Online Lessons

Six weeks into the two-faced world of online dating, and I'm still single. Six dates total, two of them second dates, three dinners, two pitchers, one bottle of wine, one Bulls game, and I'm still single. So what have I learned? Well, most relationships don’t just hatch, clearly. But I already knew that. Online dating, while logical, easy to use, and beaming with decks of narrowed, specific, scientific matches, isn't quite the brainless, always hit, never miss, two-hands-tied-behind-my-back, blindfolded, easy as pie adventure like shooting fish in a barrel. There are a bunch of other guidelines, considerations, challenges, and obstacles that must be tackled and skills that must be honed the same way post-pubescent teens and budding college hopefuls must learn smooth talking or dance moves at a bar or party or club. What do I mean?

1.) I have a pretty in depth profile. I feel like I have very little to lose by filling out each section with extensive answers, doing what I can to depict myself in honest light, and packing in data to the ‘in your own words’ sections so tight, if my profile had to sit down, it might bust a seam. My logic: the more you know, the better chance I have of finding someone that is on board with me. Seems flawless. Additionally, I thoroughly enjoy when a potential match has taken the time and energy to reciprocate my efforts in an equally impressive profile, brimming with helpful character traits and the occasional useless tidbits that I would find endearing, ultimately grabbing my attention far more than limiting it, and, above all, ensuring that even after a 500-character self-study, they were confident enough to write it, competent enough to write it, and fed up with the complacency that boring profiles get caught it, which, in relation to my own searching, hits the target dead-center, causing a much more likely scenario that I will look at this interest with new found respect and attraction, heightening the chances of meeting in person.

1a.) The exhaustive profiles have worked, and you meet for drinks. After you exchange meaningless pleasantries involving mundane responses to mundane questions, you reach a chasm. In most standard dating scenarios (I use standard here in light terms, since, the more I talk to people, the more I realize that online dating is not only more prominent than you realize, but might very well become the standard soon), you’re jogging along from the starting gate, engaging in seemingly trivial, but in most cases conversation spawning ‘little things’ that you ask each other about, from movies to hobbies, travel destination favorites to hometowns and colleges, and over the course of time, be it the first few hours of a date or the first few weeks of emailing and calling and texting (sexting), you start to pick up pace, snowballing if you will, starting with a nucleus of mutual interest and packing in the cracks with the mortar of laughs and stories, of friends and experiences, of disagreements and understandings, of the bits and pebbles that make up a solidified conglomerate. Well, if online couple A is compared to real life couple B, OC-A doesn’t have the same time line. In fact, 85% of that ‘nucleus’ and probably a good third of that ‘mortar’ have already been disclosed. RLC-B might be breezing along on their first lap, but OC-A took the gun on lap two, yet somehow, is already slightly exhausted. This could be good or bad. When you hit that chasm, if you look back and think, ‘man, it was easy back there, why can’t we just do that?’ you’re already screwed. But if you look at each other, maintain the limited momentum you’ve churned up, and make that jump, well then, you’re already a lap up and feeling pretty good.

2.) I’ve figured it out. Nine out of ten girls spread between the three online sites I belong to (yes, three… it’s fun! ) love hiking, running, dogs, going out on a Friday to a local pub as much as staying in on a Saturday with some wine and a movie, their job, quality food, older men, and reading. They are fun-loving, low-maintenance, sarcastic and humor-appreciative, goal-oriented, they can dress to the nines as often as go out in jeans and a hoodie, and are looking for funny, caring, genuine guys that can handle a confident woman and have similar ambitious life goals. Oh, and somehow, they’ve all traveled the world (who knew ‘favorite hot spots’ would be a running list of tropical islands, famous landmarks, and European staples, while mine consisted of the four or five neighborhoods I frequent in the city?).

2a.) Put together a profile that sets you aside from the rest. I understand you’re a girlie girl as much as you’re a beer a football girl, but so is the rest of the world. Putting together and original profile shouldn’t be the hardest part of this process. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that cookie-cutter profiles gets glossed over more than high schoolers’ lips.

3.) You’ve exchanged a few messages, approved each other’s profiles, flipped through any and all pictures they have posted, and finally, sometimes a day later, sometimes weeks later, decided to find a spot and pop a squat, grab a few drinks, and see if you can prove the commercials right. Most first dates, blind dates, or even second and third dates, hatched from the ‘standard dating scenario’ I proposed earlier, don’t need to worry too much. You’ve more than likely bonded over something small but enticing, and so where you sit, what you drink, how you order, it takes less of a driver’s seat compared to ‘is the spark between us real, or did we just get a little too sauced on a Saturday?’ I know not all ‘standard dating scenarios’ start out that way, but however it came to be, there was a hint of magic in the air, at the book store, on the train, at a sporting event, whatever, and your job is only to capture it without suffocating it. Much more challenging than described, clearly, but nonetheless, different than the online world.

