Online dating is for the birds. And I’m going to grouse about it.
Mating season is nigh, and wannabe lovebirds are slowly emerging after a lazy winter of nesting. Except me, that is. I flew the OkCupid coop and went cold turkey about six months ago. Repeatedly ruffled by the online dating wren-around, I eventually choked after doing whatever the opposite of cold turkey is. Hot cock, I think.
Hen again, maybe not. Because I’m jay.
After wasting so much time, energy and bills on something that proved to be nothing more than an albatross around my neck, I admitted defeat, like the hairs on my inner thighs that finally just stopped sprouting after enduring decades of fleshy friction. Pelican you believe I’m still single?
Over the course of a shag-less year on OkCupid, the crane of my existence, the website’s patented algorithms that I don’t understand seemed to be mockingbird me when it declared that I’m a near-perfect match for myself and repeatedly dispatched me emails trying to fix me up with … myself. Although difficult to swallow, I actually had joined to leave my roost and get to know chicks. Chicks other than myself. Now I have major egrets.
But maybe OkCupid knew something — besides college-level math — that I didn’t, because flying through junco profiles with my eagle eye proved trying and tiresome. And receiving correspondence that blew me plover for all the wrong reasons took a toll. And when I spent time with purported matches other than myself, all I ever came away with was the sense that we were totally destined to meet. So that I could blog about them later as a lark.
I met, among 30 or 40 other loons who were nothing to raven about, a cuckoo with a drug problem who asked me feather or not I wanted to be her mistress; a nuthatch who had the gull to wait until our first coffee together to reveal she had a live-in teenage son and an allergy to my feline life partners; and a flighty chickadee who, on our third date, admitted to seeing someone else after going to first base … with my cat. I didn’t even get to touch her toucans.
When your online dating profile is more successful for your pet than you, it’s time to shut it down. So I did. And owl be damned if I ever look back.
That’s not to say I haven’t thought about looking back. Because, having never been much of a flirt or magpie, OkCupid was my only real window into the dating world. Without it, I’m no longer actively searching for dove. Which means that I’m preventing other honeyeaters — best. lesbian. nickname. ever — from searching for me, too. Flycatcher in the ointment. You know how some people say that dove finds you when you’re not looking for it? Those people are fowl liars.
But the whole internet dating experience was so unpheasant that I’m in no thrush to get my goose cooked penguin. Call me a spring chicken, but from heron out I’m going to cheep on hibernating through mating season, duck the vultures and dodos, and sparrow myself the heart-beak. It would, though, behoove me to take a cue from my flock of thigh hairs, which after getting shafted in a chafing setback, started from scratch a while later and now seem to have migrated to my chin.
It just goes to crow that where there’s a whip-poor-will, there’s a jay.
Speaking of being alone — aren’t I always? — I recently went to New York City alone to attend alone the dating-themed comedy tour de force “Blogologues: Come Here Often?” that featured a post I wrote performed by Jen Jamula and Allison Goldberg about being … wait for it … alone. Patterns. The post tells the story of a girl who once left a comment about having a crush on me (Lacey, are you still reading?) and devolves into a rant about hating America. Kidding, FBI. I *love* America! Totally voting for Rick Santorum today! Birth control is a gay agenda … seems like something someone voting for Rick Santorum would say! It was another awesome night (you can watch videos from previous Blogologues here and here), and one dude laughed so hard his nose bled. A lot of blood, sweat and tears goes into these shows, so it was nice to see a theatergoer finally giving back. I’m not going to say any more, because if I keep writing blog posts about a show that performs my blog posts, I’m pretty sure I’ll cause the universe to implode on itself.