I figure if you’re going to have an online dating profile, it might as well be the best one ever written, right?
My Online Dating Profile:
Normally, I’d start with something like: “Oh man, here I am again, what am I doing?”
And then my brain clears its throat from the corner of the room and says, “You know exactly what you are doing, Jackass. You’re writing yet another online dating profile in an attempt to make a connection with a potential partner in an environment that runs rampant with unsolicited dick pics and people looking to fulfill needs they can’t talk about in public. This is the land of dehydrated beta-males and closet trannys. Here you are basically looking for a diamond in a pile of used heroin syringes and wondering why you keep getting nothing but AIDS.”
The petulant child that is my heart whines back, “But that diamond COULD be in here!” as it goes elbow-deep back into the needles.
I just summed up writing a online dating profile in a way that impresses even me. Excuse me while I pat myself on the ass.
I think I’m already losing most of the people that will click on whatever clever title I came up with. I’ve used “your” and “you’re” correctly and that apparently goes over most people’s heads like Chinese trigonometry.
I mean, come on People, this is the internet. I’m supposed to tell you about my desire to find a woman to help me raise my 7 illegitimate children, while supporting my dream of being a professional alligator wrestler. I’m supposed to attach a picture of my wedding tackle next to an energy drink can for comparison so you can gauge the potential cervical destruction that would result from an intimate encounter with me. I can’t sit here and tell you that I literally sit around and DREAM of a normal, real, fulfilling relationship. I certainly can’t tell you how loneliness crushes me like a potato chip under the weight of a fat lady on a rascal scooter at Walmart, and I sure as hell can’t tell you that the emptiness in my heart results in an overall deflation of my soul. I’m supposed to talk about weird stuff I want to do in bed, or the pathetic aspects of an average existence. I couldn’t possibly be a normal guy looking for a normal woman to have an amazing relationship with. Nope, This is where the weirdos convene and do weirdo stuff. This is where stalkers look for their next subject. This is where 62-year-old men pretend to be young women, and spam robots run around untethered. This is where my long lost Nigerian uncle who is a prince has chosen to find me and wire me my millions.
I admit it, online dating in general is sketchy. Online dating sites have become nothing but a collection of snapchat filter ridden collections of selfies with an attached bio that gives off as much personality as a pile of used latex gloves. Its like women are saying, “Hey, I know, I’ll create an online presence that is as generic and sterile as all of the others in an attempt to stand out.” Or, they create an online persona that is about a third of who they really are and two-thirds who they think everyone else thinks they should be. A persona that falls apart by the third date like a piece of Ikea furniture assembled by a pair of blind, drunk little people. Side note: I heard somewhere that little people can’t assemble furniture.
Then again, I guess I shouldn’t talk TOO much shit about online dating. I can honestly say that most of the relationships I have had in the last 6-7 years have started online. I’m not ashamed to admit that. This is a great medium for me – I am a writer for fuck’s sake. Words are my tools. That being said, I will say that there have been just as many disastrous situations as there have been good ones. Probably more if I am being honest. As easy as it can be for some people to be honest in an online environment, it’s just as easy for some to be completely be something they are not. Like Divorced. But at my age, when it comes to dating, I’ve done the bar scene and it is played out. I’m not looking to stand in a veritable fish tank of people scoping out a potential partner by scouring the room like a lion scouring a field of gazelles. Wait, that’s a bad analogy. It’s more like being an awkward 8th grader standing on your gender-specific side of the gym at the dance, hoping that the girl that sits by you in history who always smells like strawberries will step away from her gender-specific surroundings across the room and break the stalemate that’s fallen across the trenches.
I think this is the part of the profile where I am supposed to sell myself to you. That shouldn’t be a problem, I am a sales wizard. I can sell an ice maker to an eskimo. Wait, they don’t like being called “eskimos”, right? Fuck it, I doubt any eskimos are reading this. If you are, lighten up, Nuckaluck. Go eat a baby seal or whatever. Wow, the train really left the track here, huh? Okay, back on topic: Me.
As much as I’d like to sit here and sing my own praises in a Kanye-esque rambling diatribe, I think it’s better that I just stick to the basics. Well, the important stuff at least. I’m 35-years old by normal standards (I’ll explain that in a second). Never Married. No Kids. I’ve been writing for a living for the past 3-4 years. Before that I had a soul-crushing job in the IT industry. I’ve owned or run businesses since I was 24. Blah-blah-blah. Jobs. Status. Stuff. Things.
Now the first time around in writing this, this next part got really deep. I guess either I’d list my playlist drift too far into the Blue October, or the fact that it was 5 in the morning lead me to believe that I needed to get abyssal with the topic of who I am and why. We all remember where we are… I can’t be getting TOO deep. Hell, chances are you’re shocked you’ve read as far as you have – let alone having to digest another 6-700 words of rambling. The short and skinny of it is this: A year ago I had a surgery that killed me a couple of times. I’ve spent the last year recovering. Fighting. To be where I am now is a miracle by a couple of standards. More importantly, the way I see it: the guy that I was for 34 years 3 months and 3 days died on the table that day. The man I am now has been moving forward from that for the past 12 months and 24 days. It’s as simple as that.
I guess if you’ve made it this far, there might be a spark of interest. “But I never reply to online dating profiles,” you say. “You want creepers? Because that is how you get creepers.” Take a chance. If you’re just a fan of my writing, tell me. I’ll send you the link to my website where you can get more of it. Then again, maybe you just fell madly in love with me and want to have my babies? Woah – pump the brakes there Biological Clock Betty. Slow down. If all else fails, I hope you leave this profile with something enlightening. Come on, there was a midget joke AND and Eskimo joke – what isn’t enlightening about that?