The Worst Profile Headlines Ever

Posted on April 6, 2011 by B

Not those kinda headlines. Thankfully...

Not all dating sites require their members to write headlines, but they should.  They’re the first thing you see when looking at a person’s profile, and a good headline can sum things up quickly. “Busy Stockbroker Looking for My Girl Friday”, “Cute Girl Seeks Partner In Crime”, “Necrophiliac Searching For Dead Bodies, Gender Unimportant”… you know, that sort of thing. It’s not just about information, however. A great headline can be revelatory, so indicative of a person’s voice and sense of humor that you find yourself falling in love in an instant. But the bad ones are so much more fun.

I still remember the headlines I loved… “I actually like the taste of Roofies!”, “I just came here looking for matchbooks”, “If Jenni from Jersey Shore changed her name to Wow, we’d have to call her WowWoww”, and they all led to great dates. Not great relationships, of course, because who has those, but it was a start. In fact, I think I can definitively say I’ve never had a bad date with someone with a good headline. But I remember the stinkers just as fondly. And after I certain point, I started writing them down.

Here are some of my favorites. And yes, these are all real…

Hi! or Hiya! or Hi There! or Hello There ;) ! – Easily the most common headline, which makes you wonder how many people there are wandering around who don’t know what the word “headline” means. What if you picked up the New York Times tomorrow, and on the front page it said in big letters…“Hi!”? Would you read greedily ahead, trying to learn more about this captivating “Hi” story, or would you throw the paper in the garbage?

Also, adding a ;) only makes it worse.

“We need to be willing to let our intuition guide us, & then be willing to follow that guidance directly and fearlessly. ” Shakti Gawain – Another popular headline approach is the inspirational quote. Which makes sense, because when I think of the girl of my dreams, the first wondrous ability I assign her is a facility with pithy affirmational sayings. Oooooh baby, do you have a Deepak Chopra quote of the day calendar?! Now I’m really getting hot!

Punctual.

I heart punctuality – Is it possible for a headline to make you sound too fun?

A guy and a girl can be just friends, but at one point or another, they will fall for each other. -Dave Matthews Band – Here’s a handy rule in life: don’t ever quote Dave Matthews. Ever.

Je suis venu te dire que je m’en vais. – Really? The whole headline in French? You’re not worried about that being pretentious at all? The only way you’d be cool with a French headline is if you’re doing so many other things that so dwarf it in pretension that “French headline” doesn’t even make the list. Either that, or you’re actually French. In both cases, I’m outta here.

u need a spouse – Blunt, but dignified. I actually kinda like this one.

I’m busier than a one-legged Riverdancer – I’d think that a one-legged Riverdancer actually wouldn’t be busy at all. I mean, obviously their dancing days are over, so they’d really just be sitting around collecting disability, right? Because a one-legged dancer, River or otherwise, would just be a terrible thing to watch. I mean, they’d fall down almost immediately. And then trampling becomes an issue. Which would probably seem funny at first, just the sight of it, but then when it was clear that the one-legged person was getting injured, and maybe would die, you’d feel bad. Both for them and for laughing. Anyway, point is, one-legged Riverdancers probably aren’t that busy.

Microbiologist seeks Megachemistry – It turns out it is possible for a headline to make you sound too fun.

Let's fuck

Snuggles, Bike Rides & Picnics – That’s great, are we dating in an Archie comic, or in real life?

“I’m Kind of a Big Deal”… Bonus Points If You Can Name That Movie!!! – Your bonus point account balance must be pretty low, because everyone can name that movie. Also, unless bonus points are redeemable at the first date bar I always go to, I’m not interested.

Ava Taback Good – No idea what that means. And I Googled. With and without quotation marks.

and my super all-time favorite headline…

I’m sweet and sour. Sort of like really good Asian chicken… – When I think of love, romance, a passion so deep you can feel it in your bones, I think of this….

Maybe it’s just me, but when trying to attract members of the opposite sex, I might not compare myself to Chinese takeout. Sushi is very sensual, that would be a good choice. Or maybe some spicy Mexican tacos. But deep-fried chicken balls covered in a red sugary sauce? Not what I’m looking for in a woman.

Posted in Internet Dating is Weird | 13 Comments

The Girl Who Liked My Work

Posted on April 1, 2011 by B

Not Me.

I’m not famous. Perhaps that’s not necessary for an anonymous blogger who writes about his consistently sad and frequently embarrassing love life to point out. I mean, presumably, if I was like…Harrison Ford, I wouldn’t be doing this. I wouldn’t have to tell everyone about the time a girl cried at my lovemaking, I’d just make a movie about blowing up IRA headquarters, or some other entirely preposterous thing for a person my age to be doing, and then go out and buy some new earrings. But this is not my life. So, I toil.

Although I decidedly am not famous, this does not prevent me from being recognized on extremely rare occasion. I have done some things on TV here and there, and once in a great while, someone on the street notices me. Which is perfectly nice, and the one time that it happened while I was on a first date, well that was just marvelous. But when someone recognizes you for your writing, especially Internet writing, that’s a different story. “Hey, don’t you write for that website?” is a weird thing to say, because who knows anyone who writes for websites? And when it’s said to you from someone you thought you just randomly met on the Internet…well that’s weirder by far.

Good night and good luck

I used to write for a site that you most probably haven’t heard of, and most certainly never read. But we did OK for a while, and were just starting to poke through into the most distant outskirts of mainstream when the site was bought by a larger company and dismantled. As is the American dream. I wrote about whatever…pop culture, news, Snuggies – you know, the usual jazz. I had readers, but I was hardly well read, so it surprised me one day to see in my Match inbox the following…

“Hey, don’t you write for that website? Your picture looks really familiar to me. Anyway…”

and on she went to talk about her love of the way fall smells, or whatever the fuck. Yes, she did recognize my picture, because I’m a guy and lazy, so I use the same picture for pretty much every face requirement the Internet presents. She mentioned my site in passing, I felt a bit flattered, but not at all worried. After a few more emails, I asked her out on a date. Big mistake.

