Siddity In The City

Every now and then, I like to get stupid.

Don't we all? Unfortunately, my predilection for the inane is crossed with un ungodly love for the Internets. I signed up for Match again. They were running a free-72 hours special and I thought, "Eh. I'll test the waters." That was about 10 hours ago. Since then, I've had a few predictable responses. One was from a fellow who, in his "last read" section, wrote :"NOT A READER !!!" and in his turn-offs section wrote : Braniacs, agressiveness. Sooooo, you like opinionless, submissive illiterates, then? Clearly, his disinclination to read extends to Match profiles, since I think I must mention the fact that I prefer braniacs and readers about 43.836 times in my self-description. Too bad. He had arms like he worked 'em hard for a living. Two others were people who had tried to pick me up last time I was on Match, over a year ago. I wonder if the company's stupid matching system just still matches us up, of I've been lingering in that little "connections" queue that Match has now, where everyone you've ever emailed, favorited or winked at goes to languish, since the last time I ignored their queries. Interesting. The last was very cute but kind of...intimidating. (It's my fault, really. I was poking around, looking at profiles, forgetting that now, everyone you've looked at can see you've been looking. Which means, even if you were trying to figure out how in hell someone could go so very wrong on their pics, header and self description--photo of over-gelled fortysomething in polyblend Penney's suit, named LYKS2LIK, header "R U D 1?" for example, and I'm exaggerating, here, I sincerely hope this profile doesn't exist--they now think you're interested. Ah, so, I had been peeping at this guy's profile. It was fine enough, but we wouldn't be each other's type. I thought. This morning, I woke up to a short, friendly email.) See, I like big guys, I do. And I dig tattoos, too. Like, a lot. I don't mind saying so. It gives me an excuse to expose and prod people I hardly know, for the sake of interest in their ink. But. There are parameters. If a guy is a tat artist, he pretty much gets a pass on the parameters, because it's his job. He pretty much has to be his own lifestyle billboard. But if not? Only certain tats interest me, and some repulse me outright. I'll take full sleeve flame-and-demon tats over a face or neck tat, any day. Extra demerits if the tat is in illegible script(anywhere), features women being penetrated by anything (anywhere), or is of Jesus on the cross. These things, to me, scream "CRIMINAL ELEMENT! DONE TIME!" Or at least should have. You don't go marking up the area around your face without thinking you ain't got shit to lose. Not. Sexay. Buddyboy has a neck tat of the Lord and Savior. But he's cute, and has a clearly beloved little pooch in half his pictures. How bad can he be? Don't answer that. He could be feeding his vics to the little mutt for all I know. I won't know unless I write back, though! (In case you were wondering, I also pick completely inappropriate times to abandon my paranoias and live on the edge. Ish.) Sigh. Clearly, the best plan when considering tanking on 2.5 jobs, is to suddenly develop an active interest in mate-seeking, because that, you know, that's really easy in this town. Pft. Anyway. Just finished reading Kitchen Confidential. I take it all back. Anthony Bourdain is my new underhero, just behind the inventor of the underwire bra. He's a great writer, and executive chef of Les Halles, where I enjoyed a heartily satisfying, perfectly prepared steak au poivre-laden, boozy, gabby French bistro dinner with Stolie and her friend Bro a while back. Actually, he reminds me of my favorite cousin, who, I believe, to this day, needs to haul his gypsy ass into a culinary program and do something with his talents. Maybe I'll send him a copy of the book. He can stop trying to play gangsta in his mom's upper-middle class five bedroom and start playing it in a hot, testosterone-jacked, sharps-heavy pro kitchen. And then he can teach me everything I need to know, and I won't have to go to culinary school. I'm selfless to the end. Happy whateverthehell.

posted by Sid @ 6/05/2006 11:20:00 AM