Ghosts, Ghouls, and Shape Shifters, Also Known as Life in the Age of Online Dating
Image from Pixabay
Story Number 10: Grapes of Irony Number 5
Written 10/6/22, just in time for Halloween!!
Crispy, browning leaves falling from trees to remind us of the part of life that does include death. Shorter days. Longer, colder nights. Halloween and spirits. Not a time of birth, renewal, and precious, too cute newborn animals, but a time when some animals will be in their last season, struggling and dying in the winter. This is obviously the time to reflect on online dating. This time, unlike emerging spring, blossoming flowers, and Valentine’s Day, invites us to ponder the darker side of love, romance, and the desire for intimacy.
The last time I did online dating was 25 years ago when we had, wait for it . . . . . . AOL accounts and if you wanted to see someone’s picture, it was literally sent via snail mail. Now we can exchange pictures, text and chat immediately, how exciting! One would think this immediate access and technology to support pictures and profiles and the “science” of matching algorithms would enhance the dating experience, with the potential to lead to great amounts of satisfaction. When I started online dating it was exciting! Upon seeing the little red button that announced that someone “liked” me, well that always came with a little burst of adrenaline, a heart flutter, and flights of fancy about potential romantic connections; each time like a mini-Disney scene playing out in my head, flowy ball gown and chirping birds included. And I have to admit, on a baser, non-Disney level, that there is a certain online shopping quality to the whole thing. In the beginning it was like having a shiny, new catalogue in my possession and an unlimited budget; sitting, enjoying my coffee as I slowly thumbed-through the pages, carefully considering each candidate. I got to study pictures, read descriptions, make comparisons and then make a choice. Hmm, do I want the large one, the medium-sized one, the fresh-looking one, the slightly used but in a funky, shabby chic-looking one? Ooooo, look, a clever one! Oh, he’s so handsome! Hahaha, oh I love me a funny one! At first the sky seemed the limit, expansive and breath-taking, the possibilities endless. But then things seemed to take a turn, rather quickly, and I found more often than not, that I somehow seemed to end up in the dented can section, if catalogues had such a place.
No longer was this experience a carefree, cheery jaunt, but I began to feel more and more like it was a perilous journey and the end point was an arena where I needed to don my armor and prepare to do defensive battle. And don’t get me wrong, I am no prude, being several shades off from vanilla, I am definitely open-minded, and I have seen so much in my life that nothing surprises or shocks me. But I guess I was expecting a bit of decorum, hoping for some effort. After all, if someone is looking to have a relationship or enter into someone else’s intimate space, is it not reasonable to think people will put their best selves forward? But that is where I guess I went wrong—those words “expecting,” “hope,” and “think;” well, my advice, seven months into this process, is check those concepts at the door and mostly, not unlike Dante’s recommendation, “Abandon hope all ye who enter here.”
Let’s talk about the ubiquitous pictures: Men sitting in their cars, which only leads to me think they don’t want their wives to know what they are up to. Men with wedding rings which means the wives indeed do not know what they are up to, or their pictures are definitely not current. Shirtless men; lots of shirtless men. Shirtless men sitting in their cars. Men looking straight into the camera and flipping the bird. And apparently men in the Pacific Northwest must have pictures of themselves with fish. I see so many of these that I believe there is a law about this and I wonder who polices this law, the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, the Dating Division? And there is a surprising number of men with monkeys. I surmise there is some sort of missing link thing going on here, but with the number of monkey and man pictures I have seen, I think were need to raise the terminology to “missing links.” My favorite monkey and man picture is the one of a chimp standing bowlegged askew a man’s head. My brain has to go to its weird place and I wonder was this moments before the chimp ripped off the man’s face and penis, and is this man looking for a caretaker?
Also looking for a potential caretaker is Tony, 58, wearing a hospital gown and an oxygen cannula. Tony gets extra points for the added picture of the adult-sized bib over the hospital gown; this shows he is all about tidiness. Dan, 43, isn’t looking so much for a caretaker as a pen pal, as his smiling face shows him on a pay phone and he shares that he is “currently incarcerated and looking for friends. The best way to get to know each other is through letters and phone calls.” He kindly includes his jail pay account number. Perhaps men like this won’t ghost me as quite a few others have—but ghosting, how perfect for the season!
I do find I tend to infer a lot from the pictures: The profoundly sad and forlorn looking Jeff, 48, who is clearly saying, “If you don’t date me, I will kill myself.” I have to admit that I have trouble inferring anything from Stan, 36, with his picture of a dog shitting. Well, the man must have some class and restraint because the turd was not yet protruding from the dog’s ass, but the dog was in the classis hunched, haunches shaking, all-in posture. I got it! Maybe I need to decode rather than infer: Stan is willing to put in effort, but he’s not a shitty person; yes, that must be it! I also infer from Manny, 56, whose only picture is of a construction site, with a dirt pit and some rebar, that that is where he will bury my body. This is followed up a few days later by Manny’s possible cousin, Jorge, 58, whose only picture is of bags of cement to show these men will do a thorough job; a very “blood is thicker than water” and “bros before hos” vibe. Speaking of serial killers, there is a good amount of pictures of men’s close up faces where they appear to be hovering above the camera with perfect bright back-lighting but just enough lack of focus to convey their dating plans: “You are fine. That was a lot of fun. The rohypnol should be wearing off soon. We have to do this again!” And seriously, some advice, I see why dating sites recommend that people smile as not smiling lends a serial killer quality to most pictures. But then I wonder, are these pictures just moments of truthfulness?
Also truthful is Leo, 41, who wastes no time with punctuation, and says, “I m looking for a fine big boody freak nothing serious no strings attached big lips high sex drive ,must love it in your mouth every day!” Don, 58, is a bit coyer as a “retired traveler seeking exciting adventure partner. I’ll buy you taco’s and touch your butt.” Randall, 60, just plainly states he’s “Probably not worth much.”
This hopeless pit of dating despair would not be complete without scammers. I am stunned by the amount of people committing scams, as partially evidenced by one man, cute in his elf costume accompanied by his elf-clothed doggies, who has shown up three times under three different names. My favorite though is Henry, 61, who liked me and I liked him back and started texting with him. Race does not matter to me, but dishonestly does, so when Henry’s profile pictures changed from a white man to a black man, I just had to block him.
Being surrounded by so much crudeness, dishonesty, and lack of finesse and effort, I have been feeling being pulled to the dark side myself. I have to admit, I was not attracted to Sonny, 40, but Sonny posted pictures of baked goods he likes to make. His blueberry buckle looked to die for!! God, could I end up just dating a guy for his baked goods!?!? No! No, I have to be attracted to someone, I can’t just bilk guys out of their freshly baked goods. Or could I? Cake is my Achilles’ heel. “I’m coming over handsome! Fire up your oven. Get out your beaters (little moan for some sexual innuendo) and your flour!” If I become a baked goods scammer, does that make me a bammer? Should I even feel bad for these thoughts? Because as Rick, 43, says, “It’s a doggy dog world.”
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