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(Recent lesson: excellent spider killer, though squeals like a little girl.
Utilitarian ** Let’s be honest—one of them was a dating rite of passage.
Two: It’s impossible to make objective judgments about people you’re interested in romantically.
As I revisited my scores, I noted I’d given one hot guy a stellar conversation score.
His sex score was off the charts, but on our first meeting he talked at length about HIPAA requirements in relation to e-mail correspondence. I am not the outdoorsy type; I even listed “hiking avoidance” as a hobby in my profile. Even so, I managed to find more than 20 Portlanders who didn’t a) have a tent-building tryout on the first date, b) have gluten allergies, or c) already know me.
I realize that doesn’t sound very interesting; you might be surprised to learn it’s even Ok Cupid was the catalyst for the majority of my dates. (In Portland, you I went to Build-Your-Own-Burrito Night at Ron Jeremy’s sex club, wherein the big shock of the evening was that they ran out of tortillas.
I sifted through literally thousands of pictures of men standing on mountains in hiking gear. I attended a fellatio class in North Portland wherein I learned that the proper etiquette after accidentally grazing your classmate with your practice dildo is to bow slightly and say, “Apologies.
Additionally, I could add the ability to freeze header rows to my Microsoft Office skill set. I set up categories, allowing for ratings on a scale of 1 to 10 in each, as follows: Smart, Funny, Finds Me Funny, How Attracted I Am to Him, How Attracted He Is to Me, Interesting Job He’s Passionate About, Good Conversation, Sex, Likes to Talk About Ideas, and My Overall Affection for Him. Or, one that would bite me in the ass, but only if I asked it to. There-could-be-a-small-colony-of-elves-in-my-vagina-baking-cookies-for-all-I-know-because-no-one’s-been-up-there-to-check single (though that would be a loud and delicious-smelling enterprise to hide, and thus seemed unlikely). I resolved that I’d be up for whatever came my way. I began with a humiliating but necessary public Facebook request: friends—set me up, give me advice, find me options!In March, we had an escapade that would have ratcheted his sex score up to 10. And in the summer, when I went through a weeks-long anxiety episode that left me feeling broken and too crazy to love, I learned that he was deeply kind and even more forgiving. Other categories I’d left off: thoughtfulness, gratitude, physical affection, slightly waking up and making a sweet “Mmmm” noise whenever I make him the little spoon, and an encyclopedic knowledge of Gerald Ford’s “Halloween Massacre” cabinet reorganization in 1975.In April, after I straight-up peed my pants in his kitchen during a mortifying coughing fit, his score for unflappability went off the charts. One: Rating people on a scale of 1 to 10 in a romantic capacity is simplistic, reductive, and, if I’m honest with myself, kind of gross.
I discovered I had a preference for the tall and the bearded (the second a virtual requirement if you’re dating men in Portland).