Suck My Guac

Reader, I’m just tickled by how well this post title works. Today my subscription to the digi-meat market expired. I am no longer a member of an online dating site. I don’t think I’m going to renew it. At least not now.

So far so good.

But I must admit, I notice the hole. I need something else to check. There were days when I could pop on and see if anyone checked me out, flirted with me, who was new, whatever, just something to do, like TFLN for instance. I have my email and Facebook. Are you telling me that’s enough?

Am I liberated? No. Do I no longer feel like a lurking cyber stalker? Well yeah, but only because my avenue of enabling has been cut off. I guess what I’m trying to say is, The Proof is in the Pussy, this wildly popular serial piece – wait, what? it was a serial? – is over.

What’s next? Well, I guess I’ll hunt in the wild like some 20th century boob using a 14.4k dial-up and going out for a bar while downloading his first MP3 to use on Winamp.

***TIME PASSES***

I wrote the first part of this post several days ago and set it aside. It didn’t have an ending. It wasn’t going anywhere. So I hoped that the a few more days without my meat market would lead to some insight worth sharing. Well, I still check, but half-heartedly at best.

The fact of the matter remains, I didn’t dive headfirst into the online dating scene. Frankly, I was just dipping my toe into. Despite being in the shit with everyone else, checking it, updating my profile, staying up way too late on Ambien and looking for unsuspecting girls to start chatting with because I feel chatty, flirting with hotties – pictures of hotties – I always felt a part of it, but I never drank the Kool-Aid.

I met a few girls – Cancer Girl, and Car Girl most notable – but I was judging like an Old Testament God with a bad case of hemeroids. Profiles, pictures, email conversations, one slip up, or a giant nose and I was out of there. Sorry, your charm, your wit, the way our interests are the same to the point where I tuck my dick between my legs and make a mangina just to feel what it would be like to have you in the room – in the end, I wasn’t feeling it. I think the one who got the most out of it was you, reader.

Sit a little closer reader, do you mind if I put my hand on you knee? Let me just put this arm around here. And now we’re good to go. Reader, whoa we’re really close now, I never let go of my own prejudices.

Sure, everytime I logged onto the site I saw pictures of “Success Stories” and I thought, well Ok, maybe they can tell the story to their friends and in front of the their family, and sell it back to their online dating site to pay for the photographer. I just don’t think I ever could imagine ever taking it seriously.

What about Car Girl? Yes, Car Girl does come from the intertubes, but she different in that I declare her so based on hormones. So there. No, she’s still in Northern California but swearing she’s coming back down. So if we do go on another date in the future the first order of business will be to create a new “how we met” story.

So in the spirit of things, I present a poll! We like polls right?

Perfect, I like having things to talk about on dates.

Oh, also I’m moving within the next week or so, so stay tuned for that traumatizing experience. Will Jamie’s piano fit in the elevator? Will his contractor rip him off? Dial in next time and check back for the results.

- Jamie