Tag Archives: online dating

Reasons I Have Rejected Guys Based on Their OkCupid Profiles

 In her latest tongue-in-cheek post, Bridget Callahan offers a list of reasons for shooting down potential OkCupid suitors.  


Mentions morals he inherited from his grandfather in first five sentences: Even if your grandfather is dead, it is still very unsexy to mention that basically you don’t believe in women’s rights and think that Russia is planning the downfall of the American empire. Everyone knows it’s China.


Three references to finding an “*HONEST*” woman in the same profile: There can be two interpretations of this. Either you always hook up with women who lie and cheat, which means you probably lie and cheat yourself, or you’ve convinced yourself that every woman who ever dumped or rejected you had alternate motivations besides the fact that they just didn’t like you.


Lists NCIS as a favorite TV show: Yes, I have been sucked into Mark Harmon marathons too. But think about what stating that a Navy cop show that regularly features the Coast Guard intercepting terrorists is your FAVORITE show says about you. Moreover, real goths don’t dress like that at work. They also don’t pass government background checks.


“I have a 1-year-old daughter and an open marriage”: Asshole.


All his profile photos are with other women: Now, I think having some photos with other people is a good thing.  After all, it’s evidence that you sometimes leave your house. But you know what I’ve learned from your ten photos at bars with blonde girls in halter tops? That you prefer blondes in halter tops. So actually maybe that was your point? If so, well done.


Staind. Is mentioned. At all.: Except in the context of “I would rather have my dick cut off than listen to Stained, and yes I know that’s not how it’s spelled, but I have too much respect for the English language to go along with this travesty.”


Any innuendo pertaining to his skill at cunnilingus: It is much appreciated when guys are good at giving head. But we’re not guys, and we’re not just going to hook up with the girl at the bar who proclaims her blowjob skills loudest. And we’re going to think you are trashy, and the mental image of your skater cut in between our legs is sort of ridiculous and pathetic. No one is ever going to get head from you and suddenly realize you’re a real person and they want to get to know you and maybe love you. Girls learn this in high school. Catch up.


Wearing a hood in profile photo: Yeah, you look hardcore dude. I certainly have no qualms about getting into a car with you, and I don’t think you live with your parents at all. Not even a little.


Background of profile photo is obviously a condo bathroom: You couldn’t take ten minutes to try and position your chest so I couldn’t see your Suave and dirty towel hanging behind you?


Prefers cats over dogs: What kind of soulless freak believes this?


Thinks astrology signs are “fun to talk about”: Translation – believes in ghosts.


Mentions divorce in self-summary, along with love of jetskis: Wrinkled balls, probably. Also loves scotch and crying after sex.


Thinks air is essential item he could not live without: Have some imagination, broham.


“I’m a nice guy who’s been treated badly, but I’m a survivor”: This guy is so obviously a serial killer, I’m actually scared of the fictional him I’m picturing in my head right now. This guy is the reason there are whole books devoted to teaching girls after a breakup that just because he called you crazy doesn’t mean you were.


Prefers to stay home with Netflix, and acts like this is a virtue: This is exactly why you don’t have a girlfriend.


The word “relationship”: Go hire a marriage matchmaker. I think they call it “paying for Match.com”.


Lists his skills as cooking and sarcasm: Congratulations, you are a super trendy ass who had no life before he got Instagram and the Internet.


Responds to my one-sentence intro email with a request to phone sex chat: This isn’t Craigslist. Also be aware I will be writing a caption on that picture of your dick, and it will probably make a joke about how it looks like a single serving of Napoleon ice cream.


Like what you just read?  Read more from The Moustache Club of America!

More by Bridget Callahan:

Astrology For Bitter Single People Who Don’t Believe in Astrology

Sexual Fantasies I Have About Various Republicans

More by our other authors:

10 Movies That Will Absolutely, Positively Make a Man Cry

How to Write a Short Story So Gr8 It’s Gr9!

And keep the conversation going on Twitter:  @MoustacheClubUS




Online Dating 101: How to Cut the BS and Keep it Real

 “So let’s not kid ourselves. We’re just two lonely people. We’re so desperate for quality human interaction that we’ll even employ a machine to help us find it.”



No, you are right.

