Plenty of Shit

Okay, I know internet dating has been dissected, pissed on and examined to death but I still feel the need to weigh in on the subject. Apparently we have fully and completely embraced the concept that meeting a significant other is en-par with the Home Shopping Network. There really is no other way to do it and if you are a woman of a particular age who works from home in self-imposed isolation in a town where it is frankly illegal to be single, online dating really is the only option.

I started browsing the weekly specials on Plenty of Fish, (the poor man’s Match.com.) and found the state of romance is in crisis. As Stevie Wonder would say, “Love’s in need of love today.” After perusing the local talent, I boldly sent a message to a man that looked like he may not have done jail time and he responded with, “I’m looking for someone younger and thinner.” It was as easy as standing at the butcher and rejecting the cut of beef for having too much fat on it. This little fishy was unceremoniously tossed back.

I was hurt and shocked at the free for all lack of manners that this sort of online courting encourages. It’s like closing time at the Legion for God’s sake. I pretty much took my toys and went home with my tail between my legs. I was never really good at dating when I dated. It was more hanging out with a group of friends until one day; I would notice the cut of one’s jib and wonder if maybe we should be living together. It was an organic decision or maybe just a lazy decision but it worked. My bad judgement was in plain sight, live and in person.
The safety of a computer screen really does open the floodgates for frank and jarring assessments that not even Don Rickles would deliver in person. It’s a sales pitch, here’s my wares, this is my car, this is my motorcycle and here is me sitting on my friend’s sailboat. It makes me wonder where these dashing James Bonds are hiding in the harsh light of day. And demanding?

- Anyone with baggage need not apply
- I’m fit and expect you to be too
- Want a woman who looks good in jeans but can rock it in heels

I have literally seen profiles of men who claim to have a Master’s Degree that spell Master’s Degree wrong. And anyone who uses a phrase resembling, “I like to treat my lady like a queen” should just be reported. To be fair, the women aren’t behaving much better. I’ve heard horror stories of woman demanding to know the make and model of vehicle a man drives and his yearly income before she will as much as break out the lip liner. Behind the keyboard, all bets are off!

Sure there have been success stories; a couple of my friends have actually batted one out of the park on their first online foray. I don’t want to see them anymore but they are both very happy. But what I really want to share with you today is the story of another friend who without question has attracted the mother lode of weird shit in her quest for true love.

Picture a beautiful, smart, successful businesswoman who “got it all going on “as they say. Innocently and hopefully, she signs up to Plenty of Shit, carefully crafts a profile that will highlight why she, in a sea of dames warrants a second look. Unlike me, the response to her profile is immediate. The fish are biting and she has her pick of eligible men, fleets of cars and motorcycles all with the promise of a life shared with long walks along the beach, spontaneous weekend jaunts through country flea markets, and gourmet dinners with bottles of wine all over the ten dollar mark.

A Perch hailing from Washington DC catches her attention. He works in editorial for the Washington Post and their conversation quickly moves off the page on to a land line. They seem to have some things in common, sure the commute may get pricey but within a year they can decide which location best suits their perfect union. He begins asking her what her favourite section of the newspaper is, collects data such as back to front reader, section by section or graze the headlines before committing fully.

As their attraction grows, he mentions that it would be nice to speak to each other on Skype and if it isn’t too much trouble, perhaps she could sit quietly reading the newspaper as he watches. Are you kidding me?? We have a newspaper reading voyeur in our midst. I’ve heard of them but never actually come this close to an offender. Perhaps they are more common in Washington but this is Canada and we don’t watch people reading newspapers here, so my friend made a hasty retreat and dove back into the pond, confused but still game.

Once again, the fish are biting and this time she sparks up a conversation with a Grouper who owns his own business and is located in the same city, both good starts. They spend hours on the phone, taken aback by the ease and intimacy of their conversation. They are just short of picking out towel colours together when they decide to meet for dinner. And a perfect dinner it was, he was a gentleman, she felt like a million bucks, they lingered over their wine and basked in their good fortune to have met. This really could be the one and she decides to play by the for -keeps rules which means no sex.

They make plans to see each other a couple days later and text late into the night before they drift off to a perfect sleep. On the eve of their second date, she texts him to confirm the plans for the evening and he tells her he is just leaving work and will call her when he gets home. Four hours later, she still hasn’t heard from him so she texts him to tell him to lose her number.

