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I did it. I still can’t believe I did it, but it’s done nonetheless. I joined Plenty of Fish. This was pretty out of character for me for a couple of reasons; First of all, I like being single. Relationships scare me and I don’t really care for dating. At all. Telling a stranger all about myself and then being forced to act interested in his stories, all the while the back of my head is wondering: does his dick work and does he know how to use it? Incidentally, the rest of my head is usually wondering about food (if I order chicken wings I’m going to end up with sauce on my face, I should order something less messy. But I really want chicken wings… Fuck it, I’m getting chicken wings. Extra hot sauce please! Wait, what did he say?). And second, I’m cynical enough to assume that on a dating site that is completely free and allows anyone to join, plenty of fish probably equals plenty of duds. So what reasons did my negative attitude and I have for signing up, you ask? Basically the same reasons I have to do anything: boredom, curiosity and somebody dared me to.
I’m not going to lie, the site is pretty entertaining. You’re saying that whenever I’m bored I can browse pictures of cute guys and then send them flirty messages while never having to actually commit to anything? Uh, yes, sign me up. Plus the online creepers are a lot easier to avoid than say, the gents who insist on pressing their pelvis up against you on a dance floor, even when you’ve politely declined, three times. Online, you simply don’t respond to their messages. How simple! Of course, sometimes you kind of want to. You kind of want to know what was going through their heads when they hit send. You kind of want to offer some (not-so) friendly advice, you know, for their own benefit…
Simple, direct and appeals to my vanity… ah, but wait! I think the word you’re looking for is you’re. Sorry, but this isn’t going to go anywhere. I try not to judge a book by its cover, but I draw the line at not judging a book by its grammar skills.
That’s it, eh? Of all the words in the English language, all the lines, rhymes, witticisms and wonderful turns of phrase, you landed on ‘hey’. And with two y’s too! Was that supposed to come off casual? Make it look like you didn’t really care about this too much? Well I guess that’s fine because I don’t really care about you, at all.
As separate entities, none of these things are too bad. But all together, on a thirty-six year old? Nope.
You know what? If the first question you ever ask me is whether or not I’m adept at making out, you’re probably not going to find out the answer. What is it about the tongue face that makes people think they can say whatever they want, follow it with a colon and the letter P and that will make it all OK?
Are you asking me if I regularly smoke marijuana or if I like to throw rocks at people?
Well that is quite forward of you, you don’t even know my name. I see your profile indicates that you are forty-eight years old. Did you happen to notice that mine says I’m twenty-two? Did you think that me jumping at the chance to get drunk and half naked with someone old enough to be my father (and not in an MTV reality show way) was in the realm of possibility? Because it’s not.
The kind that can spell.
Usually I am all for the cheesy pick-up line because, at the very least, I will get a laugh out of it. Ask me if I’m wearing space pants, inquire about my father’s celestial thievery, lament your inability to rearrange the alphabet, heck, you can even compare your genitals to the capital of Ireland, but this? Some inappropriate insinuation that I could one day be your child? No. Just, no.
This is great. Seriously, fantastic ice breaker, man. Congratulations to you. Unless it was all some weird metaphor for your junk. Nah, I still like it. And also, without nuts.
Perhaps the most obvious conclusion to be drawn from online dating is the one I knew all along. It really is just a lot like regular dating: you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince. I don’t want a prince though. Just someone relatively bright whom I’m sexually attracted to, who’s nice but not too nice, thinks I’m smart and funny and awesome, won’t make me talk about my feelings too much and likes to cuddle in five-to-seven minute intervals. Is that too much to ask for? …Please?
By Megan H