Conversation Enders
Finally, it happened: I met - well - you know - virtually - my ideal man. His first contact was to answer my "conversation starters." These little tidbits appear at the very end of one's written profile, so you have to get well past the photos and the vital statistics to know anything about those.
Here are mine (two of which I stole from someone else but all of which I like to think are pretty clever):
1. Do you like to travel? If you could go anywhere, where would you go? 2. If two of your closest friends were asked to describe you what do you think they would say?
3. What is your all time favorite movie and why?
4. If you had to leave everything behind except 5 things to take with you, what would they be?
He had no photos of himself, which is usually a nonstarter, but the way he answered my questions I thought, "I don't care what he looks like, he's fantastic! Our brains are so aligned! I simply must meet him!"
This, I see now, was based almost entirely on his answer to Number 3:
"Seriously," he wrote, "I'm limited to one? I'll have to go with The Princess Bride, just because it was so thoughtfully written and well-directed."
Those closest to me will tell you, I quote Wallace Shawn, Andre the Giant, and Mandy Patinkin with reckless abandon in situations that have nothing to do with the quotes I'm spouting. So my heart, my heart was singing.
He was also very quick-witted in his response to Number 4: "I'll go with... Hm... I'm at an age now where I don't think things matter all that much. I'd want to have my glasses. I'd want to have my bite guard because I clench my teeth when I sleep. I'd want my tooth brush and some toothpaste. I don't know what I'd want for the last item."
Then he wrote, enticingly, "YOUR TURN! (I'm dying to know your answers!)"
It was approaching 1:00 in the morning and my phone battery was at 5% but what with the dental hygiene and the adorable teeth-clenching and the exclamation points, I was on fire: "PRINCESS BRIDE? Never get involved in a land war in Asia! Or go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line...
"Five things: a washcloth, DEFINITELY my glasses, any book by David Sedaris, chewing gum, and something to write with. I guess I'd sacrifice the washcloth for something to write ON.
"Do let me know when you decide on your fifth thing. Can I borrow some toothpaste?"
Ooooh, what a flirty little flirt I am in the middle of the night! Tossing around my witticisms and my movie trivia. Can I borrow some toothpaste? I do know how to hook 'em, I do.
Of course he responded immediately. "Oh, the temptation to write back a conversation-length reply, but I need sleep! **It's taking all my strength to resist quoting... Stop rhyming, and I mean it! Anybody want a peanut? AAARGH!!!!! **I thought about bringing alcohol (like 90% isopropyl or grain alcohol) as my fifth thing because it's so useful...disinfectant, fire propellant, astringent, deodorant...so I appreciate your commitment to washing. I also thought about taking a writing implement. Maybe we could write on one another after brushing our teeth. Floss! I might have to make floss my fifth item.
"Do you write?" he concluded.
And I, droopy-eyed with fatigue, but thrilled at the prospect of writing on each other said simply, "I'll be brief and we'll carry on tomorrow...Yes I am a writer. I'll share my pencil if you share your dental floss. My name is Inigo Montoya. You kill my father. Prepare to die."
Bright and early, my phone made its joyful little *ding!*
"G'morning! Hopefully both you and your phone's battery are recharged. So what do you write (other than messages to guys on dating websites) and where? And what do you teach, and to whom? "Questions, questions.... "See, mostly dead is still slightly alive."
I, confident that an in-person meeting with this witty, bantering, PB scene-quoter was imminent, was still trying to be cool and artful when I replied: "I write comedic slam style poetry and creative nonfiction. I have a blog that about three people follow. Mostly about the wild and crazy world of ... wait for it... online dating! Mostly I teach reading to little kids." And not wanting to appear utterly self-absorbed, I asked, quoting from his profile,"What do legal/creative free thinkers do?"
Twelve hours later came this: "I have another friend who, like you, uses one username for everything...dating profiles, blogging, twitter, instagram, facebook, etc. And it makes a lot of sense...less energy wasted (on your part) trying to remember usernames, and easier for others to find related content online.Since you said that you blogged, I fed your handle into a google search and *PRESTO* up came everything. So the good news is that I took the time to read all of your blog posts and all of your poetry that I could find online. Interesting stuff, and it sounds like you're having a blast writing and reading your ideas. The less-good news is that I'm SOOOOO not the guy you're looking for! But there's good news even in that, since we don't have to waste a ton of time figuring one another out. Godblesstheinternets! :)"
While I should've been instantly grateful this condescending conclusion-jumper had saved us both some time, I was stunned and a little kicked-in-the-gut feeling. Plus there was a touch of fear - my privacy settings are way too weak! But my username on the dating site is completely different from my twitter, instagram, facebook and blog. So how did he find me? When I fed my online dating handle into google, the only things that popped up were a video on how to make Crystle's green chile chicken, salsa recipes from New Zealand, and how to eat Pueblo Indian frybread. Not even on page 7 did I find a link to me.
What did he know that I didn't?
I've been at this long enough to know to let shit go quickly when it doesn't pan out, and not to dwell. But dammit! I'm a dweller, and I was dying to know, how was he SOOOOO certain he was SOOOOO not the guy I'm looking for? Did my blog posts seem cruel? I intend them to be self-reflective, a tad ironic, but not insulting. Wouldn't a guy who loves "The Princess Bride" as much as I do be able to see that?
Only after a thorough scouring did I settle on a conclusion. He's a gold-chain-sportin', crew-neck-undershirt-wearin', flipflops-even-in-winter Dolly-callin' recovered alcoholic with too much hair on his head - and still, bears no resemblance to Jack White.
In short, my standards are just way, way too high.
