I know I’m not the first person that’s ever done this before. I still think it’s worthy of a rant.
Last week, against all my better judgment and common sense, I decided to open a match.com account. I spent hours after work crafting the perfect witty profile and complimenting it with my best pictures. I thought I was so awesome. Everyone will love me. And I’ll find someone equally awesome, and in 2014 we’ll get married in Disney World.
Sometimes I am such a girl.
Everything I was picturing in my head was overshadowed by the harsh realities of Match.com. The next day when I checked my account I had 46 Winks and 17 messages. I wasn’t aware that people could “Wink” at me, mirroring the Poke on Facebook that I despise so much. Wink was even worse than Poke, considering that everyone knows why you’re on Match. I couldn’t lie and say I was just looking for friends, or networking opportunities. It’s like a virtual bar where you know everyone’s looking to get some. A Wink might as well have been, ‘Hey, can I put my dick in you?’
The messages were even worse. Most of them were of the copy-paste variety, ‘Hey, u look cute n nice. HMU?’ Some were long diatribes about themselves and their interesting childhoods. Others were sincere and sweet. Some of the messages made it clear that guys actually read my profile and were interested in what I enjoyed or had to say. The worst part is, as much as I loved these genuine olive branches, the superficial bitch inside of me took over and refused to respond to them. I figured not saying anything was better than starting conversations that would lead to, “I’m sorry- I’ve led you on for weeks and i’m not interested.” Even today, writing about it- I still feel awful at ignoring a bunch of guys who took a chance and reached out to me, something I didn’t have the balls to do. Why did I think I was so much better than them?
Depressed and self-loathing, I figured I’d at least check my matches before I signed off for the day when I saw someone that intrigued me. I’ll call him Jeff. Jeff was “obviously” a fan of sports, just around my age, and lived in my hometown. Most importantly, he was deliciously attractive. This was my chance. Time for me to shit or get off the pot; to see if messaging Jeff would begin a Harry-Met-Sally/You’ve Got Mail/every romcom ever relationship. I’d never know unless I tried, right? Forty minutes later, I finally had a draft of my message:
“Nice to see a Cliftonite on here! So since you’re “obviously” a fan of sports, where do you go to watch the games? I love Alexus, especially during playoffs. Have a great weekend, and take care!” SEND.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more awkward in my life. Immediately after I pressed send I regretted it. I reviewed my message at least 28 times. Would he think asking where he liked to watch games was stalker-ish? Would he think it was weird that I told him where I go, as if I expected him to now meet me there? What if he didn’t answer at all? Was it because he didn’t like my message or he didn’t like my face? Was this internet dating karma kicking me in the face?? But how could he not like me?!?! He was my daily match!! Match.com said he would like me!! Maybe he’s one of those guys who forgot to delete his profile after he found a girlfriend. Yeah, that’s it. That’s gotta be it.
Four hours and no response later, I realized what a neurotic, blithering fool I had become. If Match.com made me lose my sanity in a mere 48 hours, imagine what it could do to me in a week. In a month. In three months! In a matter of minutes my profile was hidden and my account was deleted. I got about a million e-mails asking me to reconsider, asking to give them a chance to find me love. But I was resolute. Since the only thing I seemed to be finding on Match was ulcers, it had to go.