We don’t know each other. We may never know each other. That’s fine; I don’t care.

But it would appear as though we’re both lonely and dissatisfied with the current state of our lives. We both feel like something is missing.

And look at that–things in common already!

I saw the flattering profile picture you posted. You really do look great in that one. You think so too, obviously. You chose it over all of your other pictures to greet me, a total stranger. I just read the things you wrote in the box used to illustrate your personality. Oh my, you sure are clever. You’re just a pun factory. So what’s a gorgeous, fun-loving, free-spirited, Oscar Wilde-ian/Robin Williamsish catch like you doing up for grabs on the internetz?

In the last hour, you’ve probably scrolled past 14 people whom you can barely tell apart.

Doesn’t really matter. Just like it doesn’t matter what you write in the box.

And it doesn’t matter what I wrote in the box, either.

More often than not, people using this website are only portraying themselves to be whatever they think their ideal mate would fantasize about. They’re only saying whatever they think their ideal mate would like to hear. They’ll say something along the lines of: “Oh, I will tell you like it is! I’m motivated! I’m honest! I’m real! I’m loyal! I’m one of a kind!”

But in the last hour, you’ve probably scrolled past 14 people whom you can barely tell apart.

So let’s not kid ourselves. We’re just two lonely people. We’re so desperate for quality human interaction that we’ll even employ a machine to help us find it.

You just want someone to tell you that you complete them. You want someone to kiss you in the rain and love you forever.

You may want it enough to part with some cash for a premium membership, in hopes of speeding up the process.

I think we have a lot more in common than you’d like to admit.

So let’s not waste time with this. That’s what these sites are for: bypassing the bullshit on your way to finding “The One.” You’re just doing the same thing I’m doing. Scrolling through other heartbroken and desperate people’s pictures, wondering what’s so awful about them. Or rationalizing why you wouldn’t match up with them. Or speculating as to why someone would’ve gotten tired of having sex with them. Or thinking about how seemingly perfect they are, and wondering why they won’t respond to any of your advances. It’s just like the worst parts of high school all over again, but in little HTML boxes.

Endless repeat. They’re not good enough for you. Or you’re not good enough for them.

But you still keep reading those little personality boxes under the best-looking profile pictures. You’re still smirking at their attempts to be funny or clever.

I am, too.

I think we have a lot more in common than you’d like to admit.

 Because we’re all the same.



Online Dating Science Fiction: The Robot That Stole Her Heart

In honor of the late Ray Bradbury, Oliver Lee Bateman launches an entirely new sub-genre:  online dating science fiction.


“So I guess what I’m saying is that I’m just not over him,” winsome young Camden Camden explained to the Evil Genius.

“Over whom? This ‘Toe’ character you used to date? He sounds like a real dick,” said the Evil Genius, who was hoping against hope that Camden Camden would “give it up” on their third date. He hadn’t invested mother’s hard-earned money in two 40s of Olde English malt liquor and a bootleg Veronica Mars Season 2 DVD set out of the goodness of his heart, after all.

Camden Camden fought back her tears. “It’s just that…I don’t know, I still love him, I guess. Do you have anybody like that? I mean, you’re a nice guy. You understand, right?”

The Evil Genius rolled his eyes, heaved a handful of heavy sighs, and otherwise carried on like a spoiled brat. “I’m not interested in talking a walk down memory lane with you, hon. We’ve been on this date for almost three hours, and it’s about time that you shit or get off the pot.”

“I thought you were different,” Camden Camden said. “I thought you’d understand where I’m coming from and we could be friends.”

“Why on earth would you think that?” the Evil Genius asked.

“You have such kind eyes. I just wanted a friend to sit on the couch with me and hold my hand. We could talk about him—‘Toe,’ I mean—and I could get better and”—here she began to sniffle and sob—“everything would be okay.”

The Evil Genius zipped up his fly—which he’d unzipped preemptively a few minutes after entering Camden Camden’s house—and made preparations to depart. “Yes, that’s exactly why I posted an advert on Adult Friend Finder. I was hoping to sit on the couch and chat for hours about some traumatized woman’s erstwhile paramour. I’ve got a fetish for such things. You’re really turning me on, heating me up, getting my rocks off, et cetera,” he deadpanned as he strode toward the door.

