Hello, my name is Lainie Quinn, and I'm addicted to online dating.
Lava, Match, Lemon Tonic, eHarmony… you name it, I've tried it. I know I'm a junkie; that's why I'm here.
I have spent hours wading through countless men's profiles on the various internet dating portals – each site promising to produce "the one" provided you follow their grocery-list "shopping-for-a-man" protocol, and (of course) "check out" by purchasing the credits required to communicate with the "merchandise".
I mean, seriously, when you really stop to think about it, internet dating – like any other business – is concerned first and foremost with staying in the black… In an age where full-grown adults are overwhelmingly incapable of finding a mate, it's in the fat-cat cyber-dating magnates' best interest to keep the rest of us chasing the ever-elusive carrot that is your "soul mate". When you sit down and tally the ticks, our personal failures ensure their financial success.
So you sit down, hash out your personality by completing a few standard multiple-choice questions (as if preferring dogs, cats or fish is really something that's going to help you find a compatible partner); fill in a few limited, clichéd questions such as five things you can't live without, which I'm sure for most of us aren’t nearly as philosophical as the ones we choose to submit… Exactly what type of man do you think I would attract if I actually wrote:
:: Monthly Brazilian bikini wax
:: Tampax
:: Ceramic Plated Flat Iron
:: Almonds and Raisins (a not-so-guilty pleasure)
:: Mascara
Don't forget to jot down your shopping list of "basic" matching criteria (height, weight, eye color, education, if and where he should have tattoos), and finally upload a few flattering photos of yourself and you're off to the races!
Then you either:
:: Go the totally reactive route: Sit and wait for winks, smiles and/or messages to roll in
:: Opt for passive aggression: Flag appealing profiles by sending out a wink or smile
:: Shell out credits and proactively contact interesting parties with an email.
It all sounds innocent enough, but on this precarious hunt – whether you are the fish or the bait – comes with absolutely NO quality control; dud or diamond, it's the luck of the draw. And from what I've seen, the pickings are pretty damn slim. On my quest I've encountered the geeks, freaks, cheap-skates and toxic bachelors.
Cheap skates:
There's the guys who can't be bothered to purchase credits – and make a point of saying so in their profiles, which is essentially declaring: "I'm too cheap and ambivalent to put any effort into this whole process. Go ahead and contact me if you dare – I will waste your time."
Online dating is a player's paradise:
These guys say that they're just looking for a fun time and don't think they'll find what they're looking for online, which is code for: "I need some action. Call me for a good time, but don't expect more than that." For the single guys that are in their early twenties this is fine, but you wouldn't believe how many of these commitment-phobe men are pushing and past thirty!
Last chance for romance:
Of course there are some men looking for relationships out there. They're easy to spot because they usually describe themselves as looking for a "soul mate" and include how many children they'd like to have in their profile. That wouldn't be so dastardly if one of this breed of man was even remotely attractive.
There are some cuties, but from my experience they generally post model-esque photos where they're glaring at the camera with their look of "blue steel". They are hot shit and they know it. There's the frightfully heinous, the weak and meek, the cocky and juvenile… and let's not forget the tragically disturbed.
So what keeps me coming back? Despite my ability to diss the online dating scene, I still can't manage to totally dismiss it.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Saturday, May 19, 2007
reverse psychology.
Has anyone ever told you, “Stop looking to meet someone, and you just might find him?” The person offering that (usually unsolicited) advice was probably your mother or a happily coupled friend or relative who’s been an “us” for so long that they’ve forgotten what it’s like to be single.
Perhaps more irritating than their advice is the fact that this little bit of counsel is true.
How the hell are you supposed to consciously not think of something!? Admittedly, it’s a tricky state of mind – and the longer you’re single the harder it gets - but apparently if you can manage to occupy yourself with having a “full life”, you might just find that you’re too busy to spend much-needed time and energy contemplating the marriage potential of every man you encounter.
I’ve actually experienced the effects of this relationship reverse psychology firsthand once or twice. No, it can’t be one of those instances when you deliberately pretend not to be thinking about meeting someone so as to increase the odds of stumbling across your dream man. You know what I mean, when you’re out with the girls, looking (conveniently) spectacular, engaging in lively chick chatter but all the while keeping your eyes and ears tuned and at the ready for the man you weren’t hoping to meet. That, my friend, doesn’t count.
Most people have the refuge of work; at least eight hours a day where they can submerge themselves in peace. As you can imagine, in my line of work as a Special Events Consultant (specializing masochistically in weddings) it can be extremely challenging for a woman to keep her mind off of men, marriage and “happily ever after”. Yes, as my own personal life migrates further into “shambles” territory it becomes exceedingly difficult to squelch my urge to vomit each time I see a new client sporting her distressingly handsome fiancé, or witness one more smug woman rub her pregnant belly with pride.
