This Just In: Pants on Fire all Over the Internet

I basically have a PHD in online dating. I’ve been on crazyblinddates (and TV). I’ve been on actual crazy blind dates. I’ve met winners and losers and lots of blog fodder. I met guys on IRC (old school!), on Spark Match, on craigslist, on Nerve, on OkCupid, on Facebook, etc (and never on eHarmony or Match because I am a cheap snob). And now I’ve gone and shacked up with a dude I met online and we don’t even bother to lie about how we met (Go ahead. Judge us! We’ll be over here making googly eyes so we probably won’t even notice.). I am a big fan of online dating mostly because it takes an activity (meeting people) that once required one to put on pants and be nice and makes it happily catty and pantsless! If online dating were a charity I would donate money every year. If it were a presidential candidate I would volunteer to work on its campaign and then pretend to be the father of its love child. If there were an "easy A" graduate class on it I would teach it. I know what I’m talking about. So trust me when I say that you’re doing it wrong.

Or if you don’t trust me; trust the data. I absolutely love the OkTrends pieces where the OkCupid people analyze their tons of online dating data to find out exactly how we are all screwing ourselves (instead of the people we could be meeting on their site!). The latest and greatest of these pieces is about the lies that people tell in their online profiles. All of the expected transgressions are there -- I’m taller! I’m richer! I’m bisexual-er! (?!?) Now, obviously we should stop lying because that is exactly how one ends up burning in hell but maybe also because one will get caught and then one will probably not get laid. In the article, the author muses a bit about how exactly the liars expect to get away with their lies once a relationship moves from screen to real life but I would contend that no one needs to get away with anything.

Most people have no idea what it is they want.

I am constantly hearing girls say stupid shit about how they would not ever ever never ever date a boy who is under 6 feet tall. Similarly, many boys seem to have an arbitrary body weight that they fear no date should be allowed to exceed. Some of these folks are just assholes. But I think most of them are ok people who suffer from two much more common problems:

• Belief that physical appearance matters way more than it actually does.
• Belief that they know what “tall” and “not fat” look like in number form.

I’m not saying that being physically attracted to someone is unimportant. You need to want to bang your significant other -- but (lucky for the future of the human race and evidenced by over population problem) I think most of us are actually willing to bang a lot more people then we’d like to admit. (Sluts!) And more importantly, I don’t think most of us have any idea what 6 feet or 135 pounds looks like on a real life body. Allowing yourself to draw a hard line between 5’11” and 6’0” means not going out on dates with a lot of guys that might be just right for you. You can continue pretending that there is no way you could ever want to have sex with a body that weighs 140 or measures 5'11” but don’t expect sympathy when you die alone. In the end, there is only one person responsible for your self-imposed limits. (And if you really can’t find someone in the 5’11” category attractive no matter what, then perhaps you really are an asshole! You can stop reading now!).

When you slowly get to know someone (through work or mutual friends or anywhere but the internet) you often learn to like them long before you think about if you like them like them. But online dating takes away this opportunity, instead you’re supposed to decide if you could ever fall in love with a collection of extremely self-edited snippets (most of which often aren't even the right snippets!). A smart boy won’t admit in his profile a love for Frito pie, old broken down trains and the smell of the top your head but its often exactly those quirks that make you want to bed him on date 3 or 35 or 310.

We’d all do well to accept these facts: You will never be given enough online dating factoids to determine if you could fall in love with someone. You might not fully understand just how flexible most of your deal-breakers really are.

But most people won’t admit either of these things (even to themselves) and so it pays to lie. It's very possible that claiming you’re 2 inches taller or 10 pounds lighter or 20K wealthier is going to get you on an actual date where you get the opportunity to prove that your jokes and astute observations and ability to order wine without embarrassing yourself can more than make up for stature and bank account. Just hope when you show up at the bar your date isn’t holding a copy of your profile in one hand and a measuring tape in the other. The lucky thing about love (or even about a really hard crush) is that it forgives a lot of transgressions.

