So, I took angela’s advice and tweaked my profile so that there was less snarky wit and more of the boring, run-of-the-mill crap that almost everybody writes.

When it comes down to it, nobody really reads profiles on eHarmony, do they?

They check to see if there’s a picture; if there isn’t one, you should most definitely close the match. I mean, if you had the guts to post up your picture, then what’s the other person’s problem? They must be all sorts of hideous.

So, first thing’s first: check the picture.

If they pass the picture test and you’re not looking at the Elephant Man-meets-The World’s Biggest Man (seirously! How the fuck did that guy find someone to marry him?!), then you move onto the profile.

I’ll admit it: if they pass the picture test, that’s all I’m really looking at. Sometimes, I’ve closed communication if the guy hasn’t really completed his profile. That says “lazy” to me and someone who’s not willing to even put a little bit of effort into a measley little profile must be lazy in life.

Speaking of laziness…I had to fire someone on Friday.

I think he should have been fired a long time ago, but my boss has no balls. Instead of firing someone who deserves to be fired, he makes excuses for them because he thinks, “Oh, we’re friends. I can’t fire a friend.”

I think that’s bullshit.

I was fair with this guy — I sat down with him on a couple of occassions, worked on timelines and was very clear that he wasn’t dealing with the old boss. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to know if he decided to take 10 minutes to take a crap in the washroom — I just need to know how he’s accounting for his day because all I ever hear are excuses for why something’s not done.

On a personal level, I hate this guy as a human being.

So, I fired him after outlining all of the reasons why I was firing him.

He got mad.

He called me cunt.

That was sort of unexpected, but thankfully, I’m so devoid of any human feelings by now that I wasn’t overly bothered by it. The HR woman was shocked — as if she was the one who was called cunt — and thought I was as shaken as she was.

All in all, it was a rough way to start the long weekend, which isn’t spent doing too much of anything.

The cousin-turned-roommate moved out and has moved in with another cousin, temporarily. The other cousin called me up last night and confided that the moocher was driving her nuts.

How did I deal with it for the weeks that I had her as a roommate, she wondered?

In other news, in remaining steadfast about my zero tolerance policy for being set up by the grand familia, my mother promptly ignored this when another prospect cropped up. Don’t worry, my aunt assured me, she’s seen this guy and he’s “very good looking.”

Hmm…well, that might be so, but he’s also an illegal immigrant working in a factory — this isn’t going to be a simple set up. We’re looking at hooking this man up with a bride…and gosh darn it, how could I possibly give up the chance to support a man who barely speaks English properly and who barely makes minimum wage? How could I possibly give that up?

(Seriously, they need to come up with a “sarcasm font.”)

I think what pisses me off the most is that my own mother has such obviously low standards for me. Now, it’s just a matter of finding someone — anyone — who’d be willing to be set up with me.

Oh well.

I have a whole bunch of matches to close on eHarmony, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go do that now.

Though I’ve tried
I’ve fallen
I have sunk so low
I messed up
- Sarah McLachlan, “Fallen”

---

I’ve been away and then back — at first recharged, feeling different, but then those feelings went away and I felt sort of the same as I did before, except worse because I had sort of forgotten the bad feelings when I was away.

---

So…back to reality and checking up on eHarmony:

When I showed my sister pictures of the new crop of guys, she looked at them in disbelief.

“So…eHarmony doesn’t take looks into account at all, huh?”

Nope.

I actually got lambasted on the message boards on that site for daring to suggest that eHarmony should start looking into what people want looks-wise.

A couple of the gems that cropped up:
- eHarmony is more concerned with matching on personalities (this is a crock of shit because some of the profiles for the guys I’ve been matched with have barely been completed)
- why are people so shallow that all they care about is looks? (Okay, so, because I’m single, have decided to do online dating, then I shouldn’t have any standards at all…as long as the guy has a pulse and is also on the online dating site, I should just shut up already and be grateful that the wonders of the world wide web have delivered this other singleton to my email inbox?)
- why are people so delusional holding out for Mr. Perfect? (Because, obviously, if you’ve signed up for online dating, this must mean that you should accept that Mr. Perfect doesn’t exist…I’m not saying that he does, but this implies that you shouldn’t hold out for any sort of standards because, by dent of being online, you must be desperate and should just take whatever gets tossed your way.)

