Dating 2.0

Everyone seems to be online dating. I’m not sure I understand this. This means that on any given day, at any given time, with any given person you meet, there could be multiple online versions of their personality floating around in cyberspace. Their Facebook self, their Match.com self, their OKCupid self. All these virtual renderings consist of carefully edited lists of the books and movies and music that they like, what their ideal first date would be, how much money they make, how they feel about God, their level of education, if they’re ‘fit’ or if they have ‘a little extra’, and blah blah blah.

Then there are the even more carefully selected photos. The perfect angle, the perfect lighting, the perfect composition that says, “Hey, I’m attractive, I could be your soul mate, I’m probably fantastic in bed, I don’t take myself too seriously, and I happen to like all the same crap that you do! Message me!” Is this really how people meet nowadays?

There are so many sites to choose from that even the platform you select seems to say something about you. Do you use a free site or do you actually pay for this garbage? (No judgment.) Do you use a site that only makes heterosexual matches, or do you intentionally use Chemistry.com because they accept everyone, and you’re an open-minded person?

And let’s not forget the corresponding smart phone apps for each site so that you can always be connected. Check your matches while waiting in line at the bank! While riding in the elevator! While waiting for your food at a restaurant! What happened to looking around while waiting in line at the bank, on the elevator, or at the restaurant because there might be a hot girl or guy right behind you – you know, in the flesh! Gasp! I’ve witnessed people checking their matches while out at the bar, or at a party, or in line at the bank. What if you miss your next great date (or relationship) because while you were busy fiddling with your phone, your life was busy passing you by?

Online dating is a steaming pile of dogshit. Of all the wonderful couples that I am blessed to know and love, and there are a lot, there is only one – ONE! – who met online. They are the exception-turned-urban legend whose story people tell to their lonely friends and relatives to convince them to try online dating. To be fair, their story is beautiful, as are all stories of true love. They fell in love, moved across states to be closer to one another, and eventually got married. I believe they’ll have a strong, lasting marriage. Not that marriage is everyone’s goal, I certainly don’t need a relationship to lead to marriage to consider it successful….

But where was I? Oh yeah, at the giant steaming pile of dogshit. Here’s why: at the end of the day, after all your lists of music and books and movies have been compared and evaluated, and you’ve ascertained the person’s views on God and education and the death penalty, it doesn’t really matter. None of it really matters because it is totally impossible to account for the miracle of human chemistry in an online setting. Without chemistry on every level – intellectual, emotional, physical – you cannot have a relationship. Without at least a little chemistry on every one of those levels I can’t even have good sex. Chemistry doesn’t mean that two people like all of the same things. In fact, that’s boring. Chemistry is the spark, the intrigue, the passion. It’s what pulls two people together, even in the most unlikely settings and circumstances. And although I can’t define it concretely or draw you a diagram, I know it when I feel it. Like every person on the planet.

Today, right now, in the year of our Lord two thousand and ten, there are no more people going on first dates, getting into relationships, or getting married than there were in 1985, before online dating existed. Online dating doesn’t increase your chance of meeting someone with whom you’ll spark, so here’s the question: why do it? Why do it?? Has the Internet revolution so stunted our social skills that we don’t know how to meet people in person anymore? Ladies, are we too lazy to do our makeup and go to the bar (or grocery store, or bank, or elevator) and make eye contact and flirt? Guys, is shaving and throwing on a clean shirt really so difficult that you’d prefer to sit in your room, glued to your computer monitor, scouring the Interwebs for the next love of your life? I realize that prior to this past year, I was single for a period of only two months in between a two year and a five year relationship, so I don’t have a lot of experience dating in any format in the past decade, but has the game changed so much? Is this Dating 2.0?

If it is then I’m screwed. My palms start to sweat just thinking about this possibility. I signed up for a free online dating site for a period of about three weeks several months ago. It was, as expected, just enough time to get creepy messages from all manner of creepy, socially awkward weirdos (including a man with creepy horns implanted on his head, creepy caps on his teeth that looked like fangs, and a giant tattoo of a creepy lizard/dragon across his creepy chest), and go on two blah dates. Single guys, I beg you, put down your smart phones! Log off of your Match.com profile! Come to the bar! Go to the bank tomorrow! Open your eyes! There are wonderful single women all around you. Including me. I’d love to go on a second date. (You know, a second date? That’s the one that comes after a good first date? It’s OK, I understand, you haven’t been on one of those in a while.)

