven’t been away from her for more than a day or so since 2018, and I was surprised how much I have missed her while she was gone.

They tacked her up, which brought me joy, because she was clearly delighted to be chosen to work.

She’s right where she needs to be – no rush, no pushing her unnecessarily, giving her space to learn and actually enjoy the process of learning, and it was fantastic to realize that by next month, I could actually be up on her.

In the meantime, I’m far from horseless. Scandias Mademoiselle, otherwise known as Madam, is currently in the barn.

Madam is intelligent, sweet, and kind.

Madam is… gorgeous.

Madam is smooth as silk to ride.

Madam is a lady.

Madam is claaaaaaasssssy, and probably way too good to be in my barn, but I am not complaining. Besides, Madam is relaxed and happy, and seems pretty darn content with her new life.

DragonMonkey likes to crawl up on her back and play games on his phone while she wanders around grazing. I’m not gonna lie – it looks soothing, and I’m distinctly jealous I’m no longer an agile, bounceable teen.

Magpie loves her and is always begging to ride her. She’s currently asking for horseback riding lessons, because her current dream is to be a pickup man at a rodeo.

Since she’s probably gonna end up around 5’3 and maybe 100 pounds sopping wet I don’t know if that’s in her future, but maybe she could take over my own childhood dream of being a jockey?

Anyways, life is quiet, and that’s good. I have a barn full of goats, mostly because it turns out that once you’re an adult with your own disposable income, the only thing telling you that you can’t get another goat is your own pocketbook.

I figure I’ll probably give them their own intro post soon.

Artemis is getting old, which feels weird, but also somehow peaceful. It seems strange to think of life before her.  On some days it feels like she has always been here, and like I have always lived in Oregon.

Other times my brain stutters and stops and struggles with the fact she’s been in my life for a decade.  How in the world? Wasn’t I just blogging about getting her?

And yet.  She’s covered in benign cysts (according to the xrays) and her muzzle is greying, and she has definitely turned the corner this year from older lab to just plain old ?

Also, if you ever get the chance to own an old lab, do it.  Old labs are absolutely, the 100% pinnacle best of dogdom. She has all the sweet, loving devotion of her youth, but she’s twice as peaceful, and BONUS, she’s too clunky to get up on the counters anymore.  10/10 recommend this experience.

I’m not really sure how to end this post. I’ve been out of the habit of writing for so long, but I recently switched from dayshift to graveyards, and realized that the only way to start back writing again is to, well, start back.  I’m not quite ready to plunge back into the world of trying to write for money.  Besides, there’s something therapeutic about this.  I started this blog way back when I was 25, trying to figure myself out  I’m 41 now, and in the same odd position, albeit with a lot more responsibility. and oddly, a lot less stress.

Still, I’m out of practice at it, so instead of coming up with something catchy, I’ll just end it with some gratuitous photos that make me happy.