Internet Dating is for Degenerate Losers Like Myself

I’ve been using the dating site OKCupid on and off for about eight months now. It’s produced a handful of great first dates and drastically fewer second dates. Until recently it had been only a small portal into the regular dating world. There was no difference between a woman from OKC and a woman I’d met at a bar. Surprisingly, most of the women I met from the site were completely unaware of the Internet. I capitalize the word there because I’m referring to a specific corner of the internet in which I, and if you’re reading this then you too, exist in. They hadn’t heard of a meme, they didn’t blog, they’d heard of Twitter but never Tumblr, and some of them had defiantly deleted their Facebooks long ago. I found it all very strange.

Then I met Samantha.

And the Internet made everything worse.

After some brief messaging Samantha and I agree to meet up for drinks. As we talk I begin to get the feeling that she is on par with me in regards to the Internet. This initially makes things easier. I spend at least fifty percent of my waking life on the Internet so now I can impress her with buzz bands and cat jokes and snidely diss whichever celebrity is making us upset right now. My guns are loaded and lo and behold she has a great time. Top-3-Dates-Of-All-Time-Type-Of-Great-Time. The date even involved brunch (feel free to read between the sheets on that one).

I was ‘smitten’ as they say and I hadn’t been in a long time. I knew I should proceed with caution because in this modern age there is no telling what a woman wants from you. Some want immediate and constant attention, some vomit at the thought of it. When do you follow someone’s Twitter account? When can you call again? We’re all involved and we’re all professionals at finding people on the internet. One must assume the other person is nervously hammering your fragile name into every scathing search bar their fingers can find.

And so it begins. I must worry about these Internet things in addition to the already very complicated world of dating in your twenties. After sending the initial ‘I had a great time last night’ text and receiving a glowing one in return, I felt good. I felt better the next day when Samantha added me on Facebook. Kobe!

Wait. She added me on Facebook? I quickly realize that to do so she would have to have known my email address and if she did she could have only found it on my blog and if she found my blog then she can find my Twitter account where my stupid fucking name is iluvbutts247 because I make childish jokes and I am an idiot and oh christ what am I even doing anymore!?

Now, I don’t regret any of my Internet activity. I like my jokes and I like my thoughts and I like my writing for the most part (for the most part…). Though I do regret that some people won’t be able to understand me. That they can make snap judgements with a wealth of information about me. I might not be the easiest person to ‘get’ if you don’t already know me and the internet is notorious for misinterpreting tone and humor. Through the visitors own warped filter they now know too many things! Personal things! Embarrassing acts of desperation and existential meltdown! What is a blog for, you know? I mean, I’ve been drunk on the internet before! Holler if you hear me, bloggers (everyone)!

So as I already begin to stress out about when to call her next for the next date or when I can text her jokes or how long I should wait to do WHATEVER I am simultaneously now freaking out about anything I’ve ever posted. I’m searching through my Facebook photos and cringing and untagging. I read twenty pages back through my blog and wonder how I come off. I read twenty pages because I know I’d read at least twenty pages of hers if I found it (and I did). I begin to question the ‘perceived hidden meaning’ of every once-completely-meaningless post. I shake at the thought of her thinking my website is a sappy-woe-is-me-livejournal when she sees my audio post of The Replacements ”If Only You Were Lonely” but in reality I was just really digging the way Westerberg’s voice says “home with you”! I swear! I’m not lonely (well…)! I’m available but not easy, I’m enticing and mysterious! I’m whatever I’m supposed to be after the first date! Wow, this is pathetic. At this point I’m about to have a panic attack so I do what any other sane person would do to better this situation:

I click through nearly all of her photos.

I agonize over whether or not she is cooler than me (yes), if she is boning that guy (yes), if I’m more attractive than her exes (one) and hope she still owns that blue top and will wear it in front of me someday (no).

This is exhausting. This is a plague. And I can not escape.

Over the next few days she begins to give me the run around. I can tell she has lost interest and I wonder why. We had such a killer rad party dude time on our date that I couldn’t fathom her not being interested (lulz conceited!). Maybe I came on a little too strong (definitely) but what can I say? When I like something I really fucking like something.

I continued to think about the Internet. Maybe she saw the post I made about my OKC username being the same one I use for a pornography site and looked it up. Sorry to blow everyone’s mind right now but I’m a twenty-four year old male who is very single, and we all masturbate. Should I worry about the things I do so that other people will like me? Should I alter myself or should I have them take it or leave it as is? There must be a happy medium. And having a big mouth on the Internet sure isn’t helping.

Paranoia sets in. Is this all in my head? Am I that much of an egotistical asshole that I assume everyone is sneakily reading my blog for hidden meanings and to evaluate my true psyche? What if all of this worrying is for naught? What if she never once laid eyes on my stupid joke twitter or my idiotic anything? But that can’t be…right? I mean, don’t we all? Fuck.

Eventually, after many failed attempts to meet up again, she let me down. And thanks to our new friendship on the Internet she didn’t even have to deliver this excuse over the phone like we used to. In fact, that whole time she didn’t return one phone call. Always a text or some other type of message later on. The cowardice of technology strikes again! Just a simple, sharp Facebook message. That little red dot on the message icon glaring at me. I know what’s coming. I open the blue and white assault and read the bullshit blow-off excuse we’ve all probably used at least twice, maybe when we were twenty-one: “I’m not in the position to start a relationship right now”.

I would have rather she told me it was because I had a small dick. Oh well.

Now I’m not saying that the Internet was the only reason to blame for this ‘relationship’ fizzling out so quickly, but I’d wager it had a large part. I wonder if I’m alright with that. Maybe I am because I don’t have to put all the blame on me (something I do even if not necessary). Or on the other hand should I be even more upset? Should I assume that any Internet-findings that led to my being ‘cut from the team’ were purely extensions of me thus enforcing that at the end of the day what she didn’t want was just me? The soul searching begins and RSS feeds truncate. But at any rate, dating with the internet can be furiously frustrating. If only I could date the Internet. And now she’s probably reading this (that is, if you’re reading this on the internet). How weird! Hi Samantha! Sorry about the internet! Better luck next time, thanks for playing.

But don’t cry for me, Castlevania. At least I don’t have a small dick.

*names have been changed to protect myself, but just barely.