According to Trish

not worth reading since 2009

I am a sitcom: My personal online dating implosion

My boss/editor/friend (let’s call her “Jezebel” to preserve her anonymity) is always telling me that my life should be a sitcom. Today I believe her.

Let me make this promise right now: You all are gonna looooooove this one. I never, ever write about my dating life in real time or specifically mention anyone I date, but for this entry I must make an exception.

So I’ve been on this small, local, dating/social networking site for a while. I haven’t done a whole lot with it — a date or two, a few emails, met some nice people to pal around with — but I haven’t really used it for its intended purpose. A little while ago I decided that it was time to dive in. The first thing I did was create a social event —  a dinner (I called it “Chow and Chat”) for this coming Saturday. Next I had my 7-year old snap some sexy pictures of me (just one of the many indignities of being a Single Momma on the Prowl) and I updated my profile. Then I pointed my cursor toward available dudes and went to town.

I emailed one guy. No reply. OK then.

I emailed a second guy. No reply. Um… hmm …

A third. A fourth….  Is my fucking email working? Am I uglier than I thought? Is it because I have kids? Were guys put off by the fact that I listed “getting in your pants” as one of my passions? (That was only on there very briefly, before I lost my nerve and took it down… and yes, I clarified that it was a joke. ) Did they read my blog and get totally terrified? (I had the URL up for about 24-48 hours, before I lost my nerve and took that down, too.) Maybe I’m even too weird for these holistic, new agey types …

Welcome to Camp Loser. My name is Trish and I’ll be your guide.

So I decided SCREW ALLA THAT and I got me a membership to Match.com — where they apparently know how to treat a girl like me because I got one hell of a warm welcome (which I’ve heard comes free with the “female package”). Seriously, ladies — join up for the biggest ego boost ever. A friend told me to expect to get an avalanche of attention right after I joined and she didn’t lie.

Anyhoo, the morning after I joined I saw that I got an email (on Match) from one of the guys I emailed on the other web site. He was like, “Hey, I read your email on the other site but I’m not a paid member anymore so I couldn’t respond …” Well then. So we volleyed a few emails back and forth and he seems really interesting — so we’re supposed to talk to find a date to meet up. Cool, right?

I was kicking around the idea of telling him about my event on Saturday and saying he should come — it’s a nice, no-pressure way to meet. But then I thought maybe I just wanted to meet him one-on-one because then we could really talk and see if we hit if off without dealing with a group. But I hadn’t decided.

BUT THEN… TODAY…

Not one, but TWO of the other guys I emailed suddenly replied! And guess what? They BOTH saw my event listing for Saturday and want to come. WTF?

So what do I do now?

And, of course, there’s the possibility that any of those guys could be reading this right now. (Dudes: How YOU doin’?) That is, assuming that any of them looked at my profile during the small window of time in which my URL was up and then they bookmarked my site and looked at it again. Do guys do stuff like that? (I know chicks do — I mean, chicks who aren’t me…) And if so, I have nothing to hide because this little Laverne & Shirley/Three’s Company/Bachelorette scenario just sort of happened to me. I mean, I was even purposely only emailing one person at a time, because I’m so, so, so awfully bad at multitasking in the dating world (just ask Jezebel if you don’t believe me).

The possible outcomes are endless. I could like more than one of them. I could like none of them. None of them could like me. They could all go to the event and like other chicks better and I’ll go home sad and lonely … back to my new, virtual dating kingdom  — where I am a Queen and I can get any 60-year old guy I want.

Oh hi there 👋
It’s nice to meet you.

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