This one guy who contacted me recently was sitting priggishly with his hands folded almost daintily over the back of a chair, his pudgy legs crossed and his head tilted quizzically to the side, emphasizing the rolls of flesh that extended from his chin, melting into his neck. Two little dots peered out through Coke-bottle glasses.

One of his great loves is eating, he wrote.

(Really?! I couldn’t tell!)

I think my general sense of discouragement and disappointment is just the same old blah blah blah. It’s rubbing off on my work, though — my team loves me, but the other managers are beginning to complain that I’m combative.

I cut a meeting short when I felt like I was asked to sit in for no good reason — it was just a lot of talking that should have been done between the two other people…stuff that should have been resolved before they brought me in.

My patience was wearing thin, so I curtly interrupted, told them that I didn’t appreciate having my goddamned time wasted and to send me an e-mail when they finally decided what they wanted to do.

Also pissed off another manager because I was incensed that she asked one of my girls to do something that she, herself, should have done — or, at the very least, asked her own goddamned intern to do. One of my guys asked if I’d grown a pair of balls while I was away.

Maybe I did…maybe that’s the reason why no man seems to want me (!)

…even though I know y’all mean well with your advice, I can’t even begin to count the number of times that someone’s said, “Well, maybe you should try this instead.”

I was resistent to online dating at first. I swore up and down that I wouldn’t do it because I didn’t want to meet someone that way.

But then, I started seeing things from a different point of view — if you’re complaining about how you’re never meeting anybody, then why not give this avenue a shot?

So, that’s what I did.

And yet, when I join and nothing’s happening, people start telling me the other side of it — and trust me, I have no doubt that what you’re telling me is just stuff you’ve heard or experienced firsthand…it’s just, ugggghhhhh.

It’s like you can’t win, either way.

Don’t join online dating and you don’t meet people. Join and it’s either:
1) Not the “right” site and you should try this other site instead
2) Not really for you because it’s either a numbers game or the demographics or whatever

It just feels like, “Huh. Great. Why didn’t the universe just tell me to give up already? Because really, it’s bad news all around.”

Have I tried joining a social networking site? Yes.

Have I tried taking classes? Yes.

Have I tried going out more? Yes.

Have I tried online dating? Yes.

I know. At this point, it’s like, really, there’s nothing you can tell me. It’s just not happening.

You know what the truly stupid thing is?

A small bit of optimism and hope was still lingering inside of me. I really wanted to give everything a shot just so I’d know that I did everything within my power to meet someone. And guess what? I still didn’t meet anybody.

Instead, I’m watching my younger sister planning her wedding, my last single friend now finally meet a great guy she met in a completely romantic way, and just finding myself surrounded by couples while I’m still alone.

And no, this isn’t a pity party that I’m throwing myself right now.

I’m just stating facts.

I mean, I can’t even really cry over this sort of stuff anymore — because, yeah, it really, really bums me out.

Depression is a fact in my life — and part of my depression stems from this indefinable something missing from my life, which makes me lonely.

Sometimes, the loneliness isn’t quite so overwhelming — or maybe, I’m just so used to its presence that it doesn’t bother me so much anymore. The tears have dried up and I just simply tell myself to think about something else. I busy myself with other things and refuse to think about how oddly disconnected I feel from…well…everything.

I feel as though nothing anchors me to this world — and while I can blithely joke about it in front of others and people think I’m just being my usual sarcastic, mean, funny self, the truth is, sometimes, I think that if I vanished off of this planet, it’d be such a goddamned relief.

I’m writing this tonight in the same way I’ve always written my posts — I’m writing this letter to myself because, in the end, all I have is me.

I just wish I had answers to offer myself — answers that didn’t make me feel even more bummed out about my life than I already feel.

So, my cousin showed me the profile she set up for herself online — that’s one of the things she did before she moved back here.

It seems she’d been through what she calls a “dating famine” and she thought that she’d just jump right into the dating scene when she landed back in Toronto. (Like, why concern yourself with looking for a place to stay and a job when you could sign up for online dating and have a bunch of guys lined up to date?)

