This blog post is not about stinky fish in the very literal sense, but I’m going to start on a side note here and tell you about the time I was in Portugal with my best friend Katie (who plays a large role in what this post is really about) and there was a lot of stinky fish there.
Actually when I think of Portugal I usually think, “Ahh yes…was nice, but smelled like stinky fish there…”
Like, dehydrated, salted fish, just sitting out in the open, outside every grocery shop, and also inside, really stinking up all the air we’re all meant to breathe. Maybe the Portuguese like breathing the stinky fish air, but I, for one, was very sensitive about it. Portugal was easy on the eyes, but less so on the gag reflex.
Back to the task at hand.
This reading week was filled with a lot of…writing. For which reading is a precursor, so it works out.
A few nights ago my friend Katie came over and we were doing some homework together. You know, sitting on the bed, typing away, not acknowledging one anthers’ presence whatsoever.
She was kind of laughing a bit but this is normal, so I paid no attention.
And then she was like, “I just signed you up for Plenty of Fish!”
And I was like, “WTF.”
She claimed it was for her own voyeuristic pleasure, so she could just look around and see who she knew on there etc. etc., in which case because she is dating an attractive ER doctor who is currently off saving children’s lives in Kenya (not even a joke), she should not make her own profile.
But if we’re talking fake profiles here, the fake profile used for creeping purposes doesn’t need to say “5’3″ Taurus, blond curly hair Creative Communications student who likes knitting, blogging and harmonica, and senior citizens, etc. etc.,” right?
So that was one thing, and since it already happened, and because Katie was now still sitting on my bed, FaceTiming the aforementioned hunky doctor from a patch of Kenyan wifi, and it was getting all mushy gushy kissy lips on the phone screen/I want to co-habitate with you/I wish you were here/I wish I was there too/baby voicy/mumbly sweet, sweet nothing at all and listen to me chew these cashews/and then something about giant sea turtles banging, I decided to have a little look-see at this whole POF thing. Here’s what I came up with (sorry if any of this is actually you and you are offended that I outed you on the Internet, but I mean you’re already on the Internet, on POF, and you posted the stuff that someone really should out you for so.):
Three of the tag lines of the guys in my “Top 10 Ideal Matches or something” were these:
Looking to meet my future ex-wife
I will not pay you for sex! Get a job low lives!
Everybody has there share in pie .. just wait
Mega attractive. The remaining seven were:
Just fishing around
Where tha fish?
Waiting for my fish to bite
I can be your bait.
So right off the hop I learned that according to POF I’m destined to be with someone very clever and creative or who is super not into prostitution.
In my brief perusal, I also learned that on Plenty of Fish there are plenty of dudes holding fish in their profile pics. Here, I think there is opportunity to have an ironic and funny fish pic on POF, but when everyone does it, it really loses the novelty. That’s how hipsters work. Plus no one was doing it ironically, I’m pretty sure.
I draw my last observation from the message portion of the site. I assume that somehow people receive notification of the newbs because I got a whole whack of messages right off the hop. I’m not sure, but I also suspect that having no profile pic (thankfully the last photo of me on Katie’s computer is of me in grade 8 in a black wig, so she did not post one of those) is code for like, “I’m pretending this is Tinder right now” or something. Because other peeps with no profile pic were sending me some pretty suggestive things, that one would not assume I’d be into based on my interests (knitting, blogging, harmonica). But I might just be making things up so don’t take my word for it.
Conversing (in-person too), especially online is tough times when the only thing the convo starter says is, “Hey.” Like, what do you want me to say back?
In any case. I’ve heard a lot of really positive stories from a lot of people about Plenty of Fish and other online dating websites. I see the appeal. You filter out all the stuff you don’t want (no fish-related headlines, no fish photos, no living in Portugal because it’s too stinky there for me), and streamline the process.
But I think online dating takes a certain kind of energy to work and be successful too. And it starts with not your friend making up a fake profile for herself that’s actually for you and you don’t know if it’s a joke or what’s really going on other than the FaceTime smoochy business while all you’re trying to do to get by is write some nice things.
So I’ve fished the short-lived POF account down from the Internet, insert some other fish related puns and whatnot, and have a very nice week, everyone.