Calling Foul …in the paradise promised by on-line dating

I feel my gut clenching as I begin to write this post. It is one of the most deeply personal stories I’ll have shared with you. It reveals a side of me that not that many people know about and a part of me that feels shy and vulnerable. I feel myself judging me; I feel you judging me. And I know that is simply my story of myself in flow. I won’t allow it to stop me. For I know that the process of writing will be helpful, healing and self-nurturing. I suspect that pressing the ‘post’ button will be even more challenging than writing this story will be.

It’s about my love life. And no, I won’t be giving you all the sordid details. Just enough to, hopefully, understand what it’s like to be an older single woman in today’s world and the toll that our on-line dating world can take on even an emotionally and psychologically robust person. It’s the story of a potentially positive relationship that quickly and abruptly went terribly awry.

Why is Paradise Necessary Anyhow?

©Gwen McCauley 2015

So some basic facts to set the stage. I left a 30 year relationship 8 years ago, clear that I wasn’t interested in men because I had so much to figure out about myself. And besides, who the hell would be interested in a fat old woman?  Crumbling marriages tend to take a toll on a girl’s self esteem. I then spent nearly 5 years completely on my own, oblivious to men except as platonic friends. Until a man courted me and stunned me into realizing that I was ready; ready for a man in my life. When that relationship didn’t work, I faced a reality that so many of us must in this day and age. It is damned difficult to meet someone when you work from home, have hobbies that are largely enjoyed solo, and your social network is primarily populated by other women.

So on-line I went and it’s where I have been for the past 3 years. Yeehaw. What a ride. My name for the on-line dating world is the ‘post-industrial wild west freak show’! Like most things in my life I took to on-line dating vigorously and proactively. I wrote detailed, honest profiles. Populated them with recent photos, many showing full body images (clothed) so there’d be no doubt what was on offer. I answered questionnaires, completed tests, searched profiles and contacted men rather than sitting back, waiting to be contacted. Over 3 years I joined 12 different sites/apps, not counting Facebook (which will never be a source of dating for me).

The Promise of Paradise

I’ve met and interacted with thousands of men in that time. Some have been really interesting and pleasurable to chat with and meet. Some (like the high tech sexual sadist) have shocked the crap out of me, and yet ultimately were informative and pleasurable interactions. Some have resulted in short-term relationships that ultimately didn’t have enough substance to stay the course. Some have turned into long-term friendships. One, for me, could have turned into love but the other person was dealing with psychological issues so wasn’t really available.

Scammers and bots were and remain incredibly plentiful. Sometimes I wonder how many profiles populating many sites describe real people and how many are fake. My guess is it’s less than 25%, the rest being either social bots placed there by the site itself to keep people chatting so that their numbers look better, or the much more malicious scammers/scammer bots intent on separating you from your money or gathering personal information for identity theft. On one profile where I admit that I’ve ‘sexted’ a number of men have approached me wanting to sext, as if it were a casual, all-comers invited activity. Haha. Dream on sucker. That’s an activity reserved for very special people under very special circumstances!

I’ve had many, shockingly many, guys who’ve wanted me to have cam sex with them, which I won’t because I find it a turn off, to say nothing of the potential of them taping what I’m doing and then using it for blackmail. I’ve had young guys galore proposition me, sending me unrequested ‘cum shots’ in the belief that it’ll somehow make them seem more desirable. In truth, it is a huge turn off! When I say young I’m talking as young as 17 or 18 years old raving about about how they’d love to have sex with an older, ‘mature’ woman.

I’ve interacted with innumerable scammers and was almost scammed by one. This dude (Russian sea captain Sergey, ya right) kept up a correspondence for 5 months – 5 months – before he hit me up for moola. Over the 5 months, I was highly suspicious and so held back a lot of information. When he asked for money, I blocked him immediately and reported him as a scammer and had no further interaction. Even though part of me saw the scam unfolding, another part of me felt gullible and foolish that I didn’t call his bluff sooner and end things. It felt like a very uncomfortable and no-win situation. It left me highly suspicious of others.

And then there are the guys in their 40’s and 50’s who claim that their first sexual experience was with an older woman and they have a fetish and want to have sex with someone significantly older than themselves.

