Match..Oh Match…How I Loathe Thee

My membership with Match.com is getting ready to lapse and THIS time, I’m going to let it. It will be hard, because Match seems much like a gambling addiction would: A constant state of anxious high, wondering if this will be the big payoff, when in reality you’re certain to wind up broke (emotionally) and wondering why you sold your soul for something that never pays off. I’ve come to truly despise online dating, yet don’t know how to meet people in my day-to-day life. The thought of going off-the-grid makes me fear being loveless forever and doomed to die alone, with cats finally eating my dead corpse (which isn’t found by humans for days).

The fact that I don’t own cats is only mildly reassuring.

I’ve hit a dating dry spell and for the last month, every single man I’ve messaged that seems mildly attractive and interesting has blown me off completely. This fills me with panic and makes me wonder if I’m a loathsome beast who can only attract men who think hunting and fishing is the bomb and who use “lol” at the end of every sentence. Then I wonder if my self-esteem meter, that seems to be plummeting into the negatives since D, is somehow sending off a vibe that repels men even across the great internet. My mother, seeker of all that is new age, insists I’m sending out negative vibrational waves that are keeping people away. It’s her only explanation for what seems to be a mystery. I’m smart. I’m pretty. I’m articulate and have a range of cool interests. So what is the problem?

Am I only messaging douchebags? It’s possible; I definitely have the penchant for being drawn to them.

I recently read an article that placed my city on a list of “worst cities to meet men”. It’s entirely possible that the single men who have a lot going for them feel they are the elite. I had one man, with whom I exchanged several emails, balk at the suggestion of grabbing a drink. I asked point-blank if he was disinterested, to which he offered a coy “no” followed by ambiguity. He then offered up that he was just scared of commitment. WHAT? My reply? “Dude, I asked you out for a drink, not for your hand in marriage. I don’t even know if I’m interested in you unless we meet, so chill out.” He replied back with a quick “lol” and a sheepish reply, but I’d already lost interest. If a man is too afraid to even meet up for a drink for fear of implying too much interest, what does that say? Frustrating. How about the man who adds me as a “favorite”, but can barely respond to emails? Maddening and confusing.

I had a really, really hot doctor (supposedly) that lives an hour and a half away message me and ask if I’d like to drive to his town for a date that evening. His pictures are of him in a power suit or with an unbuttoned shirt, tanned abs rippling, smiling at the camera in a pose he clearly found seductive. Obviously he thought himself hot enough that I’d drop what I was doing and drive to him. What guy messages a woman he’s interested in to ask her to drive an hour and a half?? One who clearly thinks his photos will get him laid with minimal effort expended.

I had another man message me and ask if I was seeing or messing around with anyone. Naively, I didn’t quite get his meaning until he elaborated about the Friends With Benefits relationship he just ended, assuring me he was fully single now and ready to date. Since when did it become acceptable for a prospective date that I’ve not even met to discuss casual sexual partners in opening emails? Talk about TMI…

Now I’m within days of my subscription expiring and suddenly, several interesting men come up out of NOWHERE. What the hell? Just as I’m about to give up for awhile and really work on healing and therapy, now I’m tempted back into possibilities. I have a date tomorrow night and another one lined up for next week, along with a couple of other men that I’ve not made plans with yet. Will they pan out? Who knows? Once again, the online dating wheel is spinning and I have no idea what it will land on…

Oh, Match. I hate you and your promise of possibility. I despise your window-shopping clients, who forget that there are human beings behind the profile pictures. I despise your marketing ploys, which are often just false advertising aimed at lonely people. I’m still not renewing. Perhaps one day I’ll decide to revisit you, to see if the small offering of single men in my city has expanded. In the meantime, I’ve joined some social groups that center around actually doing things I enjoy. So perhaps I’ll never end up joining you again.

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