Hey Internet Daters, Grow Some Balls

I’ve never really understood dating. Occasionally, when I’m hormonal or between jobs, I’ll give it a shot—but generally speaking, I think being single is the fucking prize. No one has to witness the horror of what you look like the morning after a huge night; you can eat week-old pizza without judgement and fart in your own bed. But, like, whatever. Right now, everyone wants to date. I’m putting it down to the Mayan end-of-the-world scare.

The older I get, the more being part of a couple has become a necessary criteria to being A Successful Adult. Less and less people are finding my stories about being single funny, and are instead giving me that misty-eyed pity stare that you give to kids with cancer or dogs that are missing a leg. C’mon people, that one about me having to do the walk of shame down St. Kilda Road with only one shoe on was funny, right?

Gone are the days where you would just grab the closest guy, shag him, drag it out for a few months, and call it dating. These days you have to be “compatible” and “well-matched” and “nice to each other most of the time.” What evil entity instigated these extremely high and unreachable standards? Oprah? Hallmark? The Bible? No, my friends, that would be internet dating.

History has a magical way of somehow transforming things that were once really awful into somehow being acceptable, like Justin Timberlake, or undercuts. Internet dating is no longer reserved for 40-year-old computer technicians who spend their Saturday night fapping off in their parent’s living room to some 16 year-old they met online. Internet dating, apparently, has crossed over from being desperate to being completely acceptable.

APPARENTLY.

I’m going to put it out there. IRL dating is way easier than URL dating. Scrolling through a cattle call of profile pictures and attempting to figure out who is going to put out and who might lock you in their dungeon for ten years? Now that’s hard. How are you meant to feel that flicker of attraction when you meet someone via a computer screen or through your phone? Porn doesn’t count.

Because I am a writer with loads of artistic integrity (?) I downloaded Blendr, just in case I was wrong in being a complete asshole about the whole internet dating thing.

I wasn’t.

For the thirty-seven minutes I endured it for, I have never felt closer to a panic attack in my life. I actually had to delete it. Hundreds of Ricky Nixon look-alikes with soul patches and shoulder hair bombarded my phone with messages. “ey hunni how u doin we shd meet up ;))” I felt like replying with a photo of a court-ordered restraining order.

I would far rather put up with a sleazy guy in a bar, at least that way you can walk away. Or throw your drink at him. Or steal his wallet. Wait, is this why people choose Blendr?

I hereby issue each and every reader a dare: stop being a keyboard cowboy and get out into the real world. Go to a bar, dress like a slut, and ask someone if that’s a ladder in their stocking or a stairway to heaven. Tell the dude in accounts you like his haircut, and you should have lunch together. Ask your hot neighbour downstairs for a cup of sugar and a blow job. Whatever. Just give it a shot, and the worst that happens is you get turned down—and should that happen more than usual, I will then consider you a pathetic enough loser to start legitimately using internet dating. But until then, straighten your tie, hide your dirty mags, and I’ll have a vodka soda fresh lime, thanks.

For more dating:

Dating is Terrifying

Face Shapes and Blood Types

Date Night is Hate Night