The truth is that I’m a snob. I don’t want to meet someone online. Does this make me a non-line dater? Some friends tell me that the medium shouldn’t matter, if I want to meet someone I shouldn’t discriminate, I shouldn’t judge. But I don’t want to meet someone, I want to meet one very special person. And I don’t want to meet him online. I’d rather meet him in a bookstore, or at a stoplight, or in an elevator, or at the bar, and I’m perfectly happy waiting for him for as long as it takes. Whatever he’s doing is just exactly what he has to be doing in order to meet me at just exactly the right time. And honestly, if he misses the bus and never shows up and I’m on my own for the rest of my life? Why exactly would that be a terrible tragedy? I will certainly be in no short supply of love and companionship because I have incredible friends and an amazing family. And, having narrowly escaped what certainly would have ended up as a failed marriage between two people utterly wrong for each other, being happy and alone is greatly preferable to being miserable with someone else.

In summation, to the pro-online daters out there who label me a cynic and a snob, I say (with the deepest love and affection), “Screw you.”

Now who’s coming to the bar with me?

Both Sides Now

by Joni Mitchell

Rows and flows of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I've looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As ev'ry fairy tale comes real
I've looked at love that way

But now it's just another show
You leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care, don't let them know
Don't give yourself away

I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It's love's illusions I recall
I really don't know love at all

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say "I love you" right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I've looked at life that way

But now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I've changed
Well something's lost, but something's gained
In living every day

I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all
I've looked at life from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

Love vs. Marriage

I’ve been to a few weddings now since The Great Breakup of 2009. At first I was afraid I’d never be able to go to a wedding again in my life, but somehow I am finding more and more comfort in each one I attend. There is something about watching two people who love and respect each other exchange vows of marriage that they actually mean that resonates in my lover’s heart, bruised as it still may be.

On Saturday one of my younger cousins got married. During the ceremony the pastor said something like, “Marriage is not only choosing the right partner, but also being the right partner.” Shaun and I never could have been the right partners for each other. I tried for so long to turn him into so many things that he is not. Shame on me for doing that to someone I loved. Shame on me for doing that to myself.

In the past six months I’ve started to realize that a wedding is not important to me. A marriage – in the traditional sense of the word – is also not important to me. I just want love. Love wins. I want a real man who will really love me who I can really love back. I expect finding such a relationship to be one of the greatest challenges of my life. I plan to be exceptionally picky this time around. No settling. I want what I deserve.

Collections

When I think about my childhood my memories get lost in songs. Sometimes it’s an entire album of songs – like Paul Simon’s Graceland, which reminds me of driving to Wisconsin every summer with my mom and little brother. I can still see the inside of mom’s old Buick. I remember arriving at Aunt Mary’s house in Green Bay amidst the overwhelming birth of the Bay flies. Mom had to turn the windshield wipers on to clear their buggy guts from the glass.

Other times it’s just one song, like Leon Russell’s A Song For You. My parents were going out somewhere some night, to a party that required dressing up and the proper application of cologne and perfume. Dad was ready to go, mom was not. I sat curled up in one of the chairs in front of the speakers in our back room and watched my dad smoke a cigarette while the song played. I remember how long and wavy his hair was, and how he smelled of Old Spice, and the falling notes of Leon Russell’s opening piano.

I remember how, at age four, I danced around that same back room to Pat Benatar’s All Fired Up while wearing my tulip embroidered tutu. I couldn’t dance too wildly, otherwise mom’s record would skip.

I remember getting scared watching Thriller with my dad and running to hide under my bed. I was only three then. I eventually came out of my room in time to see Michael’s scary yellow eyes at the end. My dad still loves that song.

I remember the day mom and dad got their new mattress delivered. The box spring and mattress were on the floor in the family room while mom swept and mopped their bedroom floor. I laid down on the new mattress, still enclosed in its protective plastic, and she played Phoebe Snow’s Poetry Man over and over and over again.

I remember cranking Lenny Kravitz’s Fly Away while driving down some Florida highway in mom’s Chevy Astro, with my brother in the passenger seat. We needed some time away from the parents that vacation. I wonder if he remembers that?

