I agree. I think it is about having respect for your partner. If I take care of my body, then I would expect the same from a partner (if I had one) and vice versa.
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Almost 30 and have never had a romantic relationship. Should I just give up?
- Thread starter megacomic
- Start date
Same here. It is all about my awkwardness that scares women away. When I have way to big of a smile or can't make conversation. I am very lean, so lean that I think it works to my disadvantage. Also struggle with having a hunched back. If I don't consciously stand up straight, it doesn't look good. I actually went on a date a few years ago and she mentioned it.
I don't care anymore to be honest, if women don't want to accept you for who you are, then fine. I'm not changing for anyone, because I think I'm a pretty darn good guy.
There's change in terms of who you are
And there's change in terms of what you do, part of any relationship ---compromise.
So, yes.
Pariah Dog
Well-Known Member
I also don't smoke pot and rarely do anything one could call partying. At 31 years old though that is not so strange I guess. I'm not sure your age, you might just be encountering the wrong sort of women if they think that makes you weird.
Ming of Mongo
Member
You don't need to give up, but you do need to take a good long look at exactly what you want. Not what you think other people think you should want.
Traditional marriage/family?
Friendship with sex?
Quick hookup?
Defining the problem may not be romantic, but it sure gets you closer to a solution.
And definitely use online resources. In real life, you are limited by awkwardness and proximity. Online, you write pretty well, which is a huge advantage, and you can describe your situation and what you are looking for.
Just remember that the super hot Russian girl who wants money for a plane ticket, isn't real.
Traditional marriage/family?
Friendship with sex?
Quick hookup?
Defining the problem may not be romantic, but it sure gets you closer to a solution.
And definitely use online resources. In real life, you are limited by awkwardness and proximity. Online, you write pretty well, which is a huge advantage, and you can describe your situation and what you are looking for.
Just remember that the super hot Russian girl who wants money for a plane ticket, isn't real.
Lydiasaurus
Well-Known Member
I just turned 28 and this year I lost my virginity and I'm in my first relationship 
Intuitively, online would seem to be great since it hides the social awkwardness until you actually meet someone for real. But I personally have had zero success online. I suspect the ratio of men to women online is not beneficial for a man. I barely can scrape together enough current photos of me actually spending spending time with other people. Doesn't help the cause. I think some women can see the ASD even on an online profile. Given the negative reputation of those with ASD, it is game over once a woman can see through this.
I agree when you say that the problem should be clearly defined as well as what the individual is looking for. But if the answer is "friendship with sex", it is not like you can post this on your profile. I would get zero messages per year as opposed to the one per year that I currently receive. I disagree when you say that you can describe your situation and what you are looking for. I can only do that if I say I am looking for a long term relationship or something to that affect.
I don't mean to shoot your advice, because I can learn from everyone's thoughts and ideas. Plus it wasn't intended for me, but the original poster. But the above has been my experience with online dating. I think there is a chance for success online, but it is a long shot.
Ming of Mongo
Member
If what you are trying to do is convince women that you are NT, and compete with NTs in their own arena, It shouldn't be too surprising that they see through the deception, or that you don't measure up.
It sounds like you have little or nothing to lose by stating straight up that you are ASD, and exactly what type of person and relationship you are looking for. Honesty can be powerful.
When you look at the whole dating thing, it's hard to avoid seeing it as a statistical game to be played competitively. But if you do meet someone, she will be an individual, with her own reasons to be with you. You are not trying to impress everyone.
Joel's Hear
I'm here, at least for now
You might find a mate one day. If you're on the spectrum, any NT woman will know and steer way clear, especially if you're trying to act like an NT male. Only chance is to be strong, head held high, and go at it like "this is who I am!"
Joel's Hear
I'm here, at least for now
A bit from a story me wife wrote, about our meeting:
But now, as I sit in a stiff, tightly upholstered chair in the hotel's lobby-adjacent conference room, I feel ashamed that I am not paying enough attention to Katie or the slideshow. Instead, my face is burning red with embarrassment. I am incredibly thirsty and painfully anxious. My hands are shaking, clammy as I wring them together in my lap.
The young man, my father's wife's childhood friend, is near my age, but he seems much older. His demeanor appears casual and observant; his body is oddly energetic; and there is a gentle smile behind his pale blue eyes, suggesting that he views his environment a tad more whimsically than most. He is no longer watching the presentation either, which is, perhaps, why I am now sweating and dying to run out of the room. Instead, the gentlemen guest is gazing at me, as if I am something other than my father's problematic daughter. As if I am something other than a supposed perpetual burden to both of my parents. Though I have just met Joel an hour before, he looks at me as if he's known me all of my life, and worse, his presence seems to evoke the notion that he's been waiting for me for a long while.
I gulp, needing air. "Dad, Katie's getting in your way," I blurt, more sheepishly than I would have liked, my voice wavering. I grab Katie's little arm and tear towards the rear door of the room, leading us out into the sunshine, by the hotel's vacant pool. Katie runs around in the grass, happy to be outdoors. I feel silly. What had made me panic so? I watch Katie, while my ears listen hopefully behind me.
Two minutes pass, then a shadow appears beside me on the springy, green turf. Joel is tall, about six foot four. His hair is frizzy and dark, soaring about the top of his head. He has a commanding, dominating presence over me. He is wearing an aged pair of thick khaki pants, a faded-orange collared shirt, and some sort of weird, black strap for a belt. He doesn't smell like deodorant, nor is his scent unclean. I feel frozen, like a deer standing by a peaceful stream, just approached by a large, male animal. Joel isn't effeminate, like the other young men who've paid me attention in the past.
