During my recent bout with COVID, I reached the phase where I was holding nightly pity party ragers in my house. After days of nothing but my cats and TV for company, I was officially feeling sorry for myself. I hit the wall of over-dramatic despair -- and when that happens, I do stupid things.
That's right, I signed up for online dating.
It became clear to me a few years back that I'd probably reached the end of my dating journey. I've had my time in the sun and some great relationships over the years. Most of my exes have remained among my closest friends, and if you think that's weird, I honestly think you're doing dating wrong. I wouldn't have dated them if I didn't want them in my life, and just because we might not be soulmates doesn't mean we don't enjoy each other's company from time to time.
But I kinda figured my glory days were behind me. As shocking as it may be, it appears most women are NOT attracted to chubby newspaper columnists who spend their nights glued to the TV and their weekends stuck in DJ booths. A basement full of record albums is NOT the aphrodisiac that it darn well should be. I'm fully aware that my quirks appeal to a VERY select demographic, and I'm pretty sure I've dated most of them by now.
BUT NO, say the online dating sites, your perfect match is but a click away! And on one fateful night last week with a head full of COVID, I actually believed them.
I started, stupidly, on Facebook. My social media feed usually consists of (a) people I don't care about sharing aspects of their life I don't care about, (b) people I DO care about sharing aspects of their life that make me horribly jealous, (c) me keeping tabs on everyone I've ever had a crush on ever, and (d) random people yelling about politics. Naturally, it's the perfect environment to go looking for love.
Facebook recently added a Dating feature, so why not? Like most dating sites, you need to create a profile. After spending fifteen minutes looking for the least-hideous selfie in my arsenal, the next step was to write a blurb. This is a brief paragraph that's supposed to sell yourself to the greater dating world. After much consideration and flu medication, I went with:
"Pop culture geek seeking someone who isn't a terrible human being. Bookworm? Nerdy? TV junkie? Socially awkward? We'd probably get along well."
I know -- it just screams, "I'm a catch," doesn't it? No pushing, ladies. The line forms to the left. From there, it was all up to the magic algorithms to start matching me with the ladies of my dreams. The first recommendation came within minutes.
I knew she was a keeper right away, considering her profile pic showed her struggling to contain a snarling pit bull. Yep, clearly my dream girl. And her profile included such romantic eloquence as, "You must have car because my license got took away" and "I smoke lots of weed -- it helps with my depression." Yes, Facebook, you've indeed found my soulmate. This was but the first in a cavalcade of horrible mis-matches, bachelorette upon bachelorette absolutely ill-suited for my weird dumb life.
I decided to narrow my matches using their interest questionnaire. Their list of questions is impressively specific. "Do you like road trips?" Okay, sure, I guess. "What's your favorite 80's song?" Ooh, I dunno -- maybe "Cars" by Gary Numan. "What's your favorite band?" That's easy: the somewhat obscure British band Ride. With this new information in place, I was sure to land a winner.
Within five minutes, the site sent me a new match: "Lynette." She's a 44-year-old long-haul trucker from Boise, Idaho who likes whiskey, darts, Donald Trump, and Lynyrd Skynyrd. Ummmmm, what? No offense to sweet Lynette, but her profile reads more like a list of things I hate.
Then I saw it. "You and Lynette share a common interest of: GROUND-BASED TRANSPORTATION." Score one for the high-tech algorithms of online dating. I guess because I like road trips, the song "Cars," and the band Ride, Facebook just straight up assumed I have a trucker fetish. Awesome.
Strangely, this wasn't enough for me to give up, so I also filled out a free profile on Match.com. Within a day, my profile was liked by four different people. Annnd that's about as far as your free profile gets you on Match.com. If I want to SEE those people or learn anything about them, I simply need to pay $44.95/month for presumably eternity. Thanks, but no thanks. Maybe I have four perfect soulmates at the other end of that paywall. I'm guessing odds are better that it's four more Lynettes looking for a bike ride to the Trump rally.
Love remains elusive -- but don't worry. I put that $44.95 to good use at the record store. A basement full of records might not woo the ladies, but what if it was a basement AND a closet AND a storage space? A fella can dream...
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