Instead of really unpacking (her shit is everywhere and my already cluttered, messy apartment looks like a garbage dump…which is appropriate, really, considering there’s a garbage strike going on here in Toronto), we sat in my living room yesterday, side-by-side with laptops, surfing Lavalife.

Here are some of the gems who have contacted me:
- 43-year-old, self-described “muscular” guy wearing sunglasses, a beret and army fatigues. His nickname is the Muffin Man, which is appropriate seeing as he looks more soft and doughy than “muscular” — especially around his mid-section.
- 37-year-old who’s looking for someone he describes as “possitive” (yes, I realize that’s a spelling mistake). In his pictures, he’s wearing shades — even in his basement gym.
- 47-year-old who looks older than 47 — more like 67.
- 33-year-old who likes long walks on the beach and cuddling by a roaring fire. Um, how much more cliched can you get? And, like a lot of guys, he took his picture in the bathroom, holding out the camera and catching his reflection. Why do guys do that?!

This sort of thing always makes me paranoid…like, what if the guys I’m attracted to are simply not attracted to me? What happens then? And what if the guys who are usually attracted to me are always going to be old, out-of-shape weirdos who wear sunglasses indoors and take pictures of themselves in bathrooms?

Okay, I’m writing all of this and I sort of see the humour in it…it makes me wonder if, inside, I’ve secretly just given up and that’s why I find all of this funny.

…not out loud, that is.

So, uh, in about two hours, I will have my new roommate.

I lied to my parents and said I had to work late so I’d be able to get out of making a family trip to the airport to pick up The Cousin.

I remember when I was a kid and we had people stay over, my parents would make me and my sister give up our beds and we’d have to roll out sleeping bags and sleep on the floor.

I can tell you right now that I was not doing that for The Cousin.

I have a small, two-bedroom apartment…and really, the second bedroom is more like a closet. I use it for my home office — and no, I’m not going to clear it out for her.

She’s been sending almost daily e-mails, calling me “roomie” and picturing all the “fun” we’ll have together.

She said she’d “finally” make me learn how to use makeup and maybe she could help me out with my wardrobe.

Seriously, I’m beginning to wonder if I look that bad.

I don’t like putting on makeup, okay? I’ll put chapstick on at the very most and I like short hair because I can roll out of bed and not have to worry about that when I invariably scramble to get my ass out the door and off to work.

Anyways…

I actually have a monstrous zit on my forehead (must be from the stress of my soon-to-be-shattered peace) — it looks like a pulsating third eye. I kept touching it, trying to hide it when I was conducting a job interview today. (Watch: tomorrow, the zit’s going to look like a second head.)

At the interview today, I realized something: my boss is a shitty judge in character. He actually really liked the guy we met with today — but I could just tell he was one big jack-off. Of course, I’m not going to be like, “I hate that guy’s face. I’m not hiring him.”

When the boss said, “He looks like someone we could grab a drink with after work.”

Without even thinking, I was like, “No. I would never have a drink with him. I’d rather cut myself and drink my own blood first.”

It’s weird when you meet someone and they just rub you the wrong way.

I’ve never experienced love at first sight, but hate at first sight is something I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve experienced more than once.

When we looked through the guy’s portfolio, I got dismissive and told my boss I wasn’t going to hire the guy just because he looked like someone he wanted to hang out with after work. The guy’s work was shit. End of story. If the boss wanted to hire him, I promised him I would fight him tooth and nail on it.

Anyways, I’m sort of in a grumpy mood today — when am I not in a grumpy mood? I didn’t even really have the patience to listen to the former co-worker tell me about the email she sent to the hot guy.

Turns out hot guy automatically called her as soon as he got her email. They’re meeting up for dinner tonight.

It wasn’t so much that I felt sick with jealousy or anything. I just feel really tired today. I guess I never realized the sort of bullshit you have to put up with when you’re the boss.

*sigh*

So…the former co-worker, Amelie, was telling me the other night about this guy that she met at work.

She does communications for this big investments firm — so there are always loads of good looking investment guys trooping in for meetings in the posh boardrooms of her office.

