My match profile launched August 13, 2009—30 days after breakup, 28 days after moving out, 5 days after moving into a studio apartment. It was created in a fervent attempt to “move on!” “get out there!” “have fun!” and all those other things people suggested I start doing. My brother-in-law connected his laptop to a giant flat screen TV, and he, my friend Rachel and I created my dating avatar: my cyber self-portrait. We put pictures up of Wholesome Me roasting marshmallows, Sassy Me hailing a cab in gold high heels, and Quirky Me kissing a lobster. We drank cheap beer called “Simpler Times” and debated my profile quote. Rachel wanted “I won’t make you breakfast.” My brother-in-law wanted “Balls.” I won: “If anyone asks, we met while climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro.”
We set the bait, high-fived, and waited…
It wasn’t long until I started getting hits. On Monday morning my first email came in from a suitor in the suburbs named 2big2blv. By his profile I could tell he took things very seriously because he wasn’t smiling in his picture, and because he took it himself in the bathroom mirror. Clearly he couldn’t trust this photo to just anyone.
His email went like this:
Hey. You have nice eyez. I’m new to match. U like it so far? i’m here because i’m sick of meeting people in bars. Your hot tho. If we did meet in a bar I’d probably say “if you were a tree and I was a squirrel I’d climb into your hole and bust a nut.” lol!! Lol!! lol!!!!! Anyway, I’m from Schaumberg ever been?
My stomach dropped. How could this be? What kind of karmic fuck up had I participated in to make this ok? I have a master’s degree! I floss regularly! Plus, my profile clearly states that I’m looking for someone within 10 miles of 60657!
As depressing as this email was, I kept it. There was part of me that thought, “Someday, you’ll look back on this, and see how funny it all was.” In that daydream this memory would occur while I was on a yacht, getting a backrub from my highly successful-but-not-arrogant fiancé who happened to know how to make delicious pancakes.
Fast-forward one year, and I can tell you not only haven’t I met my pancake-making fiancé, that email is still not funny. The difference is that now when I read it, I only have a fuzzy memory of that unjaded version of myself. If I could sit down with that version of me–that fetus of an online dater — I’d like to give her a hug. I’d also like to tell her to be careful not to lose her mind. It would have been nice if someone would have given me such a warning.
To be honest, I can’t really tell what comes first– being crazy, or online dating. Or maybe it’s the chicken AND the ovary. What I do know is that in my case it was a slow degeneration. Like Alzheimer’s. Things start to get a little foggy and your decision-making becomes questionable: one day you can’t find your pants, and the next day you forget to wear them. That moment happened to me last week when, while trolling for love on OkCupid, I stumbled upon a hot guy. He’s a lawyer, he can punctuate, he had more than one profile picture, and he dislikes cats. In other words, he’s the perfect online package. This man was more than “wink” material, so in my eagerness I fired off a note that I was sure would spark a long and passionate romance:
“Hi!! I see you like Apples to Apples. Me too, I love that game! I also see you also like to go to Italy. I love Italy!
I actually spent Thanksgiving in Milan once. My sister lived there and we had to order a turkey two weeks in advance (because they don’t really eat turkey in Milan). When we picked it up from the butcher it still had feathers in it, so we wound up plucking it with tweezers. Still, it was the best turkey I’ve ever eaten.
Ok, you’re up!”
The sad part about late-stage online dating is the fact that you constantly live between states of cognizance and oblivion. When I “came to” a couple of days later I realized that some guy had received my email and started to question every life decision that led him to OKCupid. He probably opened it and hyperventilated in his corner office.
Yep. Watch out, Chicago. One year into online dating, this crazy train has left the station.
Also published on Chicago Now.
Related Disasters:
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http://www.thescarlettletters.com Scarlett
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http://disasteronheels.com/2010/10/our-lady-patron-saint-of-disasters/ Our Lady, Patron Saint of Disasters | Disaster On Heels
