Date 15: eHarmony Andrew

eHarmony Andrew* suggests we start our second date by watching the Nebraska game at Q's Billiard Club. The only downside is the 9a kickoff time.

8:45 comes very early, but eHA swoops me up in all my yawning glory, smile on his face and black tea in hand.

eHA: Outside when you're ready.

Mirth n' cheer, caffeine and zero pressure. He gets me.

We claim a couple stools amongst fellow Cornhuskers, get our hands on a couple Bloody Mary's, and have ourselves a couple-a good ol' times watching UNL win. Somewhere in the middle of the cheering and nail-biting, a decently deep conversation transpires. Hopes, dreams, dangerously boring hobbies -- nothing's off the table.

Victory secured, we hop in eHA's Jeep for a sun-kissed ride into Malibu. His roadtrip-ready soundtrack spurs a musical gabfest and the promise of shared Spotify playlists. I feel like I'm getting little life gifts from every date -- and I really love gifts.

We make our way through the back roads to a rustic, Western-inspired restaurant called the Old Place that is 100 percent charming. Wine, apple crumble, a guitar player in the corner strumming serenades. At one point, a motorcyclist powers through the front door, pulls a harmonica out of his pocket, and joins the guitarist for a delicate duet.

Standout second date, eHA. Job well done.

Since I'm still working on that whole growth and self-improvement thing, I make note of everything about eHarmony Andrew that bothers me. He's a loud talker, an over-explainer, a bit stodgy...but then he stodgily buys a round for the impromptu musical duo, with such a zest for life, and it's just so...endearing. Really loving his love for everything. And his impeccable manners. Such a sucker for old-school etiquette.

Valerie June and Townes van Zandt take us back to my place in a pleasant groove. eHA walks me to my door like the gentleman he is, and I immediately fall into bed. Is it really only 4 'o clock?

*not his real name

Date 6: Tinder Lucas

I wake up exhausted from the prior day’s double-header of dates and sigh grudgingly at the thought of doing it all over again.

Dark circles under my eyes. Excessively large pores. Super excessive bloating from carbs and liquor. I better lock one of these guys down quick before this experiment wipes out my aesthetic value.

Today’s schedule:

9a: Wake up, breakfast, etc.

10a: Check messages/reply – all sites (This step always includes a brief meditation period prior to delving in. And by meditation period, I mean several deep, measured breaths accompanied by a full body cringe or twelve.)

11a: Find ­SOMEONE on eHarms. A N Y O N E. (I like to think of this one as less desperation and more…opening myself up to new possibilities. The 5’ 11” and over crowd has proven to be quite sparse on eHarmony and most of my suggested matches are distressingly pale. Our children would never stand a chance against the sun.)

11:45a: Update pics on JDate. (The only chosen people choosing me thus far are around 5’ 4” and seem to speak solely in Hebrew characters – a joke that does, shockingly enough, get old. I mean, it’s hard enough figuring out what guys are trying to say using the English alphabet.)

12p: Read Lucas chats/walk to Le Pain. (After that mutual friend gaffe on my first Tinder date, I’ve taken to reviewing all correspondence prior to each meet ‘n’ greet.)

3p: Recap, etc.

4p: Workout/or nap. (Let’s be honest, we all know how this one ends. I am going to be so out of shape at the end of this month.)

6p: Refresh on Tinder Edward/Walk to Duplex.

9p: No Vacancy for A’s birthday.

This is going to be the longest day ever.

The Scene: Le Pain Quotidien’s outdoor patio. I’m about to enter into a coffee date with TINDER LUCAS*.

I’m casually strolling up to the restaurant, jamming out to something embarrassing on Spotify, when I spot him. Holy sh*t. You gotta be...kidding me. This dude’s hot. Those Tinder pics did him not one iota of justice.

Great, now I’m, like, nervous and stuff. And this stupid idiotic grin-smirk won’t remove itself from my face. Please Lord let me be cool.

TL stands as I stumble toward the two-top.

TL: Stacie?

Of course he has an accent. I nod a little too eagerly. Seriously -- calm yourself, woman.

TL: (In an almost comically soothing tone/cadence) Wow, you’re beautiful.

Is this real life right now?

Me: Ha. You’re one to talk. Did you, like, hire that halo of light to follow you around all day?

TL: (Amused eyebrow raise. Piercing stare.) I don’t like leaving things to chance.

