Today, I’m excited for some reason. I must have secretly convinced myself an email eloquently cute but yet sarcastic and witty will be waiting for me from her, “the one.” She’ll be a wide eyed, dark haired, 5’7 transplant from London. No Paris. Her name, who cares, but the details of her email will tell how immediately she knew from my “I’ve Got a Fever And The Only Perscription is” profile headline that I was the one.
Finally, the Match mobile application is loaded and there it is. One email, along with my 8 daily matches. I was right. I click. It opens. And her squinted eyes stare right back at mine. Linglong254, a 5 ft, “curvy,” slightly lazy eyed, transplant from Beijing China who “Looks for friend because she lonely.” She probably pronounces it wronery but that doesn’t matter. I don’t want to be mean or judgmental so I read over her profile and it’s obvious she used Google Translate for the entire thing.
Her favorite hotspots are: “I just came here never go everywhere.” and “Sanrio.”
You know, Sanrio, that hello kitty store where all the partially balding thick rim glassed pedafilic white men and asians go to perpetuate stereotypes.
Who was I to think on my second day I’d discover “the one.” At least, my saving grace could be my 8 daily matches to sort through. Let’s see… #1 Asian. #2 Asian. #3 Maybe if I was drunk. #4 Asian. #5 Asian. #6 Looks like Gary Busey. #7 Could be related to me. And bringing up the rear, what do you know? #8 is Asian! Now, nothing is wrong with dating an Asian, I just think Match.com shouldn’t profile me for being a young caucasian male. I like Asians just like the next white dude but how about not assuming I’ve got yellow fever after living in San Francisco for a measly month Match.com.
My selection better be more of a Neo-Politan menagerie of ladies tomorrow or I may resort to Craigslist’s Casual Encounters page.