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402 days. 402 (plus or minus… mostly minus) posts.

Tag: match

Day 37: Not About Dating, Part 3

Good morning, blogeeps… er, blops (What’s the shorthand for “blog readers?”), and happy New Year’s Eve to you.

On this last day of 2012, it seems only appropriate to summarize something—like a year of refusing to date. For most of 2012, I was happily buried in enormous work and dance projects. During the rest of it, I complained about how I stink at online dating.

See past blog posts for parts one and two of the “not about dating” series. You will be riveted.

Over the holidays, I took my friend Russ’s Tweeted advice to play hard to get. I stayed far away from Match and ignored every online message and wink that came my way (there were at least three). I also threw a buffer friend between myself and that guy who approached me at the dance club. I don’t go to clubs terribly often, but when I do, I go to dance, not fraternize. C’mon, man!

In retrospect, playing hard to get isn’t really that fun if there’s only one player.

That said, I do have two prospective real-life interests. Make that three.

1) A former high school classmate who lives somewhere between 1,000 and 2,000 miles away from me. Also, he might be in a relationship. And gay.

2) The cute United Express pilot who smiled at me in the PDX airport yesterday and then proceeded to get on another flight. What’s up with that? Also, I scowled at him. But don’t worry—my internet sleuthing skills rival the best researchers’ out there. I’ll find him and then do nothing.

3) Seth from The O.C. He’s smart, funny, nerdy and plays music in his real life. He’s the best!

Based on my interests, I’d say my next step is therapy.

Here’s to a year in which I avoided dating at all costs, we all survived a non-apocalypse, Girl Scouts turned 100, my friends and I laughed a thousand timessomeone reviewed my Fringe show as “a thing of wonder” and one of my neighbors burned down our dumpster. Bon Voyage, 2012! You truly were a good year.

Day 16: Not About Dating

When people ask me what this blog is about, I always say it’s about everything. And that it’s definitely not a personal journal. Then, I smile and swallow the slightly bitter taste of untruth in my mouth, because sometimes, these posts are journalish. Today is a journalish day. And of all things, it’s journalish day about dating.

Dating has changed immensely in the last decade. Now, everybody meets online. Or so I’m told. A friend of mine styles hair for weddings in her spare time (she runs a non-profit with all her other hours), and she informed me that 90 percent of the weddings she has styled in the last year are for couples who met online. So, at her advice, I signed up for Match.com a few months ago. Having already dabbled in OkCupid, I felt I understood the concept and comfortably knew the ropes.

After some trial and error, here’s what I discovered: I’m just not good at dating, especially online. I’m good at other things—hula hooping, driving in snow, steaming milk, sleeping, etc. But online dating? No.

Once, I wore a nice outfit all day long in preparation for an evening date only to run home, change into a sweatshirt and show up late. I’m not sure what that says about me, but I’m guessing it’s not that I enjoy dating.

Something about my personality disables me from having fun, especially when meeting a virtual stranger (technically, a real-life stranger and a virtual acquaintance). I turn into a puddle of anxiety and cold sweat at the prospect of a date. And I’m not afraid the dude will be a creep; I’m afraid of sheer, unparalleled, anti-chemistry awkwardness. It takes an inordinate number of cells in my body to not cancel a date once it’s set.

The reality is that the few dates I’ve actually attended have been with kind, intelligent and interesting men. The dates aren’t awkward and they aren’t boring. The catch is that they do lack chemistry. Sure, two people can both love Oliver Sacks and hate dog fighting, but loves and hates do not a match make. Science has yet to invent a way to really determine chemistry through the Internet. Until then, I’m not sure it’s for me.