Maybe I’m not cynical enough (this is the first time in all history that this possibility has ever been considered). I’m assuming that most people engaged in online dating would like to meet someone and fall in love and live happily ever after until they have a baby and realize that evolution totally tricked them into a life of green oozing feces and 3am screaming. (Surprise!). Obviously some people are trolling the Internet for amusement or a quick lay and probably some even larger number of people aren't ready to do much more then casually flirt (be it over a barstool or a computer monitor). But for the lovey-dovey mushheads out there (Put your hearts on your sleeve! Holla!) maybe go out with a shortie or a poor guy now and then. And go ahead and keep lying; it doesn’t matter.

Good Morning Welcome to Pornbook!

So This Morning on Facebook (capitalized because obviously "This Morning on Facebook" is the "Days of our Lives" of my generation... "Like the unidentifiable crap that builds up on the bottom of your mouse it's time for This Morning on Facebook") I see that a girl I know from high school has commented on the picture of another girl from high school who I sort of know (because my high school was tiny) but not really. Girl #2 is not my friend on Facebook but her picture is now visible to me and (nosy Nellie that I totally am, especially when it comes to random people from high school) I click on it and it is TOTALLY a stripper picture. Like not just a little risque "hey look how sexy I am! Suck it former high school classmates!" (though she is in fact fairly sexy -- what I wouldn't give for those abs (actually -- exactly what I wouldn't give for those abs is more than 100 sit ups a week)) or a sexy little number to tempt single dudes in your area to buy you a drink sometime (both of which are totally something I would (nay, have) post) but a, "lying on a mirrored table in a g-string and a bra with rainbow kneehighs and green patent platform heels and one knee bent up so she can grab the 4 inch heel of the platform while looking at the camera all 'someone better be giving me some cold hard cash for holding this pose.'" So then obviously I browse the entire album which is entitled "Bored, I Guess" as in "hmm my stupid friends bailed on me and no one wants to go see "Monsters vs. Aliens" alone! How shall I entertain myself... oh lookie here, a florescent yellow peekaboo bra and a camera and whoops! I lost my panties!" Happens all of the time. It probably goes without saying that this girl's dad was the guidance counselor at our highschool. And that she has since removed all of the vowels from her name so that what once was a normal suburban monkier now sounds like the spawn of a Welshman and a pair of daisy dukes. I have less of an issue with the lack of underwear than I do with the blatant cliche-ness of this whole enterprise.

After a thorough perusing of the entire lurid album I woke G up to share -- cause he loves gossip almost as much as he loves boobies -- but shockingly he was having none of it. He rolled his eyes! He said I was being catty! He COMPARED ME TO HIS CHURCH OF CHRIST LOVING MOM! Despite what my boyfriend may now think, I really have little issue with the actual stripping (or the selling for dirty pictures which I have to assume is going on because if not then someone needs to talk to StFny (not her actual fake name) about the cow and the buying of the free milk). I would even go so far as to say I support strippers. I don't care if G wants to go ogle some boobies. I think that a lady should have every right to do with her body whatever she wants. If I had heard through the grapevine that this girl was now a stripper I would have surely giggled and called all of my highschool friends to gossip and I would have felt superior and a little bitchy BUT I also would have thought "ok well good for her, I hope she pulls in $1000/night in tips from dirty old bastards." and that would be it. But I didn't hear this through the grapevine. Someone didn't stumble upon her risque profession in a dark back alley and then cuelly out her to the world -- she posted pictures of herself on Facebook! Pictures with her panties around her ankles! So now I have to blog about it -- I may look like a bitch here (and a jealous one at that -- see note above re:abs) but my hand was forced.

Life has Jumped the Shark

It all started 2 months ago when suddenly I was over Twitter. Unlike the millions who were born being over Twitter I was actually very into it for roughly 3 months until I realized that most of my updates were from people I couldn't care less about and (even worse) no one was playing proper respect to my brilliant tweets. Twitter was essentially Facebook status updates with a more accurate representation of how much the world cares about the amazing bran muffin I had this morning and the subsequent regularity that ensued (thankfully over on Facebook I have tons of friends willing to pretend that such updates are endlessly engaging).

