So in the Golden Age of Match.com (2001-2003) I made a deal with myself - I wouldn't give them any money, but I'd go out on at least one (1) date with any girl who approached me. This took mere weeks, actually, before I had a date with a girl who had no picture. The plan was to meet her at her place and figure out next steps; her place was downtown, in a condo with a lovely view of the Space Needle, but the inside was kind of like a polyester explosion that hadn't been vacuumed in a couple months. I briefly met a gay male roommate who glared at me, and we started walking (I had a car but she didn't and was only used to her local sphere of influence). We wound up going for a dyke bar (that charged cover on a tuesday) where buttery nipples were readily available but bourbon wasn't. So as I'm drinking my not-Bushmill's irish whiskey on the rocks, I'm trying to find out what the hell I've attached myself to that evening. It should be noted right off that she was unattractive. I was there only because of my cosmic bargain with myself. She was maybe 40lbs overweight, stringy black hair, and an inability to look me in the eyes. So - what does she do? She goes to school. She's in math right now. Like, calculus? No. Pre calc? No. Algebra? Algebra was a word she recognized; she mentioned that she was only five classes away from algebra. I tried to do the numbers in my head and deduced that she was currently making her way through Numbered Blocks 101 or possibly Carry The 4 200. So you're old enough that this isn't a right-outta-high-school adventure, I say (I was 26, she was a little older, I think). Well, yes, she says, she dropped out of high school and only recently got over a crippling crystal meth habit. Hmm. Best not discuss that. I'm not even sure how it came up - we discussed travel. She mentioned that she really liked New York City. Oh? And when were you in NYC? "wheniwasonrickilake" ...she says, and sips her green cocktail. Beg pardon? I say. "When I was on Ricki Lake." Now she looks me in the eye. As it turns out, she thought she'd been flown in for a makeover (don't they always). And she found herself on a show titled "I'm Your Gay Roommate And I Want You To Have My Baby."
So... you had a gay male roommate... and he wanted you to have his baby, I say. More than somewhat incredulously. "Have," she says. This was when? I ask. "About four months ago." Drained the whiskey. Tabbed out. Walked her back to her apartment. She invited me in - you can bet I had to work early the next morning. Roommate glared at me again. And I went home and had still more whiskey.
She called me two weeks later. She'd been laid off from her job in the call center at Qwest. She wondered if I had any leads for her.
Sir, you win. Everything. Forever. That said, I do have a tale told to me about a friend of a friend (no, really). He met this lady at a bar, they hit it off, and she invited him back to her place. He's very happy with this because he thinks he's going to get laid. When he walks in, the place has this eerie mood lighting and he can't see shit. He goes to sit down on the sofa when he realizes there's something already there. He jumps up and as his eyes adjust he makes out someone hooked up to feeding tubes and a ventilator. The lady must have noticed his surprise because she said, "What's the matter, haven't you seen a special needs child before?" It turns out she had this kid who she was keeping alive on all these machines so she could collect a welfare check from the government. At this point a trucker randomly shows up at the door and the lady lets him in. Our man is thoroughly freaked out at this point. As if the "special needs child" weren't bad enough, this trucker has turned up and it was never supposed to be a three-way deal. So he makes his excuses and gets the hell out of there, but as he's making his retreat the lady calls after him, "If the noise from the feeding tubes is bugging you, I can turn them off!"
Oh, I dunno, man. That right there sounds like something David Lynch and John Waters would come up with while waiting for David Cronenberg to get back from the beer run. There are actually three Match.com stories. I don't mind being happily married at all.
As someone who was not yet a teen at that point, and had no concept of online dating, what made that era the "golden age"?