This story is mean. It’s about a bitch judging a decent guy because he’s a nerd that she met on OkCupid. But that’s the point: Judging people on shallow stuff is a bitch’s nature, and the magic and absurdity of online dating is how immediately and directly it throws that into relief.
Earlier this month, I came home drunk as I always do and made another OKCupid profile. What the hell, I thought. I’m busy, I’m single, I’m unattractive and everybody’s doing it. Sure, I’d heard some stories, but what was the worst that could happen? I’d remain single? Ha!
Two weeks into this particular online dating attempt, OKCupid had broken me down – again. I felt the same way I did every night, hanging out alone in this dark, date-rapey bar, hoping someone would grab me and take me into the back alley to repeatedly force themselves upon me. Every time I signed on, I was hoping to get hit by a barrage of messages. You know, the usual kind that all the other girls seem to get. Like, “Dem gurl u so foine, iwud lik veru much for me nd u to be marry n procreate.” Or “your legs do look strong.” But I never got any of those. I think it’s got something to do with my carpet face. So when I saw an IM from a guy named Jon that said, “You should go out with me :)” I was all like OMGIMAPRINCESSNAO. So I gave him my name and sent him a picture of my tits. “Google away,” I said, “there’s more where that came from.” Then dinner was ready, and I signed off without remembering to close redtube. It was an awkward dinner.
We met for a drink later that week, and I had to skip eating for a couple of days to save money for gas. Jon was thin and tall, dressed in a hedge fund uniform with pale skin and pierced ears. I was wearing my fanciest pajamas. We started talking about normal stuff—family, work, college, my incredibly good looks. I told him my brother was a gamer and I was a writer for a tech blog. And then he casually mentioned that he played Magic: The Gathering when he was younger.
“Actually,” he paused. “I’m the world champion.”
I laughed. Jackpot! I thought. My life is set! But the earnest look on his face told me he had already lost much of his interest in me.
I gulped my beer in five seconds flat and tried thinking about Magic, that strategic collectible card game involving wizards and spells and other detailed geekery. But cats, I like cats. Anyway, before I could try thinking about Magic again, we had to go. Jon had bought us tickets for a one-man show based on serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer’s life story. I was impressed that he could afford tickets. I can’t even afford tampons.
The next day I Googled my date and suddenly my period juices gushed onto my chair. The warmth felt comforting. It was a chilly day and I can’t afford blankets or heat. Anyway, Jon had A Wikipedia page! Competition videos! Fanboy forums comparing him to Chuck Norris! This guy wasn’t just some professional who dabbled in card games at a tender age. He’s Jon motherfucking Finkel, the man who could lift me from my miserable existence.
We met for round two later that week.
At dinner I got straight down to it. Did he make over $100 a week? “Yes.” FUCK YEA. Did he eat food every day? “I’m cooking beef tenderloin steaks with gorgonzola tomorrow.” FUCK YEA! Did he have any friends? “I’ve made best friends through Magic.” Ugh… I started feeling a little bit bad that I didn’t have anything to offer him. Here was a guy who had dedicated a good chunk of his life to mastering something, on a date with a girl who can barely do anything. BUT, he was a nerd who made friends in a card game so all his qualities didn’t matter one bit. How can I, an attractive young woman writing for a reputable blog, have a relationship with a nerd playing card games. I’m too good for him. I deserve a Clooney, or a Pitt.
So what did I learn? Nothing. But in 10 years, when I’m still single, I’ll write a new post about how men are judgemental bastards who won’t date me.
original on: gizmodo
PS: Alyssa, you’re a roaring cunt. Read More