Apparently, she was walking past the reception area on her way to a meeting when she made eye contact with this really good looking guy who wound up asking about her on his way out. He even left behind his business card for the receptionist to pass onto her.

Instead of emailing him or calling him right away, she’s been trying to figure out what she should do — she thought calling or emailing on the same day would have made her look “desperate.”

Jesus.

Jealousy aside — and trust me, I couldn’t help dwelling on it afterwards — I can’t help but wonder why people even bother asking me for my opinion about dating and relationships in general when I’m a single virgin.

I don’t know about you guys, but for me, I really hate it when the guy e-mails me to ask me out. I feel like he should have the stones to call me. But I guess this isn’t really the same situation, is it?

From the looks of the former co-worker, you’d think she was super confident — I mean, the main reason we’ve actually become friends now that we don’t work together anymore is because Amelie is the sort of quirky, bitingly mean and funny person that you can’t help but like.

I just find it weird that she was sort of anxious and not confident about this whole thing.

But then again, if it was me in her place, I think I’d be so jazzed and nervous, I’d probably feel like puking in excitement over the whole thing.

I told her to email him. She’s good with emails.

Anyways…in my little corner of the world, I’m beginning to suspect that most of the guys I’ve been matched up with aren’t even paying members…which means that there’s no chance of getting to know any of them.

One of the reasons I haven’t had much success with eHarmony so far is because I didn’t find most of the guys physically attractive.

Either that, or they didn’t have pictures altogether.

Anyways, today, I notice this crock of poo on the site about how they actually take looks into consideration when matching people up.

I was seriously mortified by that.

I was like, “So…basically, the short, stocky, bristly haired guys I’ve been paired up with are my match looks-wise? These are the sort of guys that ‘look’ good with me?”

Wow.

I don’t know if I should just go slit my wrists and call it a day.

I had to play therapist to an employee who had locked herself in the washroom this afternoon.

I had gone to the women’s washroom, dying to take a pee (I’d had way too many coffees and was stuck in a meeting that ran late, so by the time I bust out of the meeting room, I felt like my bladder was just ready to explode and I was going to soil myself right then and there) when, to my annoyance, I noticed Mousy’s shoes in the only other stall.

This annoyed me — I do not like to pee when someone else is in the room and they’re not peeing.

The washroom closest to my office only has two stalls. You can hear everything.

But since I was thisclose to peeing all over myself, I just rushed in — though, the sound of muffled sniffling coming from the next stall was hard to ignore. (Despite the waterfall that was pouring down the toilet on my end.)

There was a strangled sob when I was washing my hands. You know, I could have taken the coward’s way out and just hightailed it out of there without checking up on Mousy, but I happen to have a soft spot for Mousy…maybe because she seems so wildly awkward and insecure.

I tapped on the stall door and asked her if she was okay — and then I got more than what I was bargaining for.

Turns out she’s been dating someone at the office — an older, married man.

I was outwardly calm and sedate, but inwardly, I was like, “Holyshitfuckcrap!“

Don’t ask me why, but I assumed she was a boyfriend-less virgin like me…but nope. Turns out, I’m still the only virgin left in Toronto. (I know there are others of you floating around out there in the blog universe, so I’m staking the claim now: I’m the only single virgin left in Toronto.)

And of course, I managed to tune her out and turn it into an “all about me” mental session where I thought, “Jesus Christ. If she managed to find someone to fuck her, where does that leave me? What’s wrong with me?”

Ok, ok. Before you come at me with the whole, “Great. She’s hurting and you make it about you” crap, let me finish this post.

So…she thought he’d leave his wife for her, blah blah blah. He was unhappy, etc.

God.

It’s such an old story, it writes itself.

Why do people continue to be such cliches?

When I sighed and rolled my eyes, she got all huffy and said, “See? I knew you’d react this way!”

React what way?

I can’t help it if I have zero patience for the complicated love lives of other people.

I really don’t give a rat’s ass that she’s actually throwing herself at a married man. She should know better and he should know better as well.

I basically told her I didn’t know what she wanted me to say or do — I might be her boss now, but this guy is a colleague and on the corporate ladder, he’s way higher than me.

She’s gotta be crazy if she thinks I’m going to say anything to him.

You know what the funny thing is in all of this?

