Perhaps the most complicated relationship I’ve been in is with my OkCupid account.
It all began in February of 2010. I moved to Philadelphia the November before that and very shortly after I met and fell madly in love with a man who lived in Michigan. Suffice it to say it did not last.
During our brief courtship, Michigan Man off handedly mentioned that he had an OkCupid Account. I, having remembered this detail, created mine solely with the purpose of remotely monitoring his love life in Michigan. (Oh, yes, by the way, I’m a crazy person.)
After finally accepting the fact that Michigan Man’s trysts were beyond my reach, I started using OkCupid for its intended purpose. I went on one date that ended with the guy saying, “Well, you were a lot nicer than I expected. Let’s do this again.” And then I met the Ex.
Truth be told, the Ex and I never closed our accounts. I did change my status to “Seeing Someone” and honestly, I never initiated a conversation with anyone while we were together. But I guess deep down I knew I would need it again. Ok, so it wasn’t buried that deeply.
The first Monday after the Ex and I called it quits, he went on a date with the man who ultimately was the catalyst for the break up (that’s another damn story for another damn time.) He was beginning a new relationship while I was home rekindling an old flame.
The world of online dating is a strange one. In theory it’s great: an open play ground for single people trying to find Mr. or Ms. or Mx or (ideally) Dr. Right. More often than not, however, they’re mostly just a breeding ground for uncomfortable encounters and weird sex stories.
I kept things casual that first month. Not only was I moving to a new place, a show I was performing in was opening. I didn’t exactly have time for innocuous messaging. Eventually, the show wrapped up and my boxes were unpacked. I was ready for love.
We all know how these things go. You browse around, see a profile you like, visit it one or nine times until you finally summon the courage to send a message, and then if you’re lucky, three days later you get a response.
One fateful night, the most miraculous thing happened. I messaged a guy who not only was “online” BUT he responded right away. He even asked me a question he sincerely wanted me to answer. This cycle went on all night. We had a full-blown conversation!
Our correspondence wasn’t limited to that one night, either, like so many of these fleeting cyber romances. Over the next two days, things started getting digitally real. We were learning about each other’s families, sharing deep dark secrets of our pasts, we even created an inside joke! AN INSIDE JOKE! Something about opening a Pumpkin Beer Brewery and running ourselves out of business drinking the whole supply… swoon much?
This was getting serious, folks. He convinced me to meditate! Like I was some rich lady or a bike messenger! I fell asleep doing it but still this was big. The Ex had tried many times over to get me to meditate with him only sort of succeeding twice in three years. Even the silly X-Box mediation game he bought couldn’t fool me.
“Oh, brother indeed”
It was time to meet. I don’t remember who initiated the plan but we set a date, time, and location. At that point in the online dating process, I typically close communication until the real meet-up. You know, so as not to exhaust all of the usual first date prattle. And, still, he continued to message me! Some one was certainly gunning to be Future Husband.
The big day arrived. It must be said, I don’t get nervous before a date. I don’t. Small talk is my jam. But, this guy, he had me on edge. And I’m not talking like a little extra nervous sweat. In the frenzy that was my pre-date preparations, I actually locked myself out of the bathroom and had to remove the door from the hinges using only a butter knife. (Did you know you can do that?) I was a mess.
The text I sent myself
It was 45 minutes before the date and a message came through the Cupid App, POTENTIAL_FH says “Hey, I had a long day and need a drink STAT.” (he was a med student, bonus points!) “I’m heading over now. I’ll see you when you get here. :)” Well, I put on my favorite blue plaid shirt, did my hair, and peddled my cute little buns over to the bar as fast as I could!
The bar was crowded as it was a Friday night during Happy Hour in Center City. I did a lap and couldn’t find him. This didn’t raise any alarms immediately because his pictures were sort of vague. In one picture he was wearing sunglasses and the other had a grainy Instragram Filter. He could have been any blurry sunglass wearing 20 something in the bar that night (which if you’ve been to Moriarty’s is half of the crowd.) No matter. I sent him a message telling him I was here. He didn’t give me his number when I gave him mine so my communiqués had to come through the app. Wait, is that weird? No. It’s fine. I’ll just grab two seats at the bar.
Two pumpkin beers, please. How lovely. He’ll find me, sitting here; prepared with the drink that was so important to us. (If you know me at all, you know I almost never offer to buy the first drink. I was in it to win it.) I started sipping my beer while waiting for a reply or for Future Husband himself to tap me on the shoulder and say something cliche like “Waiting for some one?” or “What’s a beautiful lady like you doing drinking alone?” Ugh, he’s so lame, I thought, blushing.
My beer was getting emptier until eventually I finished it. No reply. Ok, I’m a bit nervous so I guess I’ll start drinking his beer now. Calm the nerves. He won’t know I bought it for him any way. A half hour passed and I was nearly two beers deep. I checked my phone because, you know, sometimes it doesn’t send you an alert. Nothing.
I suddenly started to notice the frustrated patrons around me. I had been holding this seat for thirty minutes now while at least 5 people were standing behind me eyeing it up like we were a group of people stranded on a dessert island and I was holding the last Luna Bar. Didn’t they get I was saving this seat for my Future Husband? Back up! BACK UP! And wipe that look off of your face! He’s coming, dammit! Won’t you look stupid when he gets here and you see what a great time we’ll be having!
I sent a text to my friend David.
“How long do you wait for a date to show up?”
“I think I’m being stood up.”
“Girl, get out of there. I’m going to a party. You can come with me.”
I order one more beer because it’s happy hour for ten more minutes and beers are half priced… and I can wait ten more minutes, I guess.
