Reason #5,000 I Hate Online Dating

Brace for it, friends...because today's the day that all my "oh, isn't life just grand? I'm working so hard on making myself a better person" sing-songy loveliness goes right out the window and is replaced by bitterness towards all things even remotely resembling the word "dating."  Grant me this one day, and I promise that I will go back to my Oprah/Dr. Phil-like self-help wisdom in, eh, twenty-four hours.  Give me twenty-four hours.

Urgh.  Why am I doing this?  Why do I continue to torture myself with online dating?  Why do I ever expect that it's going to be different "this time around"?  You could insert the word "the ten thousandth" instead of "this" and that sentence would read the same way.  Ridiculous.  Reeeee-diculous.  How do I manage to remain so optimistic about this every time I start over after such dismal and insanely idiotic past experiences?

Are there men who are online dating that take this seriously, or are they all just looking for a texting buddy...or worse? (Remember my promise to keep this blog PG-13 rated in case my mother ever gets a wild hair and decides to read it, but insert your own version of dirtiness for the word "worse.")  Sometimes I get confused and have to check to make sure I didn't mistakenly end up in the "Adult Services" section of Craigslist. 

Here's a brief update (hold on to something steady...the bitterness here might knock you into next week):  Mr. Hangover must not have been at all interested in anything other than my witty pop culture references because he effectively disappeared when I got into a more serious subject that sounded something like "How was your weekend?" 

For real? The one with the one eye?!

Brief introductions to both Mr. Teenager and Mr. Purple.  Don't get too attached though, they're neither long for this Singleton's world.  Mr. Teenager popped up last week, and I have to give him credit.  He sent me an actual email with words that formed a sentence, several of which ended in that elusive online dating grammatical character of a question mark, but...he is still probably a senior in high school so all that stuff is fresh in his mind.  Oh, didn't I mention?  He's eighteen.  Eighteen years old.  As in, still a teenager.  Also as in, just wrapped up puberty...can't drink legally...probably just got excited about buying his first lottery ticket...was born in the 90's...(I remember the 90's, vividly)...the ink is still wet on his drivers licence...have I effectively made my point?  I think so.  Again, he's trying hard.  You can tell by his array of obvious self-portraits all highlighting his (eh-hem) "biceps," several of which include my least favorite male fashion choice:  the wife-beater.  I told him I was flattered by his compliments but felt that I was a bit too old for him, avoiding the obvious flipside of that coin by stating that he was entirely too young for me.  He told me that he hoped I didn't take this the wrong way, but that he'd received several broken hearts by "women" his age (I mean, really? At eighteen, girls have only not had cooties for what, three maybe four years?!) and enjoyed "the company of older, more maturer women." (<-his word.  Obviously not mine.) I don't consider myself maturer, I just consider myself grown.  And consider him not grown.  If talking was his goal (and it is mine at some point), what would we hold conversations about?  The latest episode of Yo Gabba Gabba or Dora the Explorer? I am tempted to write him back and just say:

"You know, I am truly flattered that an 18-year-old so into his body would be interested in me, but I'm having a hard enough time finding one ten years older than you that doesn't act like a child or turn tail and run at the first sign of interest.  I have some girls I used to baby-sit for who'd love to put your pin-ups in their lockers.  I'll forward your number for texting."

Because texting is the story of my life!!!  (insert screaming Macaulay Culkin from "Home Alone".)  Meet Mr. Purple.  (Seriously, I feel like I'm just throwing these guys out there, but I promise they're all real.)  Weird name, huh?  Yeah, that's because he claims that he's the one person in the literal millions on Plentyoffish.com who is not physically able to upload a picture.  "I keep getting error messages," he says.  But somehow he was able to upload a solid purple box in place of the "Ask me for a Photo!" image usually present when one hasn't been uploaded. Could be because you can tell the search function that you're only interested in people with photos.  Clever.  But why purple?  When given the option of the entire color spectrum, why did he choose purple?  And he's named after his strange image because I know nothing else about him.  He emailed me to tell me how beautiful I am (losing it's power quickly...I used to be flabbergasted by such a compliment, but if you've got a dime in online dating, you've got a dozen "beautiful" compliments.  Back it up with actual interest in me, and I love hearing it. Take me out more than once and it might get you somewhere.), and how he kept viewing my profile all weekend trying to come up with something worthy enough to send me (okay...that's new...after my potential stalker thoughts wore off, I was flattered).  Still in his introduction email he said "I know that I'm chubby, but I have a big heart."  I got a big problem with this.  No pun intended.  Don't berate yourself in your introduction email.  Even more so when I can't see a photo.  Remember...we talked about this.  By not posting a photo, I think you're either a science fair project gone bad or hiding from something/someone.  When you tell me you're "chubby" in your introduction and don't have a photo, I'm thinking "low self-esteem" and "Jabba the Hutt."  Let me reiterate, I do not discriminate on the grounds of size, shape, anything.  That would be crazy hypocritical of me.  But, I do have a vivid imagination that usually ends in the No Physical Attraction Zone if you don't prove otherwise.  Oh! I almost forgot the best part.  I gave Mr. Purple the benefit of the doubt (what the hell do I have to lose?) even though he lives way outside of my usual realm of consideration and wrote back, asking what about  my profile caught his attention, hoping it might generate conversation  and included a couple of other questions.  He sent me back his phone number.  To text him.