“You mean bastard, I’m baring my soul to you and…”

The Evil Genius slammed the door behind him, and didn’t hear the rest.


Zombie manservant Crow peeked his head into the Evil Genius’ garage laboratory just as his master was finishing an intricate series of welds on his latest robot. “This thing again, boss? I thought you told your mom you were taking it out to the landfill,” he said.

“What Eunice doesn’t know won’t hurt her, Crow. Anyway, come hither. My latest triumph is nearly complete,” the Evil Genius answered.

Crow entered and gave the robot a quick once-over. As before, its enormous steel frame was covered with gears, wires, and other doodads. “Huh, it looks about the same,” he said.

“Oh no, I’ve completely redesigned it. It’s going to do something that no robot has ever done before.”

“Is it going to get you out of your mom’s house? Because if it does, I know she’d be eternally grateful. She was really bitching yesterday about having to clean up my brain droppings,” Crow said.

The Evil Genius shook his head. “Why won’t she get off my case? I told her I’d stitch your scalp back on after I’d finished my research.”

“What research is that, boss? All we’ve been doing for the past three months is playing video games and drinking malt liquor.”

“It’s known as ‘normal science,’ Crow. We can’t all be out there decoding the human genome or figuring out how to clone pygmy seals. Anyway, watch this,” the Evil Genius said. He flipped a few switches on the robot’s control panel, then began fiddling around with the upgraded Atari 5200 joystick he used to operate the robot.

Various LED indicator lamps blinked on as the robot lurched to life. “What’s up, baby?” the robot said to no one in particular, its mellifluous voice phase-vocoded by a 99-cent Auto-Tune “app” that the Evil Genius had downloaded from the iTunes Store.

“This robot is going to break some hearts,” the Evil Genius announced haughtily and with a sweep of his hand, as if he were speaking at a press conference or giving an interview on the red carpet at the Academy Awards.

“What the hell does that mean? Is it going on a killing spree, then?” Crow asked.

“Christ, Crow, where do you get these ideas? Life doesn’t work like that Call of Duty game you’re always playing. No, this robot is going to break hearts on the dating scene.”

Crow was confused. “Have you been smoking crack bath salts or something, EG? Who would want to date that big piece of junk?”

“My first girlfriend will, Crow. This robot is going to locate her, learn if I had an impact on her in the same way that all these other absent first boyfriends seem to, and then make her wish she’d never left me.”

“Emily Twiggs? But she could be anywhere, EG,” Crow said. “And how is the robot going to get her to go out with it?”

“You just leave that to the robot,” the Evil Genius. “This thing is a real pro.”

As if on cue, the robot grabbed its decorative aluminum codpiece and made an obscene gesture. “Moustache rides fifteen cents,” it said, again to no one in particular.


 username: twistdst33l-N-sexappe@l696969

height: 10’2”

body type: robot

religion: agnostic

kids: maybe/someday

pets: no way/allergic

education: 2 terabyte hard drive

on here for: long-term relationship, short-term relationship, pen pals, casual encounters, online chat, web “fun”

about me: Hey, robot here. I’m looking for a girl who is smart and funny, and who likes all of the same things that I like. I’m into going out on the town but I also don’t mind staying in, it just depends on my mood lol. I respect a girl who is a lady in the streets but a freak in the sheets lololol. I’m definitely one of the funniest people I know lmao. Friends say I’m always up or down for whatever. In terms of religion, I would guess that I’m spiritual but not religious. I have a good amount of superstition too rofl!!! Politically, I’m in the middle of the road. However I think they should legalize it so I’m def 420 friendly!!


 username: etwiggs02121977

height: 5’6”

body type: didn’t answer/don’t care to say

religion: spiritual but not religious

pets: i have cats

education: bachelor’s degree

on here for: long-term relationship, pen pals, true love

about me: Hi there! I’m a very cool young lady with a lot of interests as well as a nice heart and a good personality. I love to laugh but I also think deeply about various social concerns. I am especially worried about Darfur, not to mention Katrina. I’m a fan of sitting in coffee houses and have a total caffeine addiction. I’m also a real foodie, so nom nom nom! As far as fiction goes, I like all the great books: “The Great Gatsby,” “Great Expectations,” “The Great Santini.” With television, I can do anything from a reality show to a drama — just depends on my mood! Music moves my soul and I couldn’t live for even three seconds without my iPod. Some of the best singers going are Ke$ha, Boogie Crackerjack, Clay Aiken, Savage Garden, Young Dro, Jessica Simpson and the Black Eyed Peas. Unlike a lot of girls, I am for real and in the market for something serious. However, I would not mind if it just happens because I can go with the flow. You never know when there will be a spark. When it’s right, it’s right. True love is out there and it’s worth waiting for. No scrubs or players, please.


