How did I not realize the sheer entertainment value of Internet dating sites until now? I’m telling you, 1 bottle (OK, magnum) of wine, a good friend, and match.com are all you need for roughly 3 hours of solid laughter. No joke, my stomach was killing me by the time Christine left – about the same time NY Guy came over to find me completely smashed (with eye ointment all over my face). I know – how I haven’t been dumped at this point really is a mystery for the ages.
Anyway, back to match.com. Let me just say it now: I was wrong. I did not have high expectations when it came to Internet dating. I thought last night would be a chore. I thought virtually pimping my friend to random strangers around the Web would be weird and/or boring. But I was wrong. It was AWESOME!
So okay, the story – narratives are good grasshopper. (Yes, before you ask, I am a little loopy today.) Um, well, Christine came over to my apartment last night (as you know), with wine (score), and only spent about 40 minutes making fun of my (still deformed) face before we got down to business.
We opened the wine, discussed some incredibly intimate things that I’m sure NY Guy didn’t want me sharing, and waited for my laptop to update itself (Christine always does that when she’s over because I never get around to pushing the update button on my own). And then…we were ready to match.
I (of course) insisted we check out the merchandise before committing to the site – hey, as the commercial says, ‘It’s okay to look’ (wait, did I just make that up?). Either way, that’s what being an informed customer is all about (I am SO full of shit today). Wait, where was I? Oh right, the search.
I guess the most basic search you can do is the gender (male please), age (25-38?), and location (within 20 miles of Manhattan – yes, we’re too fucking lazy for farther) search. I punched it in, and voila! Men. PAGES and PAGES of men. With pictures! This was like the best Internet shopping idea EVER.
I was sold – “Give me your credit card number – we’re signing you up right now.” And I wasn’t kidding. I couldn’t click on these guys and see more pictures until Christine at least filled out a profile. Fuck! How long did that take?
Well, as it turns out, it took me (including drinking time) about 30 minutes – and that’s only because Christine kept censoring me. (Oh, and don’t blame me for taking over – her writing was coming off as too fucking serious. Sincere is fine, but boring is boring.) In the end, I basically filled out everything from her vital statistics (hair – blonde, eyes – blue, turn-ons – tattoos, body piercings, erotica, money…what?) to her ‘About Me’ sales pitch. She got to fill out her ‘Favorite Things’ section after freaking out when I wrote ‘cock.’ (I was just kidding! There’s no way any man would read all the way through her profile to get to that part anyway, Jesus!)
Anyway, eventually we were in. And it was time to play. Oh and I played my friends, yes I did – when Christine fully realizes how many ‘Winks’ and emails I sent out while she kept running to the bathroom (what the hell? – I’m usually the one with a bladder the size of a pea), she’s going to kill me.
So, thoughts along the way:
1) Pictures are fun – more pictures please.
2) Since when did men get so tiny? According to Christine (who heard this from someone experienced in the Internet dating thing), every guy lies about his height (or at least the ones under 6’ do). Apparently, we’re supposed to know to subtract 2 inches from what their profile says. For example, if a guy says he’s 5’9, he’s really 5’7. What does this mean to Christine? Well, in the immortal words of Seinfeld, the majority of the men on Match are “Undatable!” Christine is taller than I am – and she likes heels almost as much. Height needs to be taken into account.
3) If more people knew about these sites, blogs would get less traffic – because this shit is funny (unintentionally of course). I could go and just surf around Match all day. Blogs, you now have competition for my ‘at desk’ entertainment.
4) Weeding out the losers I meet every day on the street should be as easy as it is on these sites. I mean, these profiles are gold. I’m thinking about demanding a writing sample from all potential dates from now on. Some ‘Oh Fuck No!’ mistakes that I saw over and over again:
-Are you a moron? Basic grammar is and should be given at least a passing nod. I’m talking: capitalization (we like to start sentences with a capital letter in the English language); punctuation (I’m not talking semicolons or anything crazy – a period in between sentences will do); contractions (‘thats’ is actually written ‘that’s’ you fucking morons); and my own personal pet peeve – a lot (by all that is holy, will someone teach the world that ‘a lot’ is TWO FUCKING WORDS?).
-The text message/acronym/emoticon/whatever-the-fuck-they’re-called usage must stop. While dashing off a quick message to a friend, I will accept a ‘☺’ or a LOL. But they have no place in a piece of writing where you are presenting yourself to a potential date. So cut it out.
-You know what’s not funny? Constantly trying to be funny isn’t funny. I mean, hey, I’m all for being inappropriate and joking around (especially on a dating site), but even I realize that at some point you have to say SOMETHING real. So stop being too cool for one second – you’re on match.com for christ’s sake.
-Do not ever, EVER, write the words ‘work hard, play hard.’ I don’t care how hot you are, that’s just unacceptable.
-Don’t do what I’m doing here – if you feel the need to bitch and moan, get a blog. A dating site is not the place to complain (this is such a basic rule of dating, yet men kept breaking it in their profiles – no wonder they need help finding someone). Of course most of the world annoys you. Of course it pisses you off when people write ‘alot’ instead of ‘a lot.’ Of course there are lots of things you don’t want in a partner. But why don’t you stick with telling me what you do want. Because you’re starting to annoy me.
-I love the shirtless pictures – I do. But…they are a little cheesy/creepy/too-much-too-soon. Stick with pictures where you’re dressed, and save the nudity for the first date. Kidding!
-Dude, I don’t want to read your life story. A paragraph is perfect, but anything more than that and I start to wonder why I (well, Christine actually) should bother meeting you – apparently we’ve already learned everything there is to know about you. Brevity people. Brevity. (And yes, I see the irony of ME talking about brevity – but trust me when I tell you I can do it if I try. Now shut up.)
-However…don’t make it too short. I need to think you’re capable of putting SOME effort into something. I guess what I’m trying to say is – as with my grammar point – if you’re going to put that little effort into something that is essentially an advertisement for YOU, how much could you possibly be willing to put into a relationship? I mean, I threw Christine’s profile together in a half hour, and that was with distractions (and alcohol). So stop being such a lazy ass.
-Oh, and we want to know what your income is, so fill that part out and shut up. The hottest women are always the shallowest, it’s a fact of life.
FUCK! Look how long this is. OK, I’m stopping. I may add more thoughts at some later date, but I need to go have a life now. Like, right now. I’m off to Yankees Stadium to scare small children with my hideousness, watch baseball, and drink heavily with my friend John. So talk to you later.