Thankfully I’ve only had one or two messages from trolls. Guys who hate women, older women, fat women or some combination thereof with their revolting verbal puke of how I should be locked away because I’m disgusting to behold or that other awful things should be done to me.

Ghosts in Paradise

I’ve been stood up for dates.  I’ve had plenty of dates where it was clear from the start that this wasn’t going to work for either of us. I’ve had guys be interested in me when I wasn’t interested in them. I’ve been interested in guys who’ve made it clear that I’m not their type. I’ve been told that I should tone my profile or my personality down because I’m ‘too intimidating’ to guys.

But most difficult of all for me to deal with is being ghosted. That’s the modern day practice of simply disappearing from someone else’s life. Most recently I connected with a guy who claimed to be a retired financial sector guy of some wealth but who had a respiratory condition that meant he had to live in a warm climate. We had coffee, chatted back and forth and planned to get together for dinner. And then he disappeared. For weeks. Only to pop up early one Saturday afternoon to invite me to go for a Dutch treat dinner with him to a fairly pricey restaurant, if I could afford it. Turns out he had developed a chest infection and that was his reason for disappearing for weeks. So off we went for our dinner date. Which was actually quite lovely; the restaurant, the meal and the companionship. When he drove me back to my car I received lots of positive comments about how much he’d enjoyed himself, where we might go next time, etc., etc.  I got a rather chaste kiss farewell – and I’ve never heard from him again. That was over 6 weeks ago. Oh dear. Fuck you, buddy. I hope you have a good life.

That’s just a recent example of being ghosted. It happens probably 50% of the time when I’m interacting with men on-line. They just disappear. Nothing to say they are bored with the conversation, found someone else, that I’m not giving them what they want. Nothing. They become ghosts who have melted into the fog of life.

I share all of this so that you have a good sense of the breadth and depth of experience I’ve had and the range of both positive and negative experiences I’ve learned to deal with. It seems relevant to what I’m about to describe to you.

Paradise Found?

A couple of weeks ago Frederico showed up on one of my sites. Initially he seemed like a typical Portuguese guy, although his English was a damned sight better than most. He was low key, self-effacing, pleasant. It quickly became apparent that he was different in that he asked good questions, responded with detailed answers and seemed more worldly than many I’d interacted with. He said he worked offshore on a rig, which was a red flag to me because it is typical for scammers to have jobs offshore: rigs, mines, ships being favoured locations that offer the illusion of good money, plus access to high tech communications and enough remoteness so that they can cultivate a relationship without the pressure of being physically present.

We shifted to What’sApp fairly quickly which allowed for video as well as text connection. Frederico was, indeed, a real guy and it certainly appeared that he was working on a rig. (But you know, studios can very easily be set up to create the appearance of a specific destination, my cynical self was thinking.) We chatted effortlessly and seemed to share many interests and to be looking for the same things in life. There was an age difference but he never mentioned it and I chose to not bring it up. Frederico was due to fly home within 2 weeks so my concerns that he might be a scammer would soon be proven one way or the other. He seemed quite smitten with me and I was strongly attracted to him. As the date for his return came closer I could feel the tension rising in me. The 24 hours of his trip from the rig back to Portugal felt like torture because I was braced to receive a request for money (problems developing en route is a favourite scammer gambit). And then I’d have to admit that I’d been bamboozled again by another scammer. I was tense. Very tense.

Lo and behold, though, he was as real as real could be. We met and things were even more optimistic than our video chats indicated. I was quite smitten by Frederico and could see the potential not only of some good times but a serious, long-term relationship. He claimed he was madly in love with me. After all the creeps, lame ducks, scammers, ghostings, and misses I’d experienced I was elated. When he left to attend a family function, it was my understanding that he was planning to spend the next day with his adult daughters and that I might see him the following evening, for certain on the next day when we planned to go to an event I attend weekly.  I went to bed a very, very happy girl that night.

