Technology is amazing. For better or for worse, we live in an era where an eight month old baby who was born deaf is able to hear his mother's voice while millions wasted time with Tamagotchis in the 90's.
One such amazing service of recent times is the advent of online dating. From Match.com to plentyoffish.com to jdate.com to the seedy ashleymadison.com, the opportunities are ripe for finding that special someone. I also happen to know for a fact that you CAN find love online. I personally know two women who are happily married and happily engaged.
For whatever reason, online dating has always seemed like the final frontier. I always resisted, claiming that I preferred to meet men organically. Then I countered that online dating just opens you up to so many more opportunities for rejection. Well fast-forward to 27, single for 2+ years with only one legitimate dating experience and more awkward encounters than I care to admit and the chip in my armor was beginning to crack. While I felt perfectly content not dating, my situation was apparently really desperate to everyone else around me. Girlfriends were dying to get me laid. ("We need to clear the cobwebs down there.") Trips to the adult toy store were offered by my gays. ("Honey I'm telling you, THIS is the model you want. It's got the girth and the length.") My sister threatened to sign me up for multiple online dating accounts without telling me. ("I'm going to sign you up for all of them. And one day you'll come home and I'll say 'Get dressed bitch. You're going to dinner in a half hour.'") And perhaps the scariest of all, my aunt offered to set me up with a nice Korean Christian boy from her church. ("Thank you, I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a blunt spoon. While fornicating. On a Sunday. With another heathen. While taking the Lord's name in vain. Amen.")
The more friends encouraged online dating, I thought about it. And pondered the possibilities. And then it hit me like an epiphany from the Man himself: Oh shit. This would actually allow me the opportunity to just weed out all the incompatible and homely guys (What? Like you wouldn't either? Don't lie to me.) and allow me to filter my results so that I don't have to waste my time! The thought that I could search, point and click my way to a date with some tall 30 year old never married man who loves to run and watch funny movies, all in the comfort of my home in my sweats, was VERY appealing. I was sold.
So one bored Sunday evening I sat down and rolled up my sleeves and began the process. I carefully thought about the qualities I was looking for in a man and gave a lot of thought to my choices as well, as far as my interests, political views and whether or not I prefer cats over dogs. (I'm a dog person, by the way.) I honestly think I spent about an hour on this part - my future was at stake here, people. How could I play Russian Roulette with my life when such serious consequences such as ending up on a bad date with a Sarah Palin-loving, Chinese-crested owning, curling enthusiast could occur? (Actually, that would be freakin' hilarious.)
And then I reached the point where I had to come up with a short "tagline" for myself and write a short "About me and what I'm looking for" description. I was completely stumped. What the F was I supposed to say about myself? Anything I came up with just made me sound like an asshole. I totally get that you're supposed to be selling yourself in these profiles but really? And anyway, I think that one has a pretty skewed version of themself so whatever I write was going to be completely subjective to how I view myself. Hello, I'm basically perfect. I KID, I KID.
In all seriousness, this is what I came up with after several stumped hours:
"My name is __. I like puppies. I run marathons. I hope you're a musician/runner/investment banker. San Francisco rocks!"
Well screw it, I decided to go to bed and finish this later. I'd already wasted enough time on what could be the most self-indulging and vain exercise ever, and I had to go to work in a few hours.
The next day I had this unfinished assignment hanging over my head and it kept looming in the back of my mind. You know that really uncomfortable feeling that you get, like when you know you're down to your last pair of underwear and you need to do laundry but dammit you have no quarters and you're supposed to go bar hopping tonight? Or how you know that you have another two days to return $500 worth of impulse purchases but how can you possibly deal with Union Square on a weekend with *gasp* tourists to fight your way through? Well let me tell you, coming from the world's biggest procrastinator (my Type B side) this writing assignment was stressing me out. Time went by, and every day I felt the growing pressure of that unfinished profile. Of course, I had made the mistake of telling a couple of (very excited) girlfriends about my attempted foray into online dating. Every other day one or all of said girlfriends would pester me.
"Well? Have you finished your profile yet?"
"No. I still haven't been inspired."
"What the hell is there to inspire? It's about you. Talk about yourself. That can't be too hard."
"BUT I DON'T WANNA DO IT! WAHHH!"
I felt like a petulant 11 year old all over again, being forced against my will to go to a summer camp in the woods of rural Korea when I don't speak any Korean at all. (My mother dumped off my siblings and me at this camp under the pretense of having us expand our horizons and learn the language. I think she was just sick of us whining that it was too hot and that we wanted to go home to California.) Yes, it was that dread-inducing and terrifying.
I don't like the feeling of having something due hanging over my head, it gave me horrendous flashbacks of my sad excuse of an academic career during college, but I honestly had no idea what to say about myself. After a month of nothing, I caved under the pressure and waved the white flag of defeat. I deleted the account I never got to finish setting up. I was cockblocked by writer's block.
Correction. I cockblocked MYSELF because of writer's block.
My love life: So pathetic it's hilarious.
*Clarification* Some wondered why there wasn't a guy/awkward situation involved. The point I was trying to make here was "I'm just awkward in general, and here's yet another example of how I can't/don't get dates."
Monday, June 28, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Don't call me "Sweetheart"
When I was in college at the good old U of A (that's Arizona, bitches) I frequented the Coffee Xchange on Speedway and Campbell on evenings when I had to complete a last minute cram session the night before an exam. BFF Ali and I would lug our pristine-condition books, laptops, notebooks, pot and adderal (don't ask, this was one of many "seemed like a great idea at the time" moments) and set up shop in a corner while we drank lots of coffee, furiously typed out notes and snuck out to the car to take a hit off the batty.
Clearly this is the perfect setting for romantic encounters. And being that we are at the U of A, which possesses a disturbingly high percentage of really really good looking people compared to the general population of America, you are bound to run into and meet someone who tickles your fancy. Even at 2 am at a coffee shop.
One magical evening, hopped up on coffee, adderal and pot, I caught the eye of a very handsome, tall, dark-haired man. Being the brazen little hussy that I am at 22 years old I find a way to strike up conversation with him and bagged myself a date. Score! Not bad for a late evening study session on a Monday night.
Perhaps I should have been concerned by the fact that he was a 31 year old man studying alone at 2 am in a coffee shop picking up young girls. Perhaps I should have been concerned by the fact that he took his job as a server at Flemings very seriously (He was a "foodie". Alledgedly.). Perhaps I should have been concerned by the fact that I was meeting him at Centennial Hall for a performance of "Hairspray" for our date. No, none of this registered at all. It was only when I met up with him and arrived five minutes late and was chastised for my lack of punctuality (I couldn't find parking, fucker) I had this feeling at the pit of my stomach that quietly whispered "This is not a good idea. Run away now."
They say you should always listen to your gut instinct and I'm shamed to say that I ignored it. Determined to display some some semblance of good manners, I stayed. And watched three hours of "Hairspray". And endured the ridiculous comments he would make about the music. And worst of all, listened to him call me "sweetie" and "sweetheart".
When you have to physically restrain yourself and resist the overpowering urge to punch your date for calling you "sweetheart" even I knew that I needed to get rid of this fool. I practically bolted from my seat the moment the curtains went down - I couldn't get outside fast enough and away from this douche. Stopping short of running away, I forced myself to turn to him and say my goodbyes and thanks you's like the classy and polite little lady my mama raised.
This was not to be.
"So what shall we do now? Grab dinner? Perhaps a drink?"
FUCK. What now? If I had to spend one more minute with this guy I was not going to be held responsible if my fist somehow "accidentally" connected with his stupid smug face. And then a flash of brilliance! It was a Thursday night! That could only mean one thing...
"Well, I have a standing date with 20 of my friends to meet up at Bisonwiches for dollar pints on Thursday nights. And you're welcome to join us, if you like." Anyone with the ability to pick up a hint would understand this was a polite way of telling him to fuck off, but unfortunately he didn't seem to be the sharpest knife in the drawer and actually joined us. FML.
