My Internet Date from the planet cheap.


After discussing Internet dating in class I thought I would share my own experiance with Internet dating and here it is:E-harmony,,….these are the building blocks of internet love. However, these sites cost mad dollars. Love ain’t free anymore. In fact, love is pretty fucking expensive. A membership to a dating site can cost you over a hundred bucks for six months of belonging to a site that promises you love or at least an intimate encounter.

You are the prospective dater, and by pulling out your VISA you are paying for the “hope” that one of those online users who browses your page is the love of your life, special somebody, soul-mate, or hot-fuck.

I don’t know about you , but I’m fucking broke. Seriously, tapped out…the well is dry! Ya know…one paycheck away from a rubber chicken, and a hotplate.

And that’s where comes into play. It’s free, and get this, 50% of’s members found love on the site. Shit, I already felt warm and fuzzy inside at the thought of something being free.

“You should sign up for so you can remember what it’s like when someone is really into you” suggested my good friend Brandi. Truth be told, I hate dating sites. Really I do. Dating sites are the last bus stop before Desperartion City.

But…it was winter break, and the site was free afterall…

I signed up for, and listed my idea of a good first date as:
“Anything where I don’t have to think, and don’t end up in a dumpster by the end of the night.”

You’d be suprised how much unwanted attention the above statement got my profile.

The influx of creeper mail poured into my free dating website like milk into your morning bowl of fruit loops.

A guy named Alex began to contact me, and he SEEMED normal. And wasn’t bad-looking judging by his picture on his webpage.

He called me, and I blew off his call and never called him back. Alex musta been hard-up for a date because he kept calling. Eventually, I answered and here are some dimlights from our phone conversation:

Alex: So what are you looking for?
ME: Honestly man, I have no fucking idea what I’m looking for.
Alex: I work at a company fixing printers and stuff. I get paid ten bucks an hour.
INNERME: whoa. Big dreams fulfilled! 
Alex: I wanted to know if I coould take you out on saturday?
ME: You can meet me at a club that my friends and I are going to in Philly if you want.
INNERME: I’m not going out with this freak alone.

That Friday, Alex met me, and my friend and her boyfriend. Alex was standing in the lobby of the club dressed in akward dark green sweater paired with what looked to be Jordache brand jeans, and brown work boots. Not exactly what what a man should wear for a night out on the town.

He did NOT look like his picture on the internets!

We all walk up to the bar, and he orders a shot of tequilla. I order a 2$ U-call it pinnapple and vodka drink. When the bartender went to charge him for my drink he said “No, we’re seperate.”

And that’s where I envisioned him walking into HELL, and burning alive.

How are you going to ask a bitch out, and not pay for even ONE drink, and expect to get anything besides swift kick in the ass as you walk out the door? As far as I was concerned the date was over.

Unfortuntly, Alex was really interested in me, and I was forced to feign conversation with him.
Alex had a few choice things to say. 

Let’s play a game. 
The game is called “Alex the Simpleton.” The game is comprised of Alex’s staements and my internal (and some external)responses to those statements.

Alex the Simpleton likes bums because they don’t have to report to the goverment.
(Oh yay. A man looking to avoid responsibility.)

Alex the Simpleton just wants a house in the woods.
(People who live in the woods get murdered)

“I’m sarcastic too” says Alex.
“Oh yeah? I really don’t see it.” I respond.
“No, I am sarcastic. I just don’t want to be an asshole.” he says.
“It’s okay. Be an asshole. I want you to.” I say to him as I await for him to back up his shit.
“Nah…” says Alex as he backs down from my verbal challenge.

“I was going to be an Interior Designer..” says Alex the Simpleton.
“Oh really. Are you still going to pursue that?” I ask.
“No” responds Alex the Simpleton.
If you are going to use the word “was” in a sentance it should be applied to something you actually did. For example: “I was a brain surgoen until an aligator ate both my hands.”

Alex the Simpleton asked me if I like space (universe..planets, stars etc.).
( What do you say to that? No, I’m really against solar systems. That’s like asking me if I like chairs)

“Do you like to star gaze?” asks Alex.
“Uh….stars are cool.” I respond.

Alex the simpleton likes to talk about how he likes to have “Deep conversation” and drink wine because it makes him feel sophisticated.

Alex the Simpleton tells me that I seem like a classy lady. 
(I counteract his statement by telling him that I’m not classy at all, and I enjoy swearing in front of children.)

“I like to go muddn'” says Alex.
“Whats muddn?” I ask.
“It’s where you get in a truck, and let it skid in the mud, and you get tossed around.” He answers.
“Oh so muddn’ is like goin on a carnival ride without having to pay money.” I say.
“Yeah!” responds Alex.

Alex is a cyclist. I know this because he told me at least three times, and kept trying to explain to me what a cyclist was even though I told him I knew what it meant. “You ride a bike. I get it.” I said.

Alex the Simpleton can NOT take a hint. 

Even after I tell Alex I don’t want to dance with him because I feel it would be akward.

Even after I walk away he continues to stare at me.

Finally he leaves, and sends me a text message that says he really wants to see me again, and likes how straight forward I am.

Dating sites turn my stomach. The thought of some kind of contrived dating situation makes me want to vomit uncontrollably all over myself. Meeting some stranger in a public place, and trying in vein to search to for common ground is about as painful as a route canal. In fact, I’d take the route canal over internet dating anyday. At least when it’s over you get drugs, and a free tooth brush.

Poor Alex. That boy didn’t stand a chance.


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