I awoke happy but mildly disappointed the next day because he hadn’t sent me so much as a short message. He had been very good while on the rig about saying goodnight each night and good morning each day. I heard nothing from him the entire next day and he neither showed up that night, nor was there any message from him. I could feel my stomach churning and the sense of dread that I was being ghosted, yet again, began to build. Simultaneously some friends contacted me to say that an event we’d all been looking forward to attending was happening the next afternoon and did I want to go with them. Of course I did. But I didn’t want to jerk Frederico around. So I sent him a message explaining what was up and letting him know I wouldn’t be around most of the day but reminding him at what time I typically leave to attend my Sunday evening event.

Paradise Lost?

By Sunday morning I was not only deflated but feeling gullible and naïve, once again. I had a knee jerk response and made a decision. I sent him a message letting him know that, for me, ghosting is probably the most hurtful way possible to tell someone you aren’t interested in them, wishing him a good life and telling him he wouldn’t hear from me again.

That afternoon I got a message from him that indicated he had read none of my other messages saying what a good time he was having with his family and that he’d drop by my place late that evening. Duh. So I sent another message reminding him I wouldn’t be home, giving him the address of my event and re-inviting him to join me if he wished.

That’s the last I’ve heard from him.

Was Paradise Even a Possibility?

Was I an idiot to react so quickly and forcefully to him? That, of course, was my Self judgement. Perhaps. A friend who is married to a Portuguese guy reminded me that, culturally, Portuguese guys often respond differently than I might expect. And I recognize that even in similar cultures a personal has to make allowances for different expectations.

So perhaps I’m making a mountain out of a proverbial molehill I wondered?  Perhaps I’m agitated, distressed and uncertain for no good reason? Perhaps also this may be a good thing to happen because I may not be up to dealing with someone who isn’t responsive to what I have to say or to my needs?

And what if my response has ruined a potentially spectacular relationship? Well, on that front I’m fatalistic. I’ll never know, will I? And what if my response has saved me from discovering the slow way that I’m involved with a guy who doesn’t give a toss about my needs, interests or priorities? I should pat myself on the back for my insightfulness, I’d say. Another good friend pointed out that perhaps he’s married and was just looking for a quick fling and being dishonest about it all.

Learnings on the Road to Paradise

But there are bigger questions at play here, I think. I know that Frederico, at some level, is the recipient of my built up frustrations over all the men who have lied to me, dishonoured me or otherwise treated me shabbily in this dating process. I need to face this distasteful reality and learn from it. I need to better deal with my romantic disappointments as they occur rather than letting them fester and boil over inappropriately. I know this is important because, in retrospect, it’s clear that I was angry without even realizing I was angry.

I also need to reflect seriously on the nature of the men that I choose to interact with. Am I making good choices for myself? Can I learn to be kind to myself if I don’t chose well from time to time, especially because I want to find a guy who is different than the kinds of guys I’ve traditionally chosen in my life?

I need to trust my gut instincts more, especially when they are guiding me away from something that appears to be superficially appealing. I’m great at trusting my instincts when they are affirming a positive response. I am less trusting when they are affirming a negative choice. I fret more. I second guess myself more.

I need to be extremely proud that I have a network of friends and confidantes with whom I can consult, when necessary, and who will ask me the tough questions and support me in my choices and decisions. That is worth its weight in gold. Everyone who is on-line dating needs to have such a circle of friends who help them retain balance, to shine a light into crevices and crannies that aren’t immediately obvious and who will provide support and guidance when needed. This is absolutely critical to remaining sane and healthy in the on-line world in my estimation.

So here I am, about 72 hours after making the fateful decision to challenge a potential partner on what felt to me like his dismissive and disrespectful behaviour towards me. This oh so new and vulnerable relationship that was still just blossoming suddenly stopped in its tracks. In those intervening hours I feel that I’ve gained perspective and learned to trust my gut instinct. Who knows if I’ll ever hear from Frederico. If I don’t, oh well, he wasn’t the man he portrayed himself as being and I’m better off. If he does show up, I already have my list of questions he’ll have to answer. The breaks have been put on an emotional freight train that might have been moving way, way too fast. And I’ve confirmed, yet again, that I have a network of amazing friends I can rely on through thick and thin.

