Now that it was actually necessary for me to write a profile, I wanted to write one that was interesting, alluring, showed how involved I was in countless different and exciting activities and of course one that would show all my sterling character traits.
There are so many.
This profile had to captivate, it had to exude charm and be glamorous as well as showing me to be very down to earth. It had to show that I was as good in jeans as I was in a cocktail dress (this is said ALL THE TIME), and it had to show that I was mysterious, appealing as well as a good sport ready to pitch a tent in the middle of the wilderness – in other words, a fair impossibility.
The photos were there for that, I hear you cry, but, no, I want to convey more than just outer… the outer had made me too impetuous, and frankly, had me act completely out of character. I explain it away as a result of too many chick flicks and too many cheerleading friends who were saying go for it. Sorry, that sounds like I’m not taking responsibility for my behavior, but I totally am.
We won’t dwell.
I took my time, tried to use my wit, the questions on the profile were as good as these things can be. (I’m still of the opinion that no one really reads the profiles, they look at the photographs, full stop.) The questions weren’t really intrusive since nothing today is intrusive. In a society where people are ready to admit on television that they molested their pet monkeys, certainly no one would balk at questions like “what’s the most private thing you’ll admit”, “name six things you can’t live without” or “what do you think about all the time”.
Honestly, I mostly wonder if time travel is possible, but I also wonder if that is something one should admit in a dating profile. Nevertheless, I wrote on fearlessly, used quotes from many movies, chick flicks once again, and decided very definitely to be proactive. Luckily, in none of the profiles I read was there a mention of a pet monkey, so I was safe.
However, prepare yourselves for a confession.
I decided to maximize my computer and got on a pay site. Yes, I know what I said about paying for non-follow-through as opposed to not paying for it, but, I got caught in the silly idea if they were paying they might be more serious and possibly even consistent. I quickly learned the ugly truth which was there is very little difference in the level of commitment.
I had a luncheon date with a guy who was going to drive out from Ventura, his choice. I waited, waited, waited, called, waited, and he didn’t show, and never explained. Somehow this was all hard to take personally, and you’ll be glad to know I didn’t. I went back to the site and blocked him. However, it was all beyond perplexing. Behavior like this makes the secrets of the universe seem elementary.
My next encounter was a very sweet young guy in his 30’s who told me that his fiancée, who had been killed in a car crash, was older than I. You can’t make this stuff up folks. Anyhow we had a nice cup of coffee together while he told me he was still living with his parents and was about to go on disability. Uh – no.
I would have opted out of Match after a month had not my fellow bloggers (and you will hear from them at some point, they are busy having lives) not urged me to stay on the site on which they were currently residing.
Well, back to business. I began my search, slightly younger as I’ve said but put the range through to my age just to be fair. I looked through profiles, and honestly, how many bare-chested men and mug shots can anyone look through? I have learned that men don’t seem to worry as much about flattering photographs as women. If they are vain, they show their toned chests without shirts (this may be a California thing, but I’ve seen enough of it to think it might be a trend). Otherwise, they are frowning at the camera, hair often uncombed, doing some undefined activity – not the pleasurable shopping experience many of you may think.
We won’t discuss spell-check.
As well, have to tell you there are spammers on Match who call themselves something different put up the same pictures, or picture of male models and say the exact same things about themselves in several profiles. Why they want to do this is anyone’s guess. Their estimation of the average intelligence on this site was a little discouraging.
I, myself, got contacted by the same guy with two different names, who wanted my email address right away so he could write to me privately. The excuse is that they are soon going off the site (in other words, they were using a FREEBIE!). I’m ashamed to say that I fell for this exactly twice.
One guy said he was in Afghanistan and was a Lt. Colonel. Initially, with the photos he sent, it sounded fairly legit and he was halfway attractive, so I thought I’d do my bit for God and Country and correspond with him. However, his letters got lamer and lamer, as though English wasn’t his first language. He told me that his child (he was supposedly divorced) was with his lawyer in England. Why? Who the hell knows? Eventually he became very angry with me for asking questions and googling him as he said he didn’t want anyone in his business…I not sure where that might have placed me.
Several days later, I got virtually the same email under a different name with the same exhortation to write him at a private email address. This time I got smart and reported it to the powers-that-be who promptly took both of them off of the web site.
In the midst of these struggles, I did date about two different guys from the Cupid Site and a couple from Match. They were nice pleasant men, some young, some older, but sadly in all cases there was just no chemistry.
That elusive element that I captured on my first try I simply haven’t repeated in the several months since. I know it’s rare, and I know I was lucky and one of my girlfriends said that some people never feel that. I don’t feel lucky, though. I feel that the fates were rather unkind to me to give me that taste and then snatch it away. It is as Hugh Grant said in Notting Hill: I feel like I was given love heroin and I can never have it again.
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