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Online Dating Blogs?

Online Dating Blogs?

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Online Dating Blogs?

The world of Hispanic Dating has gotten out of hand. They have allowed for women to give us guys seven minutes to win them over in what they call “speed Hispanic Dating”. So much for foreplay. I mean seriously, whatever happened to the wine me, dine me days of Hispanic Dating.

You would be able to meet a nice girl on line at a grocery store, say something kind of witty then entice the girl to gladly exchange phone numbers. After a couple of phone calls and the getting to know you are not a psycho stage you could then work up to inviting this nice young lady to dinner. All this has changed. Now instead of exchanging phone numbers it becomes “Are you on online?”

At first I was like how impersonal, you would rather stare at my hot pics online then see me in the flesh??? You would rather send me e-mail at 2 O’clock in the morning than be enjoying cocktails and conversation at the local bar??? What has the world of Hispanic Dating become?

It has become an online Hispanic Dating world. You are actually more likely to meet someone interested in Hispanic Dating on the computer than at the convenience store. This does not mean that you have to go to an online Hispanic Dating service and pay tons of membership fees to pick up ladies but these services almost always guarantee a hook up. You can go the route of the free networking sites but there are no sure things.

Out of my own personal experience the first connection I made in the online Hispanic Dating world was with one of these paid services. I made a profile, and let the women seek me out. This cute Latino girl e-mailed me. I messaged her back, we met, had dinner and some laughs.

It was a home run. Not bad to bat 1.000 as a rookie. I did find though, people solely looking to date through these paid online Hispanic Dating services were really looking for a “serious commitment.

Think about it, if a girl is going to throw down some money to meet someone, it is not because they want to select their next booty call, they want Prince Charming, The White Wedding and they want to live happily ever after. I personally did not want that kind of pressure or expectations, as I do not like to break hearts so I found a different route.

I signed up for an account at one of the major blog networks. They may as well be called “Dating Blogs”. Not only do you have a great opportunity to meet nice lovely ladies of all races, shapes and sizes but you can do so without having to spend any money. You can browse through all the profiles of ladies meeting your specified search criteria in a radius close to home.

After narrowing down your search you can check out their page which allows the girls to create some pretty interesting sites with music, pictures and all different types of “spirit”. Here the girls will make you earn their acquaintance but I find that they also are more down to earth. While I haven’t hooked- up with any of these girls, I have made some good friends that have potential.

While the initial introduction might have moved from meeting a nice girl on line at the supermarket to meeting the girl of your dreams online at the “Super Meat Market of Dating” at least the stores in cyber space never close and you can do your “shopping” from home. While there were several pros and con to each type of online service, remember the goal is for the actual date, or is it?

Patrice and Aleda at the local Riverside swimming pool – summer 1954
Latino Dating
Image by Ed Yourdon
Though it looks like summertime in this picture, the actual print has a date of "Oct 1954" on it. Patrice and Aleda are standing in their "floaties," at some public pool in the area — I have no idea which one. This was a particularly affluent time, nor did we live in an affluent neighborhood: we did not have a pool in our backyard, nor did most others in the neighborhood. Indeed, I remember only one neighbor who did have a pool, and their kids were extremely popular as a result…

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Most of the photos in this album were taken nearly 40 years after we first moved to Riverside, CA, as part of some research that I was doing for a novel called Do-Overs, the beginning of which can be found here on my website

www.yourdon.com/personal/fiction/doovers/index.html

and the relevant chapter (concerning Riverside) can be found here:

www.yourdon.com/personal/fiction/doovers/chapters/ch8.html

Before I get into the details, let me make a strong request — if you’re looking at these photos, and if you are getting any enjoyment at all of this brief look at some mundane Americana from 60+ years ago: find a similar episode in your own life, and write it down. Gather the pictures, clean them up, and upload them somewhere on the Internet where they can be found. Trust me: there will come a day when the only person on the planet who actually experienced those events is you. Your own memories may be fuzzy and incomplete; but they will be invaluable to your friends and family members, and to many generations of your descendants.