I am also over Macs. Not that I was ever that into them but I got a mac laptop for my new job and kind of hoped to have the sort of computer inspired orgasm that Apple converts will not shut up about. The laptop is fine I guess -- I mean it certainly looks nice and I like to imagine lots of hipster kids in airports looking at me and thinking "oh man, she must be so cool, I bet she is like the blond Amélie only way less annoying" (actually hipsters totally don't think Amélie is annoying, they love pixie-ish girls who are maddeningly out of touch with reality -- you know, assuming they are also crazy hot.). I generally like the gesture ability that allows me to see all of the things I have open with the swipe of 4 fingers across the mouse and the camera does some cool things. But really none of these seem worth the crazy Mac price tag (though maybe they would have been if I were single and looking to pick up an arty dude in a coffee shop). I am hoping that burying these desparaging comments in paragraph 2 will keep the legions of Mac fanboys from tracking me down and stoning me with apples (Since I assume that like all of my readers fanboys never get past the third sentence and a cursory scan for pictures of my ass).

Most shocking of all is that I think I might be over the JCrew online sale . I KNOW. I'm down to looking at it only once a week and that little visit is mostly me yawning spittle onto my computer screen. I guess a girl can only own so many tissue tshirts, whimsical flip flops and brightly colored chinos before the coma sets in. I recently limited myself to only purchasing interesting items from JCrew and it just so happens that this adjetive only applies to like 5 of the items in their catalouge.

And of course, as you've surely noticed, I'm over blogging. Some might claim that I've been over blogging for almost a year but they would be wrong. While it has been about that long since I could consistently write entries that didn't suck it has only been about a month since I stopped caring. Or rather since I mostly gave up on caring. Cause I would still love to write some rocking blog posts, become famous and (somehow) profit but I find myself completely unable to execute step one (you know, the step where I start typing and the computer screen doesn't transform before my eyes into a pile of poop). Most recently I got over other people's blogs. Oh, surely there are still tons of brilliant essays being penned about obscure Settler's of Catan strategies, 101 signs that Chet from the Real World Brooklyn loves dudes and new and improved ways to eat ice cream but I just can't be bothered to read any of them. This is probably partially due to jealousy -- who are these people with their brilliant ideas and ability to write about them?

I'm sure I'll get out of this funk when it comes to blogging -- I fully intend to force myself to write and post and subject all of you to the drivle that ensues. As for Twitter, Macs and JCrew? Those dudes can suck it.

The Internet Has Spoken

I have the best ass ever

Thank you to Google for telling the world what RAB readers have known for years.

Welcome to Facebook

I finally joined Facebook. I had refused to join an additional social networking site mostly out of fear that it will provide yet another path for my high school peers to hunt me down and pretend that even though we hardly ever spoke while actually in high school we are now BFFs. Luckily there appears to be only 5 members of my high school class on Facebook as opposed to MySpace which is crawling with those people. Perhaps this is the main reason people migrate to new social networking sites – to avoid the people they don’t really like on the old social networking sites.

Besides the dearth of former BUHSers the best thing about Facebook is that it is yet another place where I can get my ass kicked in Scrabble Scrabbulous. Now that this blog is super famous this is the only thing keeping my ego in check.

I registered on Monday (mostly because I saw blog hits coming from Facebook and because I am a slave to my stats I obviously had to investigate). It took roughly 5 hours for all of my (notably younger) cousins to track me down and tag me as their friend – I took this as a sign that I am not yet an embarrassment to the younger generation. Don’t worry kids, I’m sure I’ll do something fuddy-duddy very soon. Sadly you’ll still have to pretend you like me because otherwise your parents will ground you.

I know that Facebook is cutting edge because as I type this MS Word recognizes the word MySpace but still thinks Facebook is misspelled. Facebook gains a lot of cool points with hipsters this way (one assumes Apple is hip to the Facebook craze). Here’s hoping some of the cool rubs off on me. If nothing else at least society has finally invented a technology that frees us all from the scourge of untalented 15 year olds with bad taste being allowed to design their own web page. Here's to a future with no falling glitter.

