I am tearing up my house. My dog thinks she’s helping.
I am packing, cleaning, wrapping my head around the overwhelming idea of living nowhere for a year. It sounded so appealing last month when I said yes.
I’m overwhelmed, as well, by the dating sites. Two profiles in four days have produced 25 emails, 23 winks, and five lucrative email conversations that are alluding to dates in L.A.
But what are my motives? Love? Free drinks? A few good conversations? What is the purpose of this anthropological, sociological study? And where do my responsibilities lie?
Who do I decide to date? Do I date anyone who has the follow through to actually ask me out? Even if I don’t want to?
What about the guy who sent me a cut and paste dating form letter? Or the man from Beverly Hills who swears that he is humble, but confesses that he’s better than everyone else on the site? Or the ex-television personality who reminds me of the womanizer who sex-texted me for a year without ever using a full sentence?
What about the guy whose handle is “ITSNOTYOUITSME?” I can tell where that relationship’s going. And, quite honestly, that’s my line. Not his.
A friend of mine (and professional dater) once pointed out that that which we call romantic in the movies, would be considered stalking in real life. I’m wondering if these L.A. guys are maybe a little bit confused between truth and fiction.