Send me a picture CLOWN!

Life is rough. Dating in NYC may be rougher.

Randomly enter the phenomenon of online dating. Once stigmatized for freaks and weirdo predators, it has swiftly become the avenue of choice for people looking for serious relationships. The traditional outlets of bars and house parties are still acceptable for random making out and the occasional one-time soiree. But looking for an actual call back? Nah, I’m good.

Recently, say, in the past two weeks, the conversation amongst all of my independent groups of friends has swiveled around this still, slightly, controversial topic. Usually, it goes something like this:

“O.M.G. A friend of mine took me to dinner the other night to tell me something important. She met a guy online. I laughed in her face. Loser.”
“Really, I have a couple of friends who have met people online. I think its weird, but hey it works for them.”
“I think it’s a great idea.”
“Yeah, maybe. Can we play with out light sabers now?”

And then all participants in this conversation run home and seriously consider answering Craigslist personal ads or putting up a match.com profile. Something they thought only hours before they would never do, but really, the entire time they secretly just wanted justification that they weren’t the only ones.

Thinking practically, who wouldn’t want to online date. There are no downsides. Basically it’s the equivalent of window-shopping, with the addition of sexily written resumes. In our time-conscious society it gets rid of all the general bullshit. Oh here, let me send you a witty email while I look like shit on my couch eating chubby hubby, but I’m going to attach the best three photos from the past few months and you will think I’m H-O-T. Rawr.

Minimal requirement for excellent results, all while not missing tonight’s five-hour American Idol (Jason Castro is SO going to win). And if the response is less than desirable…who cares? It’s so not even like you tried a little. Jokes on you suckasss! You only got Kelly version 3.0, and I’m all the way on version 5.0.

Practicality aside, there is still a tinge of awkwardness for a few of my select work friends and myself about the abyss of Internet dating. It’s throwing yourself to the lions, allowing those dumb Romans to judge your worthiness. And they killed Jesus, so what do they know.

But, the ladies of 275 wanted to understand. We wanted to join our generation of lazy daters. It’s true. So against Nazli’s will I posted a “Missed Connections” w4m ad entitled Operation: Red Heads Only (to be seen here) searching for her redheaded soul mate. (She has a fetish, understandably, Prince Harry.) The responses are printed in full, high-definition color, marked as “bachelor #” and taped to the wall above her computer.

So far, about 24 hours in, we have 3 genuine responses from redheaded guys who want the Naz. Photos are important in these responses because, frankly, we’re shallow, and redheads are a tricky bunch. Bachelor 1 and 3 followed our directions, but bachelor #2 apparently wanted some more information. Like where we thought we had seen him (missed connections?). Unacceptable. I responded with the very mature, “Send me your picture clown!”

He for some reason, responded again. So I obvi had to make shit up, and told him the most benign area possible: Union Square. I again ended the email with, “Send me your picture clown!”

Still waiting for another response, but for my trip home this weekend I handed the email address we made up, operationredheadsonly@gmail.com, over to Naz and Lauren. Feel free to email them pictures for our bachelor wall. ( Ed Note: this is only for our amusement, Naz has refused to meet any of these people. Sadpants.)

Well, one post only fueled the fire. FYI: Craigslist posting is like crack. And Lauren soon followed Nazli’s gem with an open letter to the cute boys we always see in the elevators in our building (to be seen here). And omFg. They responded within two hours. Actually, their public relations lady responded, wanting to set up an inter-office mixer. Imagine our astonishment/pure-childlike-excitement when we got that email. I quite literally screamed. And I am NOT a screamer. Wait, wait… this internet shit actually works! Blows my mind.

So we began combing the personals to respond together, selecting pictures tailored to the personal ads explicit needs. Super preppy girl that wears Lily? Not me, Naz that’s you. Dirty art freak with a guitar? ME, MINE, BACK OFF. Lauren is still looking for her perfect match. Technically, our approach might be cheating, but still, safety in numbers.

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