She’s not even all that good looking.

Her teeth are kind of crooked, she has limp, dry hair and her mouth is always slightly open.

She’s a brilliant worker, but other than that…well, I don’t see what the draw was — not that he’s any prize, either.

I guess lust makes strange bedfellows.

Can I say one thing, though? It makes me feel a little depressed…about everything in general.

Oh, the lies people feel compelled to tell — pat little lies that slip thoughtlessly out of their mouths…the equivalent of small talk, really.

If you bump into someone you know but don’t really want to talk to on the street (but you weren’t clever enough to avoid them in the first place with a quick duck and roll into the nearest shop or simply to abruptly turn the other direction and start pumping your legs like Godzilla was coming your way), you’ll inevitably hit on the safe subjects like the weather.

If you bump into an older Asian aunt you haven’t seen in a million years (and frankly, you’re surprised that this person is still alive) at a wedding, you’ll invariably have to fess up to the fact that, no, you’re still not married; and no, you still don’t have a boyfriend. But pluck up! Elderly Asian Aunty will tell sagely tell you the same cow dung that all elderly Asian aunties have been saying since you were 25 and should have “officially” been dating someone (a Chinese man no older than five years from a “good” family):

Don’t worry, you’ll find someone. Next, it’ll be your turn.

Oh, I’m not worried.

I’m wayyyy past worrying.

What you see before you now is someone who has accepted the fact that I am alone right now — don’t know if that’s going to be the case in the future or if settling down with someone who’s also willing to settle for me will be an option.

Don’t know, don’t care.

It’s surprisingly possible not to care after awhile. You just have to go through several cycles of deep, deep depression — hell, you might not even think you’ll survive that, but somehow, you do. And then, after some false starts where you give in, once in awhile, to hope and then depression and then hope and then back to depression, you start to become increasingly apathetic.

If you’re driven, you become scarily focused with work. Money can be a soothing balm, after all.

Anyways, the wedding wasn’t so bad.

The Childhood Nemesis looked very pretty actually and was practically glowing. Unlike other demure Asian brides, she answered “I do” in such a loud, clear voice that you just knew she was out of her mind with joy to be marrying this guy.

I was a little surprised she introduced me to other people as her “childhood best friend.” I looked at her like she had bumped her head and “jokingly” said more like “childhood nemesis” since she was so annoyingly perfect. (Everybody thought I was joking…but as always, I just tell the truth.)

I didn’t wear a “weird” outfit, though my dress was probably way more casual than what other people were wearing.

I got this floral-print maxi from Urban Outfitters. (I probably buy way too many clothes from there — and I shouldn’t. I’m probably going to be one of those sad women who doesn’t dress her age, forever dressing like a broke college student.)

Memo to self: don’t rub belly after eating too much. This guy offered me his seat ’cause he thought I was pregnant.

Not much else to report.

I’d like to say I met the man of my dreams, but whoever made up that lie about weddings being a great place to meet guys should be shot. It’s not true.

I was, however, introduced to this guy whom one well-meaning aunt thought was “perfect” for me. (Read: he was single.)

He was short, dumpy-looking, had really bad breath, and the bizarre mix of greasy hair and dandruff.

He’s been unable to find a job in his field for awhile and has been stocking grocery shelves for the last little bit.

He spoke with a thick, thick Chinese accent and I learned he was an actual China man — as in, he’s from China.

He “joked” about how he needed a wife to clean up after him because his basement apartment is a complete sty.

Um, yeah. There’s a winner right there.

I think what pained me the most was that more than one person said I should go for him — as if, at this stage in my life, I shouldn’t be so picky.

The “real date” isn’t happening with the guy I decided I was going to give a shot (re: settling).

Let’s just put at this: he lied, it took him awhile to admit he lied about something that was pretty major, and the lie is about something that I would definitely have considered a dealbreaker right from the start.

It just feels like a colossal waste of time.

Thank Christ I’m nothing but a shell with ash inside of me — otherwise, my feelings would have been really hurt.

In other stuff…the amount of skinny fat on my body is just ridonkulous. I don’t even look like I go to the gym…that being said, my idea of working out is increasingly pedalling slowly on a bike while flipping through a magazine.