J-Date

As much as my Grandmother would like me to be a part of this massive online dating service for Jews, I’m not. But last night, after attending “The Best Emerging Jewish Artists” show at the Museum of Jewish Culture, I thought about it. Perhaps it was because every single comedian on stage made some joke about their J-Date experience and how terrible it was. What I took from that was: Hey, that comedian was on J-Date. And he’s pretty funny and kinda cute.

They also all made jokes about what it’s like to be a stand up comedian in a holocaust museum. Yeah, that never got old.

So last night at 2am, when I was tossing and turning thinking of Hitler and bad shiksa jokes, I actually went against all my prior beliefs and started checking out what the Internet had to offer in the way of future Jewish husbands. Are you reading this Aunt Kathy? Be sure to tell Grandma.

Le me state for the record that I am not, nor have I ever been an Internet dater. (Okay, I met a dude on Friendster once, but we were just friends). Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong it. I know plenty of attractive, smart, confident people that have dated online. It’s just not for me. I prefer to meet men while drunk in dark bars with loud music, it’s so much more personal.

But here’s the handy thing about online dating (I hear), you can specifically pick and choose exactly what you want. And since right now I’m looking for an attractive half-Jew in his early thirties that lives in the West Village, owns a Bernese Mountain Dog and wants to move to San Francisco in a year or two, perhaps J-Date would serve me well. Because I’ve found little success so far hanging out on Greenwich Street and following every man that walks past with a Bernese Mountain Dog. In fact, they’ve all turned out to be married or gay. I could specify on J-Date that I don’t want them to be married OR gay. How ideal.

Then I found out that J-Date is a whopping $34.99/month. Eh, fuck that. The bars are free. And they have vodka.