Let's be honest. I'm female and I'm single. OF COURSE I've tried Internet dating.
Of course I've tried it.
And I probably will try it again. I have to, don't I?
But I'm on hiatus right now. Have been for a few years. Because--and look, I'm not going to blame anyone here but myself--my expectations for Internet dates are always way too high. Like way too high.
In Chicago, I met up for sushi with a guy from the Internet who was lovely online. His photos were all black and white and artsy and deep. He loved music and Japanese food and his e-mails were thoughtful and displayed a proper understanding of the semicolon. I like music and Japanese food; I also like the semicolon.
Loving music translated into loving VERY LARGE HEADPHONES, which he wore throughout dinner. Also droning on and on endlessly about how New Order was the GREATEST BAND OF ALL TIME.
When there was a spare second between bites of my chirashi and the full concert history of Bernard Summer and Company, I squeaked in, "Now Bizarre Love Triangle. That was a good song."
And loving Japanese food? During our date at one of Chicago's pre-eminent Japanese establishments--I had been very thoughtful about where our first date should be given that we were both lovers of Japanese food--he admitted to not liking raw fish.
Um. Okay. "So what sorts of Japanese food do you like then?" I wanted him to say Katsu-don. Katsu-don! I love Katsu-don. In my head, I begged him, desperately, to say Katsu-don.
He was still wearing his headphones; they were VERY LARGE and pulled down around his neck now.
"I like California rolls. And those Philadelphia rolls, you know, with the cream cheese."
I am that girl. Yes, I rejected him not only because he couldn't take his headphones off at the dinner table, but also because he professed a love of Japanese food that turned out to be nothing more than a love of cucumber, imitation crab, and white rice. And Philadelphia cream cheese.
Less than a year later, I moved to London. My first Internet date was with a strapping, handsome dark-haired Norwegian who professed a love of seafood and international travel AND PJ Harvey. Who doesn't love a man who loves PJ Harvey? Even my mother says that PJ Harvey is angry-woman music. (Not even "Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea" can persuade her otherwise.)
Me and the Norwegian met up for a coffee and a walk around town. It was very awkward, but I was used to Internet-dating- awkwardness by this point. "So you like seafood?" I asked, as we passed The Ten Bells in Spitalfields. He didn't want to stop in for a beer, even though it was the Jack the Ripper pub and everything.
"Well, not really. I mean, I like salmon."
"Oh, salmon is nice. I like smoked salmon. I'm from New York. We eat a lot of smoked salmon with our bagels. With cream cheese and capers. You probably eat a lot of smoked salmon, being Norwegian."
"Yes."
"Um, so what other sorts of seafood to you like? Your profile said you liked seafood?"
"I just really like salmon. I don't like crabs or prawns and I don't really like other sorts of fish. I don't like mussels or clams. I just like salmon."
"Oh. So I guess we won't be having oysters then today will we? I love oysters. Champagne and oysters. Guinness and oysters. Mmmm oysters." I laughed awkwardly. He put his hands in his pockets and said nothing. It was a ridiculously bright Sunday in London. All the hipsters were out and about, wearing tight jeans and groovy sunglasses. A few wore jaunty hats. I wanted to sit outside a pub, have a couple of pints, and people-watch and gossip about celebrities and complain about planned engineering works.
We went for Chinese food instead.
He had never had Chinese food before.
He didn't like it either.
A few years later, another Internet date, another London restaurant. It's an eHarmony man this time so I have high hopes. If their advertising is right, this is supposed to be my soul mate. My soul mate!
He was affable. Good looking, and he obviously spent a lot of time in the gym.
"My mates told me not to tell you things," he says to me, in the basement of a Thai restaurant in Soho. "But wow, you're just so easy to talk to.
"My wife--my ex-wife--she has agoraphobia. We got married young and obviously didn't leave the house much. You're my first date since the divorce last month. Since I was like 17 actually. I wanted to wait until the kids were teenagers to leave her. It's been hard for them."
"I'm so sorry," I say. "I don't know what to say. I hope everything's okay."
"Everything's great! This is great! I'm 37 years old and I had never had Thai food before today and I was nervous about it but now I've had it and it's great! I'm going to eat Pad See Ew with prawns all the time now!"
Of course I've tried it.
And I probably will try it again. I have to, don't I?