I finished the third beer, paid my tab, offered my seat to the guy wearing a Phillies Hat and his lady friend with the high pony tail and headed directly to David’s. This was my first time being stood up. I sort of thought it was something TV writers made up so they could play the sad music before the commercial break. Good thing there wasn’t a composer scoring my life right now…
Oh what’s that? A homeless man playing “Memory” on a broken violin? Yes, that is PRECISELY what was awaiting me outside of David’s apartment. (He lived on South Street so this probably wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.) You’re a sassy bitch, you know that, Universe?
David’s the perfect friend to have when a man wrongs you. He gives you his version of the “You is smart” speech from The Help, plenty of alcohol, and when possible will walk up to that scumbag and read him to filth. He is the perfect medicine for a broken heart.
After my treatment, we hopped in a cab and went to this party for his friend’s birthday. Unfortunately, no one told me it was “Pink” themed for a group of gays my friends and I affectionately refer to as “The Plastics.” (Can we gays go a day without a Mean Girls reference?) So there I was, the only man in a sea of pink-clad, perfectly quaffed, ripped gays wearing blue and feeling blue. (Also, I was the only one eating the enchiladas. Did the caterer really think these boys would be caught dead eating?)
The next morning, it dawned on me! Maybe something terrible happened! I didn’t want something bad to happen to him. But if the last thing he said was “I’m on the way” then doesn’t it stand to reason that just maybe he was hit by a cab or something? Was this my An Affair to Remember? Now, that was of course this last thing I would wish for him or anyone. But I have to admit, a cab accident would have really pulled me out of a funk.
So I messaged him. I told him if he didn’t want to see it me it would was OK, I can take it, but I’m genuinely worried now that maybe he was lying in a hospital room somewhere. I asked that he please write back with an explanation post haste so I could at least put my worried mind at ease. No reply that day.
It was Sunday night and I was tending to my usual post-Saturday hangover, which in light of recent events was particularly heinous. My phone started buzzing. “POTENTIAL_FH has sent you a message. You better take this. And, hey, whatever happens, you’re great,” alerted my OkCupid app.
I’ll give you the abridged version of his reply: “Hey, so listen. I’m not dead or in a coma. The truth is these pictures are not mine. The profile is fake. I am recently single and just wanted to see what was out there. I didn’t expect to find some one I would be so interested in so quickly. I was at the bar but I was too afraid to come clean so I left. I hope you understand.”
I think my reaction was a mixture of utter shock, blind rage, and the gluttonous hunger. Do you mean to tell me that you’ve been lying to me? That you were at the bar? That you may have been even sitting next to me? You watched me order beers for the two of us, hold a seat for you, drink alone and said nothing!?!
Now usually when presented any type of fuckery, I am inclined to flick my wrist with a “Girl, bye” and go about my business with nary a hair out of place. But this was fuckery on a new level. This was some Lifetime Original Movie starring Gina Gershon shit. Some one better get my erasers and chalk because I’m about to school this child.
I won’t make you read my whole long response but I will give you the most important part:
“You might see this [OkCupid] as a safe fun place to anonymously browse hot guys. But there are real people here hoping that we’ll find the person we’re looking to potentially share the rest of our lives with. You’re not responsible for the way I react to your bullshit, but you are responsible for treating ALL people with respect. You’re not ready for this, little boy, and you don’t deserve to be here.”
He closed his account that evening and good riddance. I sometimes wonder if I was too harsh. After all, he was 22 and lord knows 22 year olds don’t have a good goddamn clue. I don’t care what you say, Taylor Swift. But some one needed to set the record straight for all of us out there.
There is no room for some one like that in the world of online dating. While most people probably aren’t so irresponsible, I think we take for granted how difficult online dating is. Simply by signing up for a profile we are all broadcasting to the world, “I’m utterly single and lonely and desperately want to find love.” And yet most of us, myself included, seem to forget that behind the carefully selected album of pictures and diligently crafted personal essays beats a real heart riddled with insecurities and vulnerabilities just like ourselves.
We’ve all been there. You send some one a thoughtful message; you see they visited your profile, implying they have read your greeting, and then nothing. Something, a face you made, an answer to a question, a movie you like, your interests, your size, shape, race, penchant for cats convinced them you aren’t worth the courtesy of a “hello.” We’ve all done that too.
I know I’m guilty of some online dating transgressions. I’m not perfect. And I’m not necessarily suggesting we develop LTRs with every guy who notices you. I don’t have the time or money for that type of consideration. But it’s important that we remind ourselves once in a while that we’re dealing with people who feel and hurt and are more than a few pictures and words.
That little boy was probably exceptionally offensive. But I think this story is indicative of our growing lack of empathy that stems from these sterile online interactions. When you can’t see some one’s face, it’s way easier to act like a total dick and think nothing of it. If some one came up to one of us at a bar and said “Hello,” would we look them up and down and turn away as if nothing happened?
I hope not. I hope our communication doesn’t regress to that.
But if you did, you’d be a real douche-toot.
A few weeks later, my dear friend Brian updated his Grindr picture, which just so happened to have my face in the background. We’re not posed together in the picture. I’m just part of the mis-en-scene, like an extra bush or cloud. Brian’s profile states he is in a relationship so every now and again some one would figure I was the boyfriend and suggest the three of us get together (obviously we’d make an adorable couple.) One evening, Brian sent me a screen shot of a conversation he was having where the person said “Tell Tim I said hey.” The guy also included a picture. I wasn’t familiar with his face and asked Brian to find out how he knew me. The guy replied “Tell him I’m sorry I missed him that night for our pumpkin beers.”