I knew from jump street that we were in trouble. Immediately, at our hellos, she seemed nervous. But not first date nervous, there was something…else. Something extra. She kept smiling all the time, which I specifically remember because there’s usually a fair amount of frowns and yawns from my female companions. The conversation was scattered, jumping from her love of Jersey Shore to her hatred of Iceland for ruining everything with their volcano ash. And no matter how hard I tried, she refused to talk about herself. I make it a priority on first dates to talk as much about the lady as possible, both to be polite and because I genuinely want to know more. They are strangers, after all, that I’m trying to date. But she was not having it. She kept coming back to me, and a potpourri of topics, seemingly chosen at random. It was confusing. Until, all of a sudden, it wasn’t.

Fuck you.

Her: Did you see Glee last night?

Me: I hate Glee. They talk normally, yet when they start singing they all suddenly sound like teenage robot synthesizers.

Her: I know!

Me: And you know what, I went to high school. I don’t remember the nerds being a slightly diverse group of hot people who are all exceptionally talented. I mean, none of them have braces? There must be some a-

Her: -amazing dentists in Glee-town! I know?!

Yes, this person I’d never met before finished my sentence. And that’s when I realized when she was saying “I know”, she wasn’t saying it like “yeah, I totally agree!”, she was saying it like “yeah, I know, because you wrote about it because I remember what you wrote in almost frightening detail.” Then, well…have you ever seen Usual Suspects? I had a moment a lot like this.

Suddenly it was all coming together. We didn’t talk about her love of Jersey Shore earlier…we talked about my love of Jersey Shore as parroted back by her. And she didn’t really hate the Iceland volcano, I did – which I wrote about in great detail on my website two weeks previous – and she apparently memorized. And Glee, well clearly she’d been setting me up for this Glee conversation all night long. Great dentists in Glee-town, come on! I realized two things: 1) I’m the tedious sort of person that just repeats whatever I’ve recently written and passes it off as organic observations, and 2) this girl is far too familiar with my work. And by work, I mean silly little blog, and by silly little blog, I mean the sort of thing no one should be familiar with. #1 wasn’t much of a surprise, but #2 made me a little uncomfortable.

Had I never made this connection, I’m certain we could’ve had a very nice date, and perhaps several more. I mean, we did have one very important thing in common: a thorough and utter adoration of my talent. But once I put her fascination of me together, I couldn’t get it out of my head. How exactly had she “stumbled” upon both my dating profile and my blog, and connected the two? The odds on that seem pretty long. How far back did her knowledge of my writing go? Could I go back to a piece I wrote two years ago and still have her regurgitate my opinions? And most importantly, could I get her to give me a kidney? As you can see, I was not prepared to handle this situation responsibly.

Truthfully, she was very sweet and complimentary, but it was all a little weird for my tastes. Maybe it’s my own issues, but I feel so wildly undeserving of fans that anyone particularly aware of anything I’ve written creeps me out. So when she asked if I’d like to go back to her place at the end of the night, I politely declined. As far as I know, she kept reading my site. In fact, oh my god, she might actually be reading this. Holy shit. She might be reading this.

What would Harrison Ford do in this situation? I need an earring.

Posted in Horror Stories | 7 Comments

Women vs. Short Guys: Dating’s Fiercest Battleground

Posted on March 29, 2011 by B

Short Guy #1: The problem is that women don’t want to date me because I’m too short.

Short Guy #2: I know, me too!

Short Guy #1: I mean, it’s not even like I’m that short.

Short Guy #2: Yeah, no, me either. I’m not that short either!

Short Guy #1: I wish there was some way to get to know a girl in a setting where she didn’t realize how short we were. Talk a bit, share some interests, fascinate them with our minds, but only later do we reveal how short we are.

Short Guy #2: Yeah! Only later!

Short Guy #1: And it’s not like I’m even that short.

Short Guy #2: No, I don’t think you are.

Short Guy #1: You either! I mean, we can totally reach things that are on high shelves.

Short Guy #2: Or we can get a ladder.

Short Guy #1: Or we can get a ladder. Absolutely.

(Pause)

Short Guy #1: And we can have pictures!

Short Guy #2: Pictures?

Short Guy #1: Women will assume we’re short, because they can’t see us. And when they can’t see us, women always assume it’s because we’re hiding how short we are.

Short Guy #2: They do. They do always assume.

Short Guy #1: So we’ll put pictures up that make us look regular-sized – or even tall! We’ll use tricky angles, or clever point of view techniques, or just show them our faces! It’ll be impossible to figure out our actual height.

Short Guy #2: Yes! Clever point of view techniques!

(Pause)

Short Guy #2: They’ll ask.

Short Guy #1: Hmm?

Short Guy #2: They’ll ask how tall we are. They always we do. Sometimes even when they’re looking right at us they’ll ask. Just to make us say it out loud and confirm their suspicions. I hate it when they ask.

Short Guy #1: Hmm.

Short Guy #2: Or over time, they’ll make us list it. They’ll make us list our height upfront, with our other interests and general descriptions. We’re done for. Sure, we could leave it blank, but they’ll see through that in a second!

Short Guy #1: Hmm.

(Pause)

Short Guy #1: I got it!

(Pause. Short Guy #2 looks at Short Guy #1 expectantly)

Short Guy #1: We’ll lie!

And thus Internet dating was born.

This guy’s profile says he’s 7’8″. Yeah right.

Men have numerous gripes about Internet dating. Women don’t write back, or they post out of date pictures, or they’re not as impressed by one’s ability to stalk them as they reasonably should be. But women have one complaint: Short guys lie. That’s it. That’s the only thing that’s bothering them. Believe me, I get all the emails.