So, what do I remember about the year that I spent in Riverside? Not much at the moment, though I’m sure more details will occur to me in the days to come — and I’ll add them to these notes, along with additional photos that I’m tweaking and editing now (including some of the drive from Riverside to Omaha, where our family moved next), as well as some “real” contemporaneous photos I’ve found in family scrapbooks.

For now, here is a random list of things I remember:

1. I attended one school, somewhere in downtown Riverside, when my parents were looking for a house; and when they finally found a house out at the edge of town (at the base of the San Bernardino foothills), I was switched to a different school. This was typical; I usually attended two different schools in every city we lived in, and I attended a total of 17 schools before heading off to college.

2. While I eventually rode my bike to and from the second house to my school, I started off riding a school bus. A bunch of us kids would wait on a corner for the bus to arrive; and it was at the edge of a huge orange grove that seemed to stretch on forever. There were always a few rotten oranges lying on the ground, thoroughly rotten, and these substituted nicely for snowballs. There is nothing like the experience of being smacked in the stomach, of your fresh clean shirt, with a rotten orange.

3. Like most other suburban kids in the 1950s, I was allowed to do all sorts of things alone — as long as I returned home by dinner time. I could ride my bike anywhere I wanted, alone; I could hike way up into the hills alone (as long as I had a pocket-knife, which my father insisted I carry in case I was bitten by a rattlesnake). And I was allowed to sleep outside in the back yard, in a sleeping bag, virtually whenever I wanted to. The weather was always quite mild, the skies were clear (Los Angeles smog had not reached us in those days), and the stars were utterly amazing. There were shooting stars to watch, an experience I have never forgotten.

4. I discovered that marbles were excellent projectiles to shoot with one’s slingshot, and that they would actually travel in a more-or-less straight line. I became pretty good at shooting lizards with my slingshot; all I needed was an endless supply of marbles (because you could only shoot them once, at which point they would generally disappear somewhere). So I began practicing quite hard, played competitive games of marbles every day at school, and eventually amassed great quantities of the little round things.

5. Even better than lizards were spiders; they were everywhere, and they were relatively easy to catch. I don’t think any of them were dangerous, and in any case, none of them bit me. I sometimes put them in my pants pocket for the day, and I often brought them home. And I would put them in the dresser drawer with my socks and underwear; it seemed like a good place for them to relax. My mother discovered a couple of them one day, and was not impressed.

6. We had relatives in the city of Los Angeles, and made the 50-mile drive to visit them once or twice a year. We also made a 50-mile drive once or twice to visit San Juan Capistrano, which my parents thought was the most wonderful place in the world — mostly, they told me, because of the famous swallows that migrate each year from someplace in Argentina. In fact, I think they were impressed because they were old enough to like a 1940 hit song, “When the Swallows Come Back to Capistrano,” which I couldn’t stand. If they had told me the place was the locale of the first Zorro novella (“The Curse of Capistrano,” published in 1919), I would have been much more impressed.

7. Riverside is where I got my first dog—a mutt named Blackie, that was part of a litter produced by the next-door neighbor’s dog. It provided an open invitation for me to visit the next-door neighbors whenever I wanted, and swim in their pool (a rarity in those days). At the end of our year in Riverside, Blackie moved with us to our next location — traveling all the way in a little house/bed that had been made for him in the World War II Jeep that Dad hitched to his Chevrolet.

8. Riverside is also where I had my first exposure, at school, to kids of other ethnic backgrounds. There were Asian kids, and black kids, and Latino kids (whom, sadly, my father referred to generically as “Mexicans,” but whom he also held in high respect because he remembered watching their comrades working harder and longer than any of the “white boys” in the rough mining and ranching camps on the Utah/Colorado border, where he had grown up). All of us were thrown together in the same classroom, all of us traveled to each other’s houses and neighborhoods after school, and nobody seemed to think it was unusual in any way.

9. I learned, to my enormous delight, that I *was* different in one special way: I was left-handed. During the pickup baseball games that we played constantly during recess, lunch, and after school, there were never enough baseball gloves for everyone, so everyone simply shared with everyone else (after all, if your team is at bat, you don’t need your baseball glove). But I was the only left-handed kid around, apparently the only one in the whole school; so nobody ever wanted to share my glove.

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