Why are you always recommending internet dating to the people who write to you for advice?
Don’t you find the whole thing sort of pathetic?
Nope. Not even a teensy bit. Pathetic is having to drive yourself to the
emergency room so that licensed medical professionals can remove the butt plug you jammed too far
up your own ass. Pathetic is throwing your back out jerking off to porn. By yourself. FYI, both these
moronic medical mishaps were perpetrated by the same mope who remains convinced that internet
dating is for losers and social retards. I beg to differ.
Never mind that I met my latest special naked friend online, I was at a
party this weekend where four of the six couples in attendance had met the same way. It’s gotten to
the point that I won’t even listen to friends moan about being single unless they’ve given Nerve
or Lavalife or Match a go. I don’t understand how the same people who blithely buy shoes and airline
tickets online look down their noses at those of us who shop for dates the exact same way.
This is especially true for people with very exacting standards. Like
say, suppose you’re someone whose sexual proclivities might be considered a little…out
there. Maybe you’re only able to get it up for heavily pierced Armenian midgets with predilections
for scat play and roller derby. You could spend the rest of your life trawling tattoo parlors, Armenian
social-club restrooms and skating rinks and still come up empty. But plug in that computer and within
a few clicks you can locate the freak o’ your dreams.
“It’s so dangerous,” is one common objection. Actually, no.
Unless you invite your new internet friend over to your apartment for a first-date round of Strip
Yahtzee, you’re not risking your safety any more than you would be anytime you venture out of your
house. Sure, I’ve also met a lot of creepy jackasses online, but far fewer than I encounter at any
given bar in my neighborhood.
“All the men online are married,” is another lament. The fact is, cheaters
are everywhere. Use the same criteria as you would with a man you meet in the “real world.” If he won’t
pony up the home phone number and it seems you can never go to his place, he’s married (or a complete
loser who lives in an unventilated basement with 10 illegal immigrants and no land line).
“The men who frequent internet dating sites are only after one thing.”
Erm, yeah. And the men you meet through so-called “normal” channels are definitely, adamantly,
not looking for sex. No siree. Your regular guy on the street, he doesn’t want to fuck you—he’s
looking for love. He’s not thinking of bending you over the nearest Toyota and slamming his dick
into you doggy style—he’s hoping you’ll take his last name, even though it’s a little old-fashioned.
He’s not wondering how you’d look in a latex g-string with your heels tucked behind your ears—he’s
thinking china patterns and baby names. Please.
Internet dating simply widens your pool. I’ve met men any number of different
ways, but I’m old and tired now. I don’t like the work involved in chatting up some stranger, who may
or may not be looking for a girlfriend. If I browse online, at least I know everyone is there with the
intention of meeting someone. Even if it’s only to be with for one night.
As for looking like a pathetic loser—who cares? Part of becoming
a grown-up is becoming one with your inner retard.
Not too long ago my, boyfriend wrote you a letter asking what you look
like. He wanted to know your measurements and everything. If I didn’t know him, I’d think he wanted
to date Dategirl. I got a little upset—mostly unsettled—even after he said it was
purely curiosity that sparked him to write the letter. So, what I’m getting at is, am I a little too
sensitive or is he a little insensitive? I mean, if I wrote to some guy’s column asking how big his
cock was and if he were attractive, would that make me insensitive to my boyfriend?
Dear, sweet, Selina, men always write in asking what I look like.
Lots of them go so far as to ask me out. One guy even showed up at the office looking for me—that
was flattering. Believe me, this kind of attention doesn’t serve to make me feel like I’m all
that, because it’s based on some weird fantasy these guys cook up about the way I look. In their minds
I’m a nubile 22-year-old with Pam Anderson’s titties and a J-Lo ass. I know this because some fellas
include Crayola renderings with their requests. I don’t understand the impulse. For all they know,
I could be a fat old man or a mustachioed freakshow attraction.
To answer your question, maybe you’re a little too sensitive (though
I’d be pissed off if my boyfriend had written that letter to some newspaper hussy), but he’s definitely
too insensitive. You go ahead and write that letter to a columnist. I recommend Jim Knipfel. I hear
he’s hung like a stallion. o