For every ten emails I get from female readers of this site, at least six are decrying diminutive dudes and the lies they tell. The rest of my messages either marriage proposals or pleas from publishers demanding I let them pay me to write a book. (May not be true). A recent comment from loyal reader, Jess D…

What if you just constantly met short guys online? What does that mean? That’s one huge reason why I stopped online dating. They were all short and lied about it. But eventually, I’m going to find out you’re fucking 5’6″ and not 5’8″. And maybe that makes me shallow, but we all have our dealbreakers. Can’t do short. Also can’t do pointy shoes. No and no.

Aside from the alarming negativity towards creative footwear choices, this comment is fairly indicative of the messages I get. As is its ferocity. “I’m going to find out you’re fucking 5’6″ and not 5’8″.” I mean, that’s a curse word. Over two measly inches! It sounds like the sort of thing that would be written in cut-out magazine letters, and come wrapped around some poor person’s finger. “You lie about your height, I cut off your hand!” I don’t think I’d even notice that someone who claimed to be 5’8″ was actually a ghastly 5’6″, but it sounds like Jess would happily stab such a person in the heart. And trust me, she’s not alone. So…what’s the deal?

Ideal.

I’ve asked around, and the most common explanation I get for female height preference is that they like to feel “surrounded.” They want to hug someone bigger than them, lie next to someone large, someone who can put their arms around them and really…surround. So then I had to ask around and find out what the fuck that meant. The best I could come up with is that tall men make women feel protected. Comforted, cozy, and looked out for. Height, apparently, subconsciously offers that. It better be subconscious, because I’m 6’2″ and I’ll tell you right now ladies, I ain’t protecting you from shit. If a murderer, or a burglar, or even a strong wind should enter your room in the middle of the night, me and my 74 inches are getting the hell out of there. At least a short guy can fit under the bed, so there’s a decent chance you’ll have someone to hide with. I’d keep that in mind.

“For freedom (of short guys)!”

Sadly though, out of this innocent little preference, an entire war has been born. Women like tall dudes. Short guys, viewing this as another in a long serious of slights (see: genetics, also overhead compartments), grew frustrated and turned to Internet dating. Women, finding men lacking in general (can’t blame them there), gradually migrated to Internet dating themselves – only to find it largely populated with the same short fellows they disregarded earlier. Shortstacks, tired of their continued and seemingly arbitrary dismissal by women, get pissed, say “fuck it”, and just start lying about their height. In turn, this makes women pissed, who are pretty forgiving of man’s faults in general but don’t appreciate being lied to. Before you know it, the only people not pissed on Match.com are guys like me, but truth be told, my natural disposition is to be kind of pissed, so now we’re all fucked. All because of a desire to be “surrounded.”

So what do we do? Well, we can patiently try to do better. Women, you can be more accepting of guys who are a little shorter than you’d like, and maybe take a chance on somebody who is really keen but doesn’t fit your preconceived requirements. Shrimps, you can do your best not to lie or mislead about your height, even though it is often held unfairly against you. And me, well, we’ll get to me later. We can do all that and perhaps, slowly over time, the war between the women and the shorts will abate. Perhaps.

Or we can do what Jess D. did and just give up.

I think I’m with Jess D.

UPDATE: For more, check out Women vs. Short Guys Revisited!

And if you enjoyed this, buy my new book Not a Match: My True Tales of Online Dating Disasters. Great for people of all heights.

Available for your ereader on Amazon and iTunes. The only place to read all the archived It’s Not a Match favorites. Only $2.99!

Posted in Internet Dating is Weird | 355 Comments

Your Awful Story Olympics III

Posted on March 23, 2011 by B

Received one of my all-time favorite emails today. From a Vlad507104, with no picture, but any woman named Vlad has got to be a looker, right? (S)he writes…

Are you online now?
I am so sorry I don’t remember you reply me or not but please write me
asap…

This website sucks, they killed my account, so I had to create a new one. Write me to lapalady2010@gmail.com. I will send you my photos and we can communicate properly. Have a good day!

Really, Vlad? I feel like we could communicate just fine within the confines of this Internet dating site, what with its security protocols and ability to weed out creepy scam artists. Why would we want to leave? And no, I don’t think I sent you a reply before, mostly because you’re obviously insane and there’s no way I’ve ever spoken to you. Also, I have no idea what a lapalady is, but I’m worried that if I Google it my computer might get syphilis.

So that’s my awful email of the month, how are you guys doing? Let’s see who the medal winners were in the newest addition ooofffff….Awful Story Olympics!!!

The Bronze:

From JS in Newport Beach, CA, a report on her first Internet date ever…

1. He lost some points earlier in the day because he texted me saying he forgot his nice collared shirt at home, so he would be dressed really casual. We just met up for happy hour after work, so nothing too fancy…but come on! Try a little.

2. He showed up and I had to hold back laughing because he was probably 50lbs heavier than his photos make him appear. And 8 years older.

3. And then he ordered a Bud Light.  I should add, we met at a brewery.

He never had great chances, but those three really did him in.

I forgot my nice shirt.

I love this one, because it tells us a little about the guy and a little about the girl. JS, who is a loyal reader, and how can you not love loyal readers, got a tough draw on the first two points. I mean, if you’re gonna show up 50 pounds heavier and eight years older than expected, at least bring a nice shirt. A crisp collar can totally take three years off. Well, it can’t, but have a little dignity.

Docking points for the Bud Light though, is a little tough. I know, I know, you’re meeting at a brewery, and a Bud Light is an objectively douchey thing to order (what, spell check doesn’t recognize “douchey”?) at a brewery, but give the guy a break. It’s hard enough to find someone who you’re attracted to and don’t actively want to murder to care too much about what they have to drink, right? Unless they order a Long Island Iced Tea. Then it’s over.

The Silver:

From Marie D in Louisville, KY…

I got this amazing message from one “Jonadre.” Subject: “Something a lil different…”

Good Evening,

How are you doing?