Gulp.

Me: I totally know what you mean. Huge fan of making my own luck. You know, bare hands, dirt, knives, the whole frontier kind of thing.

Please stop talking.

TL: (Two amused eyebrows raised. Piercing stare has become almost penetrating.) I don’t know too much about the frontier, but I do believe in creating your own future – and I’m not afraid to use my hands.

I’m sure you’re not. I feel myself flushing. Everywhere. Where’s that waitress? Can a girl get an iced tea up in here?

...

Me: So, how ‘bout those Knicks?

(Yes, it is sometimes hard to have this much game.)

TL: (Laughs and suddenly seems to get a little shy.) So, uh, I know this is a little strange, but I feel like I should get this out right at the start. I haven’t been completely honest with you.

Welp, that was quick. This is real life.

TL: My name isn’t really Lucas.

That's...not what I was expecting.

Me: It’s about to get really weird, isn’t it.

TL: Ha it’s not that weird, I promise. Well, it’s a little weird. Basically, I just – well, not just – but earlier last year, I ended a really long relationship. And my ex’s friends are still my friends on Facebook, and they can be pretty ruthless. So I didn’t want them coming across my name on Tinder and having it get back to my ex. So, I created a fake profile and linked it to that. My real name is actually George.

Hesitantly detailed in that delicate European accent of his, this is, somehow, the most adorable story ever. We can get around to color-sorting flags a bit later on.

Turns out, TL is more than just a man of many names (and presumably stellar abs) – he’s also a man of multiple occupations. The first of which is professional triathlete. (Swoon.) He generally doesn’t drink due to training requirements, but thanks to a recent Achilles injury, he’s down to hop off the wagon for our next date. (Yes, please!) The second through eighteenth or so of his occupations are of a more entrepreneurial nature. He’s a little vague on the nitty-gritties, but I’m pretty sure they sound legitimate. And I’m one hundred percent sure he sounds passionate about them. Hearing so much passion.

The old me might have balked at the quiet demeanor and Euro-ish qualities, but this is a new Stacie. A new, open-minded, lookin’-a-little-deeper Stacie. And today I’m stepping out of my comfort zone and into a pair of perfectly toned arms. (You know, for, like, a super sincere, post-date hug.)

I think this is what they call a moment of growth?

* Not his real name.

Date 2: OkCupid Taylor

Some things you can never unsee. For me, most of those things have come courtesy of OkCupid. Smarmy pick-up lines, over-sexual innuendo, offensively poor grammar – you name the Creep tactic, I’ve shuddered tigerishly at it. And I’ve only been on this thing for a week. So when my eyes finally land on a normal, “Hi Stacie, How’s your day going?” I write back with almost gleeful abandon. Meaning, I babble nonsensically for about five lines too many.

Fortunately, OkCupid Taylor seems to take my nerdish excitement in stride, countering with all the typical get-to-know-you questions.

I try my best to scare him off, mentioning red flag modeling years, waxing poetic on the merits of green juice, and linking him to my blog.

Man, can nothing deter this guy? According to OkCupid founder, Christian Rudder, interactions that exceed four messages are likely headed straight to the friend zone, and OkC T and I are capping off at a hearty fourteen, but I’m willing to play through to see if we can prove him wrong. Dinner it is!

OkCupid Taylor offers to make the drive up from Sunset Beach for a mid-week meal at Sugarfish in Beverly Hills. I graciously accept. Being a girl definitely has its perks when it comes to the logistical side of dating.

With everyone presenting the best version of themselves online, I find myself unconsciously building these guys up in my head before we meet. Walking over to the restaurant, I realize I’ve got OkC T pegged as tall, witty, charming, sweet – and a perfect match in the chemistry department. But, you know, my expectations are totally, reasonably low.

He meets me outside, thankfully alleviating that whole, hi-I'm-here-to-meet-a-stranger-like-a-high-class-hooker hostess stand situation, and we cozy up to the bar for a plateful of sushi and a couple shots of sake.

OkC T is tall, witty, charming, and sweet – the chemistry is questionable. Maybe Rudder was onto something with his BFF metrics.

Conversation is easy and entertaining. OkC T works in the superfoods industry, but doesn't believe in superfoods. I proceed to make him tell me all about his company, attempting to discern the exact number of dates it will take for me to qualify for the friends and family discount. Because I definitely believe in superfoods. He does offer to send me the files for the complementary P90x workout regimen. I choose to not take that as a hint.