Recently I went through my parents’ vinyl collection. They have not owned a functioning record player in almost two decades, but they still have their albums. Looking at their library I could see a bit of what each of my parents must have been like before they met, before they got married, before they had babies. I could see a bit of what they were like when they were each my age. I could see how they’ve each had their influence on me. Mom wasn’t allowed to listen to The Beatles as a kid, so she had things like The Boston Pops Play The Beatles! The 60s version of Kidz Bop, I imagine. She also had Gordon Lightfoot and Carole King and Stevie Wonder and Aretha Franklin and actual Beatles albums, acquired after age eighteen I’m sure. Dad had Jimi Hendrix and lots of Santana and Robin Trower and Chaka Kahn and The Who.

I wonder who will look at my collections someday, attempting to learn a thing or two about me from what I have gathered over the years. Maybe it will be my music, maybe it will be my books, maybe it will be my friends. I’d be fine being judged by any of these things. Now ex-boyfriends on the other hand, is a totally different story. Let’s hope no one ever judges me based on that collection. Let's just stick to the music.

Proper Goodbyes

Lately I’ve started to write a lot of things that never seem to get finished. Even my journal entries are becoming difficult to complete. Two nights ago I fell asleep while writing and woke up to find a semi-coherent sentence that slowly devolves into oblivion, sliding off the page with one giant gash of black ink. The next morning the pen was still in my fingers. Re-reading it I was tempted to put a giant red X through the entire entry. Or just torch the journal and start over. I’ve been filling up journals with nonsense for years, and for what? So someone can read them some day long after I’ve taken my last breath and realize what an idiot I was – especially about men? Useless.

I suppose it’s not just journal entries that I can’t finish, I don’t seem to be able to go the distance with a relationship either. I don’t know how people manage to stay married for thirty years without getting sick of one another. Maybe I’m like a relationship sprinter. Or maybe I’m in the wrong race. Or maybe it’s not a race and I just don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

Thinking back on all the goodbyes I’ve exchanged with men in my life, it’s painfully obvious that in every case I knew what would bring about the end of things long before things ever ended. Sometimes it was on a first date, sometimes it was after a few weeks, sometimes it took two years. In every single case I can remember a moment where I thought, I should not be with this person, but of course I almost never said or did anything about it. I wonder how much heartache I could have saved myself by speaking up?

Maybe it was something superficial – like a ridiculous outfit or an off-color joke; or maybe it was serious – like showing up for a lunch date with a hickey or writing me a rubber check for half the rent. Regardless of what the indicator was, the point is that such indicators actually existed. And I ignored them. That I can remember so many of them with such clarity tells me I ought to trust my instincts a little more in the future. Had I paid better attention they would have served me well.

What my instincts tell me now is that some day, possibly soon, I will be told that my company is no longer wanted. That my kiss is no longer exciting. That it was fun while it lasted, but it’s no longer comfortable to fall asleep next to me. I know this will hurt a little bit, but I will appreciate the honesty. Honesty is important. From now I on I will be honest with myself. Especially about proper goodbyes.

Look at that. I finished something.

Please Me Like You Want To

Leaving me is the least that you could do....

The Guys They Are A-Changin’

It’s hard to find a good man these days. I blame Jack Nicholson for this. I’d like to introduce my first piece of evidence. (Well OK, it’s really my only piece of evidence. Quit being so damn picky.) Watch this:



What the characters in this scene fail to realize is that generally it is not, in fact, a compliment when a man tells a woman that she makes him want to be a better person. Or that he will change X about himself in order to date her/sleep with her/get her back/marry her. They are not alone in this misunderstanding; it’s rather popular these days. Just ask John Legend. Or any one of my ex-boyfriends. I guess it’s easy to see why so many people, both men and women, might see this expression as a form of flattery. “You mean you’d give X up for me? How amazing!” But it’s really not amazing. At all. Allow me to explain.

Plenty of couples fall in love every day. Sometimes (frequently if you happen to be me) one half of the couple does not have their shit together. There are varying levels of Shit-Togetherness, ranging from the truly horrifying Can-You-Blow-In-This-Straw-To-Start-My-Car-So-We-Aren’t-Late-For-The-Movie? to the not so terrible I-Should-Probably-Get-Around-To-Opening-That-IRA-I-Keep-Talking-About. Depending on where a man falls on this scale, certain eff-ups – even biggish ones – may be overlooked. Sometimes they can be overlooked for quite awhile under extenuating circumstances. And often blame lies with the woman for not knowing what she wants and needs in a partner. But eventually all that outstanding shit is going to hit the fan, hard, and if the woman in this scenario is a woman worth having she will probably leave. Suddenly the man will realize that he has lost something amazing and, correctly recognizing this (maybe for the first time), he will offer to change in order to get her back. When this promise to change occurs before the first date – in order to secure a first date even – it often starts small before snowballing into a monster. Case in point:

Dude: [lights up a cigarette, the same kind he’s been smoking every day for a decade]

Girl: Oh, you smoke? I don’t date smokers. I’ll just be going now.

