I almost don't want to admit it, but I've joined the masses and started online dating. My profile is almost 1000 words long, I have multiple photos posted with various backdrops, outfits, faces, and sides of myself on display. Just like any other user, my likes, abilities, and mentioned experiences are exaggerated and downplayed alike---for the record, smashing your entire being into a 1000 word auto-character reference is sweat breaking work! And once it is finished, you have to tweak and pull and mold your online self into a shape that will bait the fish you are trying to snag; because yes, there are many fish in the sea, but no, I don't want to catch a barracuda.
Since entering the realm of singledom, I have resigned myself to initiating contact as frequently as possible. If a guy meets 95% of my own requirements and criteria, off I go typing an attention grabbing message, in hope he will recognize the potential I see in the both of us.
A few weeks ago, after a several weeks of playing word tag, I was scheduled to meet a whopping 91% love match. Using complex algorithms, drawing sweeping personality conclusions from answers to vague questions, and analyzing 5-point scale ratings I gave to potential mates, this man was deemed 91% compatible to me. 91%. That is 9 points shy of a full 100%! Leading up to this date, I thought to myself, "considering the intellectual, news fanatical banter we've exchanged already, we are probably going to hit it off, aren't we? And he's a 91% match! He must be my soul mate!" Pfft. Nice try, naive little girl. I sat in the coffee shop, sipping my tea, anxiously awaiting my prince's arrival when he suddenly walked in, looking calm, cool, collected, confident. He was even wearing corduroy. (WTF!?) As conversation flowed, easily I will add, our date progressed smoothly. Ending with us sitting in his car, digesting our Ramiro's Bros burritos, and talking quietly about the Vagina Monologues.
Then it happened, our fingers interlaced, we looked into each other's longing eyes, leaned in, and kissed one another. He had soft, pink lips, was a good kisser, I found nothing really to complain about except the giant white elephant that started sucking all of the air out of the tiny subcompact. It felt like I was kissing my male doppelganger: me-with-a-penis 2.0. There was absolutely no chemistry and none that could be scrounged up and pooled toward any sort of minuscule investment... believe me, I was searching thoroughly...
Turns out, my expectations were oh too high for a semi-blind date. How can you walk into a situation where you are expecting yourself and the other party to fit into one another like the missing piece of your last, great table puzzle? It is destined to fail! Maybe I'm just jaded. Or maybe I'm becoming less idealistic. Either way, you can't plan love, it just happens. Even in the most fertile of soils and the most meticulously chosen seed, a plant can fail to take root. My moral lesson, having an open mind, an open heart, and open eyes will lead me in the direction I need to go. Since Mr. 91, I've been on several first dates and not forcing myself to bend over backwards to make my subconscious happy has been a huge blessing and tension reliever.