 Hey saw ur profile I am for Katrina and Darfur as well. Like that u like coffee r u up for sum this weekN? I work M-F but I Have good availability Sat and part of Sun after the Spartans game. Go team!



Dear Robot,

You sound really cool! One of the things that caught my eye about your profile was that you are into going out as well as staying in. I think it’s nice to be flexible and it’s pretty clear to me that you are! I was also really interested in your height. You are super tall! How’s the weather up there lol? But seriously I think that’s just great. It’s probably a lot of fun to be that height. Do you work out? I’m just getting back to it and it’s a bit of a pain but I want to lose a few pounds. I don’t know many robots but it’s nice to be able to talk to somebody who is different. As you can tell from my causes like Katrina and Darfur I’m very much into diversity and robots fit in with that. Maybe we can get our java jolt this Saturday at 5 pm?




yeah thats good with me. its cool that you are ok with the height and my being a robot. that scares alot of girls off lol but you seem pretty chill and i like that alot. if you want to chat just msg me on FriendFace I already added u lol! guess were moving pretty fast roflmao ;)



 robot8===>: hey sup emmy

ETwiggs01: Hi there! What’s up with you, Mr. Robot?

robot8===>: nm u

ETwiggs01: You just asked me that! Lol’ing! Are you ready for our date?

robot8===>: yah hey u got any pix not nudez tho lol

ETwiggs01: Well I have my pictures here on FriendFace…

robot8===>: yah cool jus wanted 2 c if u had a few more lol :D

ETwiggs01: I might have just two or three naughty ones if you promise not to post them anywhere else! ;)

robot8===>: yah sure send them jpg format pls kthx


 Emily Twiggs is so excited about her date with a certain tall dark and handsome robot!

Posted at 11:03 a.m.

CamdenC a robot really? 11:06 a.m.

Emily Twiggs Yep, totally diverse! <3ing my life! 11:09 a.m.

Brian Powell lawlz it’ll be like Short Circuits up in there 11:11 a.m.

Danny Cater The correct title of that Steve Guttenberg classic is “Short Circuit,” FYI. 11:12 a.m.


Robot OGC

Posted at 11:29 a.m.

Toe B fuk yeah u kno it roflmao 11:33 a.m.

Robot str8 trippin homes 11:33 a.m.

Toe B pimpin like the kid fucked dat pie 11:34 a.m.

Danny Cater The movie you’re referring to is “American Pie,” FYI. One of Jennifer Coolidge’s best roles, IMHO. #JenniferCoolidge 11:48 a.m.