Post-dinner, OkC T insists on walking me home. This is where things start to get weird. I live close, but not that close. I just happen to be one of approximately three LA residents** who actually enjoy a pedestrian lifestyle. He pauses every few blocks thinking this is finally going to be the one we turn at.

Me: Oh no, just a little up this way still. You really don’t have to walk me the whole way.
OkC T: No, are you kidding? I’m having a great time. It’s such a nice night for a walk.

(Repeat six times.)

Finally outside my building, we chat awkwardly for a bit, with him standing just a touch too close. Are we just talking here, or are you working up the nerve to kiss me? He reaches for my hand. Uh, ok, we can do the whole romantical thing, I guess. Oh, nope. Nevermind. Going for the BlackBerry. Right.

OkC T: How does this thing even work?
Me: You just swipe up!

I demonstrate on the phone he’s now holding in his hand. The screen glows out with messages from Tinder Brandon, OkCupid Kevin, and eHarmony James. Welp.

…

We hug it out goodbye.

He walks back to his car. Alone.

Two dates in, two decent guys. Maybe this online dating thing isn’t so bad after all!

Then again, maybe it is.

Tone-Deaf on eHarmony

Me: (In a whining sigh.) Hi.

Boy BFF: Hey, what's up. Everything alright?

Me: (Still whining. Still sighing.) I don't want to do this anymore.

BBFF: What are we talking about here.

Me: ONLINE DATING.

BBFF: Ahh, right. Yes. Hasn't it only been, like, three days?

Me: Five. It's been five. And today's eHarmony Day. And it's just so bright and shiny and smug and judgy. Like, I feel like it's just sitting there all ready to f*cking marry me off, like, tomorrow. WHAT IF I'M NOT READY, EHARMONY. WHAT IF I'M NOT READY.

BBFF: Ho-kay. I think we need to calm down here for a second. It's just a website.

Me: Is it ever really just a website?

BBFF suddenly realizes he has to go, citing a call on "the other line". Because apparently it's still 2001.

I take a deep breath, glare into my MacBook, and resign to get this last little sucker all set up.

Out of all the sites, eHarmony takes the most rigidly scientific approach to matchmaking. First there's the profile, which boxes you in with awkwardly earnest fill-in-the-blank action:

Next comes a series of questions, similar to those proffered on OkCupid, only slightly more political and definitely more pigeonhole-y: What do you think about America's insanely high medical costs, do you put more stock in science or faith, in which direction do you cut your PB&J's...

Maybe I will when I'm 30? Maybe I'm not old enough for this site.

When it comes to setting the parameters for your dream man, they stick pretty close to the basics. Smoking: No. Drinking: Few times a week. Ethnicity: White. Age:27-41. Children: None yet, but want kids. Religion: Any. Income: Important.Education: Important. Match Distance - uhhh. Thirty miles is the shortest distance they'll allow you to select?? Anything over seven in LA might as well be a long distance relationship. (Sidenote: There does appear to be a disproportionately large number of single men in Woodland Hills. Wink wink nudge nudge, ladies.)

Finally, I get to the actual talking-to-people part. Sort of. There is, thankfully, no chat option available on eHarmony - though you can "send a smile", which sort of looks like one of those stickers your first-grade teacher used to give you for meeting your reading goal. There is also no quick message option. eHarmony has devised a very controlled get-to-know-your-potential-stalkers process called Guided Communication:

Stage 1: Quick Questions

You pick five questions from their list of fifteen or so and send 'em over to your Prince(ss) Charming. In answering their selects, you can either choose from the pre-fab A-D or compose your own response. I tend toward the latter as most of their options are a little cut and dry for my taste.

Note: The above-pictured responses do not reflect the views of the author. I am always competitive.

One question I include in my batch is, "What is your opinion on your mate having opposite sex friendships?" First of all, the word mate makes me cringe. Second of all, I expect most men to quell their weirdly jealous side for at least the pre-first date formalities, but the replies I get range from, "It makes me uncomfortable" at worst to, "I'm comfortable with a few well-established opposite sex friendships" at best. How...generous and trusting of you.

Stage 2: Exchange 10 Make & Breaks

These are pretty straightforward. You pick your top 10 from each list and send 'em over to compare and contrast. Kind of interesting, but fairly predictable.