The following ensued:
- Ignored him for the following two hours while I mingled with an assortment of about 23 friends
- Flirted with that cute guy Todd who I've had my eye on for a few months
- Made horrible date buy me several beers
- Made a date with Todd
- Ignored him some more
- Got horrible date to drive myself, bff and Todd back to bff's house.
As I FINALLY got to say my goodbye's, I feigned exhaustion and the claim that I was going to get myself home from there. Horrible date, who I am now realizing may be the slowest person alive, says:
"You know, that's not exactly how I envisioned our first date to go. On our next date I'd really like some one on one time."
With a smile plastered to my face and a stiff nod as I back-pat/hugged him goodbye, all I could think in my mind was: "Hell to the mother fucking NO you are not getting a second date."
I spent the following weeks ignoring his calls and sending him straight to voicemail. Every time I saw his name pop up on caller ID my skin crawled as I had flashbacks of him whispering "Sweetie" to me in the dark of Centennial Hall. But being that we live in Tucson and that I'm a creature of habit who frequents the same spots over and over again it was only a matter of time before I ran into him.
Back to the original scene of the crime. BFF sees him and says: "Isn't that horrible date over there?". SHIT! I contemplate trying to sneak away undetected but then I figured, fuck it. I'm not going to let him make me feel awkward about it. HE can feel awkward about it if he wants to. Screw him! (Did I mention I am not only a brazen 22 year old hussy, but an overly confident arrogant bastard as well?) And so I saunter by, give him a big smile and say "HI!" and walk past his table to mine.
Yes, I know I am an asshole. But dammit, don't call me "sweetheart".
Clearly this is the perfect setting for romantic encounters. And being that we are at the U of A, which possesses a disturbingly high percentage of really really good looking people compared to the general population of America, you are bound to run into and meet someone who tickles your fancy. Even at 2 am at a coffee shop.
One magical evening, hopped up on coffee, adderal and pot, I caught the eye of a very handsome, tall, dark-haired man. Being the brazen little hussy that I am at 22 years old I find a way to strike up conversation with him and bagged myself a date. Score! Not bad for a late evening study session on a Monday night.
Perhaps I should have been concerned by the fact that he was a 31 year old man studying alone at 2 am in a coffee shop picking up young girls. Perhaps I should have been concerned by the fact that he took his job as a server at Flemings very seriously (He was a "foodie". Alledgedly.). Perhaps I should have been concerned by the fact that I was meeting him at Centennial Hall for a performance of "Hairspray" for our date. No, none of this registered at all. It was only when I met up with him and arrived five minutes late and was chastised for my lack of punctuality (I couldn't find parking, fucker) I had this feeling at the pit of my stomach that quietly whispered "This is not a good idea. Run away now."
They say you should always listen to your gut instinct and I'm shamed to say that I ignored it. Determined to display some some semblance of good manners, I stayed. And watched three hours of "Hairspray". And endured the ridiculous comments he would make about the music. And worst of all, listened to him call me "sweetie" and "sweetheart".
When you have to physically restrain yourself and resist the overpowering urge to punch your date for calling you "sweetheart" even I knew that I needed to get rid of this fool. I practically bolted from my seat the moment the curtains went down - I couldn't get outside fast enough and away from this douche. Stopping short of running away, I forced myself to turn to him and say my goodbyes and thanks you's like the classy and polite little lady my mama raised.
This was not to be.
"So what shall we do now? Grab dinner? Perhaps a drink?"
FUCK. What now? If I had to spend one more minute with this guy I was not going to be held responsible if my fist somehow "accidentally" connected with his stupid smug face. And then a flash of brilliance! It was a Thursday night! That could only mean one thing...
"Well, I have a standing date with 20 of my friends to meet up at Bisonwiches for dollar pints on Thursday nights. And you're welcome to join us, if you like." Anyone with the ability to pick up a hint would understand this was a polite way of telling him to fuck off, but unfortunately he didn't seem to be the sharpest knife in the drawer and actually joined us. FML.