 So about the date. I guess you could say it went as well as could be expected. We both got there at the same time and found a table in the back. It was some kind of hipster place, Xeroxed band posters on the wall and really bad paintings for sale. That turned out to be fine because they had 10w-30 motor oil brewing and that’s all I drink. It’s apparently really “cutting-edge” right now. Go figure. She drank a “red eye,” which is extra dark roast coffee with a shot of espresso in it. Anyway, we start talking and it’s clear she likes me. “You’re just as tall as you said in your profile,” she repeated a bunch of times. People lie about that a lot, I suppose. Doesn’t make sense to me but whatever. From there she asked me about being a robot. Said it’d be neat to be a robot, how being a robot is “something that’s very now, very tech-y.” I said that I’m the only robot around, as far as I know, so it can pretty lonely but I make the best of it. I tried to “kino-escalate” by bringing my hose attachment up against her kneecap. She didn’t like that as much so I laid off and let her talk some more. She talked about not knowing what to do with her life, how confused she was, how it made more sense when she was in college but now she just wasn’t sure. I asked her if she had any big dreams. She said she wanted to travel outside the country, maybe go somewhere she could make a difference. Said she had her causes and cared about a lot of things such as Darfur but that she had to pay down her credit card bills and student loans first. Then she went into this long digression about she’d gained a few pounds in all the wrong places, how she was hitting the gym, how she hoped I didn’t mind given how athletic I was. I reminded her that I was a robot and I didn’t need to hit the gym. Then I tried a “neg” by saying that I did mind how she had kind of a hooked, witchy nose. She responded in the expected way, laughing nervously, and I began running a search in my C: directory to see if I had remembered to bring condoms and lubricant. I was quickly getting to the end of my programming loop and I hoped to finish strong. After she drank her “red eye” coffee, I asked her if she wanted to go somewhere more comfortable. I could tell she was a little nervous but I said it was nothing to worry about it, I had a motel room about a block away, and all we had to do was go there and talk. Just talk about things, you know? Maybe we could talk a little bit more about her dreams of traveling and making a difference. She agreed and we made our way back to the room. There was only one king-size bed—another tip from my programming—and we sat down on it. Her makeup was starting to run and she looked pretty bad. I don’t think she was very attractive, objectively speaking. She had sent me some “dirty” pictures online that were actually mild compared to the filth that’s out there, and it was clear she had put on about thirty pounds since they were taken. Not that I cared, being a robot, but there was a flicker of recognition in the back of the program that I was running that this was worth noting. I moved my feather-duster attachment against the back of her neck, and she shivered involuntarily. She was nervous, like a “cat on a hot tin roof” so to speak. I asked her what was wrong. I explained that I wasn’t trying to be fresh or anything, but I felt like I was starting to care about her and I wanted things between us to be really special. Did she understand that? She nodded a little bit and said that she understood, but that what I wanted wasn’t something she could bring herself to give right now. She wasn’t ready, in other words. When I asked her why, she said it was because of something that happened to her a long time ago. This was what you were waiting for, so I fired up my .wav recorder and waited. The story you’re going to hear is—it’s definitely not what you’re expecting. What was holding her back from doing what I wanted, from having this special moment I so clearly deserved, was her memory of how, during her first relationship—which was with you, of course—she basically cheated on her dweeby boyfriend with every guy who talked to her. She thought of her dweeby boyfriend as such a nice guy, and of herself as subhuman and totally unlovable, and so she came to believe she had to humiliate herself over and over again. The stories are on the cassette tape—she talked for about forty minutes without any prodding from me—and I don’t want to repeat them here. They’re disturbing, to say the least. She said that, at the end of it all, just before she broke it off with you, her dog—Old Bones was his name—ran out into the street and was hit by a car. He didn’t die but he was crippled for the rest of his life. Even though this didn’t have anything to do with her relationship or the other stuff she was doing, she became convinced that the accident was in fact the judgment of an angry God—she felt it was important at that point to emphasize how she was a Christian deep down even if “the rest of it I don’t know about but I know that God’s a Christian and He is love”—and she believed that, no matter how much penance she did, she would never be forgiven for what happened to Old Bones, even though he held on for nine more years and by all accounts had a satisfactory existence during that span. The injury to Old Bones was why she kept going on dates yet never experienced a connection, why her heart was so troubled, why she was overcome by tremendous and oppressive foreboding. After she told me this, I said—and here I was at the bitter end of the program you wrote—that I’m sorry about what happened to her but to be perfectly honest it didn’t make any sense. “You men are all alike,” she replied. “Why couldn’t you just sit there and listen to me?”


Photo–Flickr/Luis Perez


The Match.com Bachelor

Dear you,

The reason I have carefully chosen to randomly message you is because I am hoping to interest you in an exciting competition that I will be hosting in the near future.  This competition, which is based on the hit television show “The Bachelor,” will consist of the 12 to 15 of you showing up at a pizzeria or hamburger joint for a group date with me.  During this date, I will conduct a series of tests–some brain teasers, a 20-question survey of your sexual habits and history, and a few physical challenges–to see which three lovely ladies get to accompany me back to my mother’s condominium for an evening of erotic exploration (hopefully on the waterbed, although we may have to use my futon in the garage if mom isn’t willing to let us sleep in the master bedroom with her ).

