All I got from Myspace was a virus and tennis elbow.

Well, I have always had a tendency to make situations uncomfortable, especially when I was younger. For the most part I enjoy making people react. Sometimes however, it’s completely unintentional. My nose runs if I see a cute boy. Why is that?  I’m forced to surreptitiously wipe my nose with anything available. Who would want to shake my hand after what I just did to it? If I’m having an “off” night or I see a dude eyeing me in the grocery store, you can pretty much bet that I’m about to get all unsanitary. Nobody, nobody wants to befriend the girl with a gallon of hand sanitizer and a wadded hanky in her pocket.

I’ve learned that people will overlook a noted lack of social skills, if you’re forthright with deprecating self awareness. Being sarcastic and making fun of oneself is just an excellently underhanded way of picking up a few friends. By saying the word “oneself” it automatically makes me an asshole, but I can’t stand those awful green squiggly lines that tell me I’m grammatically unsound. See what I did there? For me, I just pass off my wit as truth and convince people that they are the first ones who’ve heard the joke. I’m no liar, just good with words… and humble.

Before I came to terms with my awkwardness I employed other methods of meeting people. I moved to Maryland at 19 on a whim. It made me acutely aware of being friendless. Before I knew it, my weekends consisted of Lacrosse and going to the movies with my employer. I didn’t know what lacrosse was. The game was like watching a bunch of dudes (or girls) throwing a ball out of an oversized nut cup on the end of a broom stick, naturally I enjoyed it. Secondly, I spent time in the movie theater jam packed with adolescent and young adult males except for my man boss and myself. There is nothing quite like hearing that “Life is not about butthole pleasures” whilst sitting next to a man whose son you nanny. Perhaps that was what lit a fire. It would take drastic measures to improve my social life. 2005 is the year I discovered Myspace.

Online dating is no different than traditionally dating someone. It just allows you to be more shallow and gives you time to think about your self misrepresentation. Filling out the ‘About Me’ section is the writer’s venue to encompass who they are, along with other pointless questions to sum someone up as a person. In a valiant effort to appear interesting, I personally become trendy. Not one time have I attempted hot yoga. So, I compromise and write a euphemism about doing the downward dog to imply some knowledge on the subject. Or, I crudely state my inclination to put my leg behind my head and stand up. Oh no, I’m not above using my sexuality to get a date. Further into profile completion, there are sections of preference. I reveal in them obscure television shows, action movies, really anything to cover all the ground for any type of man. I use my love for a good romance novel. Then pretend I’m being sarcastic, by spouting off a quote that I happened across stating, “People who read romance novels have twice as much sex as the average person.”  Yeah, sex with myself... It’s pretty much all I read.

With the anticipation of each wink, message or poke I’m left to over analyze my self indulgence. My depth of character (or lack thereof) and emotionless summarization is yet another ploy. Those who read it are being tested in their ability to discern the fact that I am just the opposite of the things my writings suggest me to be. It’s a fine line to walk between sincerity and sarcasm. If I can’t be or have both meaningful and goofy I don’t want it. Nor do I want a romantic who talks about my eyes being the window to my soul. Mr. “looking for a sweet girl to romance” or “I’m your knight in shining armour” (notice the churched up spelling of armor to appear more worldly) won’t be the type of guy I’ll hope to get a message from. Yet, I’ll most likely be disappointed if my saltiness prevents me from it. After all, I’m there to actually find a match, right? Perhaps they’ll think I don’t take life and dating seriously enough. I look at the elimination process like sifting through dog shit to find my wedding ring. That in itself makes me certain why I’m still single. Oh, and I eat crackers in bed. And cookies.