Journals internet dating
Undaunted, I know that destiny could only be a cyber click away so I take fate into my own hands and decide to make the first move. I confide my frustration and disappointment in a male friend who asks to see my profile.
I don’t have to wait to be picked; I’m not 12 anymore. Agood Simple Man’s tag line: Looking for someone who is not a liar. He says it has no sex appeal: “You need a cleavage shot.
“And mentioning commitment before the first date would make any man run.” Sexing up my profile is the cyber equivalent of wearing leopard skin spandex, donning red pumps and batting false eyelashes. I post a picture of myself dancing at a New Year’s Eve party: hips a sway, hair wild, breasts perky. With the flick of the enter button, I become part of the sexist, gendered, clichéd mania that has plagued love relationships between men and women since the dawn of time.I promised my feminist self that I wouldn’t play the sex sells game to meet a man. I remember the multitudes of essays and lectures I’ve written about how gender stereotypes devastate and disempower women.However, after three desperate and lonely months of online dating and the only attention my profile garners is from a married man who seeks a third for intimate encounters, I cave. I feel like a traitor who’s trying to look sexy at a Take Back the Night rally.I find a picture of myself wearing teacher glasses and I write a tag line: Let’s Grow Together.A fourth glass of wine and I find the fortitude to post my ad: Seeking someone interested in literature, theatre, learning, personal growth, and commitment.
I sit alone on my balcony, stare at the lights of Calgary, and wonder if I’ll live out the rest of my days alone collecting scented candles.