Having gone through dating for so long and having so many many failures, my mother has decided she needs to intervene with my dating life. You know at this point I’ve not done the best for myself and who is better than my mom to filter out the douche bags? It used to have a much nastier meaning (like an old bitter gossiping bitch) but over the years, the term “yenta” has come to mean a female Jewish matchmaker (Thank you, Fiddler on the Roof) and now my mother has become my yenta.
I can’t view any dating sites at work – everything is blocked. Since mom is yenta now, I’ve given her all my logins and passwords for my various profiles so she checks in daily and then calls me at work to deliver the news of the latest batches. You can imagine that since she’s searching for a future son-in-law and that since I’m her only daughter that my mother is… how shall we say? Well, she’s lethal. I have my very own Patty Stanger and then some. I’ve taken to writing down some of her comments (and yes, she knows I’m blogging this):
“Oh God, this one can’t spell. SHIT CANNED!”
“Oh boy, rosey cheeks and tiny short bangs. Men should not have bangs. It’s just not right. NEXT!”
“You would think these guys would take more flattering pictures if they’re looking for love. This one looks like he’s been out of half-way houses his whole life. And here he is drinking and smoking. Yeah I don’t think so.”
“This one… wait, whats his name? MANDRELL? Thats really his name? Isn’t that from Harry Potter? Fail.”
“This one is shouting to the rooftops about his affection for Disney. Never too old for Disney? Wrong. Wait, which one is he? Oh he’s the big mouth. He doesn’t know he’s gay yet. Maybe you should enlighten him.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You look okay, but you can’t speak. How hard is this? It’s the written word. It’s out there. Try it.”
“This one is holding up an award about him self. Oh next picture he feels the need to distinguish himself from the woman in the photo as though you couldn’t point out the man in that scenario. PLEASE. Next!”
“This latest one… oh honey. He’s a Jewish lilliputian… and upon further investigation might be closeted as well. NEXT!”
“Our next prince is into magic, massages, and oh dear God, he’s wearing a cape. A CAPE! And he cant live without his journal?? He’s a woman! No. No Ben from Bethesda.”
“There’s no meat in this match. You need meat.”
“You could look at him, but he’s got little lips. I dont like little lips. Not that I’m the one kissing them, but I know you don’t like little lips.”
“What is with these males? Our next bachelor is posing in front of his plug in menorah! Yay! Oh the eyebrows. Wait till you see the eyebrows. *a full minute of uproarious laughter* Oh dear dear dear. God love him, he may need a boyfriend. I dunno if he has rouge on cheeks or what but he’s also got a … what do we call it? Peter Pan Renn Fest outfit [inaudible and laughing] and then a pic with a kitty cat. Oh fuck, as though that were not enough, he’s passionate about LIVE THEATER! He needs some cluing in.”
Convo between us:
Her: Why does eharmony keep matching you up with dwarf jews?
Me: Because I’m a giant and that’s how life works. Thank you for breeding with a farm boy full of stocky genetics.
Her: I like that you’re a giant! I want a big tall son-in-law.
Her: He’s got a Shar Pei for a head.
Me: What the hell does that mean?
Her: You know, a deep wrinkly head full of wrinkles. Like the dog.
Me: Oooooh Okay. Thank you for clarifying.
See? She’s lethal!
At least I can look forward to the funny moments at work when I’m having a bad day. Meanwhile I’m in dating hell. I get to a certain point and then I lose interest. Either my mother’s incredibly high standards are starting to get to me or I have *gasp* finally realized that I might just deserve more. Maybe I finally think a little bit higher of myself than before. Then again, I’m not as picky. My mom has high standards because Hello! She’s my mom! She’s looking out for her baby.
So I keep looking and I keep bringing her matches (or the websites do) and then we go from there. I’ve paid for 3 sites and I think I might finally pay for match.com since that one has a guarantee and actually has some decent matches now. We’ll see. I prefer to be a cheap bastard and let my mom do the work as my yenta.
If she fails, I’m going to find a real one and actually pay for it. Look forward to more posts like this. I guarantee that she will have more colorful commentary in the days/weeks to come.