Given the nature of this contest as well as my own straitened circumstances, I’m afraid that the lot of you will have to pool your resources to purchase the pizzas or hamburgers.  I believe that 3 large pizzas–meat only, as I’m allergic to the taste of vegetables–at most reputable chains should suffice, though it would be nice to bring mom some leftovers.  Yes, that’s the ticket:  plan on purchasing four large pizzas, since the leftovers may go a long way toward convincing her to let us have the run of the place (and never mind her comments–which are bound to be incessant–about wanting to be a “fly on the wall” while we five four conduct our lovemaking).

Although the final schedule of events is dependent on the restaurant we select, here are some games to prepare for:

  • Lubed-up underwear ball pit wrestling (this would entail traveling to a Chuck E. Cheese’s Pizza Time Theatre or a McDonald’s Playland; I will supply the lube, since my sensitive skin will tolerate nothing but the “warm” variety of this product).
  • Danny Cater trivia.  Questions may include:  Who is Danny’s favorite supermodel?  How many times has Danny seen Titanic?  What is Danny’s steamiest secret sexy fantasy?  Questions you needn’t prepare for:  When did Danny lose his virginity?  How many girlfriends has Danny had?  Has Danny ever had untoward thoughts about his mom?
  • Bobbing for prizes inside my loose, flame-embossed Jnco jeans.  Even though I’ve packed on a few pounds in recent years–all musclegut, I assure you–these things still fit me like a circus tent and can easily accommodate several pairs of grasping, feminine hands.  I’ll secrete several cool, collectible items (Looney Tunes Upper Deck baseball cards, POGs, MASK action figures) in my sensual-est folds, and the winner will be the woman who succeeds in withdrawing the most items during a 15-minute period.
  • Kissing cousins:  In this game, you’ll be required to give the deepest, dirtiest kiss imaginable to the person sitting right next to you.  Just like in Jr. High roflmao!
  • Bathroom breaks:  A few lucky contestants will be chosen for a transgressive “bathroom run” to the men’s room with Bachelor Danny!  If anyone asks, we’re just powdering our noses. ;0)

Based on what I’m guessing is in your profiles, you’re as tired of playing games as I am.  You’re probably at that stage in your life where you, like me, have grown tired of the drama and just want to let the good times roll.  Well, I think I speak for all of us when I say that NO SCRUBS NEED APPLY to this awesome challenge/opportunity of ours.  Also, if I somehow didn’t notice that you were in a polyamorous relationship–it seems like every hipster and his FTM/MTF/FTMTFMTF girlfriend on OKCupid is, but this is Match we’re talking about, for crying out loud!–please note that, contrary to my internet browsing history, I am not interested in doing anything with your muscle pup boytoy.  Seriously, no homo.

That’s all for now.  See you soon!

Mr. Danny Cater

My Own Boss, Self-Employed

Note:  Although I referenced “The Bachelor” earlier in this message, I have seen only the season featuring former Southern Cal quarterback Jesse Palmer (what a hottie hunk, lol no homo x200 j/k!).  I “Netflixed” it a few weeks ago and just couldn’t get enough.  I can’t believe nobody IRL (I pronounce it “eye-are-ell” when I’m saying it in a speech or at a roundtable) has tried anything like this yet!

Online Dating and the Real ‘You’

Oliver Lee Bateman has a foolproof guide to setting up your online dating profile.

Despite years of hard-hitting research by writers at top publications like Cosmopolitan and Glamour, true love remains very hard to find. Those wild and crazy raves and mosh pits might be great for sowing your wild oats, but it’s doubtful that you’ll find the man or woman of your dreams there. If it’s a dreamboy/dreamgirl you’re after, you should consider visiting the same Internet where you manage your Farmville estate and set up your fantasy football lineups.

Unlike smoky neighborhood bars and noisy fraternity parties, the Internet is a place where you can cut loose and be yourself. Internet users are honest, welcoming and kind — a big, happy surrogate family. By posting a personal ad on websites like Match.comOkCupid.com or Craigslist.org, you can announce to the denizens of this virtual world that your search for love and recognition has begun. Although it’s vitally important that you tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth in your ad, you need to do it in a vague, roundabout way that won’t offend any potential soulmates.

