Well friends, I did say my dating hiatus would be temporary.
I don’t know if it’s the wine. I don’t know it’s the fact that I stupidly hate preparing my lunch for the next day and will do just about anything to procrastinate doing it. I don’t know if dating is like childbirth and you do it again and again thinking that this time will be less painful than the last.
But, I was just telling my friend Savannah that I would wait to get the rest of my shit together before getting back in the dating scene and here I am tonight, clothes strewn all over my room because I don’t have a proper bureau, on OkCupid.
Wish me luck!
(or don’t, depending on how entertaining you want these columns to be)
Readers, I must announce that this is the end of the Oknever column. Surprisingly, it’s not because of messages like this that I am quitting the online dating scene:
And surprisingly, not even this one:
Instead, I have simply had too many bad dates. I can’t do it anymore. I cannot get my hopes up that this time it will work. I can’t keep swallowing my anxiety and driving to Cambridge in the hopes of a spark. I can’t put on lipstick for people who suck.
Readers, I know you love me. And you know I love you. But, just asking for a friend, did someone tip off the trolls? It’s like they know I write this! It’s getting so persistent that I’m considering writing to Dear Prudence (now written by the hilarious Mallory Ortberg and not rape apologist Emily Yoffe):
I’m just a single white-ish female lookin’ for love on the internet! You know, like all #milennials do. However, I keep getting weird messages. Some of them are from folks who probably mean well, but others are from dudes that I would scientifically classify as “garbage humans.” What should I do?
–Desperate in Dedham
Well friends, as I rang in the new year, I decided once again to join the futile masses who search for love on the internet. And once again, the trolls, meninists, and scrubs of the interwebs did not fail to inundate me with love notes.
NB: I did not subject one man to all of these things.
- I told him I teach health, and then relayed an in-depth story about the horrors of my high school sex ed class (charming, right?)
- I didn’t finish the meal he made: salmon, asparagus, and wet quinoa with scrambled eggs and pineapple.
- I was overly preoccupied with his lack of curtains.
- I recommended he read Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay.
- I decided, while slightly tipsy, that it would be a wonderful idea to go in depth on Jasbir Puar’s concept of “homonationalism.”
- I told him I have put all of my bad OkCupid messages on my blog, but assured him his notes didn’t make the cut.
- In a discussion of childrearing, I tried very hard not to use the phrase “our children” in reference to “the children that our generation might beget” so that it wouldn’t sound like “our possible spawn” but may have slipped up once or twice.
- I revealed that I wrote a fan musical about Judith Butler.
- I revealed that I went on a blind date that was published in a national newspaper.
- I am Chandler Bing.
If you haven’t seen it yet, a fabulous woman on Instagram runs an account called feminist_tinder, in which she directly responds to the trolls she encounters on dating sites.
I respect what she does, but I don’t believe in feeding trolls. I don’t want to waste my time engaging with garbage humans whose minds will not change no matter what I say. But, that doesn’t mean that I can’t post some of the worst messages I’ve gotten on dating sites and apps here for you!