I know this is a bit unconventional as an icebreaker, and please forgive me if this is not your scene at all, but do you enjoy playing with unusual and exotic yet deliciously tactile items? I have a suggestion you might find arousing…would you like to hear – even if its only to smile at it?

Ps. you have a wonderful womanly effulgence about you…

Marie didn’t send a picture of Jonadre, but after a bit of digging I believe I found it.

Apparently his follow-up email asked her to put the lotion in the basket. Was the “unusual and tactile item” a human skull by any chance? Because complimenting someone on their “womanly effulgence” is exactly the sort of thing you before you kill them and make a lady suit out of their skin.

And now, for the gold…

The Gold:

Brace yourself, Olympic readers. After tallying the votes from our judges (me and my cat), we have a first for the Awful Story Olympics.  In an unprecedented turn of events, Marie D from Louisville has won both the gold and silver medals! She’s like the Michael Phelps of awkward Internet dates. How could such a thing happen? Read on…

I spent last year in Geneva, Switzerland, and decided to try OKCupid to meet some new people. One day I met this 34-year-old (I’m 25) Chilean guy at a cafe. I should have known he would be pretentious: his message to me had said, “Distinctive feature: I will be reading Bukowski.” He had NO sense of humor, and was pretty condescending. But I decided to stick it out (for the story! always for the story) and suggested we go to a nearby pub to watch the Brazil-Chile World Cup game. Conversation was a little easier over two pints, but almost as soon as we got there, he had made friends with this other Chilean guy, and decided to go across town to a Chilean bar to watch the second half of the game! Again, I just went along for the ride, for the amusement mostly.

At the Chilean bar, he came back to our table with a beer and empanada for himself, and for me… an orange juice. Like I’m 8 years old or something. And fifteen minutes later, he stood up, said he had to go to work, and left – leaving me with Chilean guy #2 (who was very emotional about the Brazil-Chile game, and actually punched a chair when Chile lost).

Needless to say, we did not hang out again.

Ridiculous Things He Said That Evening:

I asked if he was planning to travel during his vacation time: “Well, let’s see. I’m single, I’m full of cash, and I speak five languages – yeah, I think I’m gonna travel.”

He had a third-shift financial/investment job, working with the US stock market, etc, and he said he had been hired with no prior experience or training. “Maybe it’s because no one else wanted to work third shift, ” I said, teasing. He replied: “Uh, no, maybe it’s because I’m highly intelligent, speak five languages, and have great computer skills.”

Bukowski, quietly agreeing that his readers are assholes.

Totally awesome. How can I not give two medals to someone who went out with a guy whose distinctive feature was reading Bukowski? If I was writing a script about a jackass, I couldn’t have a character say that because no one would believe that anyone is that much of a jackass. I’ve tried to convince myself that orange juice is a cherished and romantic drink in Chile and he was making a very sweet gesture that Marie ignored, but then I read, “well, let’s see. I’m single, I’m full of cash, and I speak five languages – yeah, I think I’m gonna travel,” and I give up. Can’t do it.

Well done, Marie D. Wear your medals with honor.

If you’d like to be included in next month’s Awful Story Olympics, email me!

Posted in Your Awful Stories | 7 Comments

The Girl Who Hated Jews

Posted on March 18, 2011 by B

I wouldn’t say I’m pessimistic about Internet dates. I prefer…realistic. I recognize that most of them are going nowhere, so I don’t really do the whole getting-excited-about-people-I-meet thing. Anyone can look good after two drinks and a couple of their top-tier stories, but I wanna see what it’s like after we’ve had dinner a few times and all their best material is used up. Make me smile when we’re bored and then I’ll get excited. But sometimes I break my own rules…

A little while back, I went out with a doctor. A hot doctor. A hot doctor who had a good sense of humor and seemed to find my jokes unreasonably hilarious. Around the It’s Not a Match offices, that’s what we call the “mother load.” (Note: There are absolutely no It’s Not a Match offices.) So halfway through the first date, I could see my skepticism was going to be tested. To remain unimpressed in the face of intelligent beauty, well that’s some serious devotion to negativity. I mean, come on…

Is it getting hot in here, or is it just Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman?

Normally I’m up to the toughest of pessimistic tasks. But then Hot Doctor pulled out the secret weapon.

Hot Doctor: I’m kinda worried about this weekend…

Me: Why?

Hot Doctor: I’ve gotta go visit my brother. He’s been having a lot of trouble feeling depressed, he stopped eating for a while. We’re worried he might kill himself.

"Hey baby, what are you doing later?"

So she’s smart, attractive, funny AND she comes from a difficult family background that might make her a little bit crazy?! DING DING DING we have a winner! Be still my beating and somewhat deranged heart. What can I say, I don’t mean to pick the complicated ones. I don’t start talking to a girl and hold out hope that perhaps one day she used to be a cutter. But come on, you’ve read this site, there’s something about a girl that’s just a little bit screwy that I can’t resist. My therapist is aware of the issue, I assure you. But I had only known Hot Doctor – or shall I say Hoctor? – for about an hour, and already I was feeling that thing you humans call excitement. Until, that is, she presented a level of screwy that I hadn’t yet considered.

Thing That Concerned Me #1: She had just started working at a new hospital because the patients at her previous one were all “pretty gross.” Upon further questioning, gross seemed to involve being really fat, smoking too much, and generally having a bad attitude. I don’t know, I mean I guess doctors are allowed to be annoyed with their patients, but not liking them because they’re fat seemed pretty tough. Especially for an obstetrician.

Thing That Concerned Me #2: She didn’t like Jews.

