Hello there! You haven't heard much this week because work's been bananas and I'm completely unmotivated right now. But, lucky for all of us, we have a guest post from none other than Shecky, my former college roommate, the minister at our wedding, and my twin. Without further ado, I hand you over to Rev. Shecky. Enjoy!
So, after being single for, um, too long, I decided it was time to find my prince charming and my very own happily ever after. Actually, I just wanted to have a couple of dates so that when family members ask, I can be like, oh yeah, I’m dating, just no one special right now, instead of getting the, “I’m sorry that you’re going to be alone forever and live with 50 cats until you die and they eat your face” look. Oh, and I wanted some free dinners. So, after looking at the pool of dating prospects, I narrowed it down to 3 options:
1. Date someone from work.
2. Date the 54-year old unemployed alcoholic who lives in my complex.
3. Join Match.com.
Well, I’ve tried the dating at work thing, and let’s just say--not an ideal situation. Imagine 2 weeks after a breakup running into the 35-year old you dated for a year in the lobby, only to have him jump on the elevator and press “door close” just as you are about to step on so he doesn’t have to ride up with you. Uh huh, awesome way to start a Monday. As for the 54-year old, I realized that he probably wouldn’t be able to pay for dinner, so that was out.
So, what was I to do? That’s right, I had Mandy write my profile, and signed up for Match.com. The theory behind this whole dating site phenomenon is that based on your answers to some overly personal questions, a bunch of scientific research and possibly voodoo, the computer will learn about who you are most attracted to and compatible with, and find you your dream date. Then you just send a wink and an e-mail, and the rest is history. Um, yeah.
Well, the first few months, there was little activity, besides for a few lovely 50 something year old “gentleman”, usually wearing camouflage and holding hunting trophies (Really? Did I NOT mention that I am a vegetarian? And also, that I already know a 54-year old unemployed alcoholic, so I don’t need match to help me find others?) Guess not.
Anyway, one day last week, I came across a much more reasonable prospect in my “daily 5” (my supposed ideal matches). This was a 35 year old (check) employed (check check) male (double check), who did not list hunting, robbery or murder anywhere on his profile. Nor did he show any cell phone pictures he took of himself shirtless in the bathroom mirror (this guy really could be a contender!!) The one picture of him was very small and blurry, so I wasn’t really sure what he looked like, but decided to keep reading. Lives nearby. Works in IT. Has a dog. Named Zara. Hmm, that’s strange, I know someone with a dog named Zara. Catholic. Loves to tailgate at OSU games. Odd, this is sounding pretty familiar. That’s when I took another look at the picture, and it all came together. Yep, I had been matched up with my cousin. My FIRST cousin. After laughing/crying for the next 10 min, I called my mom to tell her, and she informed me that it is illegal to marry your cousin, so I shouldn’t even think about it. Thanks, Mom, because it really had crossed my mind.
Now, you may think, well, it’s not Match’s fault, they couldn’t have known that you were blood relatives. True. But they did probably know that he is ultra-conservative (like, doesn’t believe that any social programs should exist. I’m a social worker. Oops), is super Catholic (like believes that you can treat everyone like dirt all week, but if you confess, all is forgiven. Then you start over next week. Awesome), and has a concealed carry weapon permit. And actually carries (no further comment needed on that one). Way to go Match; you have really found what I’m looking for. Or not.
So, I figured, well, that was pretty much rock bottom, so it has to get better from there. Right? Wrong.
This week, as I was dutifully going through my “daily 5’s” (did I mention that I may be a masochist?), I was alarmed when I clicked on a profile to see none other than the face of the dude I broke up with 6 months ago, you know, the elevator superhero. Was I shocked because I thought he should be at home pining away for losing my love? Was I disturbed because his profile started out, “I am really needy, require constant reassurance from my partner. . ."? (He later went on to indicate that he was kidding. Funny enough, that was the most truthful part of the profile) No, I was alarmed, because I thought Match was supposed to figure out what I am looking for, and find it for me (way easier than ME having to do that), but instead, it gave me the same emotionally unavailable, whiny baby that I dumped earlier this year. I mean, I can do that all by myself using only my good looks and charm.