On-line dating is definitely an approach to meeting potential people that is hard to ignore in today’s world. But each of us has to be awake and aware of the decisions we make, the vulnerabilities we face and the process of using this tool that works best for us. In addition to the supportive and nurturing friends I have, I also have friends who think that their approach to dating and relationships is the best (only?) way and who actually add to my stress by chastising me for my choices while trying to counsel me to just ‘do it their way’. As one said to me as if it were a problem “I’ve learned that you believe you are the best one to judge what you need to do next.  Damn right I do. It’s why my life is so great in so many ways. This experience with Frederico shows me that I need to let certain people know much less about what’s happening in my love life.


I’m glad I’ve written this article and am going to share it with the world. Too many of us think we’re the only one struggling to find someone. Too many of us think that we’re the only one who is uncertain. Too many of us think we’re alone in getting taken advantage of in both big and small ways, who get stood up, ghosted or put down. Too many of us question our judgement. Too many of us think we’re being too picky or not picky enough.

I say here’s to self-discovery. Here’s to the strength of character to know what works and doesn’t work for us. Here’s to our willingness to call bullshit when it is happening to us. Here’s to the courage to live full, rich lives whether solo or with another. And here’s to all the people who, despite the bruised and battered hearts and egos we acquire, know that having a significant other in our life is important enough that we continue our search despite the difficulties involved.  Here’s to you, fellow journeyers, who pick up the pieces and continue forward. May you find what you seek. May you grow from the process. May life be full, rich and rewarding. And may you remember, always, that that which doesn’t destroy you makes you stronger

The Dog Ate My Nun’s Farts . . .Honest

The ups and downs of daily life

The Cabeça is the backdrop to my winter home

The Cabeça is the backdrop to my winter home

I love it when I can use travel as my palette for life’s adventures. Sometimes though, being in the midst of those adventures feels like nothing more than a giant pain in the ass where I question my abilities, my sanity, my health and my judgement.

This is one of those times. I’m house/pet sitting for a friend in deeply rural Algarve so that he can go off on his own life’s adventures for the winter . . .and possibly the rest of his life. But that’s his story, not mine.

My adventure is not just about pet sitting when I’m unaccustomed to having pets. It includes managing a rustic, ramshackle rural property, keeping my writing business afloat and creating an active social life.

My Crew

Blackie-Luna-across-the-fieldsMy charges are two dogs, Blackie and Luna and a male tabby cat named Monty. The dogs are very friendly and rambunctious, each with its own distinct personality. Blackie, the male, is territorial and defensive but with a sweet disposition, playful and quietly protective. He’s definitely an introvert, hanging back until he’s invited in for food, a cuddle or a walk. He has a disorder whereby he’s always digging in the dirt (although I never see him doing it) and he has a perpetual fungal condition on his nose. It looks a lot like really bad psoriasis. I have to be honest and say that I find the psoriasis-like eruption repugnant and so am reluctant to touch or cuddle him. For sure the thought of him licking me makes my skin crawl. I wish I were a more compassionate human being, but there it is. His icky skin creeps me out. Sigh. Yet he doesn’t seem to hold it against me and where he’s usually very aloof with people, he actually comes in for a back rub or cuddle from me from time to time.

Luna is a short-haired beauty, a Canadian or White Shepherd I’ve recently discovered. She has a roller-derby chick personality and body shape: a sleek but hearty build and a ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude that simply exudes from her, even when she’s lying in a languid heap in the sunshine. She’s a character, of that there’s no doubt. A take no prisoners way of moving through space, a bark that makes other dogs sit up and take notice, an infinitely curious nature, an impetuous manner and a cheeky, devilish way of getting in your face.

She’s the leader of this small pack and when the aggressive dogs from next door come on an attack raid, she’s right in there giving as good as she gets. Blackie seems to be the focus of their attacks, which are terrifying, by the way. But Luna is very effective at keeping 3 large aggressive dogsat bay. One is so nasty he wears a muzzle full time but it doesn’t slow him down a whole lot.

