Match.com and why you should ALWAYS talk on the phone first

My life is ridiculous. Add lighting and a laugh track, and you've got the perfect setup for a 30 minute situational comedy, complete with well-placed product placement. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like Tine Fey isn't going to throw a show my way any time soon, so I figured I'd need a more public (and free) medium to share my life stories. 

{Please imagine laugh track and opening credit soundtrack.}

I'm a complete tool when it comes to dating. Well, that's an overstatement. I don't really "date" per se, I usually stalk men and somehow end up in awkward situations avoiding them for the rest of my life.

There are these women who just have a knack for dating -- these perfect Pantene-haired  girls, who at any given moment can list their hobbies, qualities they seek in a life partner, and 1 idiotic yet somehow still humorously cute anecdote about the time they drank too much during that rush party and ended up with a warning from campus security. I abhor these women. These are the same women that complain that there are no good men left in the city, but always happen to have a standing date on Saturday nights. These women eat at every restaurant in the city, but haven't paid for a meal since 1999. 

On the surface, I hate women like this, but let's be real ---I'm just jealous. I am NOT one these women. I am the exact opposite of these women. 

Last year for Christmas, my mother got me a trial subscription to Match.com. Fed up with my bitching and moaning about being involuntarily celibate, this seemed like a good solution to her, and at the time, to me. I appreciated the gesture, but never in the history of online dating has there ever been such a disaster. I only went on two dates --seriously, what are the odds that 2 consecutive dates would end so badly??

Date #1: 

The first few days on Match are like a high. Millions of cute, single guys, all in your city; the possibility of romance and true love just around the corner. You wake up every morning with a smile on your face, eager to check your account to see if any new prospects winked at you. If for nothing else, I'd recommend signing up for Match for the self-esteem boost alone. 

But like any other drug, the high wears off and you start to come down. You realize that Match is just as bad as the real world, except in the real world, what you see is what you get. Even I look like Gisele in dim lighting, professionally done makeup and windblown hair, and my famous photographer who happens to also be my uncle taking glamour shots. 

After a few days of perusing profiles, I stumbled across one that intrigued me. The guy was seriously cute, tall, rich -- everything I was looking for in a potential mate. So I said a quick Hail Mary and winked at him. He didn't respond immediately -- gave me just enough time to drive myself crazy and fall completely in love with him. I was convinced that if he met me once, he'd instantly fall head over heels for me. We were going to live in the suburbs, and I'd be his brown Stepford wife with lots and lots of babies. 

All of his responses to my carefully thought out, witty remarks were curt, which I didn't think too much about at the time. I figured like every other douchebag man, he was just playing hard to get. After a few days of emailing back and forth, we made plans to meet at a local sushi restaurant for happy hour. 

I arrived first, giving myself plenty of time to down a couple drinks to calm the nerves. My back was toward the entrance, and I heard a guy come and and ask the hostess for me. I got up and turned to meet him, and instead of my cute, tall guy, there was this average looking, short and squaty thing in plaid that reeked of Drakkar Noir and used way too much product on his slicked back hair. He beamed at me, held out his hand, and said in the thickest, fobbiest accent imaginable "Hai! Are you Vicky?"

He proceeded to tell me about childhood, growing up in India, his green card status etc. I was stuffing my face with spicy tuna so as to avoid any conversation at all. By the grace of God, I forgot to turn off my phone, and it started vibrating. It was my mother, calling to remind me to be polite and submissive on my date, like a good Indian girl should. I turned to my date and started to pack my belongings, claiming it was my boss and I had to run back to work to put out a fire. He didn't really seem to realize I was totally blowing him off, so he brought called for the check, and asked me how much I wanted to put in. At that point I didn't even care enough to be offended, so I hastily threw down a $20 and ran out of there, never looking back once. 

A few days later, he asked me out to a comedy show. I declined, politely, stating some lame "its not you, its me" excuse. He responded with this gem:

Actually yeah it probably wouldn't have worked out, its just too bad, but I didnt find you attractive.

-Aryan aka Fobby Fuckface

Moral of the story: It is imperative, and I cannot stress this enough, to make sure you call the guy before you go out with him at least once.