The following is an actual quote from a communique I received from an algorithm...errr...I mean a man. Please do not hold typos, incorrect spacing, and bad punctuation against me.
"Hello beautiful thanks for accepting my request, was hoping we could talk and maybe get to know each other more, i must confess you have an astonishing and captivating smile,Angela i’m sure you receive such compliments on daily basis, well was hoping you on here so we could chat, i know this isn’t a date site or some sort, you just never can tell, would love to get a reply beautiful."
You don't believe that I got this message? Well, take a lookey-loo at the screenshot from Walter —.
Now, as a writer and an editor, I could break down the meanings he has implied. For instance, he would like to get a reply beautiful, that is a beautiful reply.
Now, Walter is correct in that I do daily receive compliments on my "astonishing and captivating smile." And, because I want to stay humble, I limit how often I go out in public so that I don't feed my ego and, you know, get the big head.
But, dang it if they don't chase me down on Bacefook. For me, Bacefook is marketing. I want to keep my face in front of what could potentially be a book and/or ticket buying audience. And since I am always marketing, marketing, marketing, it is only natural I should get strangers to react to my posts and ask to be friended. Of course I'm going to accept most of them because that is how one connects with fans, right?
Still, compliments I don't need as much as I need somebody to buy one of my books, thank you very much. Or a ticket to a show. Look, guys. Boyfriends I don't need. But does that stop these desperate men? No, it does not. Look at what I get on a daily damn basis:
And when I don't reply, I get a simple question mark [see Mr. Chase Lynn Worsley both above and below as an example]. Which question mark, I am sure, is accompanied by a toss of the head and a hurt-feelings shrug of the shoulder and an eye roll of disgust that I did not respond.
These fellows must think that Bacefook is The New Dating Game. But I have one little piece of advice for them:
I was once no more than five feet away from three Bluebirds who had no clue I was there.
Pacing on a branch, the female — I shall name her The Prize — was screaming. Yes, female Bluebirds can scream. What she was screaming was this:
"Kick his ass, baby! Kick it!"
I am not lying. It was clear The Prize's intent was to support the love of her life whom I shall name Male Numero Uno (MNU).
It seems the second male, name ICouldaBeenaContender (ICBC), wanted the female and he wanted her bad. But she kept giving him the cold shoulder until finally MNU had to step in and defend her honor.
ICBC and MNU were equal in strength. Theirs was the best fight I've ever seen. Lasted five minutes. Given the life span of the majority of Bluebirds, which is one year, five minutes is a long time.
But there was plenty of drama in that five minutes.
Mid-air dive bombings. Near-misses. Mid-air collisions. Clutches with their bodies falling hard to the earth where they rolled, viciously clawing and pecking. Breaking the clutch and, crawling away, wings trailing as they went to their corners to catch their breath, only to launch into the air again and come out fighting.
When it looked like ICBC was going to win, The Prize began pacing on the branch. She was so worried, her little tweeter couldn't holler any more. I swear I saw her chin wobble.
But then she looked into the future and found she could not abide living with that bully bird, found her voice, and again began with exhortations to MNU, namely,
"What are you waiting for, baby? Get the hell up and kick his ass!"
and "You know you're gonna git it good tonight, baby! Kick him!"
and "I love YOU! You da man."
Whereupon MNU rallied and ICBC saw the intent of resolve harden in his little blue breast and proceeded to self-identify as gone.
I wish I could say that I've had any two men fight that hard for me. I wish I could say that I've cared enough for any man enough that I would scream kick his ass. But they haven't and I haven't either and somehow that is just sad.
However, it has also allowed me to stay focused on what is important. For instance, if I had that much drama, then I couldn't be your Citizen Journalist. I wouldn't have invented technology that protects and defends content creators. I wouldn't be writing songs that masses of people are relating to and enjoying.
So, on the balance, I've self-identified to males as a drama-free zone — or just plain gone — and I think they are catching on and going some other place where females who will scream kick his ass and then they can go home together and get some of that good stuff because God knows I'm not getting any. Which is what this song was all about. Enjoy the song and video I made that couldn't have existed if I had a man.
As you can see with this photographic proof, such a reply did come and it came within four hours of her sharing that column on Facebook.
Miss Angela shall break down the man's reply for her gentle readers.
The Man: Maybe Mizz Angela shouldn’t be so quick to walk away, laughing.