Bring on the Crazy!

You know what I hate? Fruit cream filled chocolates hiding in a box that I thought was all caramels, shaving my knees and having to climb out my bedroom window and down the fire escape to take out the trash. But more than all of that I hate dating. I find the whole act painfully tiring ("oh you mean I have to be cute *again*?!?! Wasn't I cute just yesterday?") and trying to attract men and get them into a tizzy over buying me drinks seems like a poor investment of my time (especially in light of my track record). But this doesn't mean that I don't want to make googly eyes at a brooding stranger while drinking glass after glass of wine. I just don't want to put energy into getting to the boy and the bar and the glass.

On Thursday night I did the best thing ever. I went on a Crazy Blind Date. Every single person on in major urban areas should be doing this constantly. Especially if you are too lazy to bother with finding and scheduling your own dates.

Crazy Blind Date is an off shoot of the Okcupid online dating site and it is the best idea to hit the internet since Urban Fetch (RIP). The web site matches up singles and schedules blind mystery dates. I was super excited to receive the announcement about the launch not just because it seemed like someone was finally automating a severely broken system but because it felt like mid NaBloPoMo someone was handing me a blog post on a silver platter. A random date with a potentially crazy dude set up by a web site? How could this not be hilarious and/or tragic? Thank you God.

Like all examples of good design in 2007 the date started not with me having to interact with a human (that's so 1993) but with filling out a form online – I was a fan from the get go. I specified time and age range and choose not to specify a height requirement because I am not a crazy bitch. My god women are freaky about height! This is a “date” with a random guy that you do not know, you can’t possibly expect this to result in a crazy love match and you’re *still* concerned about inches (dirty.)? “Yo girl, I’m fine going out with some stupid potentially crazy stranger but he damn well better be tall!” I hate when my gender embarrasses me.

I was also asked the following questions

What is your ideal scenario for this date?

You’re funny. You’re cute. We suffer a minor tragedy and overcome it together thus providing the ideal story arc for the blog post that I’ll be writing about this date.

What do you look like?

I’m really cute. On the off chance that there is more than one cute girl at the bar I’ll be the blond carrying a laptop bag with a big red poppy on it.

What are you good at talking about?

video games, food, pop culture, indie pop bands

The web site also has a cool little widget that allows you to specify neighborhoods that you’re willing to go on dates in. Because I am incredibly lazy when it comes to dating, blogging AND walking I limited my selections to neighborhoods that I already had to pass through on my way home from work.

Oh and they let you choose a coffee date or a bar date. But would it really be a Crazy Blind Date without booze?

I have not been this excited about an event since the rodeo came to Madison Square Garden. I spent all of Wednesday and Thursday telling everyone I talked to about my crazy blind date plans. “Guys! I either go on a hilariously bad date OR I end up locked in some psychopath’s basement! Either way the blog is getting super famous!” By Thursday evening all of my friends and coworkers were wishing they were single and I had mapped out at least 3 new best case date scenarios

1. Guy is super into Dianetics. Tries to convert me to Scientology. Calls Tom Cruise who offers to set me up with any one of line up of gay Hollywood actors if I agree to having Xenu’s second baby. I duck into the bathroom to prep for my auditing and sneak out the window
2. Guy has uncontrollable fear of the color red, runs screaming from the room when I order a glass of pinot noir.
3. Guy brings his wife and girlfriend with him on date. We hit it off and spend the end of the date trying on matching dresses at Anthropologie.
   

This was going to be AWESOME.

The fun began Thursday morning when I received an email notification that the web site had found a match for my date! I logged on was able to review Dan’s profile and his heavily pixilated picture – I hardly bothered to review his basics before agreeing to an 8:30pm date at the west village's Bar 6. Thirty minutes before the date was set to begin I received a code to text message Dan – all text messages were forwarded through an intermediary to prevent me from stalking my date just in case I happen to be crazier than he bargained for.

