It’s been just over 3 weeks since I joined *insert generic internet dating site here*, and so far it’s been interesting. I’m learning things not only about others, but about myself as well. Granted, they’re things like the fact that I find it difficult to take people seriously when they start a conversation with the words, “So, you’re really hot.” I take pity on them – of course I’ve uploaded the better photos of me. And of course I’ve taken care to put a photoshop action on it so that my complexion appears slightly smoother than it otherwise would. You should see me right now, sitting here in my daggy around-the-house shorts, and my bed hair, with yesterday’s makeup smudged underneath my eyes. See how you like them apples.
I’m up to the stage where I’ve perused numerous profiles (and wondering why this website matched me up with somebody with the words “Aussie pride” in their screen name. Ew, ew, ew, no.) and I’m chatting to people on a regular basis.
I’ve realised that my sense of humour (I’m using that term loosely) doesn’t necessarily translate well onto on-screen chatting, ie. I don’t think things through before typing and hitting enter. For example, there’s a lovely person that I’ve been chatting to. I’m rather enjoying these chats. In an effort to get to know him better, I’m asking questions such as his hobbies, favoured meals, and his surname. When he showed reticence towards telling me his surname, I asked if he’d been stalked before. He answered in the affirmative, and I proceeded to make jokes about stalkers, following it with, “…Not that I’M a stalker. Ahahahaha.”
Likewise, there are things that other people do that I don’t appreciate. Like I mentioned in one of the last blog posts, I’ve come across a few people fishing for compliments. “What do you think of my profile pic?” To this I’m just tempted to answer that I think they should have chosen a better background than their bathroom tiles. Or that if they think they’re conveying a pensive face, they actually look like they’ve recently sustained bodily harm.
Also, don’t make fun of me because I sew. Make fun of me because I scrapbook, sure, but leave the sewing out of it. I don’t make fun of you for being a douche.
It’s getting to the point where a couple of people have mentioned possibly meeting up at some point (and not even in a hotel room – I AM a lucky girl), but I am yet to have a face-to-face encounter. I look forward to this, if for no other reason than to have another bad date anecdote to astound my friends with. I like to entertain others.