Okay, y’all seriously. This quarantine has got me bored up in here. So being the person I am, along with boredom, I couldn’t sleep last night. This is going to go well, right?
My Grama every so often drops hints and full on moments, that I should be online actively seeking a mate for life. To which, I go, “bleh”. But I digress.
Last night, because all good things come to those who are unable to sleep even though they took a sleeping pill, and they just. Won’t. Put. Down. The. Phone. I could hear my Grama’s voice in my head.
“Join a dating site…” 🤔
So, what did I do? I googled dating website Alaska. And what came up? A list of the most popular ‘dating’ websites, and I use the term ‘dating’ with a roll to my eyes.
I joined one. I did. I admit to this, right here, right now. I, Echo, at 2am, full of boredom and crazed curiosity joined the #1 dating app for Alaskans.
*a moment of silence as I mourn*
Upon joining, I added three of the least ridiculous selfies I have on my phone. Because apparently when I take the rare selfie, they’re usually of my eye makeup or of me making terrible faces while laughing at the ridunkulous Snapchat filters. Narcissism look away from thee.
Okay, back to the story. So at this point, I’ve turned my light back on, sat up in bed with the look of a dazed idiot, because you know – sleeping pill – to verify that my face is actually my face. I’ve picked a terrible username because no way, no how am I using my real name. And I’m off to the races.
For the next hour I scroll through profiles, pictures, bios, the whole nine yards that would under normal circumstances be considered stalking but on a ‘dating’ app is perfectly acceptable behavior.
What I found became increasingly interesting in a – I am hovering outside of my body, can’t look away from the train wreck you are about to incur upon thyself – kind of way.
A few of my favorite things. The whole “interested in women who take care of themselves.” 🤦🏼♀️ Because they want someone who can feed, bathe, and clothe herself? Nope. Why can’t they just write what they mean? Fat women need not apply for the position of being my woman.
I mean for realsies, do I need to put, must drive pristine truck, be 6’4”, with the face of Jason Momoa, muscles and hair and money and perfection. I guess to keep it simple, I could say, “Must take care of himself, financially and physically.” In other words, be super hot and have a crap ton of money, all others need not apply.
What I really want to write is, “Beauty freaking fades, stupid is forever.”
I mean, honestly.
Not all of the profiles were a dud, don’t get me wrong, there were a sliver of a few that were adorable in their bios and responses.
The vast majority though are chasing the fantasy. They want a well taken care of woman, who will camp with them, fish with them, sleep on the ground in a tent with them, pee in the woods and do all of this while “taking care of herself” and being as low maintenance and funny as possible. No pressure though.
What have I learned from this experiment? Because in all honesty these dating apps just aren’t for me. Plus, you have to pay to actually read any messages sent your way or be able to reply. And this girl, she ain’t got money or time for the duration of crawling that far down into the experiment.
I guess I’m left with this sad picture of our society and the way we ‘date’ now. We’re always chasing the illusion. The fantasy of perfection. I’m not Angelina Jolie, I will never, not ever, even if I ate egg whites and kale salad with no dressing will I ever be a woman who “takes care of herself.”
But you dude, you’ll never be Jason Momoa or Dwayne Johnson either. Irony is, I never once thought to even ask you to be.
So there. A new rule to add to the don’ts of quarantine. Don’t cut your bangs, put down the tweezers, and do not join a dating site. I’ll just be over here doing my thing and patiently waiting on the ultimate matchmaker to match me with His will.