So, two weeks ago I went on Match. com. You have no idea the hell I have been through. Unless you, too, have been on Match.com.
I mean, I'm reasonably presentable, right? I am no raving beauty at this stage, but I'm not a crone yet, and I've got quite the personality on me, which may in fact be to my detriment. Funny has never equaled sexy. Do you know what equals sexy? Sexy.
I hate it when women like Halle Berry say, "What's sexy is how you feel about yourself." Oh, shut up. What's sexy is THE WAY YOU LOOK and no wonder you feel just fine about yourself, heifer.
But I digress.
When you go on this dating site–which in the commercials they always show two incredibly attractive people (Halle Berry) meeting at some chic restaurant (Halle Berry's Bistro) and having the time of their lives–you put up your photo and write a little about yourself. Then people can look at you and decide of you're worth it. Not demeaning at all.
Here's the picture I used of me, manically smiling. I also used one of me on my porch, holding a leash, with Henry in the background. Look, they might as well know about the 800 pets from the get-go. Or the gecko, as Faithful Reader Paula H&B's coworker would say, and now I can't help saying it and I can't decide whom I hate more: the stupid coworker or Paula H&B for teaching it to me.
Apparently who I was kidding was myself. Because in my mind I pretty much look my age, which is 45. And I figured there'd be, you know, other 45-year-olds writing me, at least I hoped so. What if no one took the bait? What if I was an untouchable? I have been gone from this market for years; I have no idea what kind of a sea hag the world sees me as anymore. Marvin was always good at telling me I was cute, whether that's true or not to the rest of society.
Well. I got some replies.
Turns out? I am Old Man River's dream girl.
"Hellooooooo, Jooooooon. I'm Father Time. Let me get m'cane and tell you 'bout m'rheumatiz."
"Joooooon, yer picccter is so fancy. When did they invent that kind of a thingamabob? Do it steel yer soul?"
"Am replying to thou ad. I fought in the Spanish-American War…"
"THE BRITISH ARE COMING! THE BRITISH ARE COMING!"
"I make fire."
Seriously. You guys. Everyone who was replying to me was 189. And the few people who were, you know, hovering near my age?
"Your boobs look really good in that shirt."
The picture with me and the leash? Shows a little boobage. I hadn't even noticed. I was too worried did my hair look crazy, do I look like a datable person. I need to think more like a man.
One guy wrote me last night. He was young, a professor, pretty cute. "I can't believe you're 49," he said. "You look much younger."
I hope he isn't a math professor. FORTY-NINE.
So last weekend I was seriously contemplating writing back to the guy with one leg. He was funny, and used good grammar on his profile, and he couldn't help it he had the one leg. That was when I got the email from the cute boy.
"Oh, hell, another email," I thought. "Let's go look at THIS loser." I clicked over to his picture, and I was all, oh! He's handsome! Then I looked at his other pictures, and I was all, he's REALLY handsome. It turned me into someone who says, "I was all…"
So that is how I started emailing and talking with the cute boy, and we are going to meet in real life this week, and yes of COURSE I will meet him in public, because Ted Bundy was cute too. But he uses good grammar (I realize this is the second time I have mentioned this about a potential suitor like other women mention, you know, six-pack abs. Have you met me?) and he's funny and we have 8 million things on common and oh!
He's a photographer! Maybe he could teach me photo things for my blog. Much as my father has. And yes, I realize the Freudian implications of this.
So there it is. There is some German man who wants to meet me too, who seems normal, and there was another man who seemed okay until he emailed me four times in one hour. It was grammatically correct email, but still.
I am not expecting anything serious to come from any of this. I am just trying to get back in the habit of dating, you know? I used to do it all the time back when I was a whippersnapper. It might be kind of fun to do it now that I'm a grownup.
So that's what's going on with me and my computer dating world. You might want to tell your grandpa that I'm online.