I'm bound for one of two things:  lifelong carpal tunnel syndrome or entering the sisterhood.  I wonder how long you have to be a member of the Catholic Church before you can become a nun?  Here's a glimpse of the Old, Stupid Optimistic Melanie...maybe my real-world meeting with my Mr. Prince Charming (heck, I'd take Mr. Not as Crazy as the Rest of These Guys right now) is just around the corner, and the dating gods are sparing me the time wasting.  Hmmm (contemplative face).  Here comes that damned optimism again...

Vicious Cycle

Sometimes men are amazing to me.  I take that back.  Certain men are always amazing to me.  I do love men in general.  I love the way they talk, move, act, look, feel, smell (and by "smell" I mean cologne, because I'm not a fan of the men who think it's attractive not to wear deodorant because it's the "natural man scent" or other silly excuses to have bad hygiene...I do enjoy it sometimes after a guy has spent a long day doing yard work...but that's a whole different topic and I'm trying to remain credible here), work, protect, admire, show emotion, don't show emotion...  I heart men.  But, read that first sentence with sarcasm, and you'll catch my drift for this particular topic. 

As you're well aware, I have cautiously re-entered the world of online dating.  Cautiously and skeptically.  I'm still holding out that I'm attractive, engaging and personable enough to meet someone in real life, but thinking that online dating will give me better practice towards achieving that goal.  Kind of like going to interviews for jobs you don't want just so you can become better versed at answering the questions.  So far (24 hours), Plentyoffish.com is the only source for these electronic connections.  I definitely feel the New Girl in Town syndrome again as my "People Who Viewed You" section has been increasing faster than the national debt calculator. 

I love "People Who Viewed You" sections.  Why? I'll be happy to share.  It takes some of the pressure off.  It reminds me of when I used to work in sales.  Cold calling a client was so much harder if they'd never heard of you.  Walking in off the street and trying to wrangle some money out of a small business owner's hands in exchange for some intangible product that was going to increase their sales is probably one of the hardest things I've ever done.  Don't get me wrong, I kicked butt.  I just hated that feeling of the unknown reaction.  But, had someone come in before me and said "Oh, you need to talk to Melanie; she's got a great product for you; I'm going to tell her to come see you" then watch out.  I could take that place by storm.  "People Who Viewed You" is kind of like that friend who name-dropped for you.  They've checked me out already and did one of two things:  either they ran screaming and couldn't click the close button fast enough or they were nervous or hesitant about being the first to communicate.  Being the great communicator that I like to pretend to be, I have no problems breaking the ice.  So, if they've viewed me, we seem to be a match and they're not hard on the eyes, I drop them a line.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.  But, I like the odds better than cold calling.

I'm sure you're wondering what the above two paragraphs have in common.  Again, I'm more than happy to explain.  Today, I logged into my account on Plentyoffish.com to continue the endless stream of witty banter with Mr. Hangover (we'll get to this in a minute) and noticed, as I said earlier, the impressive amount of views I had received since last night.  But, one face kept popping up over and over again with multiple views.  A face that I clearly recognized.  I threw myself back in my car and cackled maniacally.  Mr. Braves Fan.

Mr. Braves Fan and his false photos have reemerged.  I'll give him credit, he's sticking to those photos that range from birth to the adulthood of some strange unknown man that doesn't even closely resemble him in the flesh.  Mr. Braves Fan, who took me out to dinner (another one that made me drive halfway around the state) and then didn't even respond to my "Had a nice time, thank you" email.  Ever.  He never even closed me as a match, just let me sit out there dangling in No Man's Land.  Again, not that I was overly distraught, there was no physical attraction whatsoever and his attitude-laced response to how long I'd taken in the bathroom (I drove 45 minutes to get there! And forgive me if I have the bladder of an ant!) of "I had to start playing a game on my iPhone to occupy myself" sort of enforced the fact that this guy wasn't going to make any more progress towards Coupledom with me. And I swear I wasn't doing the bathroom-"rescue me"-phone call.  But, he really taught me a lesson that these are human beings that I'm meeting out here, not just photos and profiles.  Treating people with common courtesy regardless of how you felt or didn't feel should be a regular part of online dating.  I sat through a reasonably painful dinner where I had to drive the entire conversation which centered mostly on his father's local political campaign, his dislike of our current president (dangerous first date material) and how he works for an insurance company that tracks hurricanes, typhoons and other natural disasters to assess the risk and vulnerability of their clients.  Initially I thought this interesting tidbit would spark some conversation, so I jumped all over it and asked if he knew that earthquakes or hurricanes were coming before the mainstream did.  Nope.  Silly question, Melanie. No such conversation-luck.  But, I think my efforts to create a social situation were at least worth an acknowledgement of my existence if not a "thanks, but no thanks" response.  I'm torn as to what I want to happen next.  Do I want him to write to me so I can either ignore him or tell him that I'm not interested, but am giving him more courtesy than he gave me?  Or do I want him to stop looking at my profile and just go away?

