In efforts to meet a cool girl to romance, it was recommended to me to put out a personal ad for myself on various websites such as match, shaadi (like a good boy) and -leaving no stone unturned- christianmingle. I move around a lot and don’t meet any cool people at the gym or bars so I did pimp myself out online and then immediately proceeded to mostly ignore these websites for months. However, last night I was sitting in a mall with my uncle when he happened to be asking me about this very topic – and on cue a parade of couples began to stroll by us hand in hand. As I explained to him that it’s “very difficult to meet someone nowadays” , approximately thirty to forty young couples exuding the pure bliss of companionship paraded past us in a montage-worthy ten minute span. There were white ones, black ones, small ones, big ones, preppie ones, trashy ones, interracial ones, inter-sized ones, even Asian ones. It became so comical that my uncle began laughing hysterically and I thought to myself that I’m lucky that the fates haven’t sent a gay couple, a lesbian couple, an octogenarian couple and a pair of loving pandas down the pike in addition to this Noah’s Ark of romance. It was surreal, these f*ckers kept coming like The Walking Dead.
Not only were 85% of these couples holding hands, they seemed to saunter by in slow motion like some sort of corny choreographed advertisement for love. (“Love is a word created by men like me to sell nylons.” -Draper) Not a single couple had one bad word to say to one another. Not an argument in sight. All the body language was impossibly positive. And they held hands in every way possible. There was the couple where the guy has his hand around her waist and he’s holding her hand there. There was the couple swinging their arms in unison and laughing hand in hand. SWINGING, REALLY? Is that necessary? The coup de grace was this pair of lovesick puppies who deliberately kept 3 feet between them and walked with their arms extended toward one another like Michaelangelo’s “The Creation of Adam”. They left me no choice but to run up in between, slap their hands down and dropkick the pair of them.
Could my uncle have orchestrated a casting call and paid a hundred up and coming actors to pull off this stunt in an effort to convince me to get married TODAY? The syrup on the pancakes was when a near four hundred pound gentleman ambled up with a good looking girl on his arm. My brain was reassuring me “Chill, Sid. Chiiiill. Now this dude has to be a drug dealer or a rapper or-” but was interrupted by my uncle’s voice- “Even this fellow has his girl, huh!? HAHAHA. And she’s very fit also! Come on Sidhu! What about you?” I have to admit that really was funny as hell, like something from a Punk’d episode. I watched them walk away in disbelief and waited for him to hand her a huge wad of shopping money or maybe she would slap him and spit her gum on him but they just kept holding hands and giggling. Jesus Christ, always with the giggling. What the f*ck elicits these constant giggles? It’s never a full blown laugh and it’s never a chuckle or a cackle or a guffaw. You giggling giddy bastards. At that point it wouldn’t have been surprising to see all these dudes get down on one knee, pull a ring out, pop the question, her answer yes and then jump in each other’s arms and then the guys could all pull their fiances in tight with one arm while using their other hand to stick a massive middle finger up in the air to me.
The only situation I remember being worse than this was a rainy Valentine’s Day evening in 2006 or 2007 when I was driving onto my college campus and stopped at a red light. I looked up to see in every possible direction a dude holding an open umbrella over his girl. And under every umbrella, that dude was making out with his girl. I was livid. I am not exaggerating, I surveyed all in front of me from left to right and back again and the landscape was just littered with couples making out under umbrellas. I never again hoped for umbrellas to fall apart as badly as I did that day. It was a scene out of a classic Hollywood movie. These couples were all standing in the most picturesque backdrops, it just made me sick! I still can’t believe I had to see that. I went home and ate two pieces of cheesecake that night. For sure. Amongst other stress relievers.
Anyway, back to my personal ad. I wrote one a while back and it was really boring. After answering the questions asked of me, all I had was a resume in a friendlier font. I was advised not to say too much and that I “don’t translate well online” so I made my profile as Vanilla as possible. It said some stock crap about how I am a good person/nice guy/non-threatening and all that. However, when I began reading other profiles, I realized everyone says the same thing. Over eighty percent of women on these sites say: “If you ask my friends about me they will say that…”
1) They are funny.
2) They are sarcastic. (I don’t understand why they say this)
3) Their friends and family mean the world to them.
4) They are hard-working.
5) They are looking for a guy with all of the above qualities.
