Technology and dating — a happy couple?
“What’s wrong?” I asked The Kid as he sat on the couch staring at his cell phone for what seemed like an eternity. “Isn’t it working?”
“It’s fine.”
“Then what are you doing?” I asked, which is a ridiculous question to ask a teenage boy, first because they generally act before the even know what they’re doing (and later often realize, “Wow, I could have gotten killed!”) and second, because teens live a world shrouded in more secrecy than than the CIA. 
“I’m trying to decide if I should go to the prom with Natalie.”
“And, does your cell phone have a Magic Ball app?” I joked.
“No, I’m going to text her back.” He rolled his eyes.
“She asked you to the prom … by texting?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Nothing,” I sighed.
I didn’t see any point in trying to explain why you shouldn’t ask someone to the prom by texting when I — a middle-aged women — have been guilty of accepting a date by texting (but never sexting! I’d rather see a guy’s naked parts up close and personal, thank you very much).
I like technology as much as the next person, but something seems to be missing — courtesy and romance. Or maybe I’m just old fashioned, or getting old and nostalgic. I understand that those things happen once you hit midlife and grouse about “kids nowadays.”
All of us have been using technology to make dating fast and easy: Asking someone on a date? Just text, “Wanna hang?” (but first Google his name, check out his Facebook page and follow him on Twitter and text back and forth for weeks finagling a date and time). The date’s boring? Constantly look at your cell phone/PDA to enteratin yourself (he’s probably doing it, too). Need to dump him after all? Shoot off an e-mail! Realize he’s at least OK for a booty call? Just text, “Wanna hang?” (no need to finagle a date and time).
The days of being courted — slowly, sweetly, innocently — and seduced — slowly, but hopefully not so sweetly and innocently — are gone, and I think that’s sad. Technology has changed that. Maybe they’ll come back, like the Slow Food movement is trying to reclaim mealtime as a time to slow down, savor life, surrounded by real people and real food. But I doubt it.
I think we need a Slow Romance movement, too!
Some times demand that, like getting asked to the prom. It should be in person. It’s almost like a marriage proposal — you tend to remember who asked, when and how.
Of course, now my kid can save that text forever — so there’s an upside, too.
And you can’t beat technology for busting liars — just ask Mrs. Tiger Woods.
How has technology changed your love life, or the search for one?
Photo © Eric Simard – Fotolia.com
Be my groupie, please
When I was younger, I imagined myself a bit of a rocker — meaning I’d stand before the full-length mirror in my bedroom wearing my hip-hugger bell-bottoms and tightest, low-cut top, cupping a highlighter pen in my hand as if it were a mic and singing along to Joni Mitchell’s “See You Sometime” or some other ’70s emo song:
Where are you now
Are you in some hotel room
Does it have a view?
Are you caught in a crowd
Or holding some honey
Who came on to you?
It was a nice dream, but my guitar-playing wasn’t quite up to par and, besides, Joni Mitchell, one of my favorite musicians back then, wasn’t even a rocker! You weren’t going to see men ripping off their Hanes and throwing them at her (actually, I wouldn’t
want to see that; I know what guy’s undies look
like after they’re worn. It’s not pretty). 
Men don’t do that anyway; if you’re going to be a groupie and fling your unmentionables on stage, you pretty much have to be a gal.
So that made it easier to give up my rock ‘n’ roll chick fantasies; I was in it for the groupies! Instead,
I decided I’d be a groupie. First, I look good in black (even when screaming hysterically), second, I always wear thongs (they look nice on and thrown casually on stage) and third (and the only thing that matters if you’re a rocker, I suppose), I don’t have any hook-up hang-ups. Not to mention that you don’t need any talent (well, except, you know …)
The problem back then was that I was, well, chicken. I just didn’t have it in me to go up to the
hot lead singer and ask him, “What are you doing later?” I was afraid he’d say, “Banging that blonde over there, little girl,” and by then, the bass player and guitarist would be spoken for and only the overweight, sweaty drummer with the bad haircut would be left. Or the roadies.