3a.) You might have taken notes on their profile, but you still haven’t met. Try not to sit across from them like you’re on an interview. If you can find a bar without live music, or blaring music, you’re stepping in the right direction. Trying sitting at the bar, so you can talk without staring at each other for hours. Speaking of time, keep it short. I’m pretty sure I was excited when my first online experience lasted 5 hours at a bar, but in reality, too much was disclosed (on top of what my profile already listed), and we were already waist deep in it before date two was even mentioned. And while your tolerances might be bold enough to down a few bottles of wine, do try to keep drinking to a minimum. It was hard for me to even finish typing that sentence, but despite my affinity toward drinking and slight pride I take in handling more than the average American, it serves well to keep yourself under served, at least while you’re searching for that spark.

These are just three of the guidelines that I’ve come to learn in my recent endeavors of the cyber-dating community (anyone else kinda cringe when they read the word ‘cyber?’). In reality, OC-A isn’t too far from RLC-B, but there’s enough of a difference to warrant a different approach. Is it right or wrong, silly or serious, worth it or a total crock of shit, well that I haven’t figured out yet. But so far, I’ve had fun, laughs, drinks, hopes, miscues, mistakes, and experiences, all of which have left me somewhere between confident, optimistic, and concerned, but definitely reinforcing my decision to start down this path in the first place. More lessons to follow, I’m sure, but since I’m not writing an online dating how-to guide, I’m sure you don’t need all the details.

Engaging Newsfeed

The first real wedding I went to was in 2007. This sounds shocking, since it was nearly 22 years after I was born, but the last wedding I had been to before that one, I wasn't a day over 6, so I wasn’t really able to have the full wedding experience. This new world of weddings (WoW?) started with a coworker of my dad that I had spent several summers on his softball team. I was a 'hey, Chris can come' invite through my parents, but that didn't bring me down, as I competed with the groom and best man for the life of the party. I followed that in 2008 with the wedding of my brother's best friend, once again receiving the 'hey bring Chris' type invite, but this battling through a nasty case of food poisoning, limiting my 'life of the party' mentality. Followed that with a 2009 wedding, one of my oldest friends, finally receiving my own invite, and having a grand old time realizing what time of my life was dawning.

When I started where I work, my age was apparent. It was April of 2008, and nearly a year after I had graduated college, I was merely a 22-year-old with a lackluster seven months of 'working from my room' experience, growing accustomed to life in the office, life in a cube, and most importantly, life as one of, if not the youngest person in the building. At my first mention of attending a wedding, the cliché response came pouring out; ‘just wait, at this age, you’ll be going to weddings every month.’ Or something. I said I know, and that most of my friends would most likely be unmarried for a while. Clearly, almost three years later, more and more of my close friends are engaged, and I realize that our close knit group of friends will be clanging glasses and fixing ties frequently and consistently, each memorably distinct, each the celebration of cherished lives, yet I can’t seem to escape the words of my coworkers. ‘Oh, you’ll be going to a bunch of those, it’s like Dominos.’

The thing is, and the reason for writing this, is that the whole idea of your friends getting married, like thousands of other things, has been completely tainted by Facebook. A comment I observed on my newsfeed this morning: ‘everyone.is.engaged….gag.’ Now, these sentiments might be born out of contempt for those in happy, stable, relatively advanced relationship, while us single folk are still waiting for the magic to happen. But they can also be looked at another way. Every time I mention that one of my good friends recently got engaged, which, aside from the one that married back in ’09, over the last 7 months, four close friends can now call their significant other their fiancé, but every time I bring it up, same comments come out. Same, you’ll be seeing a ton of these, you’ll be going to a wedding more than going on vacations, whatever. The thing is, and in no way is this meant to take anything away from those that have popped the question recently, but my Facebook newsfeed has been so completely saturated with engagement announcements, wedding planning updates, engagement pictures, ceremony photo albums, and everything in between, that the whole idea of weddings has become so common.

Tell you the truth, I was looking forward to this barrage of weddings (and, let’s be honest, I still am). But with hundreds of fringe friends and classmates and people I frequently passed on the quad, Facebook has become the medium of divulging this over stimulation of people planning to tie the knot. I’m trying hard not to sound like the bitter, single guy, because really I’m not. But the excitement over hearing the news travel about an engagement nearly gets lost in the shuffle of status updates and comical video posts. Twenty years ago, you only heard about 80% of the people you ever knew getting married when you saw them at your school reunions. These days, I can’t check a notification without seeing the newest ring pose.

