Review: OkCupid.com (I'm going to hell...)

Dating Site Debacles: A Look at OkCupid

Based on my site's traffic, it seems people only care when I write about other dating sites and porn. (On a side note, apparently, I’m a big deal in Turkey. So to Turkey, I say, “How ya doin’? Way to be Muslim without being jerks about holding women back. And democracy—not bad, right?”)

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My Review of OkCupid

This isn't my first time on this site. A few years ago, I used it and met a woman. By "met," I mean she said hi and immediately started sending me naked pictures. I’ll be honest, up until that point, I wasn't sure women like her actually existed. We eventually agreed to meet for coffee on a Sunday morning. Within an hour, we were headed back to my place for some sexual relations. And within an hour of that, she was on her way home. We never spoke again. Weird? For sure. Random? Absolutely. Cool? Kinda, but it’s definitely in my Top Five Weirdest Moments Ever (along with the time I accidentally touched SpongeBob SquarePants inappropriately and a night in Vegas that involved three different continents).

Since Match.com costs money and I'm currently unemployed (thanks for nothing, college degree), I decided to check out the free options. I’ll give OkCupid this: it's not PlentyOfFish.com (more on that in a later post). OkCupid has you set up a standard profile with a picture and asks you a series of questions. After you answer 25 of them, the site generates a compatibility percentage for you and gives you three matches, which they call The Quiver. As you answer more questions, the site reveals how compatible you are with each person, which is a pretty cool feature.

What the site also tells you are the chances that your match will reply to your message. In short, welcome back to middle school, motherfucker. You can read a profile, like someone, but then see that they are "VERY selective about who they respond to." Well, my confidence was sky-high until I read that nonsense. So, whether I like it or not, I have to factor that into my decision before messaging anyone.

And here’s where things get weird: I see a girl I went to high school with. That in itself isn’t very interesting—until I remember she's the girl my buddy, Mike, lost his virginity to. Suddenly, my mind, which has been battered by years of poor decisions and alcohol, remembers every damn detail of them having sex. She liked sex in public. She liked sex often. In short: she liked to hump. A lot. At 31 years old, I should be able to think about something other than that, right? Nope. I eventually decide not to message her because I heard Mike has warts on his ding-dong. Is it true? Were they from her? Does Mike like Asian hookers? I couldn't find the answers, so I decided to move on.

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Final Thoughts

The site seems okay, but I have no idea if it produces any results other than random coffee shop hookups.

You’re probably thinking, “Wow, this is a pretty shitty review... It seems like nothing more than an excuse to tell a story about some random sex you had and to talk about a girl from high school.”

Hi, have we met?

Calling online dating a dumpster fire is an insult... to dumpsters

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A First-Person Account of Online Dating

In the past five years, I've been on roughly 40 dates. Let that number sink in for a minute. I'm not counting the women I got drunk enough to go home with me (bless their hearts), nor am I counting the drunken, two-hour car trips in the middle of the night to get laid (Valparaiso, Indiana, is lovely at 3 a.m.). Nope, I have been on 40-ish awkward, uncomfortable, sweat-inducing first dates. And I enjoyed none of them.

It's not that these women were all ugly. Okay, some were ugly, and fat, and kind of bitchy. But the rest of them were nice and attractive. So, where did it all go so wrong?

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The Online Dating Dance

I've tried every dating site: Match, eHarmony, OkCupid!, Plenty of Fish—the list goes on. The one thing they all have in common is competition. The last article I read about online dating said there's a 5:1 male-to-female ratio, which makes sense. As a man, if there is a medium by which I can get laid without ever leaving my couch, I'm in. So, you pay your money, create an account, write a witty headline, post three pictures of yourself where you aren't hungover, exaggerate your income, make up some fake interests, and hope for the best.

Did I mention the "winks" sent to express interest? Or the random emails to strangers? The whole dance is just ridiculous. While some women are kind enough to completely ignore your interest, others have the audacity to tell you they aren't interested. Doesn't anyone have the common decency to lie to someone, or at the very least, pretend they never existed?

Anyway, in the event someone is interested, you begin exchanging emails and hope they have something interesting to say. You ask about favorite movies, music, and vacation spots, and the always popular "What do you do for fun?" More than once, I've been tempted to answer, "Orgasm. Nap."

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The Inevitable First Date

So the time comes when you decide to meet. You don't offer to pick them up—not unless you want to be labeled a rapist. You have to meet in a public place (preferably a dark alley, but they're always apprehensive about that one), and it can't be food or a movie (if you read their profile, you'd know this).

The time comes and the date is set. You start to imagine all the different scenarios: if it goes well or if it sucks. Finally, the time has come and you wait, trying not to compare every woman who walks through the door to the one in the pictures you've seen.

Then, she appears. And for whatever reason, good or bad, you both know. Sometimes it's because they posted a picture that was 40 pounds and five years ago. But more often than not, it's something unexplainable. All the time, emails, and texts where it all seems to be right, and in an instant, you both know. You politely make conversation, sip your drinks, and rehash conversations already had. But it's been decided. You share an awkward hug and go your separate ways, likely to never speak again.

And the dance goes on.