Not in her Netflix cue

Now, she didn’t say “Jews” specifically, she said Israelis. But then, in her explanation, she listed off a bunch of characteristics that are stereotypically assigned to Jewish people. And it’s not as long as you dislike Israelis in general but not Jews specifically you’re totally in the clear. As the story went, Hoctor wasn’t getting along with a friend because the friend had recently taken on a boyfriend of Israeli decent. She said that and then I said nothing, because what really does one say when it looks like their companion is about to get super racist? Obviously from my expression, she felt it necessary to explain. “I’m not prejudiced or anything,” she said/they always say, “I’ve just had a lot of bad interactions with Israelis.” Saying nothing had worked so far, so I decided to stick with that game plan. “They’re just always getting into arguments. This guy is really opinionated and stubborn, which is exactly how I knew he would be, and I can’t handle it.” At that point, we were at racish – not all the way racist, but pretty darn close. Then Hoctor brought it home, “plus he always argues over the bill when we get food delivered. It’s like, ‘I’m sorry, but we have to tip more than 5%.’ ” Aaaaand we’ve achieved racist!

So OK, obviously this girl was not a fan of the Jewish people. Sorry, Israeli people. But I’ve never really seen racism in action before. It didn’t seem all angry and southern and Mel Gibsony like it does in the movies. She was this cute, sweet little Asian girl who for some reason just hated the crap out of Jewish people. It was weird. She was really great, other than the arbitrary hatred of people based solely on ethnicity. When I said I liked complex women, I meant more…complex feelings about life, not complex feelings about who to root for in Mississippi Burning.

So in the end, it turned out my skepticism was well founded. Hot Doctor asked me if I’d like to go out again, but I politely declined. Perhaps we could’ve had a fine time, but what if we got overcharged on the bill? I’d ask the waiter about it and all of a sudden I’d have a burning cross on my lawn. You just can’t build a romance on that. No matter how much she reminded me of a young Jane Seymour.

Posted in Horror Stories | 11 Comments

Advice from the Idiot: Your Questions Answered!

Posted on March 16, 2011 by B

You keep writing and asking for my advice on how to Internet date successfully. I don’t know what more I have to do to convince you that I am not the person for this task. Last week, a girl I’ve seen several times apologized for not being able to call me back in the last three days because she left her phone at home that morning. That doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. And you’re trying to mimic the steps that I’ve taken to get me where I am today? I feel sorry for you, I really do. It’s like asking Larry King how to run a lively talk show that’s appealing to viewers of a variety of ages and racial backgrounds. Misguided at best. But as I’ve said before, hey, I got the time. So here we go…

Q. “I work a lot so I don’t many nights free for dating. Recently I’ve started setting up a bunch of dates on the same night at the same bar. One girl at 7, another at 9, another at 1030. But what do I do if one runs late and the two girls bump into each other?” F. Clark; Sacramento, CA

A. Uh…kill yourself? I think kill yourself is my answer for this one. Either that or write down everything that happens and turn it into a hilarious romantic comedy starring a Wilson brother and Drew Barrymore. Because that’s the best case scenario.

I will admit that I’ve had multiple dates on the same night, but at the same bar, dude? Is it really worth it? Is it so valuable to not have to take 15 minutes to go to a different bar that you’re willing to accept the risk of two girls finding out that you’re assigning them slots like an air traffic controller and then teaming up to cut off your face? I’ll end the suspense – no, F. Clark. It is not worth it. Keep it to two dates per night MAXIMUM, and plan them in separate locations, jackass.

Q. “I’ve had my profile up for a few weeks and nobody is writing me! What’s the dealio?” J. Klern; Houston, TX

A. Perhaps it’s your stubborn insistence on using the word “dealio.”

Look, the vast majority of questions I get about Internet dating revolve around this general complaint: “I am charming, I am beautiful, I am brilliant. Why doesn’t anyone ever write me.” If you’re a guy, then you have your answer. Girls don’t write guys, unless they’re capital C Crazy. If you’re a girl, then it’s because your profile stinks. Sorry to be blunt, but it’s how Larry King would handle it.

Sorry, Minka Kelly. Not until you work on your profile.

I often come across women that I’d like to write because, well, they’re attractive, then I sit there staring at their profile for 10 minutes desperately trying to come up with something to say. Sometimes I just go with “So, you’re into having fun and laughing? Me too! Let’s have intercourse.”, but usually I just give up and look for someone else. If you can’t think of one interesting thing to say when you’re under no pressure sitting in your living room wearing your jammies, then something tells me you’re not going to be so great on a blind first date. And just throwing a bunch of words at the problem and hoping something sticks isn’t the answer either. Here’s a profile I read last night…

“I love to laugh and have fun. I’m happy and I’m always looking for a new adventure, I have a ton of energy and I like to be active. I like to go out just as much as I like to stay home. I love to travel and explore other countries and I would want someone I’m with to also enjoy that. I’m looking for someone who is laid back but driven and also likes to get out there and do things.”

Plenty of information there, lots of different topics and areas of interest – and all of it unfathomably uninteresting. Try writing that person an email and tell me what you come up with. “Hey, your profile really caught my eye as I am laid back but at the same time driven and…I like people with…energy? Let’s have intercourse.”

Honestly, J. Klern, if people aren’t writing you, it’s probably because your profile isn’t making it easy for them. Read yours again and see if you’d email you. If not, talk about your most eccentric dislike or crazy preference, whatever you think is most likely to start a conversation and go with that.

Or you could just post some nude pics. That never hurts.

Q. “I think we should go out.” S. Geil; Weston, Washington

A. Ok, but fair warning, I’m bringing Larry with me.

Q. “I’ve been talking to this guy who seems really cool but he only has one picture up online, and it’s kinda fuzzy. I asked him if there was anywhere I could see more of him, and he sort of dodged the question. I don’t want to be shallow, but I want to make sure we have a physical connection. What should I do?” T. Lane; Maine.

A. It’s not shallow to want to be attracted to the person you’d be going out with. Don’t apologize! Why do people always apologize for wanting to find their mate attractive? Wait, that is a question and I am clearly writing in the “A” section of this post. Apologies for the confusion.