Am I saying I’m jealous of all my friends and acquaintances getting married? Possibly. Am I saying I might need to purge some of my friends so I’m not inundated without huge news regarding people I can’t remember how I met? Possibly. Am I saying that Facebook, while at times brilliant, has become something so poisonous that it ruins the special and facilitates the ignorant? Possibly. Whatever I’m saying, something feels different for our generation, and I’m not sure I like it.

Roller Coaster Fairytale

See, roller coasters have always intrigued me. While generally apprehensive towards them, I thought, based on stories, experiences shared by my peers, things I saw on TV, that beyond enjoying the ride, this could become a staple in my life. Previously, I had been on similar type rides, but really nothing of this magnitude. I think you have to reach a certain point in your life before you’re programmed and prepared for the commitment of a full blown, long, winding, usually breathtaking, but at times, mildly exhausting roller coaster. So I’m all jacked up, packed up, pulling into the parking lot, ready for a journey I’m sure never to forget. Everyone tells me I have to ride Roller Coaster ‘S’ (So hard to remember names). So I stand in agonizing line with my spirit strong and my anticipation astronomical, refusing to be discouraged by the seemingly endless snake of potential suitors that will reach the gate before me. Inch by inch, step by step, my time finally comes, and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this will be the life-altering experience I had read about in magazines or watched on the big screen. Something so remarkable, I struggle to comprehend how life ever existed without it. I strap in and begin the ascent. It’s everything I thought. My heart is racing. I’m seeing things I’ve never seen before. I’m nervous, but excited. Sweaty with what lies ahead. Afraid that I’m in the wrong position, doomed for disaster by my own doing. But excited none the less. We breech the apex, escape out of the zenith, and all systems are a go, fire the engines, we’re taking off. In moments, my stomach is in my throat. Then, a turn. My head gets jarred so quickly, I swear I'm concussed. During our first inversion, my only hope is that I don’t vomit up and meet it on the way back around. Every turn adds bruises to my petrified body. I can’t wait for it to end. I already know how it will feel to walk away from this. If my expectations weren’t so exponentially higher than any other ride I had ever been on, maybe I could have survived this. But as it is, I’m discouraged, meekly meandering into the rest of the park.

Defeated, with limited hope, I see it, a new one, peaking through the trees, peeking directly at me, piquing my interest immediately. As I approach, I notice that this Roller Coaster ‘N’ is the complete opposite of ‘S.’ The way it’s built, the way it moves, everything about it draws you in. There’s an extensive line, but a bypass lane, allowing me VIP-esk access. Optimism restored, I am confident that this won’t end in disaster. From the moment I sit down, I know I’m safe. The suspended cars, the overhead harnesses, I’m safe, but I’m free. I’m protected, but I’m exposed. The climb is nearly identical, but giving this rebound effect, it feels nicer, smoother, serene. As we begin our descent, the nerves flare up, flashbacks remind me of the ever-so-recent failure, but, as if she could sense it, Roller Coaster ‘N’ eases my woes with turn after turn of immaculate precision, swiftly and unnoticeably transitioning from twist to loop to turn to drop, without once making me feel anything but bliss. I’m sad to walk down the off ramp. Two steps back into the park, I realize there’s no need to try any other ride. This was everything I needed. So I retreat back to the front, bypass to the entrance, only to see a sign: ‘Closed for maintenance. Service suspended indefinitely.’ Heartbroken. ‘Everything was fine a minute ago!’ I yell. How could this happen? Was it something I did? Did I ruin this?

Visually affected, but strangely, brimming with confidence, convinced it was right place, wrong time, and reasonably optimistic that the next one will be the right one for me. So with a slight giddy-up in my step, I walk until I spot it, Roller Coaster ‘Z,’ similar to ‘N,’ but kinda pushed on its side. Same sport, different team, type of thing. I basically jog to the front and hop into my seat, ready to get this damn thing off the ground. The creaking and cranking of the cart during the ascension is music to my ears. I’m prepared, calculated, I know the do’s and don’ts, I know what to expect, and I’m ready to tip this thing south. We reach the top, nowhere else to go but down, and shriek. A painfully abrupt stop, snagged before we can even begin to fall, and forced to trudge down the maintenance stairs you were always curious about but never wanted to be on.

Roller Coaster ‘J’ is a tease. No line, but for a reason. Our climb is half the height, the turns are predictable, the highs and lows are barely distinguishable, and it’s over before it has enough speed to instill even the slightest bit of fear of falling.

Roller Coaster ‘M’ is promising. The hill is impressive, and the ride catches me by surprise. Once. Then it winds and winds, rises and falls, losing and picking up speed, over, and over, and over. I’m never scared, but I don’t hate it. It’s comforting, in a way I wasn’t expecting. I spend the last half of the ride convincing myself that these conditions, this seat, this speed, is exactly what I need. And above all, location, location, location. At one point we were inches from water, feeling the mist tickle my shins. So I finally get to the end, happy to admit that this might be what I was looking for. Get to the exit, and there’s a recording coming out of a stock photo, ‘I had a great time too, but I’m just not sure if we’ll ever be anything but friends.’

