by Maggie Voysest

Online dating: or the candy store of the 21st century

Poor Gigi. She had had worse luck with the Latinos than she’d thought she would, and salsa clubs were now out. So finally in despair, she turned to the first dating website, the one she saw on television all the time. The one that guaranteed true love, or a free six months if it didn’t work out at first. What a crock! Later on, Gigi actually tried to get those six months free, and was told she couldn’t get them because she hadn’t sent enough emails to perfectly loony, crazy, lying, cheating, two-timing, double-dealing, stalker, freakish, con artists! God’s honest truth. Some little bippy with a southern accent on the phone actually told her that you only got your free six months if you sent a certain amount of emails each month, and that they tracked how many emails were sent, and Gigi had not made the quota. “But I was sort of dating one of those lying losers,” Gigi wailed in a Lucille Ball-like fashion. “We are so sorry ma‘m, but even if you are seeing someone, you still need to email others if you expect to get a free 6 months if it doesn‘t work out!” Can you believe the gall of that girl? Gigi should have demanded her money back for all the wasted money spent on gas to get to the dates! At least Gigi hadn’t spent money on the actual dates. Being rather old-fashioned, she believed in the right to have the man pay.

But that September, two years ago, Gigi thought that this really would work out because the men were on here to find love, true love. They were looking for her, or someone like her. It wasn’t a bar. It wasn’t for casual sex. “Oh no,” she told herself naively. Men were here for love. It said so. Right there on their poorly spelled profiles, out there for the world to read and believe:

They wanted to find a woman, to hold her hand as they walked along a beach.

They were searching for their soul mate, their best friend, their other half.

They were looking for the love of their life.

Oh no, they weren’t. They were looking to get laid, the majority of them. Or else they had just recently gotten divorced, and they wanted someone’s shoulder to cry on. Some, it seemed, just wanted someone to talk to, and never even tried to meet Gigi in person. They would talk online or on the phone, and then they would disappear and move on to the next person. What a waste of good breath some of them were. Gigi hated wasting time, and wanted to meet them quickly, instead of spending weeks talking. However, Gigi thought many of these men were just looking for someone to talk to, or else they were married!

But it would take Gigi some time to realize this. Since she was paying good money to meet someone special, she thought they were too. At first she loved how she could put in all the things that she was looking for, and out would pop up lots of possibilities. Of all ages, sizes, colors, and religions. It was like the best of stores. “I’d like a Latino doctor with children who lives five miles from my house,“ she’d think, and “Boom!“ Out came Pedro. “Hmmm, that was easy. How about a Denzel Washington look alike policeman, who comes with a good supply of handcuffs?” and there was Tyler, who conveniently forgot the handcuffs when they met – what a wasted date. She did get to see him in his uniform, but what’s the fun without the handcuffs? How could he fully arrest her without those cuffs?

Denzel Washington, oh if only! Gigi would often tell the men she dated that she had a list of five famous celebrities whom she was allowed to sleep with if she ever had the chance (to be only fair, they in turn could do the same). And Denzel was always at the top of her list, followed closely by Shemar Moore and Mekhi Pfeiffer. Oh yes, Gigi would soon have an African American chapter in her life. She’d fantasized about them ever since having a crush on Sydney Poitier when she was young, not to mention loving that song in the musical “Hair” about them being so delicious… naughty, naughty Gigi! At one point Gigi’s friends said that all Gigi had to do was look at an African American and he was hers for the taking. Mmm mmm mmm. And that is all I’ll say (for now) on that subject.

Now Gigi didn’t necessarily go for looks. Instead she looked at what they wrote, thinking that their words were like a mirror to their souls. Whenever she found profiles that were badly misspelled or had terrible grammar, Gigi would think to herself: “Next!” She actually thought that a great job would be to offer to correct their profiles, and only charge $10-$15. She could have made a bundle, let me tell you. But then Gigi thought that if she performed this service for them, lots of Gigi-like women would be deceived into thinking that these men had actually received a good enough education that taught them how to express themselves, using the Queen’s English. She couldn’t do that to those poor women out there.

Gigi had always loved the written word and all too often saw it as the gospel truth. She loved reading the profiles, and looking for the deeper truth, for something special and meaningful. If he wrote it, it must be true right? Or why write it? If he’d paid for a membership, then he was serious right? Oh Gigi! She’d forgotten about one of the oldest professions in the world and how men have been paying for a certain something for centuries. Too harsh? You be the judge.

Now as previously mentioned, Gigi found men who were downright laughable first dates or men who ran away once they got their free milk. She found nice men who didn’t like her, and nice men she didn’t like. I have not even mentioned the liars, the cheats, or the con artists. That I think will be the next chapter, and let me tell you that you will be amazed at the stunts some of these men try to pull. Do women really fall for it? Sadly, yes, and even Gigi fell for a few of the stories, until she began to develop a healthy mistrust. I think women should be allowed to hand out special forms on the first date, in which men must list their emotional, mental, and financial status, which would be signed, certified and ratified, by sane female psychiatrists clearing these men for a relationship. What a perfect utopia that would be. Never again would we fall for men with mental problems, no money, or emotionally scarred by previous divorces.

