Meeting meatheads in the Koots' cootie-infested online dating world
By Allyson Kenning
With Valentine’s Day over and done with, I can freely admit to being a tad bit cynical about this occasion, often saying that the best thing about it is the day after–when all the chocolates go on sale for 50% off. Anyway, on February 14 I woke up and went about my day, wishing my cat had the capability to get me a gift other than the ones she normally leaves in her litter box or barfs up on my carpet.
My brother came up for a coffee, and I followed him around town as he bought gifts of both sugary and floral nature for his new wife. We had a non-Valentine’s-related family dinner that night which was nice, and I gave my cat some extra treats because I knew later I would get a cuddle out of it–maybe. When I got home, I had two emails telling me that a whole two gentlemen (and I use that term loosely) had messaged me through an online dating site I stupidly signed up with in the fall.
Both messages were of the following nature: “hey cutie wats up? wat r u doin tonite?”
The first message was from someone who’d chosen to use a nickname that indicated he had a predilection for a particular sexual position. Call me crazy, but this didn’t make my day. In fact, it was just another in a long line of virtual catcalling and hook-up solicitation incidents from a lengthy parade of Kootenay losers I’ve come across in the local online dating scene.
It almost seems to me that none of the guys on this site who live locally can spell, put a sentence together, or articulate anything decent without using the texting shorthand that is so prevalent (and, in my opinion, the very thing that will be the downfall of the English language) these days. There also seems, from what I gather from this (admittedly free) site, that there is a paucity of single, normal, educated, sincere, respectful men around here.
Trying to catch my attention with “hey cutie wats up” would not endear me to you in the real world. If this had happened in person, I’d give you one of my famous eye-roll/sigh combinations and turn on my heel in the other direction. “Wat r u doin tonite” would elicit a similar response, perhaps along with a snarky one-liner indicating that my plans would not be including you, and that my cat would be better company, thank you very much.
Also, spelling “what’s” as “wats’ and “are you” as “r u” doesn’t wash with me. It makes a potential suitor look illiterate and idiotic. Call me crazy again, but I would like a potential suitor to be both literate and not an idiot.
Finally, how stupid do these guys some women are? Well, okay, perhaps that’s not the right question. How stupid do they think I am? Stupid enough to rush out to Grand Forks on Valentine’s night to hook up with a complete stranger? The bus doesn’t go there, buddy!
All that being said, the one decent interaction on this site I did have with someone who typed real English wasn’t exactly stellar. I decided to meet him, and it was a disaster. He was an hour late (I had left), he lied about his age by ten years and assumed I couldn’t do the math to figure this out. Then he showed me some iffy pictures of his children that I didn’t think were appropriate for the situation. All of this awkwardness played out in full view of Clansey’s staff, whom the guy kept trying to include in the conversation. It was bizarre. (Kudos to the barista that night for her discretion around this matter.)
This entire online dating experience has not painted available Kootenay males in a good light. I have creep stories not appropriate for this site that would curl your teeth!
Anyway, after a huge string of barely legible communiques with what seemed like a horde of unlettered males, and in an effort to hopefully cut back on the number of sketchy guys contacting me, I took a friend’s advice and put a disclaimer up on my profile on the dating site. It read something like, “Do not contact me if you cannot spell, don’t know basic grammar, use that absurd texting shorthand that is completely unreadable, or cannot put a proper sentence together. Unless you are legitimately dyslexic, that is. Please give me at least the APPEARANCE that you are actually literate, Okay? Thanks!”
I then thought better of that and just took down my entire profile. From now on, I’m going to do what women did in the days of old: they hung around and waited for Prince Charming to fall in to their laps.
In the meantime, my redoubtable cat, Juno, will occupy that spot; believe it or not, she’s easier to communicate with, and at least the crap she gives me is scoopable.
