Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Adventures in Dating, Episode 1: Winner Wonderland

When I was in the thick of my online dating misadventures, I told my married friends "No matter how fucked up your marriage is, make that shit work.  You have no idea how rough it is out there." 

Really, you don't. 

You may be asking yourself, "How could it have been so awful for someone as beautiful, intelligent, funny, successful and humble as Andrea?" Believe me, I thought the same. So in the Fall of 2010 off to I went, thinking "how hard can this be?"

On your first task is to create a profile name. You can't actually see other profile names at this point, so you're at what us marketing types call a "competitive disadvantage." After some quick and not-at-all creative thinking, I came up with "txtrue1." I didn't really consider the fact that, on the whole, Coloradans dislike Texans for our poor ski etiquette. We, in turn, are mystified over their love for the Subaru and their apparent distaste for both cosmetics and body fat.  So, strike one against me.

Your second task is to write an engaging description of yourself-- your likes, dislikes, interests (assuming you have any) and whatnot. Again, you have no other profiles after which to model yours, so you are flying blind.  Unfortunately, mine did not mention anything at all about my love for running marathons, climbing fourteeners, riding centuries or watching hockey-- mostly because I, like you, have no idea what those things are or why anyone would want to do them.  So, steee-rike TWO!

Then you choose some photos of yourself. Best to choose recent photos and to include at least one full-length shot of yourself so as to appear height/weight commensurate. For good measure, I included a full-length shot of myself on skis so that I'd appear athletic and outdoorsy. In case you haven't already surmised, I am neither. In fact, I think I spent roughly 7 minutes on those skis before marching down that bunny slope in a cold, murderous rage and straight into the warm embrace of the hot tub. Still, you gotta love my moxie.

Sadly, men appreciate neither moxie nor the women who can spell the word or use it in a sentence. You'd think this would be strike three against me, but no.  I was swinging for the fence!

Why yes, I loooove to ski!

So like a good singleton on a happening Saturday night, I published my profile (to the tune of somewhere around $75) and sat back, waiting to be dazzled by the plethora of eligible bachelors who would rush to wine and dine me. In my haste, I didn't think to ask for pointers from anyone unlucky enough to venture before me into this winner wonderland. Mistake.

I almost immediately got some nibbles and settled in to see what happened next. Ok, wow, I didn't expect to be IM'd so quickly by someone who wanted to give me a virtual kiss. Eeeww! How do I block this person? Next up, an email from Lee, whose profile painted a portrait of a successful man who has everything but is looking for that missing piece. Oh wait, in his book, that means a piece of ass. We exchanged phone numbers and he immediately texted to see if I wanted to come to his house to "watch football." How about noooo?  Block!

And so it went. Undaunted, I forged ahead, certain that Mr. Right would find my profile charming and pursue me with flowers, trips to private islands and priceless jewels. I mean, why not me?  Those crazy bitches on "Real Housewives" (any version) can't have married all the millionaires.  Plus, my boobs are real.

Within the first week, I was being pursued by roughly 100 interested parties. And so that next Saturday afternoon I found myself chatting by phone with a handsome "executive." After several glasses of wine and some witty repartee, Mark (or as I later came to think of him, "The Tongue") convinced me to meet him for a drink. I figured I needed to take the plunge with a first date sooner or later, and so at 10 pm, tipsy, on a Saturday night, off I went. In retrospect, I understand that I may have been sending the wrong signals.

We met at a restaurant/bar near my house for said drink. Okay, so he was actually handsome in a 52-year-old kinda way, and an engaging conversationalist-- not that I was a tough audience after several glasses of wine. But he kept touching me. OMG, this dude was waaaay in my bubble and I wasn't digging it. In addition, my Blackberry died within minutes of my arrival and I realized that no one knew where I was or with whom. Thoughts of unmarked graves were dancing through my head as I made my excuses to leave. I foolishly let him walk me to my car, where he shoved his tongue down my throat and told me of his plans to woo me. Um, okay, thanks for the drink.  Gotta run home and Windex my mouth now.

Seriously, make that shit work, people.  This is not a drill.

Stay tuned for Episode Two of Adventures in Dating:  The Unusual Suspects.

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