My friend Rachel always finds cool stuff online, and this one is no exception. It’s a video of an interactive art installation that was at MoMA last year. By using the data pulled from online dating sites around the world, the piece chronicles the search for love and self, online.
That’s right, way more people than you thought are still wookin’ pa nub. Cold comfort on an even colder January day, I guess. But still a really cool video. Check it out!
I was thinking about it the other day, and realized that this blog probably puts an interesting picture of me forward to the world, particularly in the whole relationship department. Mostly because this is my main forum for whining about being single, other than to a few friends. But now that I’ve made the (perhaps ridiculous) decision to feed this blog to my Facebook account, perhaps I’m going to rethink my blog’s content strategy. Yes, I just used the phrase “content strategy”. I officially have no idea who I am anymore.
Because yes, while I do want to one day grow up and get married and have kids and a house and maybe a dog (but not a minivan, I am here and now calling “no dibs” on the minivan), there are a lot of things that don’t suck about being single. And, as someone whose default setting is essentially “table for 1″, I know from single. Read more…
[Editor's note: I think I wrote this in June. The online dating thing didn't work out this time around. It's not a bad thing. My current situation is... not really something I can comment on at this point.]
So, I’m trying the online dating thing again. And I’m sorry, but it’s REALLY hard to not be judgmental. I’m not even talking about the pictures. Because really, pretty boys have never really done it for me anyway.
OK, I lied. There will be some discussion of the pictures.
But first. Seriously, is it SO hard to spell check (or ask someone to proofread) before you post your profile? I mean, I know words are my thing and I’m sort of a snob about it, but come ON. “Looking for that special women”? Seriously?
Also, how do you expect to meet your so-called soulmate (yep, the word is STILL ruined, thanks, Dawson’s Creek) with a two-sentence profile that’s in all caps. I want to know something about you. How else am I going to compare you to my man-shopping list? I’ll admit, it’s a weird way to look for love, but there’s gotta be something in your profile that piques my interest. Because looks only take you so far, and I want to be in something for the long haul, not just until you get hair plugs.
I’m using a free site this time around, and I’ve noticed that a lot of the dudes will just send you a message like “Hi”. Really? That’s all you could come up with? I mean, thanks for thinking I’m attractive enough to contact, but if you are too damn lazy to take the time to read my profile and maybe even reference something from it in a message, why should I spend my time writing back to you?
And, please have a picture. When I first tried this online thing forever ago, I was pretty wary of putting up a picture. Trust me, it’s worse when they see you in real life and discover that while you may have clicked in online chatting, they’re not attracted to you in the least. And really, you’re not so much into them either. Save everyone the time. Put up a picture.
Actually, scratch that. Put up a GOOD picture. Even take one specifically for the purpose of being your profile picture, and keep taking snapshots until you find one you really like. Wear a nice shirt. Wash your hair. Don’t post a group photo of you and some buddies at a bachelor party — how am I supposed to know if you’re the ugly guy or the really hot one? Or worse, that dude in the back who looks like he’s gonna hurl. Please, don’t include pictures with your ex-girlfriend cropped or blacked out, and webcam shots basically scream “Hey Dateline, put me on ‘To Catch a Predator’!” And please, if you’re going to scan in a photo, learn how to set up your scanner so it crops properly.
Do all that, and maybe we can bond over our shared love of Kevin Smith movies and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia sooner rather than later.
This kind of thing happens a lot. I’ll think about a movie or a TV show, and bam! The episode or movie is on the air within a couple of days. It’s sort of like having my own OnDemand system. And, it’s happening right now.
Of course, last week was the estrogen-a-go-go that was the premiere of the Sex and the City movie. I was one of the hordes there on opening night, though unlike the women who stumbled into the theatre in their too-tall shoes and too-short skirts, I was not dressed in my halloween-costume version of any of Carrie’s hit (or miss) outfits.
Anyway, the movie had some major flaws, but it also had a lot of the heart I loved about the series. I cried. A lot. Which shouldn’t be surprising, considering how much I LOVE the show. But, the movie also got me thinking.