A few days later, feeling she had perhaps made a hasty judgement, she opens the door for contact again. When he doesn’t respond, she becomes anxious and begins texting like a mad woman. Aha, he thinks, she took the bait. This time, he’s all business. He’ll play but what he really wants is for her to fulfill a long time fantasy. Well she thinks, I’ll see what I can do to accommodate, what pray tell do you wish for.
The Grouper would like her to leave her door unlocked so he can enter her home, have his way with her in complete silence. When he’s done, he will get dressed and leave without a word. Your basic rape fantasy, every girls dream and off the charts romantic.

This time she’s feeling waterlogged and steps back for some reassessment. I mean its only love for christ sake! How difficult can it be?
After a few weeks, she gingerly puts her toe back in the water. This time, a shark swoops in and starts circling with a song and dance routine worthy of Gene Kelly. He is a very successful businessman, extremely good looking and can’t wait to get his hands on her. The fact that he has 8 children by a few different women raises a few questions. Not this time mister, she firmly stands. She flatly refuses to meet him and she continues to flatly refuse on each of the 15 to 20 times he calls. This time she heads right to Google search to get the 411 on the hammerhead. Well what do you know; the guy is a repeat offender for fraud and domestic abuse. He’s been very busy between siring 8 children, running his businesses and cheating people out of scads of cash.

She severs all ties and congratulates herself on dodging a bullet. That is until his wife starts calling. She calls and calls and threatens and calls some more. Apparently, he wasn’t as single as he claimed and when his wife busted him by finding the phone records, he turned it all on my friend claiming she was a lunatic stalker. Plenty of shit indeed. It then moves onto to calls from the wife’s sister and an attempted set-up meeting with the wife’s brother in-law. Finally the wife calls to ask for my friend’s version of the story, I suspect this wasn’t the first time she had been through this. As my friend peels back the layers of deceit, she finds herself becoming a confidant to the wife, a shoulder to cry on. As the wife sobbed into the phone, “But, he was supposed to take care of me!” , my friend realizes things have gone too far and threatens to phone the police if so much as the family cat contacts her again.

By now her search for a mate has left her shivering in the foetal position, looking sideways as she covertly exits and enters her building and wondering what the big hairy deal is anyway about coupling.
She focuses on concrete details in her life like work hell and unreliable friends.
Then, just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water, a Speckled Trout leaves a message in her shit box.

She opens it with trepidation and reads the Coles notes of his life, his dreams, his passions, his concerns for the environment, his unscathed heart laid bare for her to take. And the trump card, he is a poet. Really she thinks, how much trouble can a poet stir up? They correspond and she phones me nightly to give me updates and read me the latest of his lukewarm poetry. Although I am encouraged that the newest model comes with a clean record, I’m concerned that she is becoming confused, straying from the core of who she is in order to fill the void. I mean, in any other arena, her and I would be savagely mocking poets, the old her wouldn’t go within spitting distance of a poetry reading.

Still , I admire her determination and try to stifle my guffaws as she reads his latest instalment. I almost lose it when she tells me they plan to meet at the Free Times Café, a haven for acoustic performers, poets and whiny navel gazers. I’m actually astonished it’s still open. Who knew you could make that much money selling root vegetable soups and herbal teas. She really has gone too far, she wears fur coats and never leaves the house without lipstick; she’ll be lynched by this mob.

But at least she’ll be safe and no doubt she’ll likely excuse herself to go to the washroom and sneak out the back exit. A few days before the big date, the poet decides to fast track the relationship and sends her a few images so they know they are on the same page. As if the poetry wasn’t offensive enough, she opens the email to a selection of serious hard core porn pics that leave no question to what his sexual preferences are if they should choose to take it to the next level. When the poets can’t be trusted we are in deep shit. Though she cancelled the date, he has been begging her to reconsider and he promises to go back to square one, the salad days before the golden showers were introduced. And again I return to the false bravado online dating reinforces. Can you honestly imagine sitting face to face with someone on a getting to know you date and having them plunk a pile of beav shots between the Caesar salad and salt and pepper? Of course you can’t because it wouldn’t happen.

For now, she’s kicking it old school as am I. We may linger a little longer in the aisles at the supermarket waiting for Mr. Right to reach for the olive oil at the same time that we do. Watch nostalgic old films where men and women kept some surprises until the end. Smarten up, mind your P's and Q's! If you want to insult my appearance you are going to have to take your chances and say it to my face. I’ll be taking a long slow walk on the beach by myself.