Sticks and Stones

Before I officially give up on computer dating, I'm trying a new profile:

Cold, narcissistic bitch with no sense of humor seeks lying, cheating, cowardly, immature gentleman who has no integrity whatsoever and is passionate about absolutely nothing.

At the very least, I might finally see the last of the cookie cutter descriptions that fill my inbox on a daily basis. One more allegedly passionate, honest, communicative, sensitive, devoted guy and I might set my computer on fire. And no, it hasn't crossed my mind even for a nanosecond that a dreamy fireman might have to appear to rescue me from all that flaming bullshit.

Name calling is usually an exercise in futility; the "sticks and stones" ditty has always said it best. It's particularly pointless when you turn the name calling upon yourself -- even when the names are flattering. Take the vapid declarations on cyber dating sites, for example. Telling me you're passionate and sensitive means nothing; tell me you'd like nothing better than to polish my toenails after you rub my feet for an hour every evening and we can talk. Heck, tell me you like going to chick flicks and you'll have my heart skipping a beat (unless, of course, you like going to them by yourself).

Even worse, though, is someone who resorts to negative self-name calling. I have found that the simplest way to avoid taking responsibility for a particular misdeed is just to confess to a bunch of unflattering adjectives. After all, true confessions lead to discussion, and that can be awfully uncomfortable. Instead of admitting to a specific lie, just call yourself a liar. Instead of admitting to not having the balls to do something, call yourself a coward. Instead of admitting to a particularly childish act, just call yourself immature. There are endless possibilities; so many ways to appear contrite without really apologizing for anything at all.

I do it to my kids all the time. All they need to do is offer up the slightest challenge, like today when my daughter told me the mashed potatoes I gave her were chewy. Did I admit they were chewy because I overnuked them in the microwave? Of course not. I wanted her to feel bad for criticizing my cooking, so I simply said "I'm a horrible person." Well that shut her up fast. (And what's so bad about chewy potatoes?)

I suppose I have no right to complain when people pull the same crap on me, but when has that ever stopped me? I get very little satisfaction when someone just offers up a blanket "I'm a shit." I want details; I want blood. I don't necessarily want to be right (although I usually am); I just want to be heard. And I can only know I've been heard if I extract a point by point admission of guilt, signed and notarized under oath. Don't tell me you're a cheater; tell me you make bad line calls in tennis. Don't tell me you're a coward; tell me you'd never step in front of me to take a bullet. I respect that, and frankly, I'd probably never do it for you either.

As if on cue, I just received an email notification of a new perfect match. "I am honest, hard working, intelligent and have a good sense of humor." Seriously. Back it up, babe. Tell me about the time you returned a wallet you found loaded with cash. Tell me your ACT scores. Tell me a joke. I'm much more likely to go with the guy who contacted me a few weeks ago who mentioned that he killed his first wife but let the second one live (although she's still tied up in the basement). You don't run across that kind of honesty and integrity every day. Refreshing.

I guess I might have to be a bit more specific about my narcissism, coldness, and bitchiness if I'm going to attract a guy who, like me, is looking for depth. Maybe I'll add in something about my strong urge to kick stray dogs, maybe list a bunch of people I deem responsible for all my problems, and sign off with a heartfelt "go fuck yourself." Who knows? Maybe the lying, cheating, cowardly bastard of my dreams will reveal himself in all his glory.