Why I Eschew Internet Dating

While going through some old documents, I found this rant from years ago, when I briefly tried a couple of dating sites and walked away feeling like I'd just tried to seek companionship with a whole different species. I've been bitching a lot lately about dating in general, so I figured I'd share this, since it will, I fear, always be relevant:

Here’s a hint for all of you guys on dating websites: Don’t quote your mom in your profile, especially if you’re doing so to substantiate your claim of being a funny guy. Also, embrace the baldness or get a hat. Are you seriously thinking that black toupee perched atop your noggin, like a ferret on a pile of dryer lint, is fooling anyone? The lingering wisps of hair clinging to your temples are grey, as are your eyebrows and mustache, and your flaccid denial of this says more about who you are than 10 pages of profile prose ever could.
While we’re at it, about the mustache: 1976 called… it wants its face back. It screams, “I wish my Scion was a Camero,” “50% of my wardrobe is naugahide,” and/or, “I’m not gay. I’m NOT GAY!” Finally, when you list your favorite music as “Bluegrass,” it’s probably better to bypass the woman whose profile literally states, “Bluegrass makes me break out in hives.”

Are there no men out there with style? I’m not talking about manscaping metrosexuals. I mean a guy who you can look at and think, “Wow, you’re different, and it really works for you.” What rock to I have to peer under to find a non-smoker, non-drinker, non-drug user and non-caffeine drinker with no kids, who isn’t also going to preach holy hellfire at me, or try to trade me for 2 camels and a chicken?

Even if I narrow my criteria to the bare minimum of a) Men who are as smart/smarter than I am, b) Men who have some form of income, c) people without criminal records, and d) Guys with good oral and personal hygiene, the prospects are distressingly bleak. Add to that the frighteningly common “Open Mouth Chewers,” the “Finger Lickers,” the “Frenetically Tapping Along to the Song in My Heads,” the “Free Sneezers” and the “I am Biologically Linked to My Cell Phone/PDAs,” and you have a field of dating prospects that makes me wonder if I should even bother at this point.

I’m sorry I don’t hang out in bars anymore unless there's something going on other than drinking. I’m sorry I only go to the gym 4 times a week, and that I have no interest in base jumping. I’m sorry that I REALLY don’t want to be your kids’ new mommy.

I seek practicality without tightwaddiness. I seek that guy whose top 10 communication preferences do not include texting. If your diet includes more than 2% of foods that are deep-fried or “fast,” move along, nothing to see here. I’ve seen countless men who fan out their colorful feathers by declaring how much they love traveling to exotic places. Where’s the guy who knows that a good book, a deck of cards, a porch, a hammock, a few passing thunderstorms and a shitload of lightning bugs are also elements of a decent vacation? Someone like that is a million times more interesting to me than the dude who can’t let a day off go by without putting more effort into it than the average workday (I’m not sure if I’m putting this right, but why does everyone seem to need to be entertained all the time)? 

On second thought, maybe it just annoys me because I know that being on an exotic adventure doesn’t make you interesting, and it seems like a lot of people don’t realize this. At some point, you’re going to be passing the Grape Nuts back and forth in the morning, and that’s the point when you’re either happy to be right there, or you’re desperately thinking of the next entertaining getaway and someone other than I with whom to be on it.