Done With Online Dating

In an email to all of my aunts and uncles (she's the second of 9), my mother sums up my life:

Theresa: obsessed (her words) with on-line dating. has an overly full social calendar. does not buy groceries or clean her apartment much. Too busy meeting people and having fun.

Thanks, Mom. In my defense: How could I not be obssessed with online dating when I'm getting such a high calibre of emails?

[Note: In my 'about me' section on an online dating site (and we're not talking Match.com here), I had to fill in the blank for "_______ is sexy; ______ is sexier," so I wrote "semicolons are sexy; words like 'atavistic' and 'taxonomy' are sexier." My handle, or whatever it's called, is 'eclat,' which I chose merely because my other favorites were taken. Also, those of you on MySpace and Friendster will know that 'who I'm looking for' (on those sites, at least) is a "brunet Scandinavian architect." On the dating site it's merely someone who reads books, likes to travel, has interesting hobbies, and gives good back massages. Thought I'd broaden it up a bit, you know, not be too specific or anything.]

Read on:

O' Eclat,

Don't be sad about your hair color. In the taxonomy of hair color, brown is superior! Perhaps it is an atavistic trait in your family.

You seem ace, funny and on top of things, and also blessed with immunity to bullets, traits most admirable. I hope we can, at the very least, be friends.

I'm your "ideal guy", but probably 12,434 other who are writing to you now are, too (pretty girls on the internets get 1,000 messages a day, I hear). I hope you write back to my little message. Hooray for us!

Most truly,
T.
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A brunette Scandinavian architect.

Right. How's this: I'm not blonde, I'm not redheaded, not exactly raven-haired either.

I'm Dutch, and I don't mean Holland, Michigan Dutch... (as long as we're being so particular about our Nordic/Teutonic origins...) The pancakes of the Scandian regions and the Low Countries are close enough. Besides, I've got a soft spot for lingonberries and Garrison Keillor.

I'm not an architect, but I am making a prospectus/brochure/set of promotional literature for an imaginary firm called Bau Maus, Inc. which would specialize in designing buildings resembling all kinds of small mammals. The style would be roughly like a cross between Hello Kitty and Communist architecture. I can send you some of the initial drawings if huge-ass Adobe documents won't make your inbox explode.

So.

Howzabout I make you some pancakes, and then we see how fickle you are?

best, M.
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First of all, I was worried that your handle had the stink of a fancy french word. Indeed, it seems so. Now, I've got nothing against the french or the french language, just my own hangup: my germanic mouth can't make french words. Believe me, I've tried. I threw that sucker at the all-knowing interweb and I thought you should know what it spit back, if you didn't already:

é·clat n.
Great brilliance, as of performance or achievement.
Conspicuous success.
Great acclamation or applause.
Archaic. Notoriety; scandal.

All pretty good. The archaic is provocative, but it's #2 that really kills me.

OK, down to brass tacks, because I'm in a state here. I'm not kidding. If you couldn't tell from my profile, and redundant use of the word "restless," there's something of an urgency in me that I know better than to deny. I'm a copywriter for a living, so when there's a need for "punchy," "impactful" brevity, I resort to bullet points. So here goes. It seems to me we have a number of things we could discuss to some satisfaction:

+ We've both lived in London (Holloway, N7, reprezent!). You liked it, obviously. I've got incredibly mixed feelings, but would take none of it back.
+ I searched all of Baja for that perfect cowboy hat (and skull ring) and you succeeded where I failed.
+ Dancing, boozing, passionate necking.
+ 12 piercings. Is this meant to imply that you have this number of bejewled punctures? None of which in evidence in your photographs?! Good lord, woman, quit toying with me.
+ I use the word "missive" a lot. It made me happy to see it. Happy as a taxonomist.
+ Oh, yeah, Turkey. It's more than a vacation, really, a soothseeking mission. Did I mention I'm in a state? When I get there, my sensei of sorts, the one friend in the world who's as devoted to the truth as I, who's been traveling for 9 months already, who's recovering from rabid dogbite in Goa, will be meeting me at the airport. We have 30 days and no plans. Our friendship is something of a manic tinderbox that could likely get us both killed. He's in heart of darkness territory, I can feel it.
+ I leave a week from today.

