The Spectre of Online Dating

It’s a new age of dating. I get that. I may not be all that comfortable with it, but I get it.

We’re in an era where I could Skype with that special someone over many, many miles. I’m horrible (mildly put) at long-distance relationships (LDRs) though. People need to be physically present in my life, or I have a tendency to… misplace… their existence. That’s not meant in a malicious way, rather I can focus on subjects so intensely I get distracted from the world around me.

Truth be told, making an online profile is the worst part of the ordeal. It’s a real chore, too. I have a hard enough time writing stories, let alone non-fiction. The non-fiction is just as odd. I’m odd, and my base model personality makes women nervous. There’s an American saying that goes along with my bad luck: shit happens. At least, that’s what Americans tend to think.

The bigger problem is that I’m way too honest. With dating, I’ve noticed over the years, there’s an element of deception. An overstated job title here, a stuffed bra there, and we’ve got two people who are now the romantic equivalent of used car salesmen. I’d only wish they’d dress the part. I haven’t seen a seersucker suit in years. What’s it gonna take to get you in this car today, gorgeous? *finger guns*

A few years ago, I braved OK Cupid for a valiant 6-month effort, until I found out all the people interested were simply looking for a male nanny to help raise their kid(s). Yes, I’m no longer 20 years old, but you’re transparent madam. I know you’d undermine me every step of the way. There was also the epiphany of me maintaining the account solely for the quizzes and questions. Hey! I like knowing I would be an oak, if I were a tree or my spirit animal’s a three-toed sloth. It’s entertaining. Thank you.

So, I ditched that.

On a particularly emotionally-wrenching Tuesday night, I tried putting myself through eHarmony. It was half-hearted, and I hate the use of children in their commercials*, but I wasn’t going to have hilarity and hijinks with Tinder. I went through the sliding scale of personality questions, and before I finished I got to the “about me” section. The part I dread. I always feel obligated to write this phony-baloney spiel about how I like long walks at dinner and candle-lit beaches. Then my mind spat out the description as only a love-weary Nate could:

Hey, I’m Nate. I’m not rich, nor do I look good in spandex. I’m a 34 year-old single guy who is going on 85. I’m sure you’re the model of poise, too. I hold lengthy conversations with myself, because it’s the best conversation I can find on most days. The small town I live in doesn’t hold academics or pop culture in the same regard as I do. Thus I’m often left reading in bars or coffee shops, instead of discussing riveting topics such as NASCAR or college football. I’ve taken to calling it handegg, after seeing an online argument for such, but many people aren’t on the handegg train yet. Also, sometimes I act like a New York City cabbie on the road and think Frisky Dingo was a better grown-up cartoon than Archer.

I’m not looking for a super heroine. Although, if you wanted to dress up for Comicon, I’d help you find the costume. I’m sure you have as many flaws as I do, but are probably too embarrassed to be forthright with them. I understand. However, I know it was you who farted when you tried blaming it on your pets. Liar, liar, pants on fire. After scarfing a bowl of chili like that, mine would be too.

I’m looking for a woman who doesn’t feel like society requires her to shave her legs. I know I don’t. You shave your legs, if it makes you feel better. I shave my face because I like it. If you want to walk around like Alice the Goon, I’m happy to aid and abet that too.

I stopped to reread what I had wrote in a stream of consciousness. It was riddled with so much genuine feeling, it felt good to get it out. However, after so many years of watching people date, I knew it wouldn’t get the time of day. I stopped typing and exited the window. That’s still way too heavy for me.

I don’t know. I’m probably better off being single.

***********

* – The latest commercial stars the founder and his granddaughter. The whole commercial is forced, and gives off a feel of exploitation that I was never fond of. It’s the same feeling when school children are roped into selling magazine subscriptions. It all reeks of pandering.

Advertisement

Honestly…

More often than not I’m an honest person, and maybe a bit too honest at that. There are plenty of times where I can be thoroughly exhausted by form and diplomacy and simply spit out the thoughts in my head. Naturally, people get offended. Sometimes it’s rightfully so, and other times they’re just being too sensitive. It’s never the same reason every time, however I’m just too tired to care.

There are perks of being honest though. Much of my life has been filled with observations of cheating paying off, whether it’s cheating on tests, or a spouse (not my story to tell, but an interesting one nonetheless), what have you. There is a budding culture of “it’s not wrong, if you’re not caught.” I abhor this belief I see in my contemporaries. I’m not perfect, but I keep a good handle on things.

For example, yesterday included a trip to the bank. As I rolled up to the drive-through window, my eyes caught a glimpse of something flat, green, and rectangular. Backing up, I open the door to find a $20 bill lying on the ground. Being so close to the bank teller window, it’s obvious it was part of a transaction. No one would be out of their car to drop their purse or wallet. So, what do I do? I pick the money up and give it to the teller. I explained it was probably part of someone’s deposit.

With this information, she turns around to another teller. The speakers were off, and I couldn’t hear what she said to him. What I did see was the other teller frown and swipe the money from her hands and her laughing. I think I follow what happened only a few moments before my arrival. From the teller’s face, I could surmise there was a rather nasty dispute over the lost currency. It wouldn’t have been his fault, but people get nasty over money for some reason. 😉

Did I expect anything out of the deal? Nope. In fact, I knew I probably wouldn’t even get a thank you out of it. A rarity anymore is a mannered teller. However, I think I did find something of value in the whole ordeal. I righted a wrong. Not only did I spare him the headache of having to defend himself in the future, he has some vindication for when that person comes around next time. It’s a popular branch, and I think they’d be back. I don’t believe in karma, but this is a random act of kindness. This is the stuff I do, and it’s hard sometimes when it goes unnoticed. I suppose I won’t let it stop me from doing it in the future though.

So, would you pocket the money and not say a thing or would you hand it to the teller like I did? Twenty dollars will buy a nice dinner out with tip. It’s nothing to sneeze at. I can also hate the sin and not the sinner on this one, as it’s just part of my “control freakishness” (or so society declares :eye roll:). I’m not looking to browbeat anyone on this. I’m genuinely curious to see if others would keep it.