When I finally got my sexual mojo, I was married and then, when I got divorced, I was already middle-aged and you can’t — and certainly shouldn’t — be a middle-aged groupie. Even the Stones’ No. 1 groupie Marianne Faithfull (who
once said, “My first move was to get a Rolling Stone
as a boyfriend. I slept with three and decided the lead singer was the best”) knew when to give it up.
So, I missed my calling as a rocker and as a groupie. What’s left?
A Facebook fan page.
I know, I know — I’m cringing, too. When I got invites from a few of the bloggers I follow — Dad’s House and Single Mom Says — to fan them on Facebook I thought, what, is being a Facebook friend suddenly chopped liver?
Asking someone to be your “fan” seems a bit presumptuous, especially if you don’t “do” anything. Well, I blog, but so do about, what, 50 million other people, sometimes intelligently and other times with meaningless “disgorgement of the bowels,” as someone once observed. I sure hope I’m in the former category!
But, is any of that preventing me from creating a Facebook fan page anyway? Noooo …
And, it’s not like being a fan of Walmart or something like that (although, granted, I’m not offering you discounts; but, who knows what the future holds?)
So, if you like what I write here, please “fan” me; it’s the next best thing to my rocker chick/groupie fantasy.
Plus, you get to keep your undies.
Photo © Roman Makhmutov – Fotolia.com
How I met your mother — or a hookup
Sara looked a little ragged when I picked her up the other day, which was a bum because I was in a pretty good mood and I didn’t want her downer to rub off on me.
But, a friend must do what a friend must do.
“You don’t look so good.”
“That’s because I’m not so good. I’m tired.”
“Well, you should be tired. You’ve been working so hard lately,” I said as supportively as I could.
“Not that kind of tired, although I actually am that kind of tired, too.”
“Uh, then what kind of other tired are you?” I asked, feeling a little tired myself from trying to figure out the nuances of “tired.”
“Tired of going online to meet men. Why can’t
I meet them the old-fashioned way?” 
“The old-fashioned way is in a bar, isn’t it?”
“I guess. but that seems ridiculous now that I’m a little past my college days.”
A little? Not only was she tired, but she was
also delusional. But, I stuck with her, as friends must. It didn’t seem like a good time to rub her
face in her woman-of-a-certain-age reality.
“Well, perhaps you can meet guys at something
you like doing, like a group bike ride or hike or something.”
“Ugh, puh-lease! You know the type of people who do that.”
Sure — it would people just like Sara if everyone didn’t feel the way she does! But, whatever.
“Well, maybe you need to think outside the
box. I hear recovery meetings are the new, uh, bars.”
“Oh, great idea, Kat. I’ll do that, right after I check out the scene at the DUI drunk tank first. Might
as well get them fresh before someone else snags them!”
“It was just a thought,” I sniffed.
Granted, a bad one but I did read it online (which is another topic for another day — what kind of relationship “expert” sends women to AA to meet a guy?) I’m sure even “Marry Him!’s” Lori Gottlieb would agree we wouldn’t be too picky if we didn’t look for Mr. Good Enough there.
But, it is a problem; where do you meet singles, especially when you’re middle-aged and in the ‘burbs?
When I was younger, I met people in all sorts of places — dance clubs, gyms, standing in line, on an airplane, bars. When you’re young, you don’t have to work too hard. You just have to have a pulse.
Now? A pulse is not enough.
I’m a fan of online dating sites, especially for us boomers, although I know many singles aren’t. It’s just another option, not a guarantee. I met Sean online, and a lot of the other guys I’d dated in recent years. A few I met in bars and music clubs. I met one guy on a ski slope, and one while walking Roxy on a hiking trail. I even had a Missed Connection date (and it should have remained “missed,” too). The most unusual place — literally bumping into him in a hotel lobby.
So, in the spirit of V-Day (yeah, yeah, yeah — I know I rag on it), please share the oddest or most memorable place you met someone and either dated or had a hookup; given the advice of the experts — really, a recovery program? — I’m sure you have much to share.
And, happy V-Day.
Photo © microimages – Fotolia.com
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