But I'm on hiatus right now. Have been for a few years. Because--and look, I'm not going to blame anyone here but myself--my expectations for Internet dates are always way too high. Like way too high.
In Chicago, I met up for sushi with a guy from the Internet who was lovely online. His photos were all black and white and artsy and deep. He loved music and Japanese food and his e-mails were thoughtful and displayed a proper understanding of the semicolon. I like music and Japanese food; I also like the semicolon.
Loving music translated into loving VERY LARGE HEADPHONES, which he wore throughout dinner. Also droning on and on endlessly about how New Order was the GREATEST BAND OF ALL TIME.
When there was a spare second between bites of my chirashi and the full concert history of Bernard Summer and Company, I squeaked in, "Now Bizarre Love Triangle. That was a good song."
And loving Japanese food? During our date at one of Chicago's pre-eminent Japanese establishments--I had been very thoughtful about where our first date should be given that we were both lovers of Japanese food--he admitted to not liking raw fish.
Um. Okay. "So what sorts of Japanese food do you like then?" I wanted him to say Katsu-don. Katsu-don! I love Katsu-don. In my head, I begged him, desperately, to say Katsu-don.
He was still wearing his headphones; they were VERY LARGE and pulled down around his neck now.
"I like California rolls. And those Philadelphia rolls, you know, with the cream cheese."
I am that girl. Yes, I rejected him not only because he couldn't take his headphones off at the dinner table, but also because he professed a love of Japanese food that turned out to be nothing more than a love of cucumber, imitation crab, and white rice. And Philadelphia cream cheese.
Less than a year later, I moved to London. My first Internet date was with a strapping, handsome dark-haired Norwegian who professed a love of seafood and international travel AND PJ Harvey. Who doesn't love a man who loves PJ Harvey? Even my mother says that PJ Harvey is angry-woman music. (Not even "Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea" can persuade her otherwise.)
Me and the Norwegian met up for a coffee and a walk around town. It was very awkward, but I was used to Internet-dating- awkwardness by this point. "So you like seafood?" I asked, as we passed The Ten Bells in Spitalfields. He didn't want to stop in for a beer, even though it was the Jack the Ripper pub and everything.
"Well, not really. I mean, I like salmon."
"Oh, salmon is nice. I like smoked salmon. I'm from New York. We eat a lot of smoked salmon with our bagels. With cream cheese and capers. You probably eat a lot of smoked salmon, being Norwegian."
"Yes."
"Um, so what other sorts of seafood to you like? Your profile said you liked seafood?"
"I just really like salmon. I don't like crabs or prawns and I don't really like other sorts of fish. I don't like mussels or clams. I just like salmon."
"Oh. So I guess we won't be having oysters then today will we? I love oysters. Champagne and oysters. Guinness and oysters. Mmmm oysters." I laughed awkwardly. He put his hands in his pockets and said nothing. It was a ridiculously bright Sunday in London. All the hipsters were out and about, wearing tight jeans and groovy sunglasses. A few wore jaunty hats. I wanted to sit outside a pub, have a couple of pints, and people-watch and gossip about celebrities and complain about planned engineering works.
We went for Chinese food instead.
He had never had Chinese food before.
He didn't like it either.
A few years later, another Internet date, another London restaurant. It's an eHarmony man this time so I have high hopes. If their advertising is right, this is supposed to be my soul mate. My soul mate!
He was affable. Good looking, and he obviously spent a lot of time in the gym.
"My mates told me not to tell you things," he says to me, in the basement of a Thai restaurant in Soho. "But wow, you're just so easy to talk to.
"My wife--my ex-wife--she has agoraphobia. We got married young and obviously didn't leave the house much. You're my first date since the divorce last month. Since I was like 17 actually. I wanted to wait until the kids were teenagers to leave her. It's been hard for them."
"I'm so sorry," I say. "I don't know what to say. I hope everything's okay."
"Everything's great! This is great! I'm 37 years old and I had never had Thai food before today and I was nervous about it but now I've had it and it's great! I'm going to eat Pad See Ew with prawns all the time now!"
Now, this is mostly a sad story but it made for amusing breakfast reading nonetheless. When you come to London (or I to the States) and there is time we should swap online dating stories - assuming you have more. I certainly have a few to share: for instance about the girl who liked wine but not Riesling; or the Spanish woman with all sorts of diseases that needed to be shared during ten minutes at the South Bank; or... One liked seafood though; and wine!
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