Liars and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!

"It's not that you attract freaks," my cousin always tells me. "There are just a lot of them in the world—and especially in New York City. The law of averages is working against you."

I hope she's right...although a few of the winners I've met recently have sent my inward analytics into overdrive. And for good reason: tired of being at the mercy of the bar scene and random encounters, I'd made the fateful decision to test the waters of online dating.

First up: doctorfoot, who claimed to be an orthopedic surgeon. While some of his (albeit unverified) profile details got an initial thumbs-up (MD, house in Quogue, enjoys surfing in Maui), additional snippets revealed in three 8-minute voicemails (and transcribed verbatim below—coupled with a profile photo of him lying presumably naked in the grass, and another of him ripping off his T-shirt) gave me pause…and just about sent the already world-weary Special K running for the hills. For example:

“My number probably came up as private because I’ve had a couple of patients that were pretty hot—in more ways than one, if you know what I mean—in fact, I still have a patient calling me from 3 years ago...so that's why my phone number comes up unidentified.”

SWEET MARY, mother of God…even if that’s true, isn’t revealing it to, say, an absolute stranger on her voicemail, in flagrant violation of the Hippocratic Oath? Or some other ethical mandate penned by a comparably solemn, toga-wearing Greek scholar?

“I guess I'm not so shy when it comes to talking into voicemail. God is it warm here. Wow! I'm driving with the window down.”

Uhhhhh...not even sure how to respond to this.

[Cut to image of highway patrolman addressing doctorfoot through driver’s side window, after pulling him over for driving erratically: “Sir, for the love of God, please zip up your pants, put the phone down and step out of the vehicle.”]

“I would still love to meet you, talk to you, show you my house in Quogue...I think you'd love it—well, if we get to that point, that is. I'm back in town and enjoying the warm weather here. Anyway, I don't know what your schedule's like. I'm heading to the Hamptons now, but I could always turn around and come back tonight to see you. Not too troubled about the rain.”

Heavens to Murgatroid! Danger, Will Robinson! Abort, abort!

Next suitor: pjinpajamas. Because...well, his name is PJ, and he works from home in his pajamas, silly! Allegedly as a music producer for a major record label. He also claimed to have a bachelors degree in “nonverbal communication” (apparently that’s something one can major in—who knew!), and moonlights as a mixed martial arts cage fighter. Not quite on the orthopedic-surgeon-with-house-in-Quogue career trajectory, but, as Special K’s wise old Ukrainian grandmother likes to say, “People bring different qualities to the table.” (Then again, she also says, “When the bills come in the door, love goes out the window,” so good luck reconciling these two truisms.)

The following tidbit from his profile probably should have served as fair warning, but hindsight, as they say, is 20/20:

“I like a woman who (in her suttle way) knows she's the baddest bitch in the room and is not intemadated by others. I don't really have alot of major requirements; or al least I don't think I do, other than you being cute; I mean, i'm hot so you gotta be (HA!).”

Uuuuuhhhhhhhhh...

Additional gems not listed in his online profile:

• Gang member who keeps several loaded guns in his apartment and claims to have gunned down rival pimps in front of their children. (Sign me up for date #2!)

• Uncanny ability to offend the usually unflappable Special K by asking her, sight unseen, if she resembled the "Ugandan Giant," in response to learning that she was a tall drink of water and, God forbid, taller than him. Like she's looking in a mirror!

• Claims to have been a porn star (naturally!).

• His ex-wife, a born-again lesbian (jackpot!), looks just like me.

• Told a story about exorcising a demon out of his mother with a Bible in hand, at the instruction of his grandmother, which is why he can't quite let go of his Christian beliefs.

• Checks his online dating account once every 3-4 hours, on average.

And so it goes in the wacky world of cyber-dating. Our favorite gorgeous gal Cindy, who recently broke up with her boyfriend of 10 months, was somewhat startled to learn, having stumbled upon his newly resurrected dating profile (accompanied by requisite sensitive-guy portrait of him strumming guitar with creepy, beatific expression on his face), some interesting new facets of his persona that she’d somehow never uncovered...despite their distinctively John-and-Yoko dating dynamic of almost a year. Such as:

He speaks Italian. (Mi dispiace, ma non e vero. Special K traveled on vacation with him to bella Roma, and barely heard him utter more than a half-hearted “si” in italiano. Bugiardo!)

He absolutely loves dogs! (His adverb and punctuation. Cool...but who doesn't? Methinks the lady doth protest too much.)

He drinks socially. (I guess, if drinking tequila daily while home alone is considered social. Alas, significantly more difficult to compartmentalize, articulate and incorporate into JDate profile: daily weed smoking and raging coke habit.)

He's 5'7". (Um...perhaps while standing on the phone book. See Rule #67 of the Idiot's Guide to Online-Dating-Profile Writing: always add at least 2" to your actual height, gentlemen.)

He loves your stories—and his! (After much consideration, still no frigging idea what this means.)

As Kierkegaard (a comparably solemn, non-toga-wearing Dane) argued, maybe the truth really is subjective after all.