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OKCupid and Pinot Noir

Who exactly are you hoping to snare with it? Victor asked. “A date.” I said. “Someone to go out for coffee with. A second date at best.”

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Victor looked up from the iPad and said, “Well, it’s cute. The bio is a little blunt and the photos won’t win you any awards. Not exactly Coco Chanel, but I think it’s fine. Who exactly are you hoping to snare with it?”

“A date.” I said. “Someone to go out for coffee with. A second date at best.”

“In Miami?” Victor frowned. He drank a gulp of Pinot Noir and handed the iPad back to me. “And how exactly does this work?”

“You fill out the profile,” I said tapping around the iPad’s screen, navigating around the Web site’s menus. “You upload up a few photos. Answer a ton of inappropriate questions, and the system matches you with other profiles and people looking for the same as you. When you find someone you like, then you Like their profile or send them a message to introduce yourself.”

“I see. And this is different from Scum, how?”

Scruff. Not Scum. It’s different in that it’s a dating site. Not a hook up app.”

“And yet…I spy, with my little eye, the same people on-line as the ones in your social app. Isn’t this all rather…redundant?”

“Victor, I haven’t dated in four years! I don’t know how this works anymore. Aside from you, Armando, Cuca, and a handful of school friends I don’t know anyone in Miami to go out on a date with! I don’t have a social life! I don’t have a social anything.”

Victor looked a little hurt but didn’t say anything. His raised eyebrow was disapproval enough.

“I don’t know, chico,” he said. “Dating shouldn’t be that complicated. Meeting someone shouldn’t be reduced to 500 words, 5 poorly lit and cropped photos, and a list of statistics that doesn’t add up to anything. Scouting, screening, and Googling people for criminal records before a first date is not my idea of romantic. Whatever happened to mystery? Whatever happened to getting to know someone? What happened to buying someone a drink at a bar before driving home for a night of sloppy drunken sex!” He poured himself another glass of Pinot and took another swig.

“I know. I hear you. But this is Miami. You never know what you’re getting.”

“Or how many of their family in tow.” Gulp!

“Victor, I don’t want to end up alone. I’m fifty! I’m running out of time!”

“No, no, no, baby. You’re not. Fifty is the new thirty.”

“But my back! I can’t bend over the way I used to.”

“I know, me either. But still, we won’t end up alone. You or me. I should join too. We could help each other out. Skip the losers and steer towards the winners. A ver, give me the pad.”

Victor tapped on the Quickmatch menu and got the first of several possibilities.

“No.” Tap.

“No.” Tap.

“No.” Tap.

“No. Oye, this can get a little tedious. No.” Tap!

“Shouldn’t I be the one doing that? After all, I’m the one the profile belongs to.”

“You’re right. Here. Sorry. But I got to tell you, some of these guys look like the ones on Match. Are they the same?”

“It’s likely they’re on both. I guess folk are playing the field, casting a wide net.”

“That’s quite a net. What about that one?”

“He’s in Atlanta.”

“Atlanta? Have we gone through all the possibilities in Miami already?”

“I hope not. Maybe what I’m looking for is not in Miami!”

“Well, keep at it. You’re bound to find someone. You’re fabulous. Who wouldn’t want you?”

“Obviously not MIABEACHMUSCL, or HUNG2MYKNEES, or TWO4FUN, or MASCBTTM, or ICUMINYOU.”

“How lucky for you.”

“I don’t want to appear or seem desperate either.”

“You’re not. Just keep flipping through profiles. You’re bound to find someone. I’m sure.”

“Victor, what if he’s not here. I mean, what if I’m on OKC and he’s on some other dating site? What if all this is a waste?”

“At least you didn’t get dressed and drive all the way to Miami Beach for a bust night. We had a nice, quiet evening at home with this lovely Pinot. Isn’t it nice? Don’t you like it?”

“I do. It is nice. But…”

“But…?”

“But…it would be nicer to have a Pinot with someone who kisses you in between sips.”

Victor gave me a stare, lips pursed, holding his breath as if in a bit of a panic.

“You’re right. Gimme that thing. How do you sign on? Escape, escape, escape! Dammit! Sign out so I can create my profile. No, wait! Let me get my own iPad. Set it up for me. Then we’ll sit here, drink more Pinot and cruise—no, look at profiles together. You can help me with my bio. I’m so bad at that. You’re the writer after all. We’ll make a night of it. Let me grab another bottle and we’ll set it up. It’ll be better than driving up to Fort Lauderdale and hanging out at a bar. Who knows, maybe we’ll both find a man. Someone who’ll kiss us!”

“Someone who’ll call us!”

“Someone to date!”

“A date! How long has it been?”

“Ages!”

“A long time for sure!”

“Well, then, let’s get started. What do you want your profile name to be?”

About the author Walter

Walter lives and works in and around South Florida. When not practicing or studying acupuncture, you can find him at one of Miami’s beaches, or in a coffee shop lost in the pages of a good book. Walter enjoys diverse interests such as reading Tarot, practicing Qi Gong and Tai Chi, learning Buddhist dharma, practicing shamanic healing, writing for his blogs, reading Oriental philosophy, traveling to new places and old favorites, exploring contemplative photography with his iPhone, sitting quietly in meditation, practicing healthy fitness, and promoting wellbeing.

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