Changing my line of work isn’t an option; even with its frequent reminder of the romantic vacuum that is my life, I do enjoy most parts of my job most of the time. But there’s still that tiny problem of having caustic feelings toward couples combined with the impulse to molest each dishy man I see.
“Stop looking, blah, blah, blah…” Despite my distaste for it, I can’t dismiss this nagging tidbit of relationship wisdom.
I’ve decided to lose myself (or maybe find myself?) in the wee bit of spare time that I do have – outside the gym and work – by lending my excess energy volunteering for a worthy association. Of course I haven’t quite narrowed down what that opportunity might be… I’m thinking maybe dog-walker for the SPCA, or something to do with the event-planning of a local film festival… Yeah, I know, it’s supposed to be selfless, but I’ll be a much keener do-gooder if I can at least have a little fun.
And of course I’m not looking for a cause where selfless, handsome, eligible men might also be in abundance. Although if they happen to be there I certainly won’t complain…
Perhaps more irritating than their advice is the fact that this little bit of counsel is true.
How the hell are you supposed to consciously not think of something!? Admittedly, it’s a tricky state of mind – and the longer you’re single the harder it gets - but apparently if you can manage to occupy yourself with having a “full life”, you might just find that you’re too busy to spend much-needed time and energy contemplating the marriage potential of every man you encounter.
I’ve actually experienced the effects of this relationship reverse psychology firsthand once or twice. No, it can’t be one of those instances when you deliberately pretend not to be thinking about meeting someone so as to increase the odds of stumbling across your dream man. You know what I mean, when you’re out with the girls, looking (conveniently) spectacular, engaging in lively chick chatter but all the while keeping your eyes and ears tuned and at the ready for the man you weren’t hoping to meet. That, my friend, doesn’t count.
Most people have the refuge of work; at least eight hours a day where they can submerge themselves in peace. As you can imagine, in my line of work as a Special Events Consultant (specializing masochistically in weddings) it can be extremely challenging for a woman to keep her mind off of men, marriage and “happily ever after”. Yes, as my own personal life migrates further into “shambles” territory it becomes exceedingly difficult to squelch my urge to vomit each time I see a new client sporting her distressingly handsome fiancé, or witness one more smug woman rub her pregnant belly with pride.
Changing my line of work isn’t an option; even with its frequent reminder of the romantic vacuum that is my life, I do enjoy most parts of my job most of the time. But there’s still that tiny problem of having caustic feelings toward couples combined with the impulse to molest each dishy man I see.
“Stop looking, blah, blah, blah…” Despite my distaste for it, I can’t dismiss this nagging tidbit of relationship wisdom.
I’ve decided to lose myself (or maybe find myself?) in the wee bit of spare time that I do have – outside the gym and work – by lending my excess energy volunteering for a worthy association. Of course I haven’t quite narrowed down what that opportunity might be… I’m thinking maybe dog-walker for the SPCA, or something to do with the event-planning of a local film festival… Yeah, I know, it’s supposed to be selfless, but I’ll be a much keener do-gooder if I can at least have a little fun.
And of course I’m not looking for a cause where selfless, handsome, eligible men might also be in abundance. Although if they happen to be there I certainly won’t complain…
Sunday, May 6, 2007
unhooked.
My well-intentioned mother tells me that William did a number on me, and that I've done a number on every unfortunate boyfriend since then. William was my university boyfriend; we dated nearly the entire four years of our undergraduate degrees. He certainly did "do a number" on me, but I don't agree that I was entirely the villain in every subsequent relationship.
Looking back, it's difficult to remember details of the majority of William and my time together. What is most clear are the beginning and the conclusion. Perhaps I am most certain of those polar phases because in my memory the middle is now blurred and tainted by the betrayal of its end.
The first time I saw him, I recall overhearing him say that he was going the "have some of that" – no, not the most romantic sentiment, I know. I remember rolling my eyes to my frosh sisters and thinking that he was an ignorant imbecile.
Within six hours of encountering this freshman "idiot", I found myself paired off with him as a member of my university residence's brother house during "frosh week" activities. Our house representatives ordered girls and guys to pair off in a city-wide race; we were the last two standing, and so naturally we coupled off. He picked me up in his arms (as instructed by the zealous Upperclassmen) and so it began. Of that I am certain.
I am also certain that almost four years later, just two months before the completion of our degrees, I discovered that my boyfriend had deceived my trust; that the person I knew as William had an alternate persona, referred to as Billy by others, including the girl he cheated on me with while away on a school function.