First, provide some vital statistics: height, weight and the like. If some of this data isn’t in your favor, fudge it a bit. Let’s say you’re a guy who is a bit on the short side — maybe 5-foot-1 or so. Why not use this opportunity to type in a higher but nonetheless still reasonable number, like 7-foot-4? That’s a lot taller than 5-foot-1, and as long as you don’t provide any photos of yourself standing next to anyone bigger, you should be in the clear. In the unlikely event that your date discovers this ruse, it’ll be too late — he or she will be too smitten by your winning personality to call you on it.  Use the same sort of logic when answering questions about “body type”:  a 400-pound man undoubtedly has an “athletic” build, since he weighs as much as an NFL offensive lineman, as does a 65-pound woman without a single ounce of muscle or fat on her emaciated physique.

You’ll want to showcase that personality in the next section. This “about me” field is an opportunity to flash your writing skills while demonstrating how awesome you are. But how to start? Here’s a good sample beginning — feel free to borrow it:

“Hi there! I’m a very cool young guy/girl with a lot of interests as well as a nice heart and a good personality.”

See how that works? Right away the reader knows that you’ve got many interests, a nice heart and a good personality. There’s no way that he or she will stop reading now, so let’s keep this winning streak alive:

“One of my favorite things to do is to go out on the town and paint it red. Another favorite thing is staying in and curling up with a book, a cup of tea or a movie.”

Whoa! Now that the reader knows you’re an expert at both going out and staying in, he or she is probably eager to put a ring on it. The fact that you’re an inveterate reader, a tea drinker and a fan of the cinema is just icing on the cake. Let’s continue developing our masterpiece:

“Unlike a lot of girls/guys, I am for real and in the market for something serious. However, I would not mind if it just happens because I can go with the flow. You never know when there will be a spark. When it’s right, it’s right. True love is out there and it’s worth waiting for. No scrubs or players, please.”

You’re already far ahead of the game, so use a paragraph like that one to qualify your demands. Here you’re telling the reader that, although you’d like a serious relationship, you can also be spontaneous. You’re also informing him or her that you know exactly how love works — “when it’s right, it’s right.” That line might be straight out of a movie or a book, and it’ll undoubtedly resonate. Finally, you’re telling scrubs and players to stay away. A winner like you can afford to be picky, after all.  But how to end?

“I love to laugh but also think deeply about various social concerns. I am especially worried about Darfur, not to mention Katrina. I’m a fan of sitting in coffee houses and have a total caffeine addiction. As far as fiction goes, I like all the great books: ‘The Great Gatsby,’ ‘Great Expectations,’ ‘The Great Santini.’ With television, I can do anything from a reality show to a drama — just depends on my mood! Music moves my soul and I couldn’t live for even three seconds without my iPod. Some of the best singers going are Ke$ha, Clay Aiken, Savage Garden, Young Dro, Jessica Simpson and the Black Eyed Peas.”

Yep, the coup de grâce. Who wouldn’t want to marry the person described in this stunning advertisement? In fact, if I could find someone like this, my life would not only be complete but the happiest in recorded history. Before I go, though, I have a final word of advice for all of our male readers: According to research I just added to Wikipedia, profile photos with goatees are 207 percent more likely to receive responses.

Happy hunting, true believers.

—Photo Brett Jordan/Flickr

About Two People

Here’s a story about two people.  The first one is a successful assistant coach at a major D-1 college football program.  The second one is the writer of the story.

Watch Marcus Wilson, the assistant coach, and you’ll understand.  He paces the sidelines with his neatly-pressed university polo tucked into his neatly-pressed khakis.  He carries a clipboard.  He doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t miss a play.  He’s the best offensive coordinator in the Southeastern Conference and a lock to take over when his school’s current head coach retires.  When that happens, he’ll become the first minority head coach in the school’s history.  His life is perfect.

The other one, Oscar Berkman, is a bit more difficult.  He’s lazy.  What is he doing with himself, huh?  His parents ask and he doesn’t answer.  He shaves once in a while, eats once in a while, smiles once in a while.  Those are his luxuries.  He’s a teacher at a university and nobody cares. His life is perfect.

So here you have two perfect lives.  Wilson’s life includes a six-figure salary and the keys to a football kingdom.  Berkman’s life includes a modest five-figure salary and the keys to an efficiency apartment.  Yet their stories are the same:  the same as one another’s and the same as everybody else’s.

