Ur So Not 4 Me

Last week I re-upped with eHarmony. It isn’t my only outlet for flirting with the opposite sex. Since I get hit on weekly at the gym, there’s always that venue. And I go out socially a few times a week, attending concerts and gallivanting around town with a noticeably pretty crowd. No, really, not to brag but my friends know how to bring it in the looks department. My parents probably pay them to include me. Anyway, I like to think of online dating as merely stacking the odds in my favor.

The first few days back on eHarmony, I was the belle of the ball. Every hour I was receiving notices, either a generic icebreaker complimenting my smile or a full-blown request to start communicating. In terms of elevating my sense of self, the first week of online dating is pretty much equal to six months on my shrink’s couch.

I try to be open when it comes to online dating. Sure, he looks a little like Dr. Huxtable but he does the Sunday crossword and appreciates fine wine. While living in Harrisburg qualifies as a personality flaw, maybe he ended up there for valid reasons. Of course, when BD Wong’s stunt double pinged me to start talking, I almost threw my computer across the room. People, I couldn’t make this shit up. I swear, this guy is like a herpes sore.

Anyway, I’m now on day sixteen of online dating and the novelty is slowly wearing off. Now that the shiny new glow has dulled considerably, I find myself drawing some conclusions. Walk with me.

(1) One or two grammatical errors I can live with. We’re human, after all. But not knowing the difference between their/there/they’re and you’re/your and it’s/its is a problem. Especially if your chosen profession is teaching. Also, try to avoid spelling in a way that requires me to read your sentence aloud so as to sound out the words. If ur 2 lazy 2 type, ur prob lazy n bed.

(2) There is a general guideline in writing: show don’t tell. Saying you are funny doesn’t make you funny any more than me claiming I am skinny makes me thin.

(3) Photographs are meant to make you look good, not bad. To that end:

• Unless you are a pro-athlete, leave the team garb in the closet.
• I don’t want to see your hairless, ripped, greasy chest.
• I don’t want to see your hairless, ripped, greasy chest posed in front of a Camaro/BMW/Porsche.
• Photographs shot from 100 feet away tell me nothing.
• Photographs shot from 100 feet away that depict acid wash jeans tell me everything.
• For the love of Pete, please find a way to take a picture that does not involve a bathroom, a mirror and a pose of you holding your phone out to snap the shot. I can only conclude this means you have no friends, or no friends willing to help you get laid.
  
• I take no issue with you being a dad. My problem is you posting pictures of your children. It makes me feel pervy. I mean, this has to be how pedophiles get their fix, right?

(4) If you’re a commercial pilot, I will automatically assume you’re a whore. Blame the trampy pilots who came before you.

(5) If you’re current or former military and include a photograph in uniform, I might act like a whore. Blame Top Gun.

Now excuse me so I can back to flirting with the curiously cute IT guy from Sioux Falls, Dakota. Yes, Dakota. Color me a city-slicker snob but differentiating North from South is like arguing ecru is different from ivory. At least that is how I feel for now. But that could change. Between his nerdy specs and quirky sense of humor, I could...

(insert pause to google the town)

...learn to appreciate a land-locked state that boasts hosting the largest Christian festival in the country. Or, like, I could at least try.