I swore off online dating for eternity about two months ago.
I just signed up, but I haven’t filled anything out yet. I’m still reeling over seeing my new mid-to-late-30-something age pop up on the screen. Strange. (I will stop talking about the age thing soon. Promise.)
The site is extremely crisp and simple — Scandinavian-esque navigation, like maybe Ikea designed it. I’m not sure how I feel about the “Mac her” option which is like poking on Facebook. Also, the option to meet at the nearest Mac store is a little too cute. But then, I would totally do that. Onto the part of the profile called “I’m became a Mac when.” I guess that’s when you tell your Mac story. Mine’s pretty boring. My job made me do it. And then I saved up for years and years and bought my own. The End.
You can’t search by city yet (it’s still in Beta), so I’m currently weeding through 34 to 45 year old men all over the darn country. Haven’t been interested in clicking a single profile yet. (Yes, I’m only looking at pictures. You caught me being superficial.)
Wait. Hold the phone. I just clicked on the guy whose photo is of what seems to be a glow in the dark Mac and crossbones tattoo on a rather hairy, moley and spongey bicep. Mario Lopez look alike. Handsome man — IN TOKYO. The bald guy in Austin has my attention. Except I don’t live in Texas.
In other news, I finally smiled at Gym Crush. He grimaced back. He was on a treadmill so I will chalk it up to that. He will smile back at me.