What are the chances that the guy I get set up with is compos mentis? The only proof I need that God is fucking with me is that when I’m hoping for a tragic failing of the entire dating system I get handed a big scoop of normal. My date, Dan, was not crazy NOR blind! The dude was good enough, smart enough and probably liked by people all over the place. His only failing was that he totally cheated on the mystery date by reading half of my blog before our date started (Dan, if you're out there say hi in the comments!), the fact that he choose to show up anyway might actually be the one sign that he was in fact a little crazy. Thankfully he was at least as excited as myself about the ridiculous prospects that crazy blind dating seemed to promise and we had plenty to talk about (the shared joy of hippy parents, toy design, video games, the pleasures of being a huge nerd, exactly how awesome technology was). He didn't seem at all upset that our date was disappointingly sane which probably means that the loony member of the date was me…

Despite the normalcy of my date I highly recommend CrazyBlindDate.com. Next time (hopefully Wednesday) I’m shooting for a double date on the hopes that 3 strangers equals 3 times the crazy.

---

Third Party Resources

Going out on a blind date might not end up with an engagement ring, but it's worth a try. You'll never know if you'll be one day exchanging gold wedding bands with someone you took out on a blind date! If you hit it off, diamond rings may be in your future.

My Space is in an Old Folks home

I don’t like myspace. I know this is probably because I’m old. While “social networking” seems like an ok idea (I used to be a fan of friendster cause I’m also old school) and I’m the first to jump on internet trends, myspace is a wasteland. The community has moved beyond social networking and into building personal shrines – which wouldn’t be so bad, I’m obviously pro personal shrines (see: this blog), if people didn’t love animated gifs so damn much. As far as I can tell the only smidgeon of good that has come from the myspace craze is irrefutable evidence that most people have awful taste and should not be allowed any creative freedom whatsoever. It is now time to apply this knowledge by taking away access to falling glitter, vulgar animated gifs and (in some extreme cases) text.

I joined myspace a couple of years ago so that I could spy on people from high school (call me a bitch but when I’m having a bad day there is no greater life affirming piece of knowledge than “wow, half my graduating class is still working the same job they had senior year!” I’m positive that this makes me shallow and of questionable moral character but honestly, are you surprised?). I didn’t fill out anything in my profile to ensure that no former classmates could ever feel superior to me. This Christmas I asked my 25 year old brother why he never responds to my emails and he said, “Why can’t you just write to me on myspace? It’s easier.” I chose not to point out that this was in fact, not easier (for me), since it required logging into another website not to mention finding a picture cute enough so that when people from my past find my profile they’ll feel just a little jealous so that at 29 I will be 2 points closer to winning the highschool popularity contest (Vote Brianna for Home coming Queen!). I also resisted pointing out that replying to an email takes exactly the same amount of effort as replying to a myspace message only you get to avoid burning your retinas with electric blue comic sans on a yellow background.

I’ve chosen the road less traveled when it comes to myspace friends – my list includes a select group of people who I actually know. I could be much more popular. I get about 4 myspace friend requests per week, almost all of these are from people who are decidedly not my friends. Apparently much of generation Y is confused about the concept of friends. Friends are people who know you in real life where half of the time you look like a white trash circus clown and still choose to invite you to their theme parties because no costume beats “white trash circus clown.” Friends happily eat anything you cook even if you’re in willful denial about which vegetables they supposedly hate. When you’re really hung over friends will walk a mile in 30 degree weather to bring you a bottle of Gatorade even though there is a mini mart across the street from your house (are you listening AMY?). Friends do not expect you to read about their favorite salad dressing or their most awesome high school memory. Friends know that there are better ways to waste time at work. Below are a few examples of ways that we might know each other which do not indicate that our relationship should be described using the world “friend.”

• You saw my picture, thought I was hot

• We were in the same world history class in 1994

Myspace also seems set on showing me awful things that I cannot unknow. Some key examples:

• My 40 year old cousin has a friend who thinks it perfectly acceptable to wear a completely see through tank top provided it has two strategically placed sequined stars.

• My brother seems to have a very unhealthy liking for the movie Cars and thinks that a huge picture of the tow truck character makes an awesome background.

• The girl who was my freshman sister my senior year in high school has TWO children.

No good can come from this.