Friday, August 26, 2005

Match.Complete Idiot

I've previously admitted to having a match.com profile. I don't go so far as to pay for the service, though, which means I can't send e-mails to potential fathers of potential heirs to my potential fortune. I can, however, send an electronic "wink" to guys whom I find particularly worthy to gain entrance to my secret garden.

Despite my winking powers, I've never actually used match.com for any love-related purpose. I believe I sent out one wink, and that was a one-off event precipitated by a severe hottie. My clicking finger couldn't be controlled. As a result of my general inaction, my inbox isn't exactly a hopping joint. This isn't something I take particular offense to. The reason I joined match.com wasn't to become the belle of the virtual ball, but more along the lines of why I would buy a lottery ticket. Who knows? You may or may not get really lucky if you buy in, but there's no chance whatsoever if you don't.

But anyway, back to the fact that I don't get very many messages. I think I've gotten four or five in total, and one of these was from a man older than my father. A few others were copies of a f0rm letter forwarded three times by another forty-something. I've thought about ragging on that guy before; if you can't take the time to write a unique letter to the person you want to date, at least remember to remove the "FW:" from the title of your e-mail. But, when you really stop to think about it, the possibility exists that the guy wants to go out with someone so badly he's e-mailing too many women to have time to write them individually. He's so lonely he's canvassing, which sucks the fun right out of skewering his bad e-mail.

The one I got today, on the other hand, is something completely different. If it weren't so funny I'd be calling the police as we speak.

I woke up this morning to find an e-mail from a man whom I will call Frank, just in case he ever finds this blog. He is a twenty-two year old student at the Culinary Institute of America, a credential I would find fascinating under different circumstances. After the e-mail he sent me, the single thing I'm fixated on is the fact that this man probably owns an array of very, very sharp knives.

I checked his profile after I read his message. He is a self-described "hopeless romantic," who enjoys "being the one to take of [sic] a girlfriend after a bad day with dinner, massage, and more."

He also stresses that he is "fun loving and not creepy." Phew! Rest easy, ladies.

Anyway, what's the way to get to a woman's heart? Abject hostility, according to Frank:

First off, I am going to try to capitilize everything and stuff, as not to piss you off. I am a horrible speller too, but you didnt sayanything about that so i think im safe. Sorry not to be worth a wink to you. Thats ok, im not quite the interlectural mastermind your looking for. I just wanted to tell you that i love your high standards and we have a lot in common...So my question to you would be; Do you allow yourself to have not perfect friends? You amuse me greaty and i would like to hear more of your perspectives. I hope to hear from you- Frank

On second reading, it appears that he is asking to be my friend at the end there. But, the first time I read it (and still a little bit on succesive readings), it seemed like he was more asking if I deign to associate with anyone imperfect, you fucking bitch with your fucking standards.

It should also go without saying that this man has never contacted me before in my life. I particularly like that he starts out by faulting me for not "winking" at him. Classy. Totally classy.

I'm swooning. Watch me swoon.

So, "Frank," I don't know if you'll ever find this blog, but if you do I'd like to offer up the reasons why I never responded to your e-mail. It is entirely possible that I'm missing a chance with a wonderful guy, and I admit that I am often a mean and judgmental person. But, in response to your e-mail: firstly, as my profile states, I am not a paying member and cannot e-mail you back without getting charged for the privilege to do so. Please don't take my lack of communication as a complete affront; even if I wasn't afraid of you, it would be impossible. Secondly, while you have already assured me that you're "not creepy," my suspicions are not entirely allayed.

And lastly, are you a tennis player? If not, I'd look into it. I think that might be a great way channel your impressive backhand skills towards a satisfying end.

[P.S. Please don't fillet me like a flounder.]

2 Comments:

Anonymous stupid boy said...

Aww, don't be so hard on poor "Frank". I could put up with a bucketful of creepiness for someone who cooks really well. Especially if they appreciate a nice bottle of Chianti... fthutfhutthut...

3:30 AM  
Blogger DMo said...

Kathy,

Thanks for changing my name while writing about me. I really appreciate it. That shit could have been W-A-Y embarrassing!

10:05 AM  

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