Okay, it’s time to have an open and frank discussion about the battle of the sexes and the dating game.
To get some insight into what women go through on these dating websites, I pulled aside one of my family members who I knew had spent some time on these sites looking for her future spouse.
Groucho Marx once famously quipped “I don’t care to belong to a club that would have me as a member.” I sort of feel the same way about online dating sites. Do I call myself Optimus Gandalf and admit from the get-go that I’m an alpha nerd? I love long walks, going to see live indie bands, and wha-a-a-atever.
There has got to be a better way to meet people, people. Unless you know what I was just thinking, in which case, e-mail me. Do I overshare a little too much and pick Edgar Allan Eeyore? Or more importantly, who am I when it comes to who I want someone else to think I am, so they will contact me, go out with me, and eventually touch my genitals. I made sure to pepper everything with winking non-sequiturs and casual attempts at pop profundity.
I tried to fill out the profile, but instead, it just filled me with a quiet rage. My music list was a near impenetrable list of overly eclectic bands that reflect my excellent taste, punctuated by “and Genesis.” My movies were all ’80s flicks, foreign films, and David Lynch. The threat of heartbreak is what makes finding that one person who sparks your fuse so precious.
By the time I go to books, and wrote “Pynchon,” I was in a full-fledged state of self-loathing. But I have to be honest, the online dating thing freaked me out. The only conclusion I could come up with was that, maybe, we deserved them.