When I was a kid, we didn't get our news from MSNBC or from CNN. We watched the 6 PM news and we relied heavily on this thing that rich people had delivered to their front door called . . . the newspaper. You may have heard of these. Many of you may use them today to start fires or line rodent cages, if you are a pyromaniac or laboratory scientist or some kind of crazed freak.
While I'm sure this will shock many of you, I was not exactly a cool kid. Somewhere between the feminist mother, the growth spurt that put me at nearly 6 feet tall before 4th grade, the buck teeth (and later, the braces), the scoliosis, the jeans that were never long enough (and let's not discuss the legwarmer phase) and an intense sense of shame at my own existence made for an interesting childhood. Let's just say, I am the only person I know who had sixteen imaginary friends - each with their own unique name and back-story.
As a socially challenged child, I spent a lot of time reading. I read everything from food labels to the personal ads. Remember those? In the aforementioned newspaper? The personal ads were a place where lonely people advertised for love. At least, that's how my mom explained it to me. Since the advent of Craigslist.org, I am starting to wonder if the personal ads weren't really where lonely, horny people trolled for random sex - but at the age of 10, I was relatively uncorrupted by such vile thoughts. Reading the personal ads was one of my favorite hobbies as a kid. I would read them in any and every newspaper I could get my hands on, and one of my most vivid childhood memories is this: God, please save me from having to place an ad in order to find a husband.
I would like to take this opportunity to say thanks for nothing, God. Where the heck were you when I was selling my soul to Frogs.com in exchange for ridicule and rejection from faceless frogs across the globe? I don't care how many people you meet who happen to "know" someone who met their future spouse on Frogs.com or any similar website. While I'm sure that these sites occasionally get lucky - it is a numbers game, after all - my inner ten year old recognizes that Frogs.com is nothing more than advertising for a husband in the 2000's. She's glad I didn't resort to advertising on City Pages. We celebrate the small victories over here.
So, after being totally humiliated by Frogs.com, this stubborn princess was in it for the long haul. Plus, I weaseled a free month of service from them for making me question my overall attractiveness as a human being.
The first thing I did after receiving my "free month" from Frogs.com was follow their excellent advice and alter the truth in my profile. Instead of being 5'11" with an MBA and a high profile corporate job with a nice paycheck, I became a shorter college dropout with a mediocre job. And suddenly, it was frog mating season! Frogs from all over planet earth were suddenly "matched" with me.
Now, I'm going to assume that you are more successful in love than I am and that you've never subjected yourself to the humility of Frogs.com. As a subscriber, Frogs.com uses their weirdo computer algorithms to find people they think you would be compatible with. In my case, this seems to consist of a disproportionate number of Asians and Pacific Islanders, men in their 50's, and Iowa pig farmers.
Of course, just because you are deemed to be compatible, the nice people at Frogs.com need to cover their legal behinds. They aren't going to introduce you to any and every compatible match. No, no, no. That would allow you to preserve some sense of dignity and self-esteem. Instead, if you see a match that you're interested in, you are required to jump through a number of hoops, and both you and said match have the option to run away screaming at various stage-gates.
In step one, you and the Frog exchange five multiple choice questions with one another. These are usually quite moronic and I have rarely rejected a Frog at stage one. To give you an idea of how effective these selection criteria are, I'll share a couple of actual Frogs.com questions with you:
1. On a Saturday night, would you rather go to:
A) Ballet/Symphony
B) A professional sporting event
C) A popular new movie
D) Dance club
2. If you could take a dream getaway, where would you most likely choose to spend a week?
A) Hawaii
B) Paris
C) Hiking in the mountains
D) Cottage by the sea
3. Would you rather date someone who is:
A) Very busy with a somewhat chaotic schedule who books time with you in advance
B) Busy with a structured schedule, you know what days the person will be available for fun
C) Not busy at all
D) Available at your back and call
You get the idea. I'm not sure I would be boasting about how I'm matching people based on 67 dimensions of compatibility based on these shallow multiple choice questions, Frogs.com - but then again, even I fell into their clever marketing scheme. Anyway, you go back and forth with multiple choice questions for a while, you exchange a list of "must-have's" and "can't-stands" for your future mate, and if you don't poke out your own eye at this stage, eventually, you graduate to open-ended questions. You exchange answers to deep questions such as, "Why did you join Frogs.com?" and "Describe your highest and lowest point in the last week." And in the event that your ADHD hasn't distracted you yet, if you pass this stage, you and the Frog are finally allowed direct, un-facilitated contact.
This, my friends, is how I met the Unibrow Frog. After being rejected by over 300 internet frogs in a two week timespan, I was fragile. I would have met the Unibomber for coffee at that point had he reached out.
The Elf-Therapist was proud. "Oh, goody! Another practice date for Princess!" (Okay, he doesn't talk like that. For some reason, I feel compelled to satirize everything he does because I hate that he knows me better than I know myself, and furthermore, I hate that he is right all the time.) He gave me some excellent pointers on how to approach the practice date, and I was ready.
Frog #3 and I met on a Saturday afternoon at a mutually convenient Caribou. In an unfortunate and ironic twist of fate, I'd forgotten that I scheduled an eyebrow wax for the same day (I also suffer from the unibrow). The thing is, that after an eyebrow wax, my face gets all red and puffy and nasty looking - so I wasn't exactly rocking out the super-model look as a first impression. But at least I had two eyebrows.
I got to the Caribou, ordered a mocha, and found Frog #3. Unlike a lesson I would later learn the hard way, he looked just like his photo - unibrow and all. We sat down and chatted, and let me tell you . . . it was PAINFUL. Ever tried to have a conversation at a Caribou? It can be kind of loud in there, and Frog #3? Mumbler. Also - not the most interesting person I've ever met. I tried hard to participate in the conversation but wound up talking about food obsessively. It was the only common ground we had - we both eat - and I took it and ran with it. I made polite conversation as long as I could, which felt like two hours.
The Elf-Therapist gave me some pointers on how to wrap up a practice date, since I have a bad habit of letting people suck me into their dull and/or dramatic lives for days at a time. When we ran out of things to talk about, I politely advised the Frog that I was going to the gym, told him it was nice to meet him, and said, "keep in touch." And I high-tailed it out of there.
Then I checked my watch and realized that I had just been on a 37 minute date, which included ordering and drinking a large mocha. So, imagine my surprise when Frog #3 emailed me a few days later asking me out for dinner! His email started with, "Hi, Princess! I know how much you like to eat . . . " Yes, I am a sparkling conversationalist. Make a note of it.
Technically, I've only shaken hands with this frog - there was no kissing so I'm not sure it really qualifies. But I am seriously considering having dinner with him. After all, a princess has to eat!
© 2010 Princess D
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