J-Date Hates You, Shiksa

So I made a profile on J-Date. My username was Shiksa and my password was MerryChristmas!—I was trying to be honest about who I am.

Anyway, apparently whoever is behind the computer shenanigans at J-Date headquarters caught wind of me and didn’t like the sniff.  Because when I called them a few days ago to see why my password wasn’t working, they told me that my account had been suspended.

“But why?” I asked.  “Is it because I’m not Jewish?”

“Of course not,” the customer service representative told me, chuckling.  “We would never do a thing like that.”  She cleared her throat.  “It just seemed to us that your particular account seemed fraudulent…in some…other way.”

I twirled my blonde hair.  “Could you be more specific?”

“No,” she said.  “It would allow you to continue to defraud us.”  She told me to send them a copy of my driver’s license and proof of my billing address, and emphasized that they would not accept such information via email.  “It must be faxed,” she emphasized.  “Email is too easy to tamper with.”  So I spent the rest of the afternoon wrestling with the fax machine, an apparatus that I am not entirely familiar with, and at the end of the day the J-Date representative called back to say that they had received all 50 copies of my license and redacted bank statement, and that my account had been reinstated.

“Ah yes,” I said, wincing at my predilection for pressing the same button (in this case, the send button) over and over when a machine seems not to be functioning.

I don’t know why I was so desperate to be on J-Date.  And in fact, any explanation of why I’m on the prowl for Jewish dudes tends to sound a little weird—anti-Semitic, even.  The way that some white girl loudly explaining to her girlfriends about how she prefers “big black cock,” could sound obnoxious and even vaguely racist despite its laudatory undertones.  A little too: “I am a person who is accepting of differences such as [INSERT SEEMINGLY OPENMINDED WORDING OF STEREOTYPE HERE].”

But I wouldn’t be lying if I admitted that my favorite boyfriends have been Jewish.  Justin let me talk his ears off and provided thoughtful analysis of many of my fears. Noah responded to my guilty admission that our time-honored Wisconsin State Fair made me sweaty/nervous, anxious/depressed with, “I love you.”  My most recent, non-Jewish boyfriend once told me I worried about stupid things—but Simon commiserated, saying that he shared my almost constant sense of impending doom, and was especially afraid of large objects falling out of nowhere from the sky onto his head.

Maybe I liked that they were as neurotic as I am?  Is that an anti-Semitic thing to say?

In any case, J-Date may hate shiksas, but I still love Jews.  And I’m happy to be back on the site—though, unfortunately, I live in New York and all my messages so far have been from men in Florida, Canada, and Ohio. The only man from Manhattan who messaged me wore John Lennon sunglasses in every one of his pictures.  My coworkers say I should ignore these suitors altogether—go out to a bar or something, for goodness sake—and perhaps start a blog called Nay-Date, wherein I post pictures of these potential suitors along with my reasons for not wanting to pursue a relationship with them.  And maybe I will.  Once my J-Date subscription runs out.

In the meantime, though, I’ll continue to respond guiltily to the ones who scare me, hoping in my heart that the cute ones will get in touch eventually.

Speaking of which anyone who’s reading this should feel free to get in touch with me.  Just search “shiksa” on J-Date.