Guess I'm Ugly

I don’t know if it’s because it’s summer and online dating is getting old for people, a man can only handle so much disappointment: instead of the smart, sarcastic, no-drama claiming, straight haired and teeth girls smiling in photos that appeared in your inbox, in front of you stands a “person” who is at least twenty pounds heavier, acne-ridden, and possibly even a midget. The bar scene is even worse, with Yuppies such as myself drinking into oblivion, even the most rank person could be hot with thick enough beer goggles. So, many of you guys out there have been craving new blood.

I bet some of you looked to your friends, family, even God (evidently there is a synagogue that I notorious on the Upper West Side as a pick up spot) to find you that special someone. That unique combination of down to earth, funny, smart, won’t take any shit, with big boobs, and confidence to match her wit. Plus, if she could be moving away in a short time, you know, to make sure that she couldn’t get clingy…that would be perfection!

Oh shit, I just described me and how I appear on my blog!

Gawker may not have given me literary agents banging down my door but it did send you boys barking up my tree!

And at first I didn’t believe it. I read an article about bloggers a while back, which said, if you are female, your readers will try to date you. Of course, I was excited about the prospect. You mean, no more awkward first emails and “winks” off of match.com and jdate? I could possibly find someone to like me for me, who finds endearment in my contradictory personality?! No more pretending until the fourth date that I was somewhat, “normal”. All the while hoping to catch the eye of a talent agent to Stephanie-Klein my ass for the seven figure book deal? The possibility of a man and fame, beautiful!

However, it took me over a full year until a brave reader contacted me. And, I still don’t know where the talent agents are hiding out.

But, keeping in mind what that article said, how although it is tempting to date a reader, most of them are nuts. They don’t understand that a blog is like a literary MTV’s Real World: everyone’s life sucks on a day-to-day basis, but, if you cut out the stuff that kinda doesn’t suck, you may have about ten minutes of humor/drama/emotion that bodes well for an audience. Which, is my life. Ok, maybe I am being a bit humble, and trying to make my life seem more normal, but you get the picture. What you read is a best-of in my life and not me on a daily basis. If I lived the way I wrote, I would have an incurable STD, cirrhosis of the liver, and a hole through my septum. I don’t. I’ve just alienated many people, including those I should have made a good impression. Whoops!

So heading the article’s advice, I didn’t meet the first few readers who inquired about having drinks. But, like most things in my life, once I fall off of the wagon, I am there for good and so, it started with meeting a guy for a drink at a book release party, as friends—which we are today. He seemed normal. And fun!

Then I began to meet other bloggers. I mean, it's like networking, right? Kinda like meeting collegues.

However, I would like to impress upon you one very important thing I learned-- all of the bloggers I met, all had a common theme, NOTHING LIKE THEIR BLOG PERSONA.

“That is what you look like?!” I thought to myself when I met one of the more prominant annonymous ones.

“Uhm, fucking say something!” I thought about another.

And once you go down that slippery slope, you might as well just finish the entire metaphorical bottle. Which I am in the process of doing, at the moment. Why just stop at meeting only well known bloggers, why don't I just meet anyone?!

Now that I do not work for the agency, and they all know about my blog anyway, I don’t care about sending readers my myspace link. Yes, I know, everything in my blog really is true. I did grow up on LI, I did go to MHC. Yes, those are my “real friends” in my top 8, who I write about. I am an accurate representation…

Or so I think.

My move out of the country has lulled me into a false sense of security. There will be no stalkers, and if there are, I will be gone before they can do anything stupid. Let the meeting begin!

“Glad that you moved up to my neighborhood! Was wondering if you want to grab a drink?” says an email I receive in my inbox.

Why the fuck not, I think to myself.

So I hit the reply button and write: “Hey! So this is my myspace link. Enjoy!”

But, then I don’t hear anything back from them.

Another reader wrote: “I am so attracted to you because of your writing.”

I send him a link to the ubiquitous myspace page. He too, magically disappears.

Evidently not attracted enough to my writing to want to continue talking to me after you see what I look like!

Being a neurotic, I call my friends and seek emotional support.

“But it makes no sense, Lu. I mean, am I ugly? Do guys need to meet me with beer goggles on? Am I a pity fuck?!” I ask, over and over again. Not understanding what is wrong with my appearance

“Shannon, you look fine!”

“Could you take a look at the pictures that I sent? I mean, I don’t want to send pictures that make me look like a supermodel, and then they would be disappointed!” Leave it to the insecure to pick out what she thinks she looks like.

I send over the pictures that I think are good: “Shannon, you look nothing like that picture!”

“Really!? What about this one?”

The process goes on. Same result, if it is a “good pic”, I look nothing like it. And if it is a “bad pic” I look nothing like it.

I don’t photograph well, especially because I am usually drunk and out of it. And my nose. I hate how my nose photographs!

In order to remedy this problem, I’ve tried to arrange photo days with my friends acting as photographers. But, I am not going to take pics when I am sober because, that blows. And if my friend is coming into the city, well then, what are a few drinks, you know?

Which leaves me with the same problem, I have no good sober shots of me. The pics where it is evident I put some effort into my appearance and look sober, not too made up not too poished. Like me going out to dinner with a few friends.

Instead, I only take pictures at the end of the wreck, forgoing an image before the train is scathed.

I guess, all bloggers are the same, huh? We will all end up disappointing because we can never live up to the highlighted fifteen minutes we show. Or how you imagine us to be.