Dude: Wait! [violently squishes cigarette in a nearby ashtray] I’ve been meaning to quit for years now anyway. I can quit for you. [starts twitching, tries not to pull out another cigarette, hands book of matches to Girl]

*Sigh*

It’s really all downhill from there. He might try to quit smoking, sort of, but sooner or later, when he’s had a particularly craptastic day and she’s not around, he’ll go to the store and buy a pack and chain smoke the whole thing. He’ll brush his teeth three times and drink half a bottle of Scope, wash all the laundry in his house attempting to eradicate the smoky evidence, and the second she walks in the door she’ll say, “Has someone been smoking in here??” He’ll start to resent her for having to sneak around just to do something he’s always done, something he enjoys and that makes him feel good. She’ll be disappointed that he’s not keeping his word. Things will end badly. It’s a slippery slope.

So Maria, you ask, if you don’t seem to be complimented by a man’s offer to change for the better, what IS complimentary? So glad you asked, dear reader, I’ll tell you. It’s complimentary when a man takes care of himself so that he can take proper care of the people he loves – including his woman. It’s complimentary when a man takes the time to get to know himself, to understand what he wants out of his life, is deliberate in his actions in order to get what he wants, and then chooses you to be the woman with whom he spends his time. It’s complimentary when a hardworking man endeavors to continue to deserve the woman he loves every single day by choosing to honor her with all his actions. It’s complimentary when a man makes a mistake and actually learns from it. It’s complimentary when a man loves a woman so much that she inspires him to be the best version of himself that he can be.

Of course this all works the same in reverse, good men deserve these same things from their partners. And of course I understand that at the end of the day there is no one on the planet that has all their shit together all the time. No one is perfect, mistakes will be made, and that is OK. I’m not perfect and don’t expect other people to be. We all need companionship, love, and support for the hard times. But at this point in my life I’ve decided that I’m going to look for a man who is on the right end of that spectrum, who is ready for what I’ve got to give, and doesn’t need (or want!) to change his lifestyle in order to be what I need. I’m pretty sure I deserve that. I think this is a good goal for 2010.

Maybe 2011. I’m still having fun being single.

Happy and Sad, Sad and Happy

I can't tell if I'm happy or sad.

Lately I've felt happy. I'm laughing with good friends, laughing with loving family, laughing with handsome men. I've been going out and having a good time. I've been staying in and taking bubble baths. I've been learning how to smile again. But no matter how much I laugh or smile or flirt there comes the moment -- and it inevitably will arrive -- where the twinge of guilt creeps in.

I start to think about the man I almost married and I know that wherever he is, he is most likely not happy. And then I feel sad. Some days I feel happy all day long, laughing, smiling; and when my head hits that pillow I think, "Wow, I didn't miss him today." And then I feel sad. And guilty. Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming about what my life is going to be like from now on and I get excited at the ocean of possibilities that I have in front of me. Then I remember that he's counting down the weeks until he gets sent to Afghanistan. And I feel sad. I still love him and I want more than anything for him to find happiness and peace. To find love again. I worry about him going overseas and pray that he'll come home safely to his friends and his family.

Sometimes I want to call him and tell him that this was not all his fault. I should have realized a long, long time ago that we were not right for each other. But I didn't. I should have been honest with myself about who he was and what we both wanted. But I wasn't. I could have chosen not to hold him responsible for my unhappiness, and placed that burden where it always belonged, with myself. But I couldn't. And I can't call him. I don't want him to see my name on his caller ID and get excited, only to talk to me and get upset. I don't want to hurt him any more.

I just don't want to hurt him any more.

Which is why I don't know if I'm happy or sad. I feel happy, but I feel like being happy is somehow being mean to him. That might be absurd, but it is what it is, and I can't help it. So for now I'll go on feeling happy and sad. And maybe some day soon I'll just get to be happy. I think I deserve it, after having been sad for such a long time.