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I knew, very literally, that love wasn’t going to happen overnight. We poured ourselves glasses of wine and set about describing ourselves in the best, most attractive, most unique, most intriguing ways we possibly could. Is this what guys are thinking when they list their heights as five-ten even though you know, in your heart, that they are five-seven? It didn’t matter what he looked like (or what I look like, for that matter), or if we had anything in common, or what we were even talking about. More fitting would be “trite,” “absurd,” “weirdly insulting,” and “grotesque expressions of the soul-sucking vortex known as humanity.” Some messages were innocuous enough, but these were in the minority. Less horrifying.) For some reason it seems like standard operating procedure, among those with opposite-sex interests, that GUYS message GIRLS and that is that. I am, however, interested in the betterment of humankind. But I also knew that if I really wanted to meet someone as much as I was saying I did, I might have to step outside my Comfort Zone, which is what I call my flannel pajamas, and into the big, hopeful, scary world of Internet dating. My friend Jenna came over on a Wednesday night, because it was February first, and we decided that something like this should happen on a first day of the month. I mean, yes, technically I’m five-eleven and a half, but I’m not going to round up to six feet online, am I? I checked out the profile of the guy who’d messaged me—tall, dorky, kind of funny—and though I didn’t find him all that attractive, I impulsively decided to chat with him anyway. On the first day of online dating, that is sort of all you really need. I think I was just overwhelmed by how much it took me back to middle school, flirting (well, talking) with boys on AIM for the first time. ” Everyone was always telling me that, if nothing else, having an online dating profile would be a confidence booster because of all the flattering messages I’d receive. Of the many, many things that my messages could have been called, “flattering” is not one of them.I would feel bad, except that the authors of the messages that provoke that kind of reaction most certainly do not give a fuck. Because they sent that same exact masturbatory-ass message to me AND two of my friends. So I’ve come up with a few categories of messages that you’re liable to receive if you find yourself being simultaneously female and in possession of an online dating profile.
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The Virus On some level I was prepared for the assholes, because I know enough people who’ve dated online to know that good manners and 10th-grade spelling abilities are underrepresented in the world I’d so reluctantly just joined. True, I still recognized it for the maniacal word vomit that it was, and true, I rolled my eyes so hard at “I know beauty. I didn’t respond, but I’m ashamed to admit that I kept that message because I thought it was really about me. The Cry for Help There must come a time, after you’ve been online dating for months or even years, when you feel your spirit leaving your body. You’ll still sign in and look at people’s profiles, just to pass the time, but you won’t think of them as humans any longer. Some part of me knows that what you are supposed to do when you want to get to know someone is ask him/her questions about him/herself, and not just because you hope you can then turn the conversation back around to you.
What I was not prepared for were the copy-pasters, the virus transmitters, the people who apparently send identical messages (or gently mutated versions thereof) to the owner of every female profile they can find. Its my drug” that my eyes fell out of my head and I had to pop them back in. They might look like people, but then so do you, and you know that all you are anymore is a shell. It’s hard to know for sure when it will happen, though my experience suggests that you’re probably getting close when you find yourself sending messages like the ones below. “I need to laugh right now, since I was broken up with on Valentine’s day. And we can discuss the annunaki, nibiru, and the blue spirals! Some part of me knows that I would never stroll into a bar announcing my various accomplishments and character traits to a guy I thought was hot—so why would I (or anyone in their right mind) do the same thing in a message?
It is the best in terms of the number of boasts it manages to fit in such a small message: 1) Has a “corporate” job; 2) Is a fitness model; 3) Has folks that work for him; 4) Owns suits and ties; 5) Looks good shirtless (presumably).
Not to mention that he’s only writing me to draw attention to his shirtless fitness-modeling pictures, to let me know that he doesn’t want attention drawn to his shirtless fitness-modeling pictures. You can’t set this message up to questioning because opening that door will send you down an existentialist path from which you will never return. The Mediocre Finally, though I would be hard pressed to pinpoint and describe any of them among the mountains and mountains of filth I received while on Ok C, there were some nice messages.
When a little message popped up in the bottom right-hand corner of my screen saying “Hello, tall girl,” I screamed. I say “around” because I deleted so many of them immediately (having them sit in my inbox felt contaminating) that I cannot report with scientific precision the exact count. I actually think it makes me decidedly un-special, because to many of the messages’ authors I was clearly no more than one more female-looking thing who might be intrigued by the dashing brevity of a message reading only “sup?