This is my second time using an online service for dating. In LA two years ago I signed up for my first account. I had no idea what I was doing or what to expect, but I knew at least three other friends who had thrown their lot into the anonymous internet wading pool so I decided to blow up my floaties and join them. I went on four tepid dates over the course of six months and canceled my profile. My strategy was to forget I had a profile for weeks at a time then come home after a night out with friends and drunkenly spam everyone I found remotely attractive with an avalanche of winks. The next day I would wake up and find a trickle of responses, most from women that I can't imagine having ever been attracted to in the first place.
In this second round of internet dating I've tried to be a little more careful about who I try to start a conversation with. Still, I've had some moments of fantastic stupidity. After my office holiday party last week I came home reeling from a shot of fernet that I had thought would somehow be a good gesture of camaraderie to share with a co-worker. Why my company has chosen to host their holiday party on a weeknight for two years running remains a mystery to me. Nothing says end-of-the-week productivity like a party with an open bar on a Thursday night.
As I was trying to reconcile with the painful prospect of four hours of sleep on a roiling stomach-full of chardonnay and Italian voodoo vinegar I decided I was also in the perfect frame of mind to check my emails. I saw that I had gotten a note from a pretty woman I had written to a few days earlier. I opened her email and didn't even finish reading it before I started composing a response.
I'm not shy about telling people when I think they're attractive. I'm not all that inspired by physical symmetry, but it's really the only barometer I use (in conjunction with age and occupation) when looking at people online. So I was all too happy to write back an innuendo-laden email to J. I used the word "us" repeatedly, made reference to astrology. To complete the circle of stupidity I tried to make a glib joke about her mentioning a trip to Argentina for the holidays as a "Central American" excursion. Drunk people are only charming when in like company, and even less so when the record of that awkward fumbling is viewed the morning after in harsh black and white lettering.
I liked J. She used exclamation points when she wrote to me. She was a painter. She teased me about the first few questions I asked her. I do not think I'll hear from her again.
Previous Posts:
Sex Machine: Listening to the Neighbors Have Sex
Date Night: In Which I Try To Believe In Aliens
Date Machine: Rate My Pick-Up Lines Redux
Love Machine: Loyal as a Dog
Date Machine: Rate My Politics
High School Machine: Ten-Year Reunion Fantasies
Date Machine: Setting Up Your Friends
Sex Machine: Having Sex at Weddings Redux
Love Machine: Making Love to ESPN
Date Machine: 5 Things I'm Thankful For
Sex Machine: Having Sex at Weddings
Love Machine: What Work Is
Sex Machine: Sleeping Naked
Love Machine: Breaking Up in a Text Message
Date Night: The F U Date
Sex Machine: Shave My Bush
Love Machine: Taking A Break From Dating
Date Machine: The Celebrity You Most Resemble
Sex Machine: I Kissed A Boy
Vote Machine: No Gay People Can't
Sex Machine: Let's Have an Orgy
Sex Machine: My First STD
Sex Machine: There's a Possibility You've Been Infected With HIV
Crying In Public: Some Corner in Brooklyn