Most of the stories already shared came from the first online dating site, and when Gigi began to lose faith in it, she joined another one. She thought this one was better because it cost more and supposedly screened more, and even turned people away. It had a number of steps that must be followed before you could talk to people, and in fact you couldn’t even search for men on your own. Oh no. “Professionals” (where did they get their degree, and who could Gigi sue?) sent you your perfect matches, telling you not to base your decisions on looks, but to concentrate on their personalities and similarities. You were made to answer inane questions, such as what was your perfect date, or what three things you’d take to that deserted island. Or else it made you describe your best life accomplishments. But surprise, surprise, this dating site was also filled with liars and confused men, the recently divorced and the emotionally damaged men.

Here she met Darrell. Would he be the one? Sadly, no, but it took a month to find out, a long month of wasted hopes and dreams. Gigi had now decided to try a man quite a bit older than herself, one who had been divorced for a very long time, with teenage children. This way there would be no problems with the ex, and he would be able to leave the kids home alone so as to go out on dates. Darrell was not God’s gift to women. He was not a handsome, debonair Paul Newman, but more like a mature balding grey haired Dustin Hoffman. He was nice, and funny, and attentive, and seemed like a total gentleman. They went through the silly online dating service steps quite quickly and were able to talk on the phone within a few days. Gigi met him online right before she was about to go camping with her sons, but she and Darrell talked every day while she was gone, and made a date for the very first night she was back home. It was so nice to sit by that camp fire each night, alone with her sons, but talking to what she thought was a real man, one who said he’d love to go camping with her one day and kill those spiders for her, and chop the wood and build a fire and stargaze with her. Liar, liar, pants on fire!

Their first date was a perfectly respectable date, at a very nice restaurant, and they spent the whole evening talking about their lives, their likes and dislikes, and what they wanted from life. Gigi only allowed him a kiss or two, which admittedly were so good, she scratched the side of her car (her leased car, yipes! Even with cars Gigi had no luck) while driving away. Forevermore, after that, the scratch remained to remind her that gentlemen-like men are not always gentlemen in the end. Sadly though, it didn’t stop Gigi for falling for more future lies.

This time Gigi had decided that she’d make him wait for the milk, that she wouldn’t give in so quickly. Maybe it was also the fact that she went away on another vacation soon after that first date, this time with Kelly and Susan to Chicago. Her girlfriends got mad at her for being on the phone too much with Darrell on a girls’ weekend away, but it was so nice to have a special someone paying her attention that Gigi couldn‘t help it. She even turned down the sexiest ever Latino salsa musician she met a salsa club in Chicago, proof that she really liked Darrell, right? Gigi should have just done the Latino musician and forgotten about believing in men.

Darrell was so convincingly gentlemanly, so attentive, promising her all kinds of things, condemning the men who had hurt Gigi along the Online Way, assuring her that he was not like them, that she should not judge him by others, that Gigi foolishly believed him. She got back from Chicago, and Darrell picked her up at Susan’s house to take her out for dinner. They had another perfectly respectable dinner, walked along a beautiful little lake in Brighton, drove to a sweet little make out spot, where he still behaved like a gentleman. A month went by, and finally Gigi thought it was time. Time to invite him over and have that long awaited for dessert. And would you believe it? He partook in dessert, left, and then he didn’t even call or answer the phone or return her phone calls, and all that she got was a text (A TEXT! From a man who was almost 50!) two days later, saying that he’d run into an old girlfriend and was going to try and make it work with her again. So much for older gentlemen.

She had made him wait that whole month for “dessert“, and for what? To be dumped regardless as though it had just been a one night stand! He admitted to her much later (yes, another man to contact Gigi long after leaving her) that he would have left no matter when he got the dessert. Oh the ones who came back. They deserve a chapter of their own, and with a lot of insights to share with women who wonder why they leave and come back. Because the writer in Gigi had her interview them when they’d come back and ask them why they returned. But no, you’ll have to wait until another day for that chapter.

After a third such dating site that she had to pay in order to be hurt and deceived, Gigi decided that she was tired of paying to meet these men. She soon found that there were free websites where one could meet men, and she entered another new and vicious circle of Dante’s inferno that he couldn’t have ever foreseen in his day and age. This website was filled with the dregs of society, men you wouldn’t give more than one horrified look at if you met them in a bar. Now, there were some nice men here, but it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. But if you’ve learned anything about Gigi, it’s that she never gives up, and so her story continues.

To read Helen’s Part VI, see Helen’s Horrors of Dating – Part VI