Miss Angela: As you can tell, The Man has a problem, not with the walking away, but with the laughing while doing it. We know the laughing is the part he is most upset about because at the end he emphasizes the word laughing setting it off by itself with a comma. This tells Miss Angela that The Man is used to being walked away from.
The Man: See, the guy who might have some real interest is going to be patient, and really gauge the situation.
Miss Angela: They don't call this The War Between the Sexes for no good reason. The man needs to understand that this is war. This war consists of full-scale planned battles that end with marriage and kids and mortgages, when younger, or when expecting ill-health, the search for and acquisition of a nurse and/or a purse.
For others, this war is also made up of episodes of irregular and unpremeditated fighting — skirmishes, if you will, or dates — whose sole purpose is to spend some pleasant time in an activity upon which they both agree. During this time the man may seem to be engaging in witty conversation for witty conversation's sake. This is merely a ruse, a ploy, a misdirection because the man is usually trying to figure out what it will take to get the woman to peel off her panties while he is in the same room.
Any man who says otherwise is flat-out lying.
Further, do not mistake patience with hesitation. Patience is a deliberate action taken upon assessing the need for slowing down. Hesitation comes from being unsure of what next to do.
It is this unsure hesitation that chaps the female boohiney. In the trenches, one does not want to be beside someone searching for his ammo or asking to borrow yours.
The Man: To a man, time is valuable, and not to be wasted on trollops and foolishness.
Miss Angela: In this statement, Miss Angela sees so many opportunities to get snarky. But Miss Angela is a lady, a gentlewoman, and will not resort to such as that. She will say, though, that her vast experience with watching who men choose is just the opposite.
Men like foolishness and adore trollops.
Why is that? Simple. Based upon the concepts of the path of least resistance and water will find its own level, it takes a lot less work to impress such a female, and it is almost a certainty there will be no effort on his part to peel those panties and get to the goodies. If he can convince her it is all her idea then the better for him. He might employ such phrases as "I believe all women are strong" or "I'm a committed feminist." Females who do not fall for those lines from a man usually wear pussy hats and wear pasties in public while daring misogynists with badges to arrest her, or are women who never looked to social-engineering programs to give her strength in the first place.
The Man: Now, Mr. Fast Hand will come right on out with the invite, because it’s a numbers game, and rejection is just a part of it.
Miss Angela: Dear Heavenly Father, give Miss Angela strength! Does The Man not know that rejection is part of every man's experience whether he hesitates like the wimp he is or puts the whang-dang-doo-whoppy on the woman if he's a "Mr. Fast Hand"?
Does The Man truly believe that at any time it isn't a numbers game for any man or woman? He must because his statement implies that it isn't a numbers game for the man with patience.
Bull. Crap.
Miss Angela apologizes for the use of such crude language, but she will explain that this two-word reply is the shorter version of what she first uttered, and which is unprintable, and thus the better choice.
The Man: The real man will be sure that both of you know the answer, before he asks the question.
Miss Angela: *&%# !+ ^@ $$$*%. Which is why men prefer foolishness and trollops. Miss Angela can tell you, Dear Gentle Reader, that when it comes to men, there is no play book. She has been patient — and thus tortured. She has come out directly: "If you're looking for [fill in category here], that's not me." — and been called a ball-breaking bitch. In all cases, these men end up with foolishness and trollops. How does Miss Angela know this? Because Miss Angela sees the men again and they say, "Oh, Miss Angela, why oh why do I keep picking foolishness and trollops? Miss Angela, do you know what she did?" To which Miss Angela replies, "Spent all your money, beat up your ego, then said goodbye?" To which the men say, "How did you know?" Such laments are usually followed up with, "If you knew she was going to use me and abuse me —" and here is where it gets amusing for Miss Angela — "why didn't you say something and stop me?" Miss Angela has often replied, "Look, if giving away all your money is what you wanted to do, why didn't you give it to me by investing in my SaaS that will protect and defend intellectual property rights for creatives? At least that loss would be tax deductible."
Anyway, it's not like Miss Angela has that power. But even if Miss Angela did, she wants a real man. One who can think for himself. One who is responsible for himself.
One who doesn't blame Miss Angela for all his troubles and that's all Miss Angela is going to say about that.
I own a one-and-one condo in a small community. We are so small we have only one dumpster. This dumpster is at the very back of the community which has not stopped total strangers from sneaking in during the middle of the night and quickly dumping their old damn sofas and dishwashers.
