LA Comedy Writer

When you’re a bit of a loner, as I am, and don’t have the type of career where you are surrounded by people (which I don’t), invariably you’ll turn to Internet dating. I have been a member of match.com, on and off, for a few years. But I’ve never written about some of my experiences. Let’s start with the “profile”, which is how anyone can see you. You have to tell about yourself such that others will want to date you, but not so much as to seem a braggart. I find it funny that in each profile I read, a sense of humor was an absolute must for nearly every woman, but that’s not really the case now is it? In reality, if a woman can bring Brad Pitt home every night, I don’t think she’s gonna bitch if he doesn’t get all of Jay’s monologue. I’ve never heard one of Brad’s exes explain, “Well gee, yeah, he’s got a body of granite, and I drool all over him, and he fucks like an angry puma, but damn, he just doesn’t get my jokes.” Anyway, I digress.

After completing a bullshit profile of how I like long walks on the beach, followed by listening to John Tesh under a full moon, it was time to post a few pictures. Now it got tough. First of all, I don’t take a particularly good picture. My hair goes in all directions, much like a schooner caught in the Bermuda Triangle, which is never good. Secondly, I have to choose photos where I look younger than I am. Regardless of your age category, you don’t want someone who looks as old as they are. And by the way, nearly everyone over 30 starts fudging on their age. I saw one profile where the lady said she’s 30, and she’s at least 45. That takes some balls folks. Don’t believe me? Go here and see for yourself. Not to be judgmental, because I botoxed off a few years myself, but goddamn! And I also think that maybe, just maybe, she snuck a few pix in that aren’t even her. Hey, I could be wrong. I even spoke to this woman once. Her voice sounded like Alex Haley after a Marlboro. I kept waiting for her to clear her throat, but that would have taken major surgery and a back hoe.

Now let’s skip forward to some of the potential “dates”. I spoke with one gal whose picture was a dead ringer for Angelina Jolie (pretty good so far). She too, wanted to write comedy (oh-oh), but lived in Washington state (the hairs on my neck are starting to stand up a tad). She kept on and on about how Seinfeld was the greatest show on TV, and now she’s hooked on Curb Your Enthusiasm (okay, now I can relax). Then she says she drove all the way to LA to see Jeff Garlin (A CYE regular) perform, then chased him down in the parking lot to stuff a CYE script into his hands. I pointed out that Curb isn’t scripted, it’s all improv., with Larry David providing the story. She said she knew this, but was sure her script was so good, that Curb would surely change their way of doing things once they read it (get the meds ready). Lastly, she told me that any date who wouldn’t state out loud that Seinfeld was the greatest show ever, would be a deal killer. Obsession is too mild a word for her Seinfeld feelings. Angelina lookalike or not, like a high-schooler worried about premature ejaculation, I had to withdraw at that point.

I could go on and on about my dates from match. There was the blond cutie who, when I picked her up for our first date, asked if she could bring along her baby (which she hadn’t told me about). I said, “Sure”. She disappears for a moment into her bedroom, and comes out holding…Buckwheat. I mean, the hair was standing straight up like Don Fucking King (the child’s hair, not mine). In the racially tolerant Utopia of Dallas, Texas…we stood out. All around us at dinner I could feel the eyes of the restaurant, trying to do the genetic math. During dinner, the date explained her Baby Daddy was in prison…for now, but was coming up for parole any day. Maybe in LA there wouldn’t have been the stares, but in Dallas? The waiter did everything but fit me for a noose. I got my Chocolate Thunder to go. Lest you think I’m some sort of racist here, give pause. I’ve dated black women. In fact, one of the most beautiful women I ever went out with was black, and if she had a child, I wouldn’t have thought twice. I think it was just the appearance of two blond-haired, blue-eyed devils, with a black child, amongst all those people with necks so red, when they cut themselves shaving, nobody notices. What can I say? I don’t like confrontation.

I have other match stories, but they’ll have to wait for another day. I have to update my profile with my current age…less five years of course.