Tuesday, June 26, 2012


I think I'm going to squeeze in some fiction stories here as well. You'll know the true ones from the fake ones becuase I'll tell you which ones are which. Plus, these are mostly be adaptations from real life (of course)... just slightly exaggerated.

[Fiction fade in]

Via some coaxing from my mother, I decided to try internet dating. I signed up with a website and spent an afternoon creating my profile, making sure to create an awesome caricature of myself, taking cool things about me and exaggerating them. Being a writer/rambler, my initial profile was maxed to the character limit. So I deleted a couple paragraphs. Don't want to give the idea that I talk too much!

Then I began the search. I narrowed results to single men between 25 and 40, at least 6' tall in the Portland area.

As I scrolled through my future dates, I noticed men on internet dating sites aren't as unattractive as I thought. Being a little self-conscious and fearing rejection, I decided to only click on moderately attractive profiles. Once I found a guy that I was moderately attracted to, I clicked on it and read it. I looked for things like similar interests, sarcasm, sense of humor, etc...

I messaged a guy named Adam. He must have been in some sort of band and kept referencing a band I'd never heard of. I wrote:

"Hey you. I don't know the music you like. Sorry. I guess I could google and fake it but I'm more of an up front kind of gal. Im open to new music... Or anything new for that matter. Unless it involves bodily fluids in my hair.

Shit. I have trouble censoring myself. Since this is text, I should erase that part about bodily fluids because *WEIRD, but I'd rather you get to know the real me instead if the idealized online dating profile version of myself.

Your 'message me if' section is what prompted this message... In all honestly, fucking ditto.

Ok I've spent too much time on a first-time message already.

Do you like me? Circle one: Yes. No. Maybe."

Brilliance, if I do say so myself.

He responded and we did a little online banter, and then switched to text messaging. Then we set a date at a bar that I frequent for Friday night at 8.

My first reaction was that he looked nothing like the blurry photos I'd seen on the internet. He had long-ish curly red hair, pale skin and a serious acne problem that I hadn't seen so horrible since my high school years on a kid we called Pizza Face. Adam was telling me about himself and his job, but I couldn't stop thinking about Pizza Face and trying to remember his actual name. It was some kind of nickname-sounding name, like Smokey or Butch or Skip. What was his name??!?!? Then I started thinking about why people call those with acne "pizza faces". Maybe the potpourri on acne is supposed to represent pepperoni on a pizza. Do they rub pizza on their faces before they go to bed? I'm sure the grease from the pizza would clog pores.

Then I pictured Adam rubbing a greasy, hot pizza on his face every night before he went to bed. How else could adult cystic acne get so bad??

Who knows? Maybe we'd be the perfect couple. I do have a sick fascination with zit popping (which, I know, gross). But could I really introduce this guy to my friends and family?
The shallow-ness in me faked an emergency text message and I apologized and quickly left. I'm sure Adam was a great guy, but I don't like popping zits that much.

1 comment:

E. Reed said...

Funny.. you should write some more SOON! - Sgt. Reed, aka number one Gator Fan.