Google-plexity

I had an interesting experience not long ago. Those of you who are still dating, I wonder how many of you Google your dates? I’m guilty of it…once. (I Googled Freckles. I am not proud of that fact. Also, I found nothing.)

A couple weeks before I wrote this post, I ran through the data collected by my counter, and found that someone had reached my site by searching for my name, first and last. A couple of times. Turns out it was a woman I’d gone to lunch with, around the same time I was trying to get Freckles’ attention. What bothered me about this wasn’t that I’d been Googled, it was that I am certain that I had not told the woman my last name.

Happy Halloween, yo.

Turns out that my computer told her, but I didn't know that until this morning.

Regardless of how she came by that information, there wasn’t any spark, and that was that. We had similar backgrounds (had even been to the same liberty port at the same time twelve years ago, and remembered the same party there), but it was hard to sustain a conversation with her.

Sunday night, I took a woman out for a first date dinner. I’d posted an ad online and she responded. We’d spent an evening exchanging excited e-mails, talked on the phone the next night, and both come to the conclusion that we were dealing with cool people. We apparently have a lot in common: both movie fans, we liked the same TV shows (and I can’t tell you how rare it is to find someone online who doesn’t like “Survivor” or any other reality show), have similar sense of humor…there’s more, but I won’t bore you with the details.

The beginning of the date went well. She was attractive and funny, a good conversationalist. She wore an off-the-shoulder top, which she kept pulling down to keep her shoulders bare. She kept doing that thing that women do with their fingernails lightly tracing along their throats…you know that thing…dead give away that she’s attracted.

At some point, the conversation turned to how unhappy she is at work, and she stopped all her shoulder-baring and throat-stroking. When I suggested we go for a walk after dinner, she agreed, but I could tell her heart wasn’t in it and she was just being polite. I tap danced as much as I could, but to no avail.

This afternoon, I got the e-mail. You know the one: “…I think I need to be up front and let you know that although I did have a nice time, I just didn't feel there was any of the chemistry that both of us are looking for .. so at this point I don't feel a second date is in our best interest.”

I’m at a loss for words. If this is the first time you’re reading this blog, I invite you to check out my older posts so that you can appreciate how rarely this happens.

I am at a loss because two people who seemed to have so much in common and similar tastes, who began the evening feeling at least a modicum of attraction for each other, might not be worth exploring for another two hours in another venue a few days later. (Okay, it’s possible that her throat itched, but not that much; it was dark, but I would have noticed a rash. Really.)

I should have known better. Since watching her drive away on Sunday night, I’ve had one question repeating in my head: “Online dating. How’s that workin’ for ya?”

Not so good. Rarely has.

And here’s why. In spite of all the things in common, she’s turned out to be just another one of those people who feels that the guy buying dinner could be replaced with someone potentially better after ten minutes of searching on Match.com.

Fuck the Internet.

I know, I sound a little angry, but honestly, I’m just disappointed in myself for going there again, when it so clearly hasn’t worked for me. And thanks to RadiantSmile for asking this question (a favorite of Dr. Phil’s), “What’s the payoff?” I know what the payoff is for me…it’s a reinforcement of all the negative tapes I play in my head.

So, no, I’m not angry, I’m just feeling stupid.

What I should be doing is paying attention to the women I meet by chance wherever. The cute little waitress in the Greek place I went to for lunch today. The woman who strikes up a conversation in the Post Office. The cashier in my neighborhood grocery store who smiles when she sees me.

You see, there’s a natural order to things. People are attracted to what they can see, regardless of how evolved we want to pretend to be and say that it’s the mind that matters. Yes, it is the mind the matters, because that’s what keeps you going when you look at each other and think, “not looking so good right now.” The connection you establish on an emotional and intellectual level is the sustainer…but the initial glance and the acknowledgement that “yeah, I’d go there”, that’s the booster that gets the whole shebang in the air.

Who am I to mess with what’s worked so well for this long?