Hungry for Love: Hitting the Wall

Oh my God! Online dating is so awful!

Of course, I already knew that, but each new attempt is that much more harrowing.

Arbitrary, time sucking and totally fruitless, after four or five months on OKCupid, tonight I hit the wall. With only one lame date to show for my investment and the lingering sting of being told I was only "good looking," I found my finger hovering over the "Delete profile" button and reminiscing on my return to the cyber-dating wasteland.

A few months ago, I didn't think it could get any worse than the guy who listened to "rape," but damn was I wrong.

There have been a number of humdingers, but here are the greatest hits when it came to low points on (sigh) "Ohhh-kay Cupid".

May I present "Heretopleaseyou," the black guy who said his name was Chris but wouldn't give a last name and refused to send any photos because, as he looooved to tell me over and over and over and over again, he was so famous. I'd like to believe it was Chris Rock, but he was probably Chris Brown. He asked me to meet him for sex, no drinks, no dinner, no conversation. I said if he was as well known as he claimed, he could find that at any bar, grocery store or gas station in town. He's probably trolling Craigslist as I type. Another 50-plus-year-old man kept sending me IMs asking me if I'd like to go sailing and calling me "doll." He looked like Albert Finney and made me cringe. A lesbian started sending me messages every time I logged in, ignoring the clear indication that I was straight and only interested in men. Plus, she looked nothing like Mila Kunis is Black Swan and therefore got blocked quickly. More than one man sent me a message saying, "I'm going to be honest--I'm not interested in anything serious, but you seem like a lot of fun so let me know if you wanna chat." "Fun" has always been a dubious distinction in my mind. It implies a put-on carefree savoir faire that makes me think of Rizzo in Grease singing "There Are Worst Things I Could Do." I didn't write to any of them. Of the two attractive men who got in touch with me, one never responded beyond our second email and the other started talking about my nipples within two minutes of our first conversation. Is it any wonder these people are still single? They're totally heinous and dysfunctional.

Scrolling, page after page, hoping I'd stumble upon someone who could fulfill my hopes and dreams and prove that all those people who insist online dating is viable weren't ignoramuses, or, worse, uppity a-holes already in committed relationships (none of which started online), here's what I've discovered thus far:

1. Never fall for a guy wearing sunglasses in his profile picture. Everyone looks sexier in sunglasses. It's like posing with a cigarette; you're suddenly more alluring, worldly and seductive. See: James Dean, Rita Hayworth in Gilda.

2. Never trust a guy wearing a hat in his profile picture. Much like sunglasses, just about every man in the world looks better in a hat, especially a baseball cap (words my friend Jenny lives and dies by). Plus, dollars to donuts, that dude is bald or on his way and that's why he's covering up.

3. Subtract (at least) one-two inches from the height they claim. If a man says he's 5'9, he's 5'7. Maybe 5'6.

4. Sending an email will almost never illicit a response. Even in the warped online dating arena, men like the chase.

With nothing to show for my time and a general sense of misery every time I typed in my ID and password, why was I unable to make that final click, sending my profile into internet oblivion?

Because I'm sitting on my couch, eating out of styrofoam, watching Grey's Anatomy, on a serious losing streak of celibacy. I need a frickin' man in my life and since none have the balls to do anything beyond play a little grab ass when emboldened by liquor, I've been proverbially "putting myself out there." This way, when family friends or, worse yet, my mother, ask why I'm still single, I can honestly say I'm trying.

But then I got this poem from one man who was attempting to court me:

"Tubas to the face.
Spit valves emptied on your toes.
The night swayed and sweat dripped from the walls.
It was hard to tell performers from audience
as a cluster of bodies and brass pulsed in unison.
Every once in a while a form would appear from the wreckage to find their way to the bar. Missing a limb and ear drums draped to their knees.
Only music that can create this mess."

Ooookay.

I'm not really a poetry girl, but I reread the verses, trying to conjure a smoky, subterranean coffee house where everyone is in black turtlenecks and berets, a bongo player punctuating each line with a rapped beat. I could get into that. Maybe. Possibly. Probably not, but I was trying to tell myself that this guy couldn't be that bad, and just as I was on the verge of convincing myself to give the guy a chance over a cup of coffee, I got a follow up:

"Gum spots on concrete and the smell of hot dogs draped in bacon.
Fixed gear bikers intermingle with El Salvadorian line cooks.
Everyone displayed like an art piece under the fog-lights
On the ride home I think about jogging with coyotes and singing to deer.
Instead it was a sentimental cat that followed me on my walk home.
Now rainbow chard is a cute vegetable.
Especially when intermixed with garlic and ginger."

I wrote this response:

"Like smoky fires flickering
At burning man
The smell of patchouli wafts
Like smoke from your bong.
I read these words and wonder;
Are you reading a Karma Sutra
While practicing tai chi
And hugging a tree?
B.O. and compost piles
That is the smell of our love.
Snap snap snap snap
Clapping ain’t allowed.
I misread you terribly
You are not the man for me."

I erased it before I sent it, not wanting to hurt the poor guy's feelings. Instead, I moved my hovering finger a few inches to the right and clicked, "Disable Account."

Ok Cupid, I think we need some space. And I need a drink!

Blackberry Green Tea Mojito
Serves 4-6

These are my new obsession because they're delicous, refreshing and, one might argue, almost good for you thanks to plenty of antioxidants.