I once went out with a girl who’s picture looked more or less like this:

And you know what – she was very cool and almost uncomfortably hot. So I would say that there’s a one in one hundred chance that this guy is very handsome, but that one in one hundred times has already been taken by me, which means you’re dealing with one of the other ninety-nine bozos.

There’s really no excuse for having only one picture nowadays, unless the guy you’re talking to is like 65 years-old. Or a vampire. And even then, he could get a buddy to draw a couple sketches of him or something. The guy you’re emailing is hiding his face – or the rest of him – for a reason, so I suggest you move on. Dot org. Got it?

Crap. That was another question. Sorry!

Have questions you’d like answered by an idiot? Email me here.

Posted in Advice, Your Awful Stories | 5 Comments

Internet Dating: Who Has It Worse, Men or Women?

Posted on March 10, 2011 by B

The hardest a woman has to work to get a date online.

Internet dating is pretty much made for the ladies, right? All you’ve got to do is throw up a couple of pictures, string together a few sentences that aren’t totally cliche, and wait for the emails to come rolling in. Sure, you’ll get plenty of messages from crazies, and old dudes, and people from other states, and people who don’t speak English, and people who just want to have sex with you, and people who just want you to have their babies, and people who just want to harvest your organs BUT once you delete those you’ll be left with some totally decent guys. Right?

I insisted that was right. And to a certain extent, I still do insist that is right. Internet dating, for being definitively modern, is still pretty old-fashioned. Men write women. It’s a one way street, plain and simple. Then the women decide whether they will write the men back, and the men sit and contemplate. Of course, ultimately, the jokes on them, because if she does decide to write back and they find each other irresistible, one day they might get married and then one day after that they might decide to have children so that one day after that she’ll have to pass an enormous being through a very small part of her body while he sits in the waiting room and drinks scotch and smoke cigars and very possibly wonders which of the nurses is hotter. So who’ll have egg on their face then, eh ladies? But for now, while it’s still just Internet dating, the women are definitely in the lead. I get one email a day, they get one email an hour. You decide who’s better off.

But I’ve asked women how they feel about this, and they beg to differ. Oh, how they beg to differ. Too many emails, they say, is far more burden than boon. It takes forever to go through them all, and if you have any hopes of finding the normal guy needles in the insanity haystack, you’ve really got to read each message. We should all have such problems. But still it’s an interesting point. And some insist, and these are very attractive women, mind you, that they don’t actually get as many messages as we lads might think. And these women are hot. I mean, I’ve dated them, so you know they must be prettttty foxy. Could it be that they’re too attractive, that men assume they’ll never write back, so they don’t even bother? Could these ladies possibly be right, that being an attractive single girl on a dating site is not all it’s cracked up to be? There was only one way to find out: put up a fake woman’s profile and see what happens. So that’s what I did.

A friend of mine had paid for his Match profile in advance, but had met a great girl and no longer needed it. Dying to find out what it was really like for the females, we jumped into action. We deleted his profile, images, everything – and replaced it with a woman we called SuzieQ. Her profile was smart – but not too smart. (Yeah, we know guys are dicks too.) We made her very approachable in terms of job, ambition, sense of humor – but also very desirable. And for her picture…well, we did what any self-respecting man in the computer age knows how to do: we typed “hot chick” into Google and clicked on “Images.” What we selected was something like this:

Hot, but in a wholesome, normal way, right? The fact that this actual woman is, I believe, a porn star is neither here nor there. So we put up her profile and you know what happened? The same thing that always happens. The women were right.

The responses SuzieQ received, in a word, sucked. The first day she probably got ten or fifteen emails, far less than I expected, and they were all deranged. There were several guys openly living in their mother’s basement, nearly all of them were weird looking, and none had respected poor Suzie’s age requirements. When women write 18-25 in their profile, do guys assume there’s a hidden x2 in there? There weren’t as many out-of-state emailers as I expected, but Staten Island was extremely well represented. Not since Jersey Shore has Staten Island been this well represented. But if there was one unifying principle in Suzie’s responses, it’s that were all pretty…boring. No one was funny or clever, no one was creative, no one seemed to really address her profile at all. It was just all vague, uninteresting blabber. And most of the messages were blatant copy and paste jobs. I felt so bad I wanted to write Suzie a note myself. Just so she doesn’t get down on herself, you know?

I too enjoy long walks on the beach!

The next few days were worse. The quality of the messages didn’t improve, and the numbers decreased rapidly. Pretty soon SuzieQ was getting one, maybe two emails a day. And to call them emails was generous. “Hey, you like underwear?” No sir, not in the way you’re asking, I don’t. After it was all said and done, my friend and I agreed there was only one or two guys that we would’ve responded to. That’s pretty, well, bleak.

Now, is that any worse than a man’s predicament? We don’t get many emails, and I assure you, almost all of them are awful. But what we don’t have is the pressure. It kinda hurts to read notes from 15 dudes who are hoping you’ll write them back. You feel bad hitting the delete button over and over on guys who’s league you are hopelessly out of, even if your league is an entirely fictional creation. Guys may have to do all the work, but it’s a guilt free endeavor. Either we succeed or we don’t, but we can forget about it and move on to the next battle. Women though, have to live with saying “no.”

I’ll take being a man any day. Plus, there’s that whole baby thing.

Posted in Internet Dating is Weird | 46 Comments

The Girl I Called Helga

Posted on March 8, 2011 by B

Profile picture for DMBLovr23

I used to play this very charming game where I would guess a woman’s name. Most people, you see, don’t go with “KathyB” or “ShellyFunTimes” when selecting a screen name for their online dating profile (though I would admittedly love to get to know anyone who could be described as ShellyFunTimes). Most Internet daters pick something like “CrazyM” or “VWishingStar”, which is meant to be whimsical and subtly revealing about their character, but between you and me is usually fairly annoying. And when they find a way to intertwine their love of The Dave Matthews Band with their subtly revealing screen name, well that’s when things jump all the way to full-fledged annoying.