These are items. The time is short.

Don't think I didn't notice your comment, now, about how you didn't think I was worth spending points on. For shame. It would probably sting if I had any idea how the points work. I would have spent all of mine to write you this email, which was fun.

Or maybe that's just the state I'm in. What now?

Vroom,
K.
-----------------------

See what I mean? These boys know how to write, damnit! It's a fantastic change from the letters I usually get on MySpace and Friendster, let me tell you. Here's a recent one:

HI,

SORRY FOR WRITING IN BUT I MUST SAY I COULD NOT RESIST THE CHARMING BEAUTY THAT GOD BLESSED YOU WITH, SO I HAD TO DROP THIS LINES TO SAY YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL...!
YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE IT THAT I HAD TO TAKE MORE THAN 15MINS MEDITATING ON HOW AWESOME GOD CAN BE. THIS HE DEMONSTRATED IN TAKING TIME TO BEAUTIFY YOU...OHH WHAT A GOD, THAT'S WHY I LOVE HIM SO MUCH AND I WILL NEVER SEIZE GIVING HIM WORSHIP. MY DEAR THANK GOD FOR YOUR LIFE, YOU ARE INDEED BLESSED. I AM JOHN, I WOULD APPRECIATE TO KNOW YOU BEYOND JUST THIS SCREEN...
REMAIN BLESSED ALWAYS
TAKE CARE.

YOUR ADMIRER,
JOHN ONYEKACHI

Okay, so that's cute enough. (Am I damned for eternity if I wonder how long it would take him to ask if he could transfer money to my bank account?)

How about my personal favorite of recent weeks, a message from a guy whose user photo is of a headless, but ripped, torso, entitled simply "does":

that mean a blowjob is out of the question?

How can I not respond to riveting prose like that?


To recap: in the past four months I've been on the following dates:

November (reponses to a Craigslist post I put up to date European men):
1.) Craigslist: 40-yr-old Swedish businessman for $450 dinner
2.) Craigslist: vegan entrepreneur who claimed to be European (doesn't count if your great-grandparents are from Ireland, man)
January (short-lived bout of wanting to see movies):
3.) Craigslist: just turned 23-yr-old dimpled U of Chicago 'philosophy of science' grad
4.) Craigslist: metrosexual interior designer Columbia College alum
February (dabbling in dating site/couple of Craigslist guys):
5.) Dating site: U of Chicago 'anthropology of love' hexalingual Israeli PhD student
6.) Dating site: polka-dancing Wisconsin farming stock copy editor off for 30+ days in Turkey
7.) Craigslist: nerdy indie-music-website-creating, gothic/festish fashion show-attending U of I alum
8.) Craigslist: "Battlestar Galatica"-loving computer engineering suburbanite

Oh, and 9.) is a good girlfriend I met off Craigslist way, way back in late July, when she came with me to the Retro Dating Game I won.

All in all, it's been an enlightening experience. I now know what it's like to have a sugar daddy; how much I dislike being around people who don't drink; that I'm capable of falling in 'like' with people I wouldn't normally be attracted to (read: blonds). I find it intriguing to look back and see what I converse about with perfect strangers--how I portray myself to others. Compared to the people I've met, I seem to talk about my family a lot more. Somehow I still define myself by what my parents think and do, what my brother is studying. Will it ever get to the point where I define myself simply on what I am and not what my family is? And is that something I should even aspire to?

Finally, I've learned that I have an ability (once the initial nervousness wears off) to easily converse with those from all walks of life, and to make them like me--or at least want to email me again or post weird things on my MySpace profile. I've also realised finding a boyfriend off of the internet--or indeed, a friend--isn't likely to happen. The girlfriend I made this summer was a magical fluke.

So I'm done. I'm done with online dating (at least until I move to a strange city). Mom, you can tell the family--please!

Now that I have it out of my system, I'm concentrating on finding a girlfriend for my roommate. I've coerced him into putting up a profile on two online dating sites, and I troll the W4M Craigslist postings on a daily basis, sending him the choice ads. Living vicariously while playing matchmaker--yes, that sums it up nicely.