Right now you're asking yourself, "What in the hell? What has dumpster misuse got to do with getting excellent advice on dating? Why, oh why, does Miss Angela always have to take the long way 'round?"
Whoa there, big boy. I sure hope you aren't a wham-bam-see-ya-later kind of man. I mean, if you're already rushing Miss Angela to get to the point then let Miss Angela give you the first bit of advice.
Miss Angela's First Bit of Advice by way of Conway Twitty
Granted, quickies have their place and there ain't no denying it. But honey, please understand you must not jump out of the gate with that mindset. Women like the long game and I mean that with every bit of double entendre you can imagine. Learn to play that long game properly and then and only then will quickies pack the punch for everybody involved.
Just ask Conway. I mean, the man knows, right?
Which brings us to Miss Angela's second bit of advice and which will nicely tie up the dumpster story.
Stop torturing the women.
So somebody snuck in again and donated yet another damn sofa and dishwasher to our community and Miss Angela said, "I'm sick of busting up sofas. I shall tell the management company to send somebody out here to haul this sh*t off because Miss Angela ain't being paid for doing this, damn it."
And so Miss Angela did, and the management company sent out "Jerry", not his real name. Miss Angela promises that is not his real name because Miss Angela would never publicly humiliate a man using his real name. She will always give him an alias before she delivers said humiliation because Miss Angela is a lady and a gentlewoman though she has been called a ball-busting bitch, but that title simply says more about the man than her.
Anyway, "Jerry" shows up and Miss Angela goes out to oversee the project because, after all, Miss Angela is picky about how her condo association's money gets spent and she wants to make sure this "Jerry" fellow gets it done proper without wasting any of her money.
"Jerry" is properly impressed with Miss Angela's performance in helping and overseeing the removal of the junk. That is to say, he was not too put off with her bossi-...errrr...eager helpfulness. Miss Angela knows this because "Jerry" gets that twinkle of interest in his eyes and begins to dig for information.
Jerry: Sooo, now, Mizz Angela, why isn't your husband out here helping you with this project? [You will notice the use of the married Mizz to denote that he really, really, really wants her to believe that he believes she is married, and that he is not, in point of fact, attempting to woo her.]
Miss Angela [thinking Jerry is cute and wanting to give him an opportunity to get to the point]: I don't have a husband.
Jerry [Ding! Ding! Ding!]: Then why isn't your boyfriend helping you?
Miss Angela: I don't have a boyfriend.
[Ring-a-ding-ding! Feeling quite happy he has gotten the information he wanted, that is, Miss Angela is ripe for the plucking, heproceeds to drag the process out even more]
Jerry: Well, why in the hell not?
Miss Angela:Why in the hell not what?
Jerry: Why in the hell don't they ask to be your boyfriend?
Miss Angela: Because they are skeert.
Miss Angela then proceeds to walk away as Jerry hollers after her: Well, they are just stupid.
Miss Angela: [Laughing and walking.]
Jerry: [Blinking. Thinking. Not coming up with anything. And now Miss Angela is gone.]
See? Torture. Which brings us to the last bit of advice.
If you want to know something specific, just ask.
The above conversation is not unique to "Jerry" as Miss Angela has had this exact same conversation a minimum of 279 times since she got divorced and with each and every one Miss Angela wants to scream and say, "Why don't you just ask if Miss Angela wants to go out and have a meal and a chat?"
See? Boom. The answer would be "Sure, but I don't want a full-time boyfriend" and the man could then have the option of setting up a date and time or walking away. In each case, everybody could get on with their lives and Miss Angela would not be tortured and can get back to doing what Miss Angela does without worrying about some poor fellow's ego.
Time savings, people. We aren't getting any younger, you know. It's not like this is a brand new process in the history of men and women.
Bonus final thoughts from Miss Angela.
Miss Angela wants you to know that she does not hate men. But just as water finds its own level, she feels the men's responses — and even their lack of response, follow thru, and follow up — is a vetting process in and of itself. That is, most men take themselves out of the running and Miss Angela doesn't have to do anything at all but stand there and look pretty.
So, maybe Miss Angela's Most-Excellent Old-Fashioned Yet Modern Advice for Men on Asking a Woman for a Date isn't so good after all. Maybe everything is working just fine.
You don't believe that I got this message? Well, take a lookey-loo at the screenshot from Walter —.
