As mentioned in a post last week, I've decided to look beyond the online world of Plenty of Fish. I am stretching my horizons, surfing with a Patti LaBelle-inspired new attitude. Eyes open, smile genuine, mind positive...
I opened a FREE account with the more popular, more lurid Gay.com. I left the profile blank since I didn't have a picture to run. Then, I browsed the listings for fortysomething Vancouverites, felt the positivity waning and decided to logout. Give it a fresh look in a week.
Logging back in today, lo and behold I had a message. Remember, I am the guy with the shell profile. Who would respond to nothing? The subject heading offered a clue: "Wassup. I'm just a simple guy..." (Honestly. I am not making this up.) Guess I didn't overwhelm him with heady profile reading. Whew. I knew this was an instant delete message but, for research sake once again, I opened it: "Hello cutie, damn horny here! I want to know some one who understand me. I am a person who is online most of the time and expects everyone to be friendly with him. If you want details, please feel free to ask." And I didn't. I could not bear to open the profile. Not even for research. Delete.
Still positive. SPAM is everywhere. I haven't terminated my Yahoo email account just because I keep being asked to help a Nigerian diplomat with a confidential investment opportunity. (I mean, really,...what would I do with all that money?)
I went to my profile and added a headshot after cropping out family members from a photo emailed to me during the winter. How narcissistic. How callous to blot out Aunt V and her bejewelled sweatshirt. To download the picture, I had to click a box that read, "I agree this photo is of me, or I have Permission to use it." (Italics added.) What?! I could have called up Brad Pitt and got permission to use that ab-fabulous snippet from "Thelma and Louise"?! Damn.
Okay, somewhat guarded, but still in the positive realm of conciousness. I began to whip together a blah-blah-blah about myself, only to be distracted by a gay.com ad in the right margin with a photo of a studly man gripping a tennis ball in his hand while posing in the kind of tight shorts McEnroe used to wear on court in the '70s. The pic deserved a fashion citation and a McEnroesque diatribe, beginning with "Are you serious?!" But it was still hot. It dawned on me that on this site I'd have not only have to compete with photos of hundreds of other Vancouver men (or photos they had Permission to use (capitalized in accordance with gay.com's style manual)), but there would also be these comely male models popping up on every page. Egad, how dismal!
Oops, ventured out of the positive zone. Let me rephrase that. Oh, hurrah, what a challenge! Wooers who message me must be truly crazy for me (or just simple guys).
I focused on writing my profile, submitted it and was aghast that my paragraph spacings were ignored. Horrors! One hodgepodge block of text! Hard to recover from that troublesome glitch.
I'll hold off and peruse profiles another day.