I have an account on a dating site. But I never use it. Unless I want to depress myself. Then I use it.

It’s easy to depress oneself on an online dating site – especially if A) you know for a fact you’ll never find the person you want online and B) all your “matches” are either really unattractive or cover their profile with flowery prose that’s so full of sh*t there’s no room for actual talent.

Aside from the shirtless mirror shot attached to a Faulker-esque description of New York City in the winter or a predisposition for “coding computers”, there’s nothing that turns me off faster than when one of my weird, douchebag-like “matches” has NPR listed as one of their loves. Which is strange. Because I love NPR.

I love being serenaded on long Sunday car rides by Ira Glass’s calming monotone during This American Life. I enjoy All Things Considered, BBC World Service updates, and the occasional funny op-ed by a slightly famous quirky writer. I feel comfortable with NPR’s obvious liberal bias – as I myself own such a bias – and there’s nothing better than sitting alone in my apartment with a glass of wine as deep-set, unhurried voices click their well versed tongues against my eardrums. NPR is like a womb. A liberal, literary, sophisticated womb where I take comfort at least twice a day (if not more).

So why the shuddering when I notice a potential mate might enjoy themselves some Fresh Air with Terry Gross?

I’m not sure, exactly. Maybe because most of the people I know who listen to public radio are bleeding heart liberals, and even though I consider myself one of those bleeders (with a shot of hippie thrown in), I get a little nervous when a guy describes himself that way. Read More »

Today, while in the throngs of a I’m -So -Bored -At -Work -I’ll -Check -Facebook -One -More -Time mood, I happened to come across some pictures on another friend’s profile of a boy I used to have a massive crush on. I mean, we’re talking a two year long ordeal here; 720 days of being very conscious of this boy’s existence. We had a few classes together my senior year, which only made things worse—or better, depending on the day. He was everything I currently want in a man: adorable, socially conscious, smart, hilarious, a snowboarder, slight hippie tendencies, sweet…did I mention he had dimples? I’m surprised I didn’t go blind from his cuteness. He made me understand how people can become psycho stalkers who stand outside windows and watch their obsessions sleep.

Hmm. Maybe that was too much information. Anyway. Moving on.

Looking at him in those pictures, and then checking out his profile, made me realize he was even more perfect for me than previously imagined. If our tiny About Me sections and Favorite TV sections were any indications of how compatible we’d be, Cute Hippie and I would be inseparable. And what does he do for a job? Why, he’s a teacher! For special needs kids. God. Perfection in Birkenstocks. Read More »