I’m the war of head versus heart…

No doubt those assholes in the picture are ignoring each other and swiping right and left…

Dating is stupid.

There, I said it. Sorry not sorry.

One of the last things my Mom-Mom said to me was, “Shayna Punim, if you become a young widow like me (she was 50 when my grandfather died) or get divorced, don’t get remarried. Just have lots of lovers like I did.”

Wise words from a wise woman. She also told me to save $5 from every paycheck and to moisturize every night before going to bed. Why start listening now?

Getting back out there was daunting, but I knew that unless I wanted to spend the rest of my life alone with 9 cats, I had to start downloading some dating apps.

First up, Bumble. It’s the swipe right, swipe left concept,  but the caveat is that the woman has to make the first move and message her match within 24 hours.  I don’t think Jack Bauer dealt with this type of pressure, and dude was saving the world one day at a time.

I could get behind the concept, and I was hopeful it would prevent me from getting 3487236487236 unwanted dick pics.

Why are dick pics a thing?

Anywho, Bumble. So I had to set up a profile and choose some pictures. Easy enough.

What the fuck do I write???

Since going back into the world of single life and dating via phone apps, the question that I get the most from my readers is how much I divulge about my health on the first few dates. Do I put it all out there right away? Say nothing and wait until he gets me naked in bed and yell “SURPRISE NO NIPPLES!!!!!!” Or do I act like I have no idea and ask, “Wow, where did all those scars come from ohmergerd WHERE DID MY NIPPLES GO???”

It a constant battle I have with myself. We live in an age where with one swift search on The Googles you can find someone’s life history, their credit rating, property they own, any legal issues, etc. Do a search of yours truly on the interwebs, and not only do you find my blog, but you learn my entire health history and see an uber flattering picture of moi with bloody tampons shoved up my nose. It’s enough to drive the least picky man away.

Side note: I have this fear that I will meet a guy at a bar, drink too much, invite him back for some extracurricular activity, but completely forget to tell him about my double mastectomy. The clothes come off, he gets a look at my lovely lady lumps and goes running out of my house like Peter on The Cosby Show when Rudy and her friends were up to no good.

My dating profiles are exactly what you’d expect of me- sharp, pithy, quick-witted, while always mentioning my love for Dippin Dots and Steel Panther. I keep the health stuff out of it…

“Newly divorced, hilarious, cute, infertile thirty-something woman seeks man who is indifferent about lady nipples. Must love Steel Panther, Dippin’ Dots, and be ok that said woman can possibly wake up in kidney failure and is at high risk for sudden cardiac death.”

NAILED IT!

I improvise. Win them over with my girlish looks and witty charm, and pray to all things holy that they don’t go nuts with the Google search. That said, I always come fully prepared for a man to say “Luck Fupus,” as I walk up to him on a first date.

It hasn’t happened yet, but I gather it will.

If I had it my way my profile would read “Super hero who survived 3 open-heart surgeries, breast cancer, cervical cancer, and kicks lupus ass on a daily basis seeks man who can keep up and handle shit when the going gets tough.”

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. So I go with my most flattering pictures and charm their pants off. I’ll lay the heavy stuff on them after they meet me and decide they can’t live without me.

Funnies aside, the only personal tidbit I divulge right away is my infertility- which may be entirely too personal but, I don’t want to not only waste someone else’s time, but I certainly don’t want to waste my own. And I never want to be in an “I gave up my dreams of extending my blood line for you!” type of situation (I have, and it was horrifying). The older I get, the more I swipe left on the profiles where a man says he is looking forward to starting a family, and gravitate towards the ones who don’t want kids or already have a herd of his own.

Self-preservation, if you will. Less heartache in the end.

And with that, a profile is created. Let the games begin.

It’s amazing how much time can pass swiping through profiles. I’ll put The Office on and swipe away, before I know it an hour has passed and I have yet to make a match. Am I that particular?

Eventually, you run out of potential matches. No, seriously. One last swipe, the screen goes blank and you get an alert you’ve run out of men. Like you’ve either slept with them already, or you’re just too critical. Basically, “come back later, you picky fuck!”

Holy balls, I matched!

OK, now I have to think of something witty and pithy once again. I am not the type of person to just say “Hi, how are you?” I put in effort, try to show that I actually read the profile. That said, I highly doubt any of the men I’ve messaged really gave two fucks what I wrote to them.

I typically know within the first few messages if I’m interested. I have the attention span of a gnat, so if the messages are boring, thank you, next. I also prefer to meet someone sooner rather than later. The thought of spending a week or two engaged in heavy text, then he ends up being a dud is not at all appealing. All that wasted time, especially when you’re sick. I can’t get that back.

The thing I find difficult with online dating is that it’s almost expected to be chatting with more than one person at a time. I’m not good at that. I don’t like it, to be honest. I guess it’s the whole attention span of a gnat thing, but I can’t have 12 conversations going with 12 different men at a time. Since none of them know my health history I cant blame chemo brain when I call them the wrong name. And no doubt, that shit will happen.

“So Dylan….”

“My name is Brandon.”

Fuck.

I am not my illness(es). Yes, I’m obviously an open book about it, put this crazy shit out there for all to see, but I’m not lupus, or cancer, or a heart defect, or PTSD, etc… I am a nurse, a sister, a daughter, a friend. I’m intelligent, empathetic, and fucking hilarious. I’m confident with who I am and what I can offer even though I have these diseases that affect my life exponentially, that I can only work part-time, that my treatments are fucking brutal and can put me in bed for days. I still have a ton of wonderful things I can bring to the table, and I want someone who understands and is capable to take all of this on. I’m not looking for someone to take care of me. I want someone who compliments me and makes me my best possible version of myself. Isn’t that what we all want, lupus or not?

So with that, I keep swiping.