Again, way to go Match, way to go. I guess it really is time to cancel my subscription. . .
So, after being single for, um, too long, I decided it was time to find my prince charming and my very own happily ever after. Actually, I just wanted to have a couple of dates so that when family members ask, I can be like, oh yeah, I’m dating, just no one special right now, instead of getting the, “I’m sorry that you’re going to be alone forever and live with 50 cats until you die and they eat your face” look. Oh, and I wanted some free dinners. So, after looking at the pool of dating prospects, I narrowed it down to 3 options:
1. Date someone from work.
2. Date the 54-year old unemployed alcoholic who lives in my complex.
3. Join Match.com.
Well, I’ve tried the dating at work thing, and let’s just say--not an ideal situation. Imagine 2 weeks after a breakup running into the 35-year old you dated for a year in the lobby, only to have him jump on the elevator and press “door close” just as you are about to step on so he doesn’t have to ride up with you. Uh huh, awesome way to start a Monday. As for the 54-year old, I realized that he probably wouldn’t be able to pay for dinner, so that was out.
So, what was I to do? That’s right, I had Mandy write my profile, and signed up for Match.com. The theory behind this whole dating site phenomenon is that based on your answers to some overly personal questions, a bunch of scientific research and possibly voodoo, the computer will learn about who you are most attracted to and compatible with, and find you your dream date. Then you just send a wink and an e-mail, and the rest is history. Um, yeah.
Well, the first few months, there was little activity, besides for a few lovely 50 something year old “gentleman”, usually wearing camouflage and holding hunting trophies (Really? Did I NOT mention that I am a vegetarian? And also, that I already know a 54-year old unemployed alcoholic, so I don’t need match to help me find others?) Guess not.
Anyway, one day last week, I came across a much more reasonable prospect in my “daily 5” (my supposed ideal matches). This was a 35 year old (check) employed (check check) male (double check), who did not list hunting, robbery or murder anywhere on his profile. Nor did he show any cell phone pictures he took of himself shirtless in the bathroom mirror (this guy really could be a contender!!) The one picture of him was very small and blurry, so I wasn’t really sure what he looked like, but decided to keep reading. Lives nearby. Works in IT. Has a dog. Named Zara. Hmm, that’s strange, I know someone with a dog named Zara. Catholic. Loves to tailgate at OSU games. Odd, this is sounding pretty familiar. That’s when I took another look at the picture, and it all came together. Yep, I had been matched up with my cousin. My FIRST cousin. After laughing/crying for the next 10 min, I called my mom to tell her, and she informed me that it is illegal to marry your cousin, so I shouldn’t even think about it. Thanks, Mom, because it really had crossed my mind.
Now, you may think, well, it’s not Match’s fault, they couldn’t have known that you were blood relatives. True. But they did probably know that he is ultra-conservative (like, doesn’t believe that any social programs should exist. I’m a social worker. Oops), is super Catholic (like believes that you can treat everyone like dirt all week, but if you confess, all is forgiven. Then you start over next week. Awesome), and has a concealed carry weapon permit. And actually carries (no further comment needed on that one). Way to go Match; you have really found what I’m looking for. Or not.
So, I figured, well, that was pretty much rock bottom, so it has to get better from there. Right? Wrong.
This week, as I was dutifully going through my “daily 5’s” (did I mention that I may be a masochist?), I was alarmed when I clicked on a profile to see none other than the face of the dude I broke up with 6 months ago, you know, the elevator superhero. Was I shocked because I thought he should be at home pining away for losing my love? Was I disturbed because his profile started out, “I am really needy, require constant reassurance from my partner. . ."? (He later went on to indicate that he was kidding. Funny enough, that was the most truthful part of the profile) No, I was alarmed, because I thought Match was supposed to figure out what I am looking for, and find it for me (way easier than ME having to do that), but instead, it gave me the same emotionally unavailable, whiny baby that I dumped earlier this year. I mean, I can do that all by myself using only my good looks and charm.
Again, way to go Match, way to go. I guess it really is time to cancel my subscription. . .
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