Stage 3: By now, you're probably starting to lose interest in this person you've never met and who means nothing to you yet, and you're probably considering dropping out of this lengthy, lengthy process.

But then you take a deep breath and proceed to Dig Deeper. In this stage, you exchange three open-ended questions with one another. You can create your own or select one of eH's, like, "Tell me about your closest friend. How long have you known them, and what do you like best about them?" (Sorry, Cindy, I caved and told them everything. Really hope our friendship can recover.)

Stage 4: Welcome to eHarmony Mail!

On the off chance you are both in any way, shape, or form still invested in this thing, you are now allowed to send a normal(?) message via their safe, anonymous email system. The funny thing is, as tedious as eHarms' regimented communication feels, I find myself creeped out by the guys who "request to skip straight to eH Mail". I mean, if we're here to play the game, we may as well play by the rules.

A stance solidified by this special little confabulation:

...

Nothing good ever comes of Googlaging people.

P.S. According to eHarmony, I like pale, Christian teachers who reside in the South Bay. Want to know your type? Find out here!

That Is So Not Ok, Cupid

OkCupid. Match's cheap little cousin. Free, actually, which means there are about zero barriers to entry. This should be interesting.

I get my profile set up pretty quickly, stealing/or reworking both answers and pictures from other sites:

The six things I could never do without: Wit, sarcasm, charm, favorable aesthetics, coconut water and music.
I'm really good at: Standardized tests. And Mad Libs.
What I'm doing with my life: My father asks me this very question every single day.
I spend a lot of time thinking about: You. And I mean that in the creepiest way possible.

The 'Staff Robot' forbids "full nudity, extreme close ups, pets, cars, baby photos, artwork, images you've added yourself to, etc." Welp. There goes my Instagram.

Fortunately, they've taken no clear position on unenthusiastic model shots from horrifically cheesy Bravo reality shows. (Bottom row, center.) Just trying to showcase my industrious nature?

Next up is the 'Questions' tab. According to co-founder, Christian Rudder, 50 percent of your OkCupid matches come from commonalities. They suss out said commonalities in this section via an optional series of make-or-breaks. These topics range from super basic (Do you believe in showering, can you perform simple math calculations, would you date a smoker, are you a homophobe) to super personal (Would you have an abortion, what's your greatest motivation in life, how long do your romantic relationships usually last, how open are you with your feelings....)

I decide to put that latter half on the back burner for the time being and head over to browse my matches. Like any shopping site worth its e-commerce salt, OkC allows you to filter your results by SO MANY THINGS. Though height is capped at 6'4", which feels a little awkward -- almost as awkward as the "used up" body type option. I decide to let that one lie.

According to OkC, 153, 812 users are online right now. Holy mother of Hades. I brace myself for an onslaught of potential suitors.

17.

There are 17 potential suitors.

You try broadening your search settings. Jerks.

(And no, sexxxysaurus, I don't want to chat right now. On a little bit of a mission here. A mission that doesn't involve frosted tips/or Ray-Bans.)

Perhaps my inbox will yield some unexpected gems??

Unlike Tinder, you don't have to give a green light to someone before they are allowed to message you. This leaves you with a lot of sh*t to sort through.

I expect this to be a lot of creepy sh*t. It's more just sort of a lot of...weird. Cheesy pick-up lines, corny jokes, false bravado, intrusive questions...

If anything, it nails home the fact that hitting on girls is really, really hard for some guys -- usually because they're trying too hard. (I can say that because I'm always trying too hard.) It seems more productive to highlight a few I found decently charming, rather than to highlight the many misfires: 

I like this one because he could secretly be insulting me and I wouldn't even know it. (Just looking for a healthy relationship over here!)

Math puns always work. 76% of the time.

I think there is in Europe?

l will call out this misfire, because he brought kittens into it and that's just not ok:

Gross.

Out of all of these men, I reply to two. The first is a 5' 10", forty-year-old who is not really my type (yay for hitting three of my rules!), but he did work for both NPR and the BBC, does have a British accent, and did call my profile adorable....

The second is this guy, whom we shall call OkCupid Owen:

A 6'2", thirty two-year-old volleyball player who lives in Santa Monica. He describes himself as a kind, considerate, competitive dude with a dry, sarcastic sense of humor.

Game on.

...Not that kind of game.