Dating Blogger Emily: “Fear of the Afterthought”
Even though I am required by Jewcy law to write missives about my dating exploits, I find myself strangely uninspired. I am a girl who could write tomes on shoes and accessories, but for some reason the topic of boys … Read More
Even though I am required by Jewcy law to write missives about my dating exploits, I find myself strangely uninspired. I am a girl who could write tomes on shoes and accessories, but for some reason the topic of boys is boring. I don’t think it’s the boy’s fault and I don’t think it’s the girl’s fault. I actually think it’s everyone’s fault.
The rules have changed and have become so f’in complex, you need a Rosetta stone to figure it out. Navigating through dating waters now requires a map, compass, passport and a series of shots. We have single-handedly taken the joy and fun out of dating. It should be fun but for some reason we are so wedded (pun intended) to these dating rules.
When our parents were dating, it was easy. You liked someone; you called. You picked up the phone. But now, you can’t do that.
For example, lets say you’ve had two or three dates with a J-date. Can you surf J-date freely or do you not surf for fear that your date will see that you’ve been online? Or if your date sees you online, then does it matter because he is online? Or if you are online and you check him out again, will it look like you are being a total cyber stalker? Too many rules.
And…when did texting become an appropriate way to woo anyone. “U want 2 C me?” is not a panty dropping message and if I get something like that again on my phone I may have to scream in that voice that only dogs can hear.
I have tried to figure out why things have become so forgone. Are we a group of daters changed by the ravages of the world? Or has technology robbed of us of our ability to have basic human connections. A while ago I was in Italy walking down the street and at every café were men and women sitting and talking. I passed those same cafes about 2 hours later, and some of those same people were still sitting and talking. I was so moved by the basic human connection and astounded by it as well. I don’t remember the last time walking by a café in LA and seeing that kind of interaction, but to be fair, no one walks in LA. I have this fear that I am going to be what I call the “afterthought. ” The “afterthought” is when you are at a restaurant and you see an obviously married couple eating dinner with absolutely nothing to say. They look like strangers. They are strangers who share a home but not a life. They’re an afterthought. I sound totally morose and I really am not. I am just going to vow to go about this whole dating thing differently. A date is just that, “a date.” A bad date is a couple of hours of time and not a horrific case of the flesh-eating virus. (Although, on some bad dates, that would have been preferable.) Why do I share these thoughts? I don’t know. I just couldn’t bear sharing another dating tale this week. I promise next week to have tales of pervy gynos, midget rabbis, and flatulent CPAs.