1 1/2 cups loosely packed mint leaves, chopped
Juice of 2 limes
Juice of 2 lemons
6 teaspoons superfine sugar
1/2 cup brewed green tea, chilled
1 cup blackberries, muddled (raspberries, blueberries or fresh chopped peach can be substituted)
1-1 1/2 cups light rum (use 1/4 cup per person)
Soda water

In a large pitcher, combine mint, lime and lemon juice and superfine sugar, stirring until sugar dissolves. Pour in green tea, muddled blackberries and rum.
Fill glasses with ice and add Mojito mix, filling glasses 3/4 of the way. Top with splash of soda water and serve.

How Not to Sell Yourself on an Online Dating Site

After failed attempts on JDate, Match.com, EHarmony and Salon Personals, a few years ago I decided internet dating simply wasn’t for me. Yes, there are hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of people who have found the love of their lives online. But I don't think I'm going to be one of those lucky many.

The first of my issues was a little something I like to call "False advertising."

Seriously, what’s with so many people using photos taken a decade ago as their profile picture? Do these guys really think I’m not going to notice they’ve lost their hair and gained 20 pounds in the time it took them to leave the comfort of their computers and meet me for coffee? Don’t they realize, once the "New You" is revealed, it’s going to be a disappointment? If everyone were honest from the beginning, there could either be acceptance and preparation for whomever you’d meet face to face, or we could all cut our losses early and skipped the endless IM chatter. Like so many things in life, online dating is all about managing expectations. I automatically assume the photos shown online are 10-25% more attractive than the person will actually be, but you’re destined for a dumping if the photo you use is the best picture you’ve ever taken. If it’s too good, you’re never going to live up to the fantasies that one shot inspired.

Not that I’m guiltless. One gentleman I met for a gourmet hot dog and coke float at The Stand in Westwood looked downright crestfallen when he saw me in the flesh. No matter how attractive I tried to be while scarfing down my sauerkraut and spicy mustard-topped dog, his disappointed was palpable. I’ve never seen a man so hell-bent on averting his eyes from a woman inserting a phallic object into her mouth.

But let’s say the photo is a pretty accurate representation. You’re pleasantly surprised at first sight and you settle in for the Getting to Know You portion of the date when…Oh God. Do you smell that? It’s…(sniff)…(sniff)…pathetic, needy desperation. Charming. The faintest whiff of that is about as sexy as a pre-date bath in Drakkar Noir. An instant no-fly zone has just been created. Wait, is that stench coming from them or me? I could never really be sure. I’m not saying everyone online is desperate, but there is a certain panic I noticed on all the dates I went on with the men I met that way. The air was filled with "Eau d’Please God, Like Me or I Don’t Know What I’m Going to Do With Myself" by Designer Imposters Body Sprays. It sent me running for the hills every time.

Maybe it’s just that there’s something too contrived for me about meeting a man knowing their intention is to find a mate. Yeah, I want to meet someone too but the bluntness in that kind of hunt has the appeal of the banana you find at the bottom of your purse three days after forgetting you’d thrown it in there. There’s no tango, no flirty glances over the copy machine that lead to drinks, no underlying tension spent wondering “What’s this going to be?” “Does he like me?” Lacking the foreplay of dating cultivated in a more organic environment, I kept feeling like I was on a job interview rather than in the middle of a courtship. We both might as well have clipboards and number two pencils so we can tick off items on a list entitled “Does this person have the qualifications I’m seeking in order to fill my open position?”

As much as I’d love to be with a guy who has a wonderful, winning personality and makes me laugh, the truth is, in the beginning, I’m not laughing at your jokes unless I want to sleep with you. Some people say it takes a woman one hour to decide if she wants to go on a second date with a man. Others contend it takes 30 seconds to decide if there will ever be a physical relationship. I need about five seconds and some good lighting. After that, if the answer is no, we’re both wasting our time and the obligatory internet coffee date becomes an exercise in torture.

Sorry, buddy, before we sat down I knew if you were ever getting in my pants and all those reasons that we were perfect on paper don’t matter anymore because the animal attraction isn’t there. It’s just like two dogs sniffing butts. If you don’t dig what’s going on back there, then why prolong the inevitable? To be polite? Is it polite to lead someone on? If I’m not attracted to you, I don’t care how many siblings you have, where you went to junior high or about the life philosophy you developed after reading The Prophet, The Secret or The Alchemist. We’re done here. And, if I’m being totally honest, I don’t know if the kind of man I want to be with would ever allow himself to be found on an internet dating site. In my mind’s eye, he’s too sexy, confident, successful, driven and well-rounded to need any kind of cyber help.

Having said all that, this week I signed up for OK Cupid, or, as my friend Rachel likes to say despondently, "(sigh) Ohh-kay, Cupid."

So far I've only gone on one date, which was enjoyable, though firework-less, and been propositioned by a man whose profile offered this little gem when prompted to offer his favorite types of music:

Hmmmm...

I don't know if that's a typo or a warning, and I'm not willing to stick around to find out.

What's funny is, the moment I waded back into the treacherous waters of internet dating, the flood gates of men in real life opened, including a little drunken smooching with a super stud muffin TV actor in a $2000 Hugo Boss suit, including a tie clip and cufflinks (ZZ Top didn't lie; every girl is crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man), on Friday night. "November Rain" is now our song.

What the future holds, I can't be sure. All I know is, the idea of sorting through the online realm of single men who listen to rape (probably the last word anyone should ever use on a dating site), is intensely unappealing. But, then again, so is the idea of sitting home alone on a Saturday night.