Dating profile: I like speed, as in velocity. And a man who is dangerous but good.
~ This is a continuation of Dating for Martians: Does Online Dating Mean Defeat? ~
“This is no place,” I said, raptly watching the tiny creature to figure out the order in which it moved it legs across my bathroom door, “for a young spider like you.”
I had a brief vision of grabbing a glass to trap it and bring outside, but I thought, what if displacing it makes it die? So instead I said:
“You better not crawl into my bed and bite me, that’s all I have to say to you.”
Then it occurred to me, now I have to go and change my answer on that dating website.
The site pairs you with potential matches based on your mutual answers.
If you see a bug in your home, you:
a.) kill it
b.) bring it outside
c.) leave it alone
Originally I had chosen “b.” But clearly I had evolved to “c,” and maybe it was because of this discrepancy in my answer that I hadn’t matched with someone I liked yet! During the “entire” seven days since signing up, maybe some wonderful Buddhist had passed me up because I was willing to displace poor little spiders.
Those were the innocent first days of my online dating experiment.
If you follow the Dating for Martians posts, you read in the first post that in real life I meet an abundance of great guys — who are too young.
“I keep meeting thirty-year-olds,” I complain to my friends.
“That’s because they think you’re thirty,” my friends say.
“No, it’s because older guys are in hiding. Except when they’re at Whole Foods. And if they’re at Whole Foods, it means they’re cooking for a date they already found.”
In the second Martian dating post, I came to terms with the fact that I’m a mammal, dammit, and that there was no defeat in admitting I love…love. Even if it meant giving online dating a try.
I gave it a try.
I refused to feel shame, and in fact, waved a bright, happy flag about it in that second post. This flag waved higher once the post was featured on Freshly Pressed and brought more readers with whom online dating resonated.
So it’s with staggering irony that I tell you now, it turns out I wasn’t cut out for online dating. And that’s after an overwhelmingly positive experience. So, why then? Where to start. My dating profile, I suppose.
I chose a username by combining the names of two tragic opera heroines. I was experimenting to see how many guys would get opera references on this “cooler,” less mainstream dating site. Answer: A handful. The rest called me “Mimi” and assumed “Tosca” was my last name.
Naming myself Mimitosca, after a consumptive prostitute combined with a celebrated but suicidal singer, didn’t hold special meaning for me other than my recollection of opera is limited to audience-friendly Puccini.
I put up ten flattering, representative, versatile pictures of myself, but nothing overly sexy or modely.
Most of my profile, verbatim:
You know how “only when you’re not looking” you might find someone who strikes your subjective fancy? Considering we’re here looking, let’s hope that theory is a crock…
First, I don’t initiate contact because some women have a not-so-secret desire to be properly courted.
Second, I’m grateful for every message, but time is limited and if I don’t respond, it’s just because I like polka dots and you offer stripes. However, I do read every message and visit the profile of each sender.
WHO I AM: I’m both playful and serious, kid-like and lady-like. I’ll always take unconventionality over conventionality. I have strong opinions and I’m unafraid of voicing them. I don’t pretend that physical appearances don’t matter — mine or yours — so I take good care of mine. I like speed, as in velocity. I enjoy hikes and road-trips as much as luxury and first-class travel. I don’t like to cook, but will happily chop and do the dishes. I’m both passionate and compassionate. Finally, I’m humanly flawed and the traits I value in myself are the same as those I seek in others: honor, sincerity, intelligence, kindness.
WHO I WANT: A guy who’s dangerous but good. A man of good character and taste who prizes integrity within himself and takes pride in how he lives. I like a man who is both physical and cerebral. For example, a book-lover who rides motorcycles and can build a house from the ground up. Or a cowboy who recites Rilke. Or an orchestral composer who has climbed Mount Everest.
Brilliance, great looks, decency, and of course, humor — I’d imagine that’s your shopping list too, no?
(Or, just be addicted to snowboarding.)
WHY I’M HERE: Not sure. But definitely not for random, casual or superficial interaction.
What I’m doing with my life
I’m the artistic type, which means aspirations, bursts of talent, and getting close to finding my way. I act, I edit, I make films. And I write.
I’m really good at
Having a strong sense of self.
The six things I could never do without
My loved ones
The most private thing I’m willing to admit here
I like cartoons and cursing.
You should message me if
…you’ve taken the time to read this entire profile and don’t find yourself offended.
…you’re not a porn addict.
I know I’m not making this easy, so accept my thanks in advance.
It wasn’t a particularly warm profile, but I was “shopping” for a specific set of criteria. There was no other reason to be on a dating site, as far as I was concerned. The bit about the candidates not finding themselves offended was prompted by a previous experience. Years ago, I had a profile up for two days on a different dating site, and there, some guy sent me a message with the following subject line:
“A Legend, A Legend, A Legend…”
When I opened the message, it read,“…in her own mind.”
The message made me chuckle. It didn’t sit well with the poor guy that my profile amounted to, “I’m intelligent, I’m interesting, I’m decent-looking. Be the same.”
I’m just not coy.
But the next time around, I did include thanks and regrets in my profile. I feel deep empathy toward anyone who puts themselves out there to likely be rejected.
My new profile was a success.
No one was offended, no internet troll shed a tear, and I didn’t get a single untoward proposition. The few bold kids who messaged in hopes of a quick encounter, clearly not having read my profile in which I detailed I was the opposite of casual, still weren’t rude about it. In addition, I did receive message upon message from polite, intelligent men.
In my entire adult life, my (earnest) stint with online dating lasted a grand total of twelve weeks — six weeks during the summer, six during the winter.
Over the course of those staggered weeks, I met seven great guys in person. With each, I had an instant bond. Out of the seven, I “dated” two, one over the summer, and one recently. The latter is known to some readers as the Perfect Man, and his story is still an untouched branch of the crazy tree.
But it wasn’t because of the Perfect Man that I shut down my profile. Nor was it to spare myself of the men.
It was to spare the men of me.
And that’s a story on its way.
Incidentally, the spider in my apartment sometimes crawls on the wall under my desk. But even with my legs bare, the spider hasn’t done anything to make me regret my choice to cohabit with it.
~ Continued at Dating for Martians: The Trail of Gentlemen Callers ~
- You can present yourself how you want, but usually the real you is the best you.
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