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dr_pretentious"Hey, Dan," I said, "I need to research online dating services for the novella. If we start getting even weirder junk mail, that's why." We get pretty odd junk mail. I made a donation once to an organization that supports queer rights in the military, and ever since, I get stuff addressed to me from direct-mail businesses that clearly believe me to be a gay man. The housewares catalogs are fabulous, but I could do without the guy-on-guy porn.
"Online dating," said Dan. I'd ambushed him in the middle of his efforts to seal the new grout for the kitchen tile. "Hm. Would you like me to be worried?"
"Well, I guess that would be kind of a compliment, but no thanks." Because, really, it would be better for us to spend our energy and attention on regrouting the tile in the bathroom.
I might be able to make the case to the IRS that the cost of registering for an online dating service was a legitimate research expense, but the prospect of actually registering skeeves me out. So far, I haven't found the Luminous Detail that will make Jane's unfortunate courtship efforts feel real on the page. There is always, somewhere, a Luminous Detail. Usually, I trip over it while I'm looking for it someplace it isn't. (The cover band that's always playing songs in the back of my mind is now singing about looking for the Luminous Detail in all the wrong places, too many faces, etc.)
Maybe you have the Luminous Detail. Anybody out there attempted online dating? The only person I know to have tried it is a friend of my sister's. Match.com has not been good to D. She's had a long series of problematic non-starters, culminating in a dreadful relationship that should end but won't. She could probably tell me something useful, but it seems unkind to ask. It can't be quite that unpleasant for everyone, or people wouldn't pay for it. Would they?
Really, all I'm looking to find out about is the experience of composing an ad, and the experience of awaiting or receiving the first replies. That's what we get on stage in the novella. It's a small detail, not one of the big plot points, but it's important enough that I don't want to get it glaringly wrong. An old married lady who settled down twelve years ago with a former high school sweetheart is not necessarily going to get it right by guessing.
Weirdest find of the night: One link on about.com promises to lead readers to a basic overview of online dating, but instead leads to a papal encyclical on erotic love. The mind boggles.
"Online dating," said Dan. I'd ambushed him in the middle of his efforts to seal the new grout for the kitchen tile. "Hm. Would you like me to be worried?"
"Well, I guess that would be kind of a compliment, but no thanks." Because, really, it would be better for us to spend our energy and attention on regrouting the tile in the bathroom.
I might be able to make the case to the IRS that the cost of registering for an online dating service was a legitimate research expense, but the prospect of actually registering skeeves me out. So far, I haven't found the Luminous Detail that will make Jane's unfortunate courtship efforts feel real on the page. There is always, somewhere, a Luminous Detail. Usually, I trip over it while I'm looking for it someplace it isn't. (The cover band that's always playing songs in the back of my mind is now singing about looking for the Luminous Detail in all the wrong places, too many faces, etc.)
Maybe you have the Luminous Detail. Anybody out there attempted online dating? The only person I know to have tried it is a friend of my sister's. Match.com has not been good to D. She's had a long series of problematic non-starters, culminating in a dreadful relationship that should end but won't. She could probably tell me something useful, but it seems unkind to ask. It can't be quite that unpleasant for everyone, or people wouldn't pay for it. Would they?
Really, all I'm looking to find out about is the experience of composing an ad, and the experience of awaiting or receiving the first replies. That's what we get on stage in the novella. It's a small detail, not one of the big plot points, but it's important enough that I don't want to get it glaringly wrong. An old married lady who settled down twelve years ago with a former high school sweetheart is not necessarily going to get it right by guessing.
Weirdest find of the night: One link on about.com promises to lead readers to a basic overview of online dating, but instead leads to a papal encyclical on erotic love. The mind boggles.
I am an entirely unique level of bitter, dammit
Date: 2006-01-21 07:10 am (UTC)I placed my first personal ad in my family paper, solely to make sure we had some ads in at all. it got responses from guys who wanted to meet at weekly "Coffeehouses" in the basement of Biblethummping churches. After that, on a lark, I did put it on some online sites, and got a few responses.
I managed to go on 3 dates, one of whom was the under 6' and over 40, and obsessed with palindromes. If he'd been upfront about those things, they probably wouldn't have bothered me so much, but the dishonesty was a buzzkill. Another was a reasonably attractive, sane, etc. dude, except that he was kinda dull, not excited about his job, and had a form of OCD when parallel parking.
A third one was a hot european who I later realized tried to give me a movie kiss in a T stop, and I absently stopped it as a peck. (stupid. stupid. stupid. argh.)
the rest are folks I've never even got so far as to meet. Mostly a combination of personal ad dates having a lot of performance anxiety, and I'm still hung up on my past.
I still keep ads around. It's nice when someone responds, even if they're not my type. I've had to edit my OK cupid down to "I'm just here to proofread my friends' profiles" to stop getting inquiries. I haven't updated my Nerve (springstreet, or whoever bought them out) ad in a long time (except to tone it down into "not really looking"), but since they send me email whether I get a response or not, I've been conditioned into not checking.
I think you'd have to have a phenomenally awful ad to not get inquiries from non-US folks trying to marry their way into the US. And be a pretty dull person to check an unresponded ad every day without at least surfing other ads to determine ways of polishing it up.
(and you're welcome. how could I NOT send dan legos? "What would your therapist think of THIS?" tee hee.)