I am also certain – despite his arguments to the contrary – that I saw photos of him embracing and posing with the girl on the university-hosted website documenting the trip. The final confirmation came from his roommate – who, in the end had been a greater friend to me than I could have imagined by revealing that William had been carrying on a relationship with this girl… Darla…for several weeks.
While my reality was crumbling around me, attempting to stay focused during my final weeks of school and working part-time crafting delicate ceramics at a pottery studio, Billy was carousing with a circle of friends I had never truly known on the rooftop patio of the very building in which I worked.
Possibly more disturbing than William's duplicity and infidelity was the fact that he never called for me to be by his side at the hospital after the accident.
At least a few of his friends had the compassion to notify me that while reveling on the rooftop – I imagine indulging in at least a few intoxicating substances – and whilst relieving himself into the alley below (most likely onto shattered pots and plates discarded by me earlier in the day), Billy had lost his footing and plummeted three stories to find himself all but impaled on the fuel tank below. The impact had smashed multiple bones in his pelvis and legs; as you can imagine, the irony stung.
The betrayal was devastating; his denial of it was infuriating; and my omission from the list of people to be notified of his near-death was excruciating. But I had been sincere over the previous four years, and so couldn't help but feel pity and distress for his shattered physical condition, despite my own emotionally battered state.
In an unexpected visit to his bedside at hospital, I offered William a chance to move forward with me; I told him I was capable of forgiving his betrayal, this once. He had planned to take time off following graduation, traveling Southeast Asia, teaching English. In a pivotal gesture, I offered to join him, suggesting that we might embark on a voyage together, that we might repair our relationship and mend my fractured trust. He refused, adding further insult by taking calls from Darla in my presence.
Of course William has attempted to contact me numerous times over the years, but that door is closed; and so I was flung into the dating pool. That ending was the beginning of my journey, "unhooked".
Looking back, it's difficult to remember details of the majority of William and my time together. What is most clear are the beginning and the conclusion. Perhaps I am most certain of those polar phases because in my memory the middle is now blurred and tainted by the betrayal of its end.
The first time I saw him, I recall overhearing him say that he was going the "have some of that" – no, not the most romantic sentiment, I know. I remember rolling my eyes to my frosh sisters and thinking that he was an ignorant imbecile.
Within six hours of encountering this freshman "idiot", I found myself paired off with him as a member of my university residence's brother house during "frosh week" activities. Our house representatives ordered girls and guys to pair off in a city-wide race; we were the last two standing, and so naturally we coupled off. He picked me up in his arms (as instructed by the zealous Upperclassmen) and so it began. Of that I am certain.
I am also certain that almost four years later, just two months before the completion of our degrees, I discovered that my boyfriend had deceived my trust; that the person I knew as William had an alternate persona, referred to as Billy by others, including the girl he cheated on me with while away on a school function.
I am also certain – despite his arguments to the contrary – that I saw photos of him embracing and posing with the girl on the university-hosted website documenting the trip. The final confirmation came from his roommate – who, in the end had been a greater friend to me than I could have imagined by revealing that William had been carrying on a relationship with this girl… Darla…for several weeks.
While my reality was crumbling around me, attempting to stay focused during my final weeks of school and working part-time crafting delicate ceramics at a pottery studio, Billy was carousing with a circle of friends I had never truly known on the rooftop patio of the very building in which I worked.
Possibly more disturbing than William's duplicity and infidelity was the fact that he never called for me to be by his side at the hospital after the accident.
At least a few of his friends had the compassion to notify me that while reveling on the rooftop – I imagine indulging in at least a few intoxicating substances – and whilst relieving himself into the alley below (most likely onto shattered pots and plates discarded by me earlier in the day), Billy had lost his footing and plummeted three stories to find himself all but impaled on the fuel tank below. The impact had smashed multiple bones in his pelvis and legs; as you can imagine, the irony stung.
The betrayal was devastating; his denial of it was infuriating; and my omission from the list of people to be notified of his near-death was excruciating. But I had been sincere over the previous four years, and so couldn't help but feel pity and distress for his shattered physical condition, despite my own emotionally battered state.
In an unexpected visit to his bedside at hospital, I offered William a chance to move forward with me; I told him I was capable of forgiving his betrayal, this once. He had planned to take time off following graduation, traveling Southeast Asia, teaching English. In a pivotal gesture, I offered to join him, suggesting that we might embark on a voyage together, that we might repair our relationship and mend my fractured trust. He refused, adding further insult by taking calls from Darla in my presence.
Of course William has attempted to contact me numerous times over the years, but that door is closed; and so I was flung into the dating pool. That ending was the beginning of my journey, "unhooked".
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