Ah the Internet, such a useful tool for shopping, research and entertainment. I can even shop for my Mr. Right. I wander onto one of the thousands of internet dating sites out there and type in a few parameters. Let's see, I'm in the mood for tall, preferably tan, black hair, chocolate eyes, oh and he needs to have an education and a decent income (over $50,000 I'm done dating poor boys). Click! Up springs a list of men each meeting my stated requirements. I narrow the list down, first by photographs (ew that one is fugly*!), then by his personality essays and finally by his spelling ability. I don't care if he has a PhD; if he can't spell he's not the guy for me. Then I send out a half dozen cute emails and see who I can reel in!
Or, I take the lazy route. I fill in my profile, be a total b.i.t.c.h.** and advise him not to contact me unless he scores an 8 out of 10 on my personal requirements test (yes I have even included penis size on this list). Finally I post my most smashing pictures and wait for the men to come to me. Oh and come they do, in droves. Of course only a few of them make the initial cut, for the same reasons as above and I'm left with maybe a half dozen who I choose to strike up a conversation with.
I sometimes spend hours at a time sifting through the responses in my email, the clock ticking while I should be off doing more productive things, like writing my column. Oh but the search for true love is supposed to be arduous, isn't it? No matter that it means I'm chained to my computer for yet an additional two hours on a Monday night, the guilty thought, "maybe I should be at the gym" occasionally creeping through my mind as I accompany my search with a bowl of vanilla ice cream drenched in chocolate syrup. But I'm looking for Mr. Right! Mr. Right won't care if my butt gets a little soft, will he? Ha.
Then the select few graduate from email to chat! Now I sit for even longer at my computer and chat to 4 or 5 guys simultaneously. "He's great," I think to myself, "He has a dog, likes kids, is cute, works out, loves his mother...bleah bleah bleah". And then I realize that "wait, I'm mixed up, which one has the dog? Do they all love their mothers? Is he the accountant or the personal trainer? Which one lives in my neighborhood? Damn I need to take notes."
Then 3 of the 5 men pass the chat phase and graduate to phone! I hand out my cell phone number like candy! Careless to the fact that I'm inviting potential phone stalkers onto my very busy "to do" list. Judging from our phone interaction, his telephone voice***, and a better grasp of Mr. Potentially Right's true personality, quickly he either sputters to miserable failure or rises to the occasion of the first "meeting".
Finally! The first meeting. A few more hours spent in front of my mirror. What to wear to make a good first impression? The heap of clothes on my floor is piling up. Too slutty, too stuffy, my (ice cream inflated) butt looks huge in those. Finally I resort to my trusty jeans, a t-shirt, and cute heels. Yes. Hot. With my heart in high gear I motor out my door to meet Mr. Potential.
The bar is crowded, too loud. I scan the throng to find the face that matches the photos in Im2hot4me's dating profile. Double take, "that looks like him, sort of. But...the guy waving at me from the table is bald! He wasn't bald in the photo was he? Oh wait, is this the accountant? He was kind of bald...no this is definitely the personal trainer. He doesn't look like a personal trainer, look at that gut!" I put on my best grin-and-bear-it smile and sit down.
My best friend once told me "you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince." Ribbit.
One and a half excruciating hours later, I stand up. I smile at him thinking, "he is definitely not Mr. Right, he's not even Mr. Right Now, he is Mr. Yeah Right." I have a buzz. Damn I'm going to have to pay for a taxi now. I do the dodge and duck on the kiss and sashay out the front door, my heels click clicking on the sidewalk faster and faster with each step. On the ride home, I call one of my standby male friends, to clear the bad taste (and the memory of his stinky breath) from my mouth.
How could this have gone so wrong after nearly 40 hours of laborious internet research and potential Mr. Right testing? He passed the profile, the email, the chat and the telephone tests with flying colors! It wasn't until we met in person that I found out he really wasn't a personal trainer (anymore), had gained 50 pounds (no doubt eating ice cream in front of his computer), and forgot somewhere along the line how to brush his teeth.
Screeeeeeeeeech!
Am I the only one that finds this process to be highly complicated and unnatural? Am I the only one that finds internet dating to be totally stripped of romance? My girlfriend met her now fiancée on New Year's Eve, when I randomly picked him out in a crowded bar and asked him to plant a New Year's kiss on her. That's romantic. If I can pick one out for her, why can't I pick one out for me? And what a cute story she has to tell to her future couple friends while sharing a fondue dinner 5 years down the road. Much more interesting than "we met online, I just couldn't resist his profile photo, remember honey? You were wearing that green t-shirt and you had cropped that ex-girlfriend of yours out of the picture, but I could still see her arm? Oh, haha he never remembers anything". Yeah, that's a story to tell.
I've been divorced for nearly six years now and I've met men all over the place from work, to the bank, to the bar. I even dated a man who I met on the internet for a year and a half (and it ended in utter disaster and ruin). Here I am a year out of that relationship, and ready to date again, and honestly I have no idea where to go. Do I let fate run her course, risk the possibility of being alone for a long time and pray for that chance encounter in the produce aisle? Or do I push the issue and get back online and shop around some more?
My friend would probably tell me to get out there and start kissing frogs. I guess I'm going to have to buy myself a giant tub of chap-stick.
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*fugly - fucking ugly
**b.i.t.c.h.- beautiful, intelligent, talented, charming and horny.
***One man who I've chatted with on and off for over a year, still refuses to call me (he only texts me via cell phone), and I think it's because his voice must sound like Mike Tyson's. I only continue to chat with him because I'm still curious as to what the story is behind the voiceless wonder.
Originally published May 2006 - "Hot Tamales"