The point is, you’ll often go one or two emails with a lady and have no idea what her name is. Which is not a big deal…until you turn it into a big deal by announcing your ability to guess people’s first names. There was a time when I thought this was my finest trick. Sure, I was funny and intelligent on email, and made just enough typos to let them know I was a real person and not some state-of-the-art romance robot, but when I guessed their names – oh how the women swooned. Usually you’ll have the first letter from their screen name or when they sign their email with just an initial. “L” or “F” or “G”, they’d toss out mysteriously. Then I’d gather it up and win them with my boundless skills of seduction. (Please note: my skills of seduction most certainly have bounds.)

It’s really pretty simple. You take the first letter of their name, type “female names starting in L” into your Google machine, find the most popular ones and start guessing them in rapid succession. “Looking at your pictures, I’d say you’re most definitely a….Laura. No wait – Lisa. Leslie? No, you’re not a Leslie. Lauren? I feel Laura and Lauren are effectively the same, is that cool? Wait. I’m sticking with Lorraine. It’s definitely Lorraine or Leah or Laura/en.” Chances are, you’ll get it eventually, and you’re being charming and playful and a bit of a buffoon, so they’ll laugh and you’re in like flynn. In fact, it becomes even more winning if you can’t guess their name and it takes two or three emails to get it. Then you’re totally in a get-a-drink territory, and they’ll just give up and tell you their damn name by that point. Unless you’re emailing with “HfromAlaska.” In which case, be careful.

H, I thought, would be a lay up. She put her initial right out there, she gave me a little cultural context, she talked a little trash about my ability to guess. Allll going according to plan. Then, in the next FIVE emails, I proceeded to guess the following names:

Heather, Hazel, Hannah, Hailey, Holly, Helen, Helena, Helene, Henna, Harley, Hurley, Haley Joel Osment, Hilda, Hillary, Harper, Harriet, Harmony, Hildreth, Hadley, Hortence, Hyacinth, Hunter, Hermione, and Helga.

None of those were her name.

All 23 of those were incorrect guesses, but the only one that was truly wrong was Helga. Here was the resulting IM discussion…

Helga.

H: Helga? Really? Helga is an ugly girl’s name.

Me: Well, I’m kinda running out of names here.

H: Do you think I look like a Helga????

Me: I mean, I thought you looked a lot like a Heather or a Hannah, but I was obviously mistaken. Maybe everything I thought I knew about names was wrong.

H: LOLOL

(a minute passes)

H: So you think my name might be Helga…

Me: Well, the way you keep bringing it up, I’m starting to think that maybe you are named Helga.

H: What? I can’t believe you said that?!? Do you think I’m ugly? Helga is SO an ugly girl’s name.

Me: Well, Hortence doesn’t sound like much of a looker either, but you didn’t seem to have a problem with that one.

Also, coincidentally, named Helga.

She then told me her name, somewhat out of spite, and we agreed to go out for a drink. But for some reason I just couldn’t get Helga out of my head and her real name into it. I thought it would be clever to call her Helga when I first saw her, which she laughed at. But then, accidentally, I kept calling her Helga all night long. I would open my mouth with every intention of saying her real name, and my brain would just lock up and I blurt out Helga again. Again and again and again. I don’t know why I kept saying her name in the first place, it was like I had just been to one of those assertiveness seminars where they tell you to address the person by name so they know you mean business. It was awful. She made it clear with her expression that she didn’t find my little Helga gambit particularly amusing, so I apologized and then said it at least three more times. It was like the worst private joke in the world, and HfromAlaska then made it very clear that she would not be seeing me again. And the worst part of it is, to this day I can’t for the life of me remember what her real name actually was. I do know, most certainly however, what it is not.

And that was the last time I ever played the game where I guess their names.

Posted in Horror Stories | 5 Comments

The Perfect Internet Date Bar

Posted on March 2, 2011 by B

Not the perfect date bar.

There are several bars in the greater New York area than I can’t go in anymore. In some cases, it’s court sanctioned. I’m prohibited from getting into details, but I will say that the law takes a far dimmer view of the Wet Willy than you might imagine. For the most part however, I’ve simply worn the bar out. When I find a place that fits my dating criteria, I tend to hit it up fairly often. And by fairly often, I mean constantly. Which can get awkward. The last time I went to my regular place they asked if I could grab the garbage on my way out. Didn’t seem right, you know? Buuuuut seriously people, the perfect Internet date bar can be hard to find, and if you make a mistake and pick the wrong spot, you can ruin an evening before it even starts. Here’s what you’re looking for.

1) No Live Music

Run!

Do you really want to say the words “…so, you grew up Harrisburg?” while some dick airs out his soulful acoustic cover of “Bad Romance” in the corner? No, you do not. Live music is loud, distracting, and frequently terrible, so avoid band bars at all costs. The same goes for intrusive jukeboxes. I went on a date once where their music rotation seemed stuck on “Jammin” by Bob Marley at a near-deafening volume. The resulting evening, I assure you, was far from jammin.

Do I have to say no karaoke? We’re all adults here. We know there’s no karaoke, right?!

2) Reasonable Prices

And now is the moment when every woman in the world sighs and gives me the “see, THIS is why you are single” look. But when I was going on several dates a week, always obeying my two drink rule, I often found myself dropping over $100 a week on drinks. I always pay on the first date, unless things go preposterously badly (like, say, she’s a big fan of Bob Marley’s “Jammin”), and that can get pricey fast. A place with a happy hour or great draft beers is a good choice, or somewhere that makes it illegal for people to order top shelf Long Island Iced Teas. Yes, that happened. Do you still need to ask?

