Damn You, Online Dating!

WHAT the HELL am I doing?

Are you like me, you do the whole “I’m SO happy I’m single!” and then you get bored on the weekend, so you figure “What the fuck? I’ll go browse…” and you log onto your dating site of choice. A day or so later you’ve managed to get yourself into, like, eight possible scenarios that may or may not wind up with a date? Most likely no date, because you’re going to come to your senses and think “I so can do better than that“?

Because, somewhere along the lines you think, “Wait. How the fuck did HE get in this mix? Did my standards take a 20-minute leave of absence and somehow he magically made the cut? What the FUCK? What is WRONG with me?”

Yeah. All right. And what a waste of my time, too. Most of this online shit deserves to be hurled out of a 40th-floor window, because, while we like to delude ourselves that this way, online, we somehow get through the crowds of people who are woefully inappropriate for us by, instead, zeroing in on the people who have all the same stuff in common with us.

“You like stuff? I LOVE STUFF! Wow, we’re so awesome for each other! Let’s go get STUFF!”

The reality is, it’s a fucking crock. As if it’s all about the stupid shit we have in common? As if that elusive “chemistry” thing doesn’t apply? Psst, a little secret: Chemistry never, ever translates over the internet. It just doesn’t. You gotta do the in-the-flesh thing and see if it even works.

Shit, man, I’m gonna leave my door unlocked tonight, just in case my common sense is late getting home to me.

I was supposed to have a date with someone this past Saturday. THAT would have been pretty good. Too bad for life and its drama. To be continued at a later time and date? We’ll see what lady fate has to say about that. We’ll see if I’m even so inclined when the dust settles. Who knows?

Everyone else I’ve been in touch with is just completely pointless. Well, except one the jury is yet out on. Hell, even Saturday Drama Man may be completely pointless, but at least he’s in my league and my tastes.

You know what it is, though, don’t you? Just hormones. I think the problem is, when you get a great big box of sex toys plunked on your doorstep, as I did on Thursday, it’s not about WAITING for the mood to strike. It’s about getting the mood to strike and ASAP so you can play with your fancy-ass new orgasm-producing goods.

It’s about rummaging for erotica or porn, leafing through DVDs to find something hot, channel-surfing till you land on some verboten sex scene, WHATEVER IT TAKES to make those toys of use and get the hummin’ goin’.

Somewhere along the lines, the “Mm, well, that’s nice… but penises are nice too” thought occurs, and suddenly sex toys become the problem, not the solution. “I could go online, maybe even get LAID!”

Here’s where I throw my hands up at the skies and wail, “Why won’t you just let me be satisfied with what I have for a week? Why are dating sites so disgustingly entertaining to surf through? Why?”

Oh. Right. Hormones. Yeah, well. I’d say my hormones can go fuck themselves, but that appears to be part of the problem.

Am I completely alone in this endlessly irritating cycle of “I love being alone and single and empowered! Oh, hmm, who’s online anyhow?” Or do you also relate?