So, since coming to the conclusion that I’ve gotta pull up my “big girl panties” and become a willing participant in the search for my true love (Gavin), I’ve done some serious research. Or should I say, I’ve been street walking the dark alley ways of the internet dating (site) world; and let me tell you, I’m not all too sure I’d want to risk these killer heels and wicked blow wave I’ve got going on, if you know what I’m saying? Thanks rsvp.com, for the eye watering preview of what you’ve got on offer, or should I say lack thereof (shout out to “bigwang4U” and “rUTErus69”), but I think I’ll try to keep it a little more classy for now.
It were as though the dating gods were watching over me though; and they knew that I a) needed a little persuasion to follow through with this crazy experiment, and b) that am a total tightarse when it comes to purchasing anything over the internet that doesn’t come delivered, smelling like heaven or promising to flatter in all the right places; because in a strike of luck whilst perusing the “success stories” of a rather well known and sufficiently wholesome matchmaking service (by the way, Congrats Andrew & Linda – two years and still going strong!), an appealingly cheap “New Subscribers” offer flashed up on my screen brighter than fire works on New Years Eve… That’s right my friends, 3 months subscription for $3.95… BOOM! SOLD! SIGN ME UP!
And all so simply (thanks paypal) I became an official member of the “internet daters” society (I’m still waiting on my members badge to pin on my cardy though).
Minutes later, a slight shiver of excitement filled my veins as I clicked on my confirmation email, I eagerly awaited the smorgasbord of hunky,oiled up, thirty-something year old lion tamers, with profile pictures of one selves mowing their elderly neighbours lawn, to grace my overheating laptop screen. But, alas, it was not to be. I may not have had to shave my legs, put on a bra or brush my hair to get this far on my expedition to love, but I certainly wasn’t going to get to fly the flag of success without a little expenditure of effort.
“LET”S GET YOUR PROFILE STARTED” appeared in a rather cheery, yet condescending manner across my screen. You know, like the way you’d speak to your three year old whilst trying to sell him the idea of mushy peas for dinner? Yeah, just like that! Overly enthusiastic, incredibly animated and horribly forceful whilst trying to hide the reality of the unpleasantness ahead.
Still dreaming of five o’clock shadows and adorable dimples, I rashly picked the most unique and “incognito” profile name (Liss) I could think of, and away I went…
Age – 31
Height – 172cm
Physique – Average (with a slight post Christmas podge)
Marital Status – Single (the option of Spinster was surprisingly absent)
Education – Higher Tertiary
Occupation – Personal Assistant/Administration
Religious/Political views – N/A
… And so on, all pretty standard and worthy prerequisites for the process, which took no time (or unnecessary fabrication of the truth) at all. Huh! Maybe this whole profile thingy wasn’t going to be so terribly off-putting after all… Negatory!
Then came the multi-choice questionnaire – 500 of the bastards – non compulsory, but certainly “a fantastic way to get to know potential matches“…or so they said. I scrolled through a few, randomly clicking “no brainers”, when I stumbled upon, what I’d like to refer to the”fluffer questions”. Questions that obviously the trainee in HQ has come up with during her lunch break in hope of impressing her boss, after hearing of marketing’s great idea of “fluffing out” the questionnaire number to 500 whilst they were sipping lattes in last months “creative meeting”. Seriously though, I would love it if someone could shed some light on how agreeing, or disagreeing, to the statement “The burgers are better at Hungry Jacks” is going to signify or cement any certainty that “Gary, who lives 250kms from you” is your true soul mate? Or by admitting that you’ve parked in a “Parents with Prams” carpark without even having a child means that any union with “Steve of Ormeau” is all but doomed! Really?
The hardest part of this whole process though, has been attempting to write appealingly witty blurbs about oneself, without sneaking in too much sarcasm or honest truth about my wild Saturday nights in front of a Flavourstone commercial with a glass of vino, all in the aim of enticing like-minded single spunkrats to click on the “communicate” button… Did I place enough emphasis on house proud, independent, love of music, without setting off the “OCD, control freak who sings like a screaming cat” alarm bells..? Should I have kept out the bit about “exercising regularly”, when really it’s only a short stroll to the letter box and maybe a mad dash on Friday’s when I forget to put the bins out..? Or, should I have elaborated a little more on my opinion that chocolate should never be refrigerated?”
I guess I’ll just have to wait and see…
Liss Actually x