Update on Mr. Hangover.  He's clever.  He's witty.  He's definitely creative.  He's taken me on a strange journey through the inner workings of his humor.  But, I think the most that's happening here is a challenge of wits.  He's good...he may have me beat.  I'll keep you posted.  I've also managed to snag myself another texter, who probably won't even make it to blog monicker status.  In response to a carefully written introduction email with actual sentences on my part, I got his phone number and "use it if you like to text."  Dear God.

Hot and Heavy

So, after some internal debate, I decided that I have absolutely nothing to lose (but my sanity) by giving a couple of free online dating sites another chance.  But, I hate myself a little bit for it.  I hit the pavement running and dove right back in, scouring the search function of Plentyoffish.com and hopefully popping up in all the new matches emails because of my recent flux of activity.  This time around, I've decided to take a different route.  I'm not sending ambiguous "Hey, how are you? What do you like to do in your spare time?" boring, ho-hum emails.  I'm going to be me, to be witty, to be off the wall and attention-getting.  If the gentlemen on the receiving end aren't interested in my brand of humor, then by all means, they don't have to respond.  But, I've already hooked one!  We'll get to him in a second.  Also, I intend to remain the non-aggressor from this point forward.  I will not be doing any of the asking-out; I will not be instigating the phone numbers exchange; I will not cross the line with inappropriate texting (I know that really has nothing to do with being the aggressor; I just need to get that out there so you can hold me accountable.); and I will not act in any way other than a female who wants to be pursued by a male.  Period.  Fin. End of story.  Urgh.

"What? I've found a baby before."

Within one hour of my reinstatement to Plentyoffish.com, I have discovered and exchanged five emails with a young man (not creating a cougar status just yet, but if he were a couple of years younger, you'd probably hint at it) who had a profile like none I'd ever read before.  In it, he quoted some of my favorite movies, made obscure pop culture references that delighted me to my core, and basically said "Here I am, take me or leave me."  I love it.  He's only listed as interested in friendship, but you know, with my recent track record, I think that's probably a good approach.  As I mentioned before, Plentyoffish doesn't let you wimp out and wink at people, oh no.  You have to put actual words on the screen to begin a conversation, so I emailed him.  Because he responded immediately, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Hangover.  No, he's not a drunk.  Well, that I know of...yet.  He's very obviously a fan of Zach (however you say his last name who played Alan in "The Hangover") and has pictures of himself being attacked by a stuffed white tiger and eating a giant, white chocolate covered, Butterfinger topped rice crispies treat on a stick.  Dreamy.  He was allowed to get away with several Harry Potter references only because he's pretty cute but lost me about three emails in when he started talking about The Matrix.  I hated that movie.  Notice I only noted one movie.  I couldn't bring myself to sit through the other two because I'd spent the whole first one wondering if I could possibly be too stupid to grasp the plot or if everyone else had just been pretending to be that smart.

So far so good.  I know that five email exchanges in an hour does not a marriage partner make, but it is a good start to Online Dating Round Two (actually, it's probably more like Round Twenty, but I lost count so long ago that I figure it's time to just start over.  Plus it looks less pathetic.).  And an even better start considering my new outlook (blog material first and foremost), approach (just lay it out there and see if any of these "fish" bite) and goal (get past the first date, Melanie, you don't have to marry one of these guys, just get a damn second date!).  

Sidenote, since we're on the topic of online dating:  I discovered yet another downside to yesterday when I opened my personal inbox.  There, I found an influx of political-themed forwards from an email address that I didn't instantly recognize.  I repeated the name to myself a couple of times (I'm sure I had a puzzled look on my face) until the lightbulb above my head came on.  Mr. Morals.  Hello again, Mr. Morals, and thank you for adding me to your forwards distribution list.  I resisted both temptations to write to him directly and ask what was for dinner and to write to the entire group and ask how many of them had given him their email address through an online dating site and never gotten past the text message level.  I wondered if he was clever enough to include me in this list as a way of having his name pass across my desk again.  So, I did email him and just apologize for my lack of communication over the last weeks, explaining that I'd disappeared out of frustration with several online matches who refused to move past text messaging to face-to-face communications.  That was almost 24 hours ago and I've received no response.  I'm assuming he took it personally.