My Challenges

And that’s part of the adventure I hadn’t realized I was signing on for. Portugal has very poor animal control laws, at least down here in the Algarve. Laws controlling aggressive breeds are almost non-existent. I had planned to go in and lodge a complaint with the local police but I’ve been advised to use that as a last resort. Apparently, if I get one of the less pleasant members of the local constabulary, I may find myself on the short end of the stick, required to come up with all sorts of paperwork proving that my own dogs are registered, vaccinated, spayed, and otherwise legitimate. I know that both of them are rescue dogs and that Gerry would have the paperwork somewhere. But where?  Phhhtttt??? So I sit here and stew. The woman next door is building a huge stone wall and, apparently, a fence. It seems to be working in that her dog pack hasn’t been over for a raid in nearly 3 weeks. But the barking that goes on back and forth is enough to drive me bonkers. Next door seems to let their dogs out to run the property in the night because I’m often awakened in the wee hours with Blackie, in particular, emitting this deep, piercing howl/whine that sounds like he is actively dying. Very, very unnerving. And a great lesson for me in detached caring as well as patience.

Patience is something I don’t believe I have a whole lot of so these are probably darned good life lessons for me.

But what about these Nun’s Farts you ask? Well yes. Before we talk Farts, however, I’d like to point out that one of my friends has concluded that I’m in the process of ‘being trained into submission’ by these dogs. I suspect she may be more than slightly right on the money. Thanks Denise..

In the past 6 weeks or so I’ve become aware of just how unaware I am on many fronts. A bit of background. This rustic, ramshackle place in which I live is a converted holiday trailer or caravan. My landlord/friend has built a large room on one end. It has a patio stone on gravel floor, walls, a corrugated plastic roof, windows, bathroom and an on-its-last-legs kitchen with 2 fridges, 2 washers, a gas stove and clothes dryer (a rarity in Portugal where everyone, rich or poor hangs their laundry to dry). The kitchen is open along the side made up of the end of the trailer, both at the top and the bottom. So I can’t lock the cat out and Blackie from time-to-time makes an entrance from under the trailer, although he seems bored with that little trick these days.

Bad Habits I Didn’t Know I Had

Monty-napping-on-the-tableI’m pretty much a from-scratch cook and I love to cook for myself as well as for guests. My ‘unawareness’ comes in very deeply entrenched habits of leaving food out to soften, warm up, marinate, steep or otherwise be part of the culinary process. I was totally unaware of the range of foods that animals like to eat. Like the bag of flour that Monty (the cat) chewed his way into and proceeded to lap up. Or the buns and bread that he regularly rips open if I forget to put them away and nibbles upon? I had no idea cats like carbs so much. I was also unaware of just how cats want to be the boss of a place, even if they don’t really want to eat the food involved. They’ll do what they need to do to gain access to it and then walk away once they’ve proved that they can do that.

So far Monty has not only ruined a roasted chicken I left out, covered, to cool. But I couldn’t get over why Luna was dancing up a storm to get into the kitchen one morning. When I opened the door, I discovered Monty had managed to get the fridge door open and haul out half a roasted chicken I’d stored in the fridge overnight. She’d eaten almost none of it but it was lying in the middle of the floor and the fridge door had been ajar all night long. Luna, of course, had a wonderful pre-breakfast treat that morning.

Leek Mushroom PieThen I had friends over for lunch. I’d cooked a wonderful roast of pork and made a fresh mango chutney to accompany it. I’d sliced the pork, arrayed it on a tray with a bowl of chutney in the middle then covered it with plastic, then an overturned pot and finally a heavy jug of water on top of the pot and went to the loo to tidy up for my guests imminent arrival. I heard a great crash and came out to discover that Monty had gotten his body behind the tray and leveraged it off the counter onto the floor. Oh my, both Luna and Blackie certainly enjoyed that roast of pork …and the spicy mango chutney to accompany it! Amazing. We dined on an Omelette!!

Monty hasn’t done any more fridge damage because I’ve taken to duct-taping the damned door shut when I have any meat in it.  Although yesterday he did manage to pick a chicken neck out of the stock pot, in full boil, and chow down on his succulent treat while I was busy entertaining guests.