Watching Carrie and Big’s life unfold once more (only this time, on a ginormous screen), I couldn’t help but wonder: is the man I’ve been trying to forget for the past month going to turn out to be my Big? Despite being a neurotic writer, I’ve never fancied myself to be a Carrie Bradshaw-type. Truth be told, I am a dyed-in-the-wool Miranda Hobbes, including often missing the boat, fashion-wise. I hope to get it together at some point, just like she did.
Anyway, back to the Carrie/Big analogy. It’s mostly a case of me going through weeks and months of trying to forget him, to ignore him, to move on to someone who will pay attention to me all the time, not just when it’s convenient for him. Or, more accurately, when he somehow senses that I’m nearly free of the inescapable tethers that keep me tied to him, back he comes and I once again find myself incapable of getting him out of my system.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be romanticizing it by comparing him to the presence that is Chris Noth’s character, and should really start to consider this man to be the romantic equivalent of a urinary tract infection, always popping up when you think you’re finally rid of them for good.
I was doing pretty well with the forgetting. Or, as well as can be expected for a girl who chronically overthinks basically everything. And then, people started talking about him, and one of the nicknames I have for him came up in a completely unrelated conversation. He was haunting me, and I haven’t even seen him in a couple weeks.
Home, alone with only the bunny and my thoughts, the haunting started to take full effect. The thoughts, the wondering, the thinking wishful thoughts. And it continued after I fell asleep. Tossing, turning and fitful REM cycles were augmented by dreams that I don’t even remember, except for him. Always him. I woke up at 4. And 5. And finally gave up going back to sleep at 6, when I was haunted by thoughts of him in full consciousness.
And so, I went through my day, trying to banish him to the cobwebby nooks and crannies of my brain. You know, where grade 9 math hides. And everything from that philosophy class I took in first year. It was mostly successful. Then I got home and found that Sex and the City was on. Which episode? Ghost Town (yes, I’m uncreative and stole the episode title for the title of this post. What of it?), where Carrie is haunted by the ghost of her past with Aidan, Miranda is haunted by her past with Steve (and quite possibly an actual spectre), Samantha is haunted by her past with men, and Charlotte can’t get rid of her mother-in-law.
So, of course, I’m right back to being haunted. Contacting him seems like a bad, masochistic situation, though not all that different from where I am right now. Throwing myself into other pursuits will be the plan for the weekend, but I feel like it’ll only be a matter of time before I get right back here again.
To quote another single in the big city fictional writer-type: Blergh.
Good Will Hunting has been on cable at least three times in the last five days. And I always seem to catch it at the exact same point. When Robin Williams takes Matt Damon to the park and basically calls his bluff:
“But you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell… You don’t know about real loss, ’cause it only occurs when you’ve loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you’ve ever dared to love anybody that much.”
The first time I saw this movie was nearly eleven years ago, and I still have the same reaction to this scene. I cry. A lot. I think it’s funny how sad I thought I was to have not fallen in love by the age of seventeen. Now, at almost 28, it’s not funny anymore. When is that person who could rescue me from the depths of hell going to come along? When will I be able to stop being scared to tell someone “Hey, I like you. We should spend some time together,” or, even better, when will that person reply “You know what, you’re right. We’re awesome together. What an astute observation”?
Maybe it’s time to say “enough now”, and throw caution to the wind. Stop trying to self-protect, because it CLEARLY doesn’t work. What am I waiting for?
I don’t know what it is, but it’s kinda hot. I don’t dig a man in uniform, but a dude in a peacoat? I’m all over that.
Also, I feel another migraine coming on. Oy.
Like I wrote on my old blog, before I mistakenly deleted it, I’m addicted to possibility. Things that are on the cusp of happening, things that could happen, that might just be around the corner.
Of course, that often means that I’ve broken up with someone before we’ve even gone on a first date. And so, I’m trying to get past this addiction. It’s gonna be a long road — after years of pushing down my instincts, of letting the fear win, I don’t know how I’ll be able to start doing the opposite. I just know that it has to be done.
what it’s like to smile in spite of yourself, when you feel so incredibly giddy that you can’t even control the way it’s splashed across your face? How about when other people call you out for looking like a ridiculous, grinning fool, especially since you usually wear an expression bordering on a scowl? That’s how I feel right now. I missed it, and hope it continues.