The nun ensign ventures into the world of on-line dating (Toronto)

When I initially toured JDate as a non member, I was not impressed. Each time I searched for nice, Jewish boys in the 416 / 905 area codes, I kept getting the same shmoes from Kalamazoo and Des Moines. Give me a break.  But after I slogged through entering my personal information (a more rigorous process than applying to graduate school), the JDate world opened up to me like an peony unfurling its petals. (Yeah, right.)

Lo and behold, when I finally got to do a proper search, if you can believe it I had 69 matches.  My first reaction was amazement that there were actually at least 69 single Jewish guys in Toronto! (Well, 68 actually. I believe “Jill”, with the “slender, petite figure” is probably wondering why she hasn’t received any e-mail messages….)

One after another I read through them. I felt like a voyeur peering into the inner workings of our virile young Jewish future. This medium levels the playing field: we are all asked the same questions, and essentially we have the same answers. But what sets us apart is the way in which we package our answers. For example, instead of the ho hum “I have a good sense of humour,” why not write “I have an insatiable appetite for laughter.” You have no idea how many guys wrote they were looking for someone with a “zest for life”.  After about 20 profiles, I hardened. If someone mentioned “attractive”, “zest” or their salary, they were quickly disregarded.

When Aria signed up she was immediately hit with a flutter of interest.  I sign up and… hello?…. single expectant female waiting… good Jewish stock…. Nothing. Until, bing! A little message appeared in my hotmail account: 25917 > 59286 (that’s me!). Giddily I opened the email and saw a minimalist introduction:

Catalina [my dubious JDate name],

I liked your profile.

Hope to hear from you,
Gershon

My first nibble, yippee!  With great curiosity, expectation and optimism I quickly surfed to JDate and excitedly keyed in 25917, this most beguiling number.

{Gasp!!!}

It honestly took my breath away.

My profile clearly states that I am 28 and looking for someone between 28 and 34 (no point in wasting my time with the young ‘uns – I read enough of their profiles to gauge their maturity). Gershon, however, is 40, seeking marriage and children, and is clearly looking for anyone who breathes.

But the worst part, as much as it chagrins me to say it, was his picture. His hairline was exactly like my father’s: a shiny dome surrounded by a curtain of lank hair. His bushy eyebrows were no match for his illustrious moustache suspended from a nose whose nostrils reached for the sky. When I zoomed in I saw an incredibly ugly tie and stains on the collar. I was being courted by garden gnome parading as a used car salesman. I demurred politely.

Time to be proactive.  I earmarked five profiles with potential. Before I was fully emotionally prepared (are you ever fully prepared?), Aria pressured me into the contacting my first target, Corey. Due to our radically different contact strategies (she kept trying to rein in my personality lest I scare off the gents), I sent a very tepid, watery, uninspired message.  Needless to say I never got a response, a blessing given that shortly thereafter I saw him at a social event and he was wearing leather chaps. Oh my.

About a week later I tried again, reaching out to “Gefilte Fish” and “Robert”. I cringe to think I described myself physically as having [groan] “curves and muscles in the right places.” Aaagh, how could I prostitute myself so easily?  Put it out of your mind, Amy….

Happily they both responded. Gefilte Fish sucked up an excessive amount of my time. We exchanged conversational emails that were 14 – 20 pages in length that took me over two hours. While initially I couldn’t believe my luck – he was bright, had a sense of humour, came from Brazil (a latino, yahoo!) – I began to get the sense he was the kind of person who carried a pent-up chest of useless trivia and stories which he felt obliged to share in excruciating detail.  This was confirmed when he left an eight-minute message on my answering machine about going to visit his accountant. He bored me to tears.

Robert, on the other hand, shows some promise. Once I figured out that he was not actually dense but in fact had a very dry sense of humour, I was amenable to meeting up when I return from my trip. Admittedly I am disconcerted by his terrible spelling and his lack of attention to detail (shouldn’t lawyers be good at that?), but I liked the way he took to my proposal of being friends.

Suprisingly, wee Catalina attracted further attention. Bing!  Message from Javier, the randy Argentine. He must have gotten a bulk discount because he also contacted Aria. He wanted my photo just a bit to anxiously, hmmm. Then I was contacted by Michael who said, “By the way, what is your real name? Unless, of course, you are actually really old and like to dress in boy’s clothing.”

(!)

Needless to say, I was surprised and impressed, even if he did ask, “Do you really exist or are you just a dream?”