Match.crap - a year in review

It's almost been a year since I've been on the "Number One Site for Love". Internet dating, that New York staple, is the biggest hoax played on unknowing masses of singletons. You'll find an excuse to wear that new skirt from Phi that you snagged at that sample sale back in June, but love is most definitely not in the air.

Stalker Steve: Shelf Life - 1.5 months, 3 dates. A very cute Ivy alumnus who was a former crew national champion. Stock dropped after he phoned me on Christmas Day (before noon!) and managed to text or phone me at the office every single day for an entire week. I shut that down after he sends me 4 mad texts - one inviting me out for drinks, the next three (increasingly more hostile) inquiring as to my whereabouts. Note that I was at home in Connecticut, sleeping, at the time.

Normal Steve: Shelf Life - 1.5 months. Another rower and Ivy alumnus. After three dates (of the walking-on-air variety), he drops off the face of the earth after sending me an email that his weekend was booked because his friend (with a gender-neutral name) was flying in from Miami.
The Age-Defyer: Shelf Life - 0.0 months. He claimed to be a 25-year-old MBA working as an associate at an investment bank. Thanks to Google, I discovered he graduated high school in 2003. I never met up with him, thankfully. Yes, I Google my dates, and you should, too.

The Pen Pal: Shelf Life - 4 months. We emailed, without fail. Had 3 phone conversations. I would suggest meeting up, he would back out, but his emails were as predictable and sure as hair gel and money clips at Duvet on a Saturday night. I figured he was probably married, so I flushed that turd.

The Almost-Boyfriend: Shelf Life - 3 months. Fizzled out after his passivity (and small penis) made dating him a shrug of the shoulders. Part of me thinks I kept him around that long because he performed oral sex like a champ and took me to the Franz-Death Cab show, although he did fall asleep during Carmen. The city claimed him after I went on a 3-week business trip.

The Faceless Wonder: Shelf Life - 1 month (2 dates). This is the only person I met up with off the website who didn't post his picture. He was surprisingly attractive. After 2 dates (the latter of which was the kind that ends the next morning) he disappears into the ether. Makes me think that people who don't post their photos are cuter than those who do.

The Irish Guy: Shelf Life - 6 weeks (2 dates). After emailing for 3 weeks (2 of which he was on holiday in France, and emailed me every day) we go on The Best Date I Have Had Since I Moved To New York. It was one of those Shawshank Redemption dates, the kind where it makes you feel the hope that Red must have felt while he was taking that bus to Fort Hancock, Texas to make his parole-breaking border cross. Hope sank when, after date 2, he emails me saying that he can't see me anymore because he's still in love with his ex-girlfriend who, not so surprisingly, wants nothing to do with him. A pox on him.

But You Won't Meet The Love Of Your Life In The Meatpacking District.

And that's why we fork over $30/month to share a few photos and a poorly-written profile with the city's most desperate strangers (or douchebags trolling the website to find girls with poor self-esteem to fuck).

But, upon reflection, I've been served pretty well by those cobblestoned streets. After a few gin and tonics too many, I end up with Rich's tongue in my mouth. We end up dating for 2 months. While the physical chemistry well exceeded the mental connection, he still called me to wish me luck before my road races, introduced me to his friends, and wished me a happy Valentines' day (albeit at 10 PM, via text message). Not bad for the Brass Monkey.

And then there's He Who Shall Not Be Named. Here on vacation from somewhere overseas, I figured he'd be the ideal no-strings-attached hookup because he was obscenely good-looking, younger than me, and leaving the country soon (i.e. I wouldn't have to worry about acting like a slut, because I'd never see him again).

Shelf-life: 1.3 years and counting. After one visit, numerous phone calls and countless emails (some of which with his family and friends), we're still chums. God has a perverse sense of irony.
And I vowed I would never mention that fruitcake on this blog.