As I revisited my scores, I noted I’d given one hot guy a stellar conversation score.Months later, I talked to him again, and it was one of the most awkward conversations of my life.
The other came about because he was cute and funny and staying in a really nice hotel and my car was locked up after hours in a parking garage.
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. ) one-night stands, which seemed out of character for me at the time but which I see now as a dating rite of passage.** 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 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. 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.
And if I had updated his scores as we dated, things would have changed considerably.
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.