The following ensued:
- Ignored him for the following two hours while I mingled with an assortment of about 23 friends
- Flirted with that cute guy Todd who I've had my eye on for a few months
- Made horrible date buy me several beers
- Made a date with Todd
- Ignored him some more
- Got horrible date to drive myself, bff and Todd back to bff's house.
As I FINALLY got to say my goodbye's, I feigned exhaustion and the claim that I was going to get myself home from there. Horrible date, who I am now realizing may be the slowest person alive, says:
"You know, that's not exactly how I envisioned our first date to go. On our next date I'd really like some one on one time."
With a smile plastered to my face and a stiff nod as I back-pat/hugged him goodbye, all I could think in my mind was: "Hell to the mother fucking NO you are not getting a second date."
I spent the following weeks ignoring his calls and sending him straight to voicemail. Every time I saw his name pop up on caller ID my skin crawled as I had flashbacks of him whispering "Sweetie" to me in the dark of Centennial Hall. But being that we live in Tucson and that I'm a creature of habit who frequents the same spots over and over again it was only a matter of time before I ran into him.
Back to the original scene of the crime. BFF sees him and says: "Isn't that horrible date over there?". SHIT! I contemplate trying to sneak away undetected but then I figured, fuck it. I'm not going to let him make me feel awkward about it. HE can feel awkward about it if he wants to. Screw him! (Did I mention I am not only a brazen 22 year old hussy, but an overly confident arrogant bastard as well?) And so I saunter by, give him a big smile and say "HI!" and walk past his table to mine.
Yes, I know I am an asshole. But dammit, don't call me "sweetheart".
"So who are you dating these days?"
The other night I was circling AT&T ballpark, desperately searching for parking as most San Franciscans who are dumb enough to own a car do on a Friday night when they insist on driving. It's bad enough that I'm an Asian girl in a car, but now I'm doing the "drive, halt, drive, cross to the other side of the street, stop in the middle of the road, repeat" in my search for the ever elusive parking spot less than a mile away from Bar Basic. Did I mention I'm trying to text, too? At the moment I am my auto insurance agent's worst nightmare and the culmination of every bad Asian girl driver joke. (For the record, I'm a freakin awesome driver.)
For some reason, my friend Henry decides this is as good a time as ever to lay that dreaded question on me:
"So, who are you dating these days?"
My mind draws a blank. How am I to explain to him that it's hard being single in the city when you are ridiculously picky? That I just don't see the point in dating someone unless I really click with them, and those ocassions are so far and few between? That I usually just end up befriending most guys rather than date them? That when I do find a guy I like and/or go on a date it usually ends up being a comedy of errors? And doesn't he know that I can't really have real conversations with people when I'm distracted by my quest for a parking spot on a Friday night when the Bo Sox are in town? (Whoa was that a parking spot? Dammit there's a fire hydrant there...). And so I blurt out the first response that comes to mind:
"Um. I don't date. I have awkward encounters."
This apparently required some explanation (once I found parking, three blocks away from the bar, woot!). And so, dear friends and Internet lurkers, here are my stories. Enjoy.
For some reason, my friend Henry decides this is as good a time as ever to lay that dreaded question on me:
"So, who are you dating these days?"
My mind draws a blank. How am I to explain to him that it's hard being single in the city when you are ridiculously picky? That I just don't see the point in dating someone unless I really click with them, and those ocassions are so far and few between? That I usually just end up befriending most guys rather than date them? That when I do find a guy I like and/or go on a date it usually ends up being a comedy of errors? And doesn't he know that I can't really have real conversations with people when I'm distracted by my quest for a parking spot on a Friday night when the Bo Sox are in town? (Whoa was that a parking spot? Dammit there's a fire hydrant there...). And so I blurt out the first response that comes to mind:
"Um. I don't date. I have awkward encounters."
This apparently required some explanation (once I found parking, three blocks away from the bar, woot!). And so, dear friends and Internet lurkers, here are my stories. Enjoy.
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