"Do you like your dad's presentation?" he asks, speaking in a deep, almost musical voice.
"Yeah, I like my dad's presentation," I say adamantly. "Why aren't you watching it?" Joel lights a cigarette and cocks his head pleasantly to one side. "He's a good man, your dad. I think he's onto something. I like it too. You look sad. I thought I'd come say hi to you. Why are you sad?" I feel strange, nauseous. Joel's presence makes me dizzy. I begin to tear up, frustrated that our conversation is turning its focus on me. "I guess everyone's sad," I reply.
"Sure," says Joel, agreeably. "But most people hide it better." He laughs and adds, "Maybe it's cause you're blind, I don't know." Then he winks at me, moving closer.
I can smell him now; his pores emit a sweet, fruity scent coupled with the soft smell of fresh tobacco. His clothes smell earthy. I find that I want to be closer to him.
"How blind are you?" he asks after a moment, his face near mine.
"Only somewhat," I say softly, though I can barely speak. "Aren't you going back inside, to watch my dad's thing?"
"I might," Joel says earnestly. "I do like it. I like your dad. I think he really does know something about autistic people, that other people don't know. His presentation uses bright, crisp colors to accurately describe the human condition. What do you think about autistic dudes? Do you know anything about angels? I think you're one, from my dream. You're wearing pink and green, tourmaline. Like the tourmaline angel in my book. I guess that's why I keep staring at you. Are you her?" His light blue eyes turn towards mine, and his small, black pupils dart as they search my expression inquisitively. "I'm not a very well dressed man am I?" laughs Joel, stepping back and lifting his fourth cup of coffee to his lips. "And do you like my belt? It's the strap from my old guitar."
"Yeah, it's nice," I say sarcastically.
"Ah, you probably can't tell anyway, being blind and all," he chides.
But now, as I sit in a stiff, tightly upholstered chair in the hotel's lobby-adjacent conference room, I feel ashamed that I am not paying enough attention to Katie or the slideshow. Instead, my face is burning red with embarrassment. I am incredibly thirsty and painfully anxious. My hands are shaking, clammy as I wring them together in my lap.
The young man, my father's wife's childhood friend, is near my age, but he seems much older. His demeanor appears casual and observant; his body is oddly energetic; and there is a gentle smile behind his pale blue eyes, suggesting that he views his environment a tad more whimsically than most. He is no longer watching the presentation either, which is, perhaps, why I am now sweating and dying to run out of the room. Instead, the gentlemen guest is gazing at me, as if I am something other than my father's problematic daughter. As if I am something other than a supposed perpetual burden to both of my parents. Though I have just met Joel an hour before, he looks at me as if he's known me all of my life, and worse, his presence seems to evoke the notion that he's been waiting for me for a long while.
I gulp, needing air. "Dad, Katie's getting in your way," I blurt, more sheepishly than I would have liked, my voice wavering. I grab Katie's little arm and tear towards the rear door of the room, leading us out into the sunshine, by the hotel's vacant pool. Katie runs around in the grass, happy to be outdoors. I feel silly. What had made me panic so? I watch Katie, while my ears listen hopefully behind me.
Two minutes pass, then a shadow appears beside me on the springy, green turf. Joel is tall, about six foot four. His hair is frizzy and dark, soaring about the top of his head. He has a commanding, dominating presence over me. He is wearing an aged pair of thick khaki pants, a faded-orange collared shirt, and some sort of weird, black strap for a belt. He doesn't smell like deodorant, nor is his scent unclean. I feel frozen, like a deer standing by a peaceful stream, just approached by a large, male animal. Joel isn't effeminate, like the other young men who've paid me attention in the past.
"Do you like your dad's presentation?" he asks, speaking in a deep, almost musical voice.
"Yeah, I like my dad's presentation," I say adamantly. "Why aren't you watching it?" Joel lights a cigarette and cocks his head pleasantly to one side. "He's a good man, your dad. I think he's onto something. I like it too. You look sad. I thought I'd come say hi to you. Why are you sad?" I feel strange, nauseous. Joel's presence makes me dizzy. I begin to tear up, frustrated that our conversation is turning its focus on me. "I guess everyone's sad," I reply.
"Sure," says Joel, agreeably. "But most people hide it better." He laughs and adds, "Maybe it's cause you're blind, I don't know." Then he winks at me, moving closer.
I can smell him now; his pores emit a sweet, fruity scent coupled with the soft smell of fresh tobacco. His clothes smell earthy. I find that I want to be closer to him.
"How blind are you?" he asks after a moment, his face near mine.
"Only somewhat," I say softly, though I can barely speak. "Aren't you going back inside, to watch my dad's thing?"
"I might," Joel says earnestly. "I do like it. I like your dad. I think he really does know something about autistic people, that other people don't know. His presentation uses bright, crisp colors to accurately describe the human condition. What do you think about autistic dudes? Do you know anything about angels? I think you're one, from my dream. You're wearing pink and green, tourmaline. Like the tourmaline angel in my book. I guess that's why I keep staring at you. Are you her?" His light blue eyes turn towards mine, and his small, black pupils dart as they search my expression inquisitively. "I'm not a very well dressed man am I?" laughs Joel, stepping back and lifting his fourth cup of coffee to his lips. "And do you like my belt? It's the strap from my old guitar."
"Yeah, it's nice," I say sarcastically.
"Ah, you probably can't tell anyway, being blind and all," he chides.
Joel's Hear
I'm here, at least for now
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