Wilson goes home to his gorgeous wife and three darling children.  He kisses his wife and checks his children’s homework.  He prepares dinner.  He watches the local news.  He reads the paper.

Berkman goes home to his futon.  He reads a book for work.  He reads a book recommended by one of his friends.  He performs some light calisthenics.  He stares at the ceiling until he falls asleep.

Wilson seems like the luckier of the two, right?  He has his act together.  Berkman is sitting and rotting; Wilson is on the rise.  But that isn’t the truth and it never will be.

Wilson’s life is hell.  Every night after that gorgeous wife and those darling children go to bed, he signs on to the internet.  He navigates to a personals website.  He enters his username (bigmommashouse) and his password (uafootball1) and the world starts to get a little crazy.

Oh stop this.  What was this story going to be about?  It was going to be about two people and I was going to write it using this really awkward parallel structure.   But I don’t want to write that story anymore, nossir.

What I want to write about is sincerity.  Now Marcus Wilson (the “hero” or “protagonist” or whatever of the story) wasn’t very sincere.  He was living a lie.  He would go online and pretend to be a chubby Arab chick (a big beautiful woman or “BBW”) and use this persona (created through his writing, which was secretly quite good because Wilson had been a frustrated journalism major) to seduce real women (whom he distinguished from “fake” women (like himself) using a variety of checks, protocols, tests, etc.).  When they started to love him (i.e., when they started to love this persona), Wilson would block them on his instant messenger and never talk to them again.

Okay, so what about Oscar Berkman?  Now Oscar Berkman was always very sincere (note that parallel structure, fo’ sho’!).  He didn’t live a lie because he felt that’s what his parents had done and so he wanted to be forthright or on the level or “straight up” with the women he dated.  When they said they loved him, he would shelve them in that dusty Royal Library of Alexandria mind of his and proceed to forget about them.  Plus, he wouldn’t call it dating, because really, who dates nowadays?  Do you go on dates?  Don’t lie to me.  I know you don’t, you big liar.  You sit at home and rub your joystick or finger your slit or buzz your button or some such thing.  I’ve seen the advertisements; I’ve seen the truth.

Anyway, the point I wanted to make was how both of these methods—Wilson’s lie and Berkman’s truth—were equally unsavory.  Wilson was unhappy and Berkman was unhappy.

Yet there’s an even more important point here, and that’s why I’ve decided to truncate this narrative (a précis is as good as a disquisition to an ignorant reader in the same way that a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse).  The more important point is that there is no distinction between sincerity and insincerity.

Let’s take the simple sentence “I love you.”  If you tell me this and it’s true, so what.  If you tell me this and it’s false, also so what.  Does it matter less if you don’t mean it?  Of course it doesn’t.

People (i.e., “smart people” or “people in the know”) say that this is the age of irony, by which they mean that this is the age that has lost its grip on sincerity.  Although this is a strange and incorrect juxtaposition, it’s no better or worse than saying that modernism gave way to post-modernism or some other gibberish.

Everything amounts to gibberish:  Everything including that “I love you” and everything including this sorry excuse for a story.  Marcus Wilson typed that he was a woman, he typed that in his online conversations, and yes he was a woman.  His insincerity was their truth.  And it was his truth too, even if he’s not real and they’re not real and none of this happened.  Inside he was a woman, when he wrote from the heart of that phony persona he was a woman, and you have to get this.

I’m not making a complicated philosophical argument here.  Because I don’t have the training, I couldn’t do that (i.e., make said complicated philosophical argument) even if I tried (and I won’t try because I’m too lazy).  What I’m saying is that every single communication that we primates share with one another is true, because if you look at intention, well, the intention of primates is to reproduce and that’s always and everywhere the same (and that goes for of all of god’s creatures, “natch”).  How we get there—how some of us get there—is the real trick.  Some of us, having too much awareness for our own good, get there the long way; and some of us, having too little spirit and too much flesh, don’t get there the wrong way.

Poor Marcus Wilson.  He had it figured out.  Don’t most people have it figured out, so much of the time?  No, reader, you just think that they do.  And you’re a dumber son of a gun than I am because you think so.


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