Cyberlove Sucks

It was 11pm last Sunday; a beautiful night with a pleasant breeze. Rather drunk, I was crossing the lovely Park Avenue and feeling awful. The kind of awful, when combined with alcohol, induces you to call up an old boyfriend on your cellphone and leave philosophical/poetic messages on his voicemail.

Yes, I really did that. Luckily for me, the ex still welcomes such things and doesn't play them aloud to amused friends.

Why did I do this? Well....

Recently, I've been dealing with the various aspects of growing oldER (not old), which I've mentioned here and there in my posts. Strange things like having cuts & bruises healing slower, having a more difficult time maintaining and losing weight, finding it harder to find men, etc. The men thing has put me into a mopey funk.

I decided to go ahead and do the online dating thing. I signed up for two major ones. One because it was convenient, and one because it has tons of those lengthy "psychologist-approved" tests about how you see the world (or really, men). Flashing photos of men up on a screen and having you click on the hotties, and later click on the notties is quite an experience. Apparently I go for the hot guys, though I suppose that shouldn't be a surprise, though it is. I've always had those boyfriends that I thought were hot and my friends thought were "okay." I also go for the "puppy dog" guys who are slightly flawed but awfully cute (awww shucks) and the test also claimed at length how I find a certain chisled chin to my liking. Well!

Anyway, after much weeding out/rejection/hitting the delete button and then finally narrowing down to a precious few, I started emailing. Immediately they all want to meet (a further weeding out process), but I try to put them off so I can at least get to know them a LITTLE bit by email. (Not to mention, if you've been reading, my recent flourish of acne and slight weight gain). After awhile, I decide to just go for it.

I set up "dates" with two guys on Sunday. Both date ideas in and of themselves were very interesting. The first was an "all you can eat crab for $25" in Brooklyn. Armed with a small mallet, the brutal feast continues not so much until you're full, but until you get tired of the endless labor of smashing, picking, and pulling just to extract a tidbit of crabmeat.

The second date was at "The Boathouse" which is a beautiful place set on a lake deep within Central Park. It's very dreamy and romantic and was filled with beautiful people.

Notice how I concentrate on the SETTING and not the men themselves. The men, let's call them Mark and Edward, were both fine people. Both educated, nice men with interesting successful careers. You ask me, yeah, what's the problem?

Well, first of all, the two men who I saw that day were not QUITE what their pictures suggested. From their photos, I thought they were both thin, gorgeous guys with full heads of hair. One was thin, one was not, one was taller than me, one was not, one was balding quite a bit, one was on his way, etc. It's weird when you picture someone in your head and then when you see them...they are just not...quite...the...same. It makes me wonder what I must have looked like to them, though all my photos are pretty recent.

The first guy rides motorcycles, which does interest me a lot since I had one in Bangkok myself, but he seems to straddle the "biker" world which does make me a bit uneasy (due to past experiences with such a world). The black jeans, kick-your-ass black boots, and leather jacket despite the 88 degree weather were clues. He had a brilliant smile, and was okay to talk to, though not necessarily stimulating. Packed in tightly at the restaurant, I found that I started conversing at length with the older couple next to us (whom I had a freakingly large amount of things in common with!). I tried to include him or turn back to him, but it was harder to get the conversation flowing. After the couple left, we mostly got into depth about a personal problem of Mark's which was truly tragic. My heart really does go out to him though it did feel weird for 'first date conversation.'

After lunch we decided to walk off the minute meal through the lovely nearby park. We talked again which was pleasant enough though I don't really remember what we talked about...until...he said, "Remember when you asked me before why my username was absinthe?"

Then began a long conversation about the "misunderstood" liquid that is absinthe. Very well-educated and informed on the subject, Mark talked at length about its unfortunate history, its undeserving reputation (lots of the bad stuff being made by idiots with poor ingredients), and how to make it with an eye to top quality, since he made it himself, with great care. I guess it didn't really scare me. though it did make me emit a loud and long internal groan. Unfortunately I've already had a boyfriend who was way too much in love with his drug of choice, which is something I don't want to go through again, even if Mark is a nice guy. He's not THAT nice.

Soon after we walked back and I headed back home to shower and change for date #2.

I showed up at my second date a bit sweaty and out of breath (always attractive!) since the closest subway to the place was several blocks and avenues away. As the guy waved and came over, I remember my first thought being, again, "He looks different." Then, as he approached, I also noticed, "Oh, he's shorter than me!" Despite these not being dealbreakers, they still do start things off with a skewed first impression.

The guy was nice, intelligent, and seemed to be rather well-off (despite this, he did mooch a half-finished wine bottle left by the couple before us and claimed it was his when the waiter inquired). He was smooth...really really smooth, like slick, slippery smooth. He was only a few years older, but he just FELT older than that. Kind of grimy. I knew he wasn't really into me either, so we chatted amicably for a couple hours and then it was over. I felt relief as I walked away on that cool night, and then I was sad.

I guess what has put me in such a state of melancholy (great word) is that I am just finding it so hard to "make a connection" with a man now. I don't know if it's my age, if it's the fact that I'm not in school where men are as abundant as bean sprouts, or if I have somehow become much more selective. Perhaps it's a combination of the three (though I really don't think I'm any more selective than I was at 22). Maybe I'm less attractive than I used to be and so am not attracting the kind of guys I still like?

I don't know. I just know that as my inebriated self stumbled across the expansive Park Avenue toward the subway station (which I never got on, another long story), I was feeling lost and defeated. I didn't know if I had the stamina to keep doing this. I've never really been the kind of person who goes out on dates, and have never really enjoyed it. I've always found someone in a convenient way and then sprinted on to couplehood and comfort. I was thinking about how I have lived alone and enjoyed it so much for so long that I don't know if I am even that open to "making a connection" anymore. It's depressed me.

Then of course, I thought about whom I have had that connection with, and the old ex-boyfriend popped into my mind. Now unavailable and far far away, I thought about how easy it was with him and how hard it was now and naturally, I felt very sorry for myself. And unfortunately, that's when I got out my cellphone.