This is your place to talk about the funny, sad, outrageous things that are happening in your life -- whenever you're ready.
I've been dating online for a long time.
I dated strangers before OKCupid even existed. In the ’90s I’d call a number in the back of The Village Voice. No photo, just a voice and a dream.
I’ve also been lucky enough to have had loving longterm relationships via OkCupid. I’m still friends with many of my OKCupid dates. They’re often good people. I am an OKCupid champion. I’m pro-Cupid! But even a vet like me is surprised, and the opposite of delighted, by some of the inventory lurking on the site.
Today, a guy wrote me a lovely email. He used excellent grammar, and I liked his photos. I replied kindly with equally good grammar. Then he sent another email asking about my feet and hands saying they must be cute because I'm so petite. On his profile he mentions liking feet (which I originally excused).
He suggested meeting up to drink wine from Starbucks cups. I replied:
"Hi, I'm sensing a big foot fetish theme. Not my thing and it feels a bit much to bring it up in our first email exchange. I'm also not sure you read my profile completely as I stated clearly that I don't drink alcohol -- even from Starbucks cups. If you must know, my feet are pretty busted with bunions and dry skin. Good luck with your search."
He wrote back right away. “Relax. Go and be happy.”
Months ago I went out with a promising man. He worked in IT but practiced acupuncture on the side, meditated and had two sons (which I associate with a sense of maturity and responsibility). We had a cool, comfortable date. He was fairly unfit but into wellness. I appreciated his ability to balance the yin and the yang.
We corresponded via text the next day and I asked if he believed in Mercury in Retrograde thinking he was into astrology and healing. He said he believed in Uranus. When I feigned ignorance hoping this was not a crude joke, he texted: “Uranus = YOUR ANUS.” I replied that I knew perfectly well what Uranus equaled and I also told him that we’re not a match.
“Whatever,” he replied.
About four years ago, I met a dude who showed up with many teeth blacked out (or, if you prefer, redacted) and revealed that he lived at home with his folks while he was in undergraduate school. He was 34 and he stunk of cigarettes. All “fine” I guess until he started asking bizarre questions about my dating history.
Then he asked if I had ever had an abortion. Save something for date number two, Hot Stuff!
I made an executive decision. With a full beer in front of me that I purchased for myself (I was a drinker at the time), I stood up, wished him well and left. When I got home I received a text saying, “You seem like a nice girl but that was the rudest thing anyone has ever done to me.” What a sheltered little sweetie pie.
Most memorably, there was the diabetic who insisted on taking me to a fancy dinner. I suggested a Thai place to keep it casual but he said it was Saturday night damn it! I made sure to order sparingly. No drinks, no dessert. He boldly ordered oysters and wine and nibbled on my salad. He regaled me with tales of his horrible sister and generously offered to show me his insulin pump. I politely declined. “Don’t worry you’ll see it one day.” I heard the waitress stifle a laugh.
When the check came he held it open and said, “Let’s do this!” We split the bill because I was too dumbstruck to fight it. The waitress gave me a look. I felt defeated. The greatest part is that he goes to my gym and I see him hitting on women all the time. I try to make eye contact with his victims to tell them to run away but my eyes can only communicate so much in the morning while I’m operating an elliptical machine.
So, dear reader, the moral of these stories is that women are just too damn picky! Why can’t we appreciate the uniqueness of these terrific guys? They are quirky and FUN but unfortunately our bitchiness and drama make us blind to the possibilities. I guess I’ll have to get past my own shortcomings and keep at it on OKCupid.
Please, excuse me. I’m late for my pedicure.