I mean, I’m on the verge of just sitting down and letting a roller coaster come find me. Play the prey instead of the hunter. But that won’t work, because roller coasters don’t have any fucking legs. So I continue my pursuit. As hopeless, at times, as it might seem. Because, despite my track record, every time I see the stainless steel, the rivets, the supports, every time I hear the whoosh of the carts, the silky rush, every time I feel the butterflies, it all starts again, and I’m sitting there, patient, weathered, beaten but not broken, inexplicably optimistic, waiting for the fall that changes my life forever.

Life in Dothan, AL

If you could live anywhere else in the country, where would you live? A common question, I’m sure. I’ve often thought about it. In fact, there was a time that I considered the top three choices if I packed my shit and hit the road, setting my stakes in a new city and starting over. Don’t get me wrong, I love living in Chicago, for countless reasons, but you can’t help but to ponder how it would be to do more than visit these destinations. Without a gratuitous amount of research or anything more than a hunch and a feeling, considering a constantly evolving list, there are a half-dozen or so cities that I think I would really enjoy living in. Short list: Charlotte, Jacksonville, Boston, Portland, Atlanta, San Francisco. Something like that. But a conversation came up last night while I was enjoying a delicious Friday’s dinner in Dothan, Alabama (roll tide) in which I claimed, quite confidently, that there might not be any place in the country that I couldn’t live, and be relatively happy with my life.

To address the obvious holes that will be poked: Drastically segregated, severely dangerous, overly foreign languaged, unbearably hot or cold, humblingly sparse, etc, are not being addressed. I understand that ‘any place in the country’ would include all cities and all neighborhoods, along with all non-cities and non-neighborhoods, but let’s just keep this to reasonable considerations.

After spending an hour at a nationally franchised restaurant, thoroughly enjoying eating dinner on the patio while Chicago was getting blitzed with rain/sleet/slow warnings, I took a second to consider if this was a regular occurrence, if these were my friends, my locals, my vehicles, my music, my life. I don’t know if it was some of the Southern Pride, Southern hospitality, or Southern charm, but it struck me that not only could I survive here, but I have half a mind that thinks that I would do more than just that. And the reason I settled on this was not because of the Southern stereotypes, but rather, once I shook off my Chicago prejudice, and don’t you for a second say we don’t have one those of you that live here, and quite simply realized that people are people, and so often, if you break us down and analyze our programming, you’ll find a cluster of common threads. Sure, a few political issues aside, maybe a hygiene disconnection, or an overall sense of style and fashion falling on different pages, but for the most part, I think we forget that, similar to the way I, Robot marvels at the character traits of seemingly lifeless creatures (‘Why is it that when some robots are left in darkness, they will seek out the light? Why is it that when robots are stored in an empty space, they will group together, rather than stand alone?’), that we all have basic needs and trends. That given the circumstances, when placed in new surroundings, in experiences contrary to your customary way of life, that the most simplistic and natural tendencies will seep out of us.

And in case I was the only one naïve enough to think that way, I got more.

Aside from just observing my surroundings, my reason for claiming this mildly heinous prediction in based on my approach to life. With no intentions of sounding pretentious, there’s a large aspect of ‘roll with the punches’ motto that I not only believe in, but try to employ. Take, for example, why I’m currently writing this from a less than desirable motel in Pensacola, FL (and not even remotely close to the water). Got an email asking if I wanted to go to Alabama for a small video project in a week, and before I even tried to figure out my schedule and my work load, I said ‘sure.’ Take, for example, why I need to get to bed promptly after finishing this post. When asked if a 6AM flight back to Chicago would be okay, connecting in Dallas, I didn’t even bat an eye. Take, for example, the acrophobic, aerophobic, thantaphobic, anxiety-ridden passenger seated next to me on the 3-seat wide plane, too small to fit average luggage in the overhead, while flying through a thunderstorm, experiencing turbulence, causing my new acquaintance to flirt with her barf bag, white-knuckle the armrests, and eventually, jerk the headrest of the preceding row while frantically hyper-ventilating. Just take care of her how I could, keep reading my book, maintain calmness while my stomach was trampolining, and worry about the rest once we land. Same goes for if every plane, train, and automobile was grounded and abandoned in the surrounding 50 miles for an indefinite about of time, aka I have to live here, long story short, roll with the punches. That, combined with my eclectic and non-polarizing, across-the-board type interests and preferences, and, well, it’s a comforting thought to believe there are countless locations, scenarios, crowds, events, disasters, miracles, that I could plant myself in, and continue with my life as if it was something I’ve never been without.

Whether or not that’s true, well, that’s a whole other blog.