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But not every date turns out like an eHarmony ad. Spread the word to your friends and family to protect them. Be precise: the more search criteria you complete, the greater your chances are of being contacted by singles who dating website stories the same interests as you. She'll have to eventually zip out that you're her only way out of this situation. I mean, I sent myself an e-mail to make sure my e-mail was still working. If you want someone else to pay your bills or buy you a purse in exchange for your company, along with added but glad expectations of sexual favors, fine.
Internet dating has become an extremely popular way to meet people, and has indeed brought a lot of lonely folks together. But not every date turns out like an eHarmony ad. So in observance of Valentine's Day, we consulted readers, friends, a few experts, and a number of sites notably Craigslist Personals to gather the funniest, strangest, and most horrific online dating stories we could find. Lonely people, broken hearts, false claims, dashed expectations, doctored photos, bailouts, and no-shows--it's all part of the online dating experience, and we unearthed a little of everything. The last guy I went out with brought a sock puppet--a sock puppet--on our date and tried to talk to me with it. To be cute, I think. But it freaked me out. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but no sock puppets, please. The old mid-date disappearing act has taken on a whole new utility in the age of Internet dating. We e-mail back and forth a bit, he says he's definitely looking for the same thing, and finally we agree to meet at a coffee shop. The only thing I recognized was the bike. He resembled his pics the way Stuart Little resembles Mickey Mouse. His teeth were black, absolutely disgusting, and he had a cyst beside his left eye. He had to be 10 to 15 years older than me.... Not only that, but I got the distinct impression that he personally knew where a few bodies were buried. I couldn't help it. Then I couldn't look at him at all. So he says he's going to get a coffee. That was his first mistake. Leaving my coffee and magazine, and barely taking time to snatch up my purse, I put my cell phone to my ear like I had just received an emergency call and literally hauled ass down the street to my car before he came back out. Karma says I am going to pay for that. But, she says, she had to kiss a few frogs before finally finding her prince. Of those, at least half were winks. But the opposite is often the case. That same anonymity seems to give some men a license to be rude perverts. The Web site of the U. I think I have been scammed. How do I get my money back? For some longtime Internet daters, the names, facts, faces, and interests of responders to their profiles begin to run together. And the limited creativity of many dating-site members doesn't help matters. You're pissing me off. First of all, your screen name. You are not clever enough to think of something good, therefore you should not expect to be coupled with someone who is. Here's one from her Craigslist post: No. Getting together for date 1 was an Act of Congress; he went on and on about the train schedules. Then he cancelled out on date 2. He led me to believe that he lived someplace close in Jersey like Hoboken; turns out he was in Jersey alright... People of all shapes, sizes, and socioeconomic backgrounds are looking for love online. This man was 5-feet-9 and weighed in probably about 300 pounds. So I wave at him and over he comes. I felt bad that I had sat outside, because even though it was a mild day and there was an umbrella, he was soon sweating like a donkey. And the charm, wit, and humor he had on the phone was... He mumbled and fidgeted, but kept looking at me like I was a glass of water and he was on the tail end of a long walk through the desert. So I did it. I am so ashamed of myself, but in retrospect, what else could I do? I was sure every other blind date had coldly dumped him. And I knew he was a nice guy, just not the guy for me. I deliberately set out to gross him out. I started to laugh too loud at the unfunny things he said. And then, and I can barely type this, I actually put my hand in my armpit, pulled it out, and sniffed it. Here's my own actually my only interesting online dating experience. I was in school. In a new city, Chicago, lonely, and very cold. Her name was Bonnie, and her picture on Nerve. After a few chatty e-mail notes, we set up a meeting at a yuppie beer joint in Lincoln Park. I arrived first, sat at the bar, and ordered a beer. Those moments before your date shows up are priceless--my mind started racing a little, I could almost hear a low drum roll. And there she was--she walked in, sat down, ordered a beer. The tattoo on her neck wasn't visible in her online picture. She looked a little rough around the edges, Bonnie did. She was about my height or a little taller, and she was built--and I don't mean built in a girly way, I mean she looked like she could bench press about twice my weight. She ordered another beer. And another, and another. Her cool, detached attitude soon turned boisterous and aggressive. She lapped me several times beer-wise, and didn't seem to notice, while peppering me with questions about past relationships. After about an hour I'd seen and heard enough. When I smoothly begged off, claiming a study group meeting, she just looked at me blankly--then, I thought, a little menacingly. I thought I saw a vein pop out on her neck. I felt the cold blast of the door swinging open, heard her walking behind me. My heart was beating fast as I stepped onto the sidewalk. I braced myself for a wallop and turned, but she was already lighting a cigarette. For some people it works so well that it becomes a problem. But always, inevitably, I'd log in just to see who was out there, what new ads were posted in my absence... I branched out to Nerve and Yahoo, even Jdate not that I'm Jewish. As a result, I started having more dates than free evenings. I became an expert stacker. My performance at work started to suffer. Between arranging dates and answering e-mails, I rarely finished my projects on time. Plus I started coming in late, hungover from the prior evening's activities. And I started taking long date lunches, because my evenings were already chock-full. At that point, my dating itself started to suffer. I started losing track of which one was the human rights lawyer and which one hiked Mt. Everest, which one grew up on a farm in the Midwest, which one liked to make curry, which one was divorced and which one had been in the Marines. My ability to combine witty banter with piercing intellectual observations and shy but come-hither glances the ingredients, I knew, of a successful date was plummeting. Slack-jawed, bleary-eyed, I could only listen with faux enthusiasm and nod at appropriate intervals to their monologues.... My entire life was now spent dating, or on the computer, arranging the next date. There were times I woke up and I couldn't remember whom I had gone out with the previous night, nor whom I was supposed to meet that night. And I could no longer rely on just first names--there were scores of Robs, and Daves, and Mikes, and Johns, and Steves, and Jeffs. I had to make up nicknames for all of them, and designed a spreadsheet with relevant details of each to keep track of it all. Happy Valentine's Day, everybody.
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