3) Easily Accessible

Wait, maybe this is the moment where you look at me and say this is why I am single? Look, the vast majority of Internet dates stink. Would you rather end one and say, “well, at least I’ll be home in 20 minutes,” or do you prefer “I transferred to three different trains for that bullshit?” You tell me.

4) Unattractive Staff

You want gin and tonic?

One of my favorite former bars had weirdly hot waitresses. Not at all my type, but each one seemed to be skinnier, bustier, and with more died Russian blonde hair than the next. They looked like the sort of women that would be freed from the back of a shipping container in the first five minutes of Law & Order. But talking/relating/thinking did not seem to be their strong suit, so they did little for me.

I noticed after a while however that most of my dates remarked snidely on their appearance. “Right, like those are real” was common, as was a “I think she’s high” now and again. And frankly, I don’t blame my dates one bit. Men who are handsome in a clichéd way annoy me too (eat it, Brad Pitt!), but I found over time that my dates seemed to be judging me for picking a place with such a staff. Apparently you can’t really go to a bar with exclusively hot waitresses and not have your date eventually wonder if you’re just there for the eye candy. And saying “no, I’m here because it’s close to the subway!” isn’t much of a defense.

4) The Bar Does Not Have a Day of the Week in its Name

Ruby Tuesday’s, T.G.I. Friday’s, Throw Up All Over the Place Wednesday’s – none of these establishments are acceptable. In fact, if the bar is a member of a chain or serves anything in mudslide form – I’d look elsewhere.

5) Forgetful Staff

Here’s what you don’t want to happen: a waiter walks up and asks what your date would like to drink. She orders a glass of wine, and before you can speak he says, “Oh, don’t worry. I got you.” Then he turns to your date and says, “He’s here all the time.” It’s tough to explain that one, even though being really motivated to find a great girl is entirely justifiable in my book. If you date often, you are a cad.

Nor do you particularly want that same waiter to walk up to you later, while your date is in the bathroom, and say “so, what do you think of this one? Is she a keeper?” Even if you are not, plainly, an aforementioned cad, you’re going to feel like one. It’s just kinda embarrassing. Being remembered at your neighborhood spot is great, at your go-to date bar is not.

Posted in Advice | 5 Comments

The Girl In The Reindeer Sweater

Posted on February 24, 2011 by B

Fucking assholes

There are people who can pull off seasonal clothing, I think we can all agree on that. Babies, grandmas, little kids who get forced into it by their parents who want to take pictures that will subtly mock them for the rest of their lives — these are the people who can pull of Christmas sweaters. Or socks that have little pictures of pumpkins on them. Or a broach with the Easter bunny’s head popping out of a cracked egg. Frankly no one should be doing it, but if you’re distinctly young or distinctly old and you really want a picture of Frosty The Snowman on your boob, go for it. You will notice however that nowhere do I list “Internet dater” as someone who gets the special seasonal outfit dispensation. In fact, I would probably say the last person on the face of the earth who should be wearing holiday-themed clothing is someone going out on a date with a person they’ve never met. Unless you’re dating Santa Claus, in which case it would probably put him at ease. I, however, am most certainly not Santa Claus…

She walked into the coffee shop on the 5th of July, and she was wearing an American flag top. But really, that doesn’t do it justice. The entirety of her shirt was an American flag, with the stars up around her left shoulder, and then the stripes wrapping around the rest of her torso. There are flags flying outside of people’s houses that are more discrete. And it was covered in little gems that I believe were to signify fireworks. It was, needless to say, an extremely patriotic fashion choice. Especially considering it’s the 4th of July that people traditionally use to celebrate our independence. After a few excitement-filled minutes…

Imagine this, but in a shirt.

Her: So…do you like my shirt?

Me (impressively genuine): Yes, it’s very festive!

Her: Yeah, I wore it yesterday to my friend’s cookout. So it might smell a little like the grill.

I’m pretty sure the smelling bit was a joke. Pretty sure. But the only thing worse than wearing a holiday shirt the day after the holiday actually happened is admitting that you’re wearing that shirt for the second day in a row. Whether it smells like hamburgers and hot dogs in addition is really insignificant. It has never occurred to me to pull anyone aside, much less a date, and whisper “psssst…see this shirt? I’ve been in it for two days. You think I can make it to three?” But maybe it’s my lack of imagination.

But truth be told, the rest of the date was fairly innocuous. She was a perfectly sweet girl, and in fact very nice looking, there just wasn’t a tremendous spark. I considered writing about her for this site, but didn’t think one odd fashion choice on one particular day was really worthy of remark. I mean, pretty much every fashion choice I make is odd. But then, last night, my mind was changed…

I was out at a bar with an old friend, when who should walk in but Lady Liberty herself! I was surprised to instantly recognize her, as our date was a few years ago. My friend saw me react and immediately asked for the story. So I explain to her the business about the shirt and the hamburgers and the 5th of July, and then as she sits down I get a good look at her and…Holy God In Heaven She’s Wearing a Christmas Sweater!!! A Christmas Sweater! On February 24th! Two white little reindeer dancing around on a field of bright red wool! The girl who I remember only for wearing out of season seasonal clothing has now reappeared in out of season seasonal clothing! My head was going to explode.

"Seriously lady, it's almost March."

Immediately I was filled with questions. Does she only own holiday outfits? And if so, Valentine’s Day was two weeks ago, how did it get skipped in the rotation? Or does she know that I still remember the American flag number and just showed up to fuck with my mind? Maybe she’s just a confused old lady who had really good plastic surgery? And what does her dry cleaner say when she drops off a snappy Thanksgiving vest in the middle of September?

I may never know the answers to these questions, as I was too timid to ask her before she darted off into the night. Hopefully I’ll see her again one day, perhaps this summer, wearing her favorite Black History Month tank top. Or on Christmas Eve, dressed in her Arbor Day best. Or…well, you can see where I’m going with this…

Posted in Horror Stories | 7 Comments