Finally – the Nun’s Farts

Yesterday’s damage was of Luna’s making. I had a generous chunk of pastry left from Christmas. So I’d made an Apple Pie for my guests and a batch of a very special French Canadian treat called Nun’s Farts (Pet des Soeurs) and was planning to use the balance as crust for a Leek and Mushroom Pie. I left the chilled pastry out to soften a bit before rolling out and had to run into the trailer to get my laptop and plug it in out in the kitchen. I was gone perhaps 90 seconds. On my way back from trailer to kitchen I noticed that Luna was out on the lawn with something plastic. When I went to investigate it was the bag of pastry that she was very happily chomping into. Oh crap. At least I had the pie and pastries safe in the fridge. So I quickly made a new batch of pastry that I put in the fridge to chill while I made the savoury filling.

Once my guests arrived and the Leek and Mushroom Pie went in the oven, I took the Apple Pie and Nun’s Farts out of the fridge and put them in safe places until dessert. Or so I thought. Turns out the the pie was fine but no so the Farts.

Nun's-FartsI had made these cultural treats especially for my friend Marc who, like me, has a Franco Ontarien heritage. Nun’s Farts are ends of pastry that you roll out, butter and then sprinkle heavily with sugar and cinnamon, roll up, slice and bake until crisp. They may not appeal to everyone but for those of us who grew up with them, they are a combination of delicacy and sweet memories.

So imagine my dismay when I went into the kitchen to pick up the wicker tray of these treats only to find Luna inhaling them. She had managed to get her nose high enough up to flip the tray down onto the ground and was hoovering these treats, tail wagging, tongue slobbering with joy. I caught her in the act so there was no denying that she was the culprit. My heart sank and this fountain of dismay arose inside of me. I had to admit that I have a huge need to control my kitchen and all that goes on in it . . .and these critters are here to teach me to just let it all go.

God that’s proving difficult. To tell an honoured guest that he can’t have his treat because the dog ate it . . .good grief, where have we heard that before? At least I did tease him with a look and a smell of them earlier so he knows they actually existed, weren’t just a figment on my imagination. I also have the photo evidence, of course.

Where to Next?

Gwen Marc HikingThere are so many other stories I have to tell. Not just of the animals and food. But of electricity going off. And now today my water pump packing it in. Oh dear. Should I laugh, cry or have a hearty drink of something?

I know that I am a resourceful, talented gal. But honestly, this seems to be pressing my limits. So stay tuned as I work my way through the growth experiences this winter’s adventures are providing me. I have the feeling that we’ve only just begun.

Fear and Aging

Here I am on my balcony last summer. I let my gardening go this year so that I could spend more time solo camping.

I live my life relatively free from fear. I learned a long time ago that fearing the future means that my today is lived with less aliveness than is possible because some part of me is bracing against a negative future. As I often tell my coaching clients who don’t believe that they can envision a future for themselves: if you can worry, you are already adept at creating a vision for yourself. It just happens to be a negative view of what’s possible.

That isn’t to say that I don’t have certain concerns about my future, but I don’t fear it. For example, I’ve chosen to live alone in later life; what biological family I have all live over 1,000 miles away. I’m very mindful that this means that should I ever get sick or otherwise need the support one typically looks to family for, it won’t be there.

I was just chatting with a friend who has just come through a rather prolonged medical situation. She was surprised at just how much self advocacy it took to receive the best attention from the medical system. Those kinds of conversations give me pause to consider the future. Not in a fearful way, but in a way that invites creativity and an awareness that I need to develop alternative strategies for myself.

Making new friends with people younger than me is a key ‘self preservation’ strategy of mine! Sadly, Trish is from Ottawa so we really only spend time together volunteering at Stanfest each July

I don’t know what my answers for dealing with life’s inevitable crises will be, but I do have every confidence that they won’t be fear driven. Rather they’ll be considered and mindful, anticipating alternatives, just like I live my day-to-day life. One thing I’m very clear about, though, is that I have no plans to become one of those fearful little old ladies who sit quietly in their homes and apartments afraid of every knock at the door. I know that the best way to live the future without fear is to live today without it. I also know that the best way to live the future mindfully is to begin to develop plans and strategies today.

Hmmmm . . . .