Reading this made me marvel that every girl out there thinks she is funny. I’m sure some are but a disproportionate number of them think they are Woody Allen. I had said I was funny in my profile so I was annoyed that every single person was saying that. Still, I do have to admit that a ton of girls have much better and funnier and well-detailed profiles than mine. I figured I may as well try to put some effort into this so as it stands now, I have nothing to lose and I am bored with Vanilla and am upgrading my personal ad to a Hot Fudge Sundae with Butterscotch ice cream and extra hot sauce. FULL ON HONESTY. With the old standard profile, the online scene had worked just like the bar scene worked before it- which is to say that nobody I was interested in was interested in me- and of course I was never interested in anyone who was interested in me. I’ve been down that road so many times that the tar waves at my shoes. As the waiter in Old School says “Love. Eeet’s a motherf*cker.” Anyway, before I dehydrate from crying anymore, here is a copy of my new personal ad. I’ve tried to accentuate my positives and have completely avoided my negatives (Of which I have none). As Hemingway told me in Midnight in Paris – “You’re too self-effacing! It’s not manly!”
Hello, my name is Siddharth. I’m the f*cking man. Awesome awesome awesome guy. I love me. If you ask me, there’s no better guy than me. I’ll take a lie detector test on that if you want. I’m no braggart but pardon me while I brag a little. I’m usually quite modest but when in Rome, no? I know that doesn’t sound quite right, boasting about being modest but come on, that’s nitpicking isn’t it? If you ask my friends about me, they’ll respond by saying “WHO?” or by laughing because I don’t bother having friends who wouldn’t laugh at a question like that. If you ask my best friends, I imagine they will tell you that I am a complete psycho and a dangerous one at that. And one with many horrible contagious diseases (both mental and physical) that they wouldn’t wish on their worst enemy. Or at least I hope they would say that because otherwise they wouldn’t be my best friends. And I would say the same for them. My truest and most trusted friends would use this opportunity to disparage me to no end, scare you a bit, confuse you a bit more, assassinate my character and absolutely paint me out to be everything you fear/despise/loathe/are allergic to and then they would casually and generously add on at the very end as you walk away “no, no, heh heh, aside from that he’s a good guy!” And they would be right because as I said at the outset, I’m the best. I know many people claim to be the best, but today you have come upon true bestness. For you see…
I am a gentleman. I hold doors open and close them as well. I push and pull them depending on what the situation calls for. I am a supporter of the arts (I watch a lot of movies). I am tall, but not freakishly so. I have no (very) major blemishes on my face. My acne is not as bad as it once was. All that remain are light scars. I don’t do drugs, at the moment. But I don’t mind if you do. Depending on which ones and how often. I don’t eat ice cream for breakfast. Except maybe sometimes on Sundays during football season (If I wake up late enough). I once made twelve straight free throws. I’ve never murdered anyone, even those scumbags who completely deserved it. I’m generous enough to always give you a ride home or some spare cash but I’m not generous enough to give you the last bite or let you hold the remote control. In other words, I’m not stupid. So don’t even try to take advantage. I’m a gentleman. But I can be a bit dodgy if needs be. The coolest thing I ever did was I was in a laundromat and I saw a little Mexican kid at an arcade machine with his parents. They put a quarter in and they tried to direct the big mechanical claw toward a specific toy doll and they missed it and the kid was upset but either the dad didn’t want to try again, or didn’t want to fail again or maybe he didn’t have another quarter so I checked my pockets and I had one last quarter and I walked right up to that machine and I asked the kid to point out which toy he wanted and he did and sure as hell I directed that mechanical arm right, back and down to that f*cker and I got it locked in the claw, the claw dropped it in a metal chute, I pulled it out of the basket underneath and stuffed it right in the boy’s hands all in one motion like the best Alley-Oop dunk of all time and they were a bit stunned but the cool part actually was that they never said thanks but I was thrilled because for the first time I didn’t even want them to. So that was cool for me.
I’m not an expert at arcade games or anything. I guess I’m a regular guy. If regular means f*cking spectacular in every single possible way (except some). To be completely candid, I’m not one hundred percent sure I’m the best guy out here. There may be a charming hilarious piano-playing doctor out here who saves lives everyday. There could be a handsome self-made mogul out here who was volunteering in war-torn nations while I was watching wrestling on TV and eating ice cream sandwiches. There may be a guy here who… a guy who…you know what? I’m just being modest. False modesty too. To Hell with that, I won’t lie to you anymore. I’m better than all these clowns. I guarantee it. Sorry, Doctor. Later, humanitarian. It’s my time, bozos.
To you reading this: At this very moment, You stand alone in front of the big mechanical claw arcade machine, looking past your semi-reflection in the thick glass for something new and exciting. And I’m the plushest softest funnest brightest-colored squeakiest toy in here. Step up, drop a coin in, see what happens. Why not?
Oh and my mother asked me to add that I look much better in person. So there’s that.
What I’m Listening To: