Walked past a grocery store grand opening the other day. From the banners it appears to be an organic establishment. SWEET!!! The wave that everyone is riding. I step foot inside. Look left. Look right. This is not organic. This is just another meat market. This is online dating.

Everything tied up in pretty little packages. Neatly labeled and marketed to catch my attention. Displayed ever so perfectly for me to see. So many options! So many choices! Do I want to go vegetarian? Maybe some Italian sausage? How about some plain white rice?  Trolling the aisles, filling my cart with unhealthy options. Guess I don’t really know what I want.

Enter the greatest marketing  job I will have: THE PROFILE

What happened to first impressions? They’ve been reduced to picking up the most perfect looking cereal box and thinking oooooohhhhh……. that looks good. I might wanna put that in my mouth. I could chew on that for a bit. 

No longer are real life interactions the norm. Yet, only 5% of Americans say they have formed a committed relationship due to constant swiping. That’s right. There is a higher percentage of couples that meet organically than via online sites. But how can this be? Nearly everyone I engage with says they cannot meet people in real life. I know that feeling. The going to the grocery store and leaving empty handed feeling. Those are the feelings that encourage my mass marketing.

Gotta promote myself to sell! Let me answer this inane set of questions and post the best 5 pictures I can find of myself. Look at me! I’m on a horse! I do things!

Gotta create the hook. I gotta standout. I want to be the first box selected. I want to be the breakfast of champions!

This could possibly be the toughest resume I’ll ever create. I’ve put less thought into applying for something that will actually pay me for my time. Yet, I sit here for hours stressing over “The first thing people notice about me”.  All this for something that will inevitably reward me with awkward conversation and possibly a free drink. Excuse me, what’s the bonus plan here?

The first time I created my profile I sat on my bed after a night out drinking. Alone again. Open my laptop, do some stretching exercises with my fingers and arms because trust me, this can get intense. Stretch my arms, flex my fingers. This is the day! Perfect profile day! Filled with hope, my hands linger over the keyboard. My mind draws a complete blank. Narcissists must have a field day with this; showboating themselves all the time. But for me, someone that likes to stand back in the shadows a bit, I’m intimidated by the next 10 statements waiting for me to fill in the blanks. Blanks that are as empty as I feel in this moment.

I search for the right words to use. The perfect lines to show who I really am. Who am I? My Saturday mornings have been reduced to creating a computer generated personality of myself. Doubt is my close friend as I write. Snuggled up under the covers with me, sharing my cup of coffee. Maybe that’s too much information? Does that really pertain to what I’m going for?  Delete, Delete, Delete.

The self summary: I have about 10 seconds to snag attention. How much should I write? What’s enough of a teaser to set that hook in place? How deep down do I go to bare my soul to this faceless person reading about me on a screen?

I’ve read somewhere its better to have a close friend write my profile than myself. I guess it gives the profile the authenticity of an outsider looking in. As one would on a first date. Maybe less puffing up of the feathers? Not putting my foot in my mouth? But, seriously, am I going to trust someone else with my possible near-perfect happiness? I go a different route. I shoot a text out to a group of my closest girlfriends:  If you had to describe me in 3 words, what would they be. Sorry, rewriting my profile.

The ladies loved it. My phones blowing up with adjectives. Compassionate, hilarious, gregarious, energetic, artistic, inimitable…. my ego is bursting at the seams!

And the kicker is, no one thought this was a weird request. 80% of the ladies involved in my mass text have dipped in this dating game. And those who haven’t, they just want me to continue collecting stories. Support all around. They are all on my marketing team.

And now, armed with all the answers, I begin….

What is the first thing people notice about me?!? Not once, in my entire life, have I thought about this. Not until now: the moment where I am meant to produce the most compelling profile ever made.

Should I wake all my friends this instant and ask them? Should I randomly ask a stranger as he walks by? “Quick question: I understand you have zero clue as to who I am. But, when you first saw me, what did you think? What exactly went through your head?”

What went through his head? I’m sure something like this: This girl is crazy. I’m not selling anything with that. I need to find something quirky and cute to show my wit. Maybe I’ll think on this a moment and go into my interests. That’s easy right?!

I like so many things! I’m so very interesting! I can sit here all day on this one. Rambling on about my love of hot sauce, listing my entire music library and all the authors I’ve read. My confidence is gaining traction. I’m feeling it. I’m the best salesperson in the world!

The six things I could never live without: Are you fucking kidding me?! When exactly will I live in a world with only 6 things at my disposal. I list about 15 that would make my life unbearable if I had no choice but to see them go. Damn you and your parameters, OK Cupid. Included; but not limited to: Pillows, ice cubes, and showers.

The most private thing I’m willing to admit: I once fell asleep while eating a burrito, drunk, in bed. I woke up the next morning, the burrito still warm under my body, realizing I was replacing sex with food. Too much information? True story.

I’m on a roll, cracking myself up. Who wouldn’t want to date me?

Can there PLEASE be a focus group for my profile I just spent my blood, sweat and tears on? Is my interest in self help books a good or bad thing? 

What I ultimately want to fill all the blanks in with: I’m better in person.

The third lesson I learned: People lie.

Wait?! What?! People don’t market their true authentic self? Mind. Blown.

It’s common sense, people lie in their profiles. Apparently, men lie most about height and women about age. This astounds me. Especially the whole height thing. Do you not think I will notice: the lack of 2 inches when I stand in front of you the first time? When I wear my high heels and suddenly I tower over you when we hug hello?

The height lie has just validated the fact that: A. You lie B. You’re lacking confidence. What a turn on!!!!  I can’t wait to see where this goes next. Let me preach for a moment and get on this soapbox: do everyone a favor and be real for once. Say you’re 5’7″ and own it. Be proud of it. Walk with your 4 ft. legs, head held high. Trust me, you’ll probably get more second dates that way.

But, honestly… that’s not the worst thing.

The fourth lesson I learned: It’s not what’s in the profiles that shapes a person. It’s all about what’s left out.

The “if it comes up on the date, maybe I’ll address it” information. The ingredients with so many letters my eyes negligently shift to something more recognizable. The profile purges. The artificial flavors. The tiny little demons. The stuff a bit too raw to put into words.

I can’t judge too harshly. I have certainly held out less desirable information to show the best version of myself. 100% nutritious! But they are there, my tiny friends. The red #40. Part of who I am. The trans fat of my being.

Let’s face it, no one’s going to lay it all out on the line in a profile. No one wants you to know their bread’s made out of the same material used to make styrofoam.

What I’m doing with my life:  I just learned how to do my own laundry. I talk like a baby when my back hurts. I’m working on kicking my coke habit down to a few bumps a day. I definitely have never come across any of those while profile skimming. But, when I open that box of cereal and see whats inside… check yes to all 3.

Because, all your demons are still there. Tapping at the door. Wondering why they aren’t being invited out.

Let’s call this one Will. Will and I met April 2014 on Ok Cupid. I’ve been back in NY a year at this point and I’m putting myself out there again. My product is solid and I’m ready to sell. The time seems right. Winter is changing over to Spring. People are becoming alive in NY again. There’s that buzz in the air that we, as a collective city, made it through another harsh winter.

And personally, I’m ready to taste a new cereal.

Will and I slipped right into textversation, realizing we lived 3 blocks from each other. Let’s take pause. In dating, location seems to be a huge selling point for a potential mate. They look like they may have a few bodies stuffed in the closet but they live in my neighborhood?! SCORE. Do you really want to go to a grocery store in another borough? I think not.

Will starts throwing date ideas all over the place. Let’s go to the Cloisters! Let’s go see a show! Let’s go to dinner! After picking up my cereal box, I’m now going to have to choose how to enjoy it? My mind’s scrolling through the options. Placing best and worst case scenarios in each. Asking myself out loud: Exactly where are the Cloisters?

I chose option 3. The dinner. The seemingly safest choice, the perfectly shaped cereal bowl. Although the “few drinks date” is usually my go-to preference. That way, if they turn out to be the driest person you’ve ever met, there’s no worry of having to listen to each other silently chew food together. How’s the steak? Good. The chicken? Tasty.

No mention of a few drinks… I marinate over this for a minute. I’ve gone on many dates with people in AA which, as previously hinted upon, is one of those “I’ll just leave this out for the moment” facts. But, we’ll leave that topic for another time.

Back to Will.

Will chooses the place, Enids, a cute spot in Greenpoint. A man with a plan is always a turn on for me. AND, its close to both of us. PERFECT!!! I won’t have to get on 2 trains and a bus to get there. Location wins again!!! 

Will and I slide into seats across from each other. I order a glass of wine. Will orders a coke.

“I don’t drink because I had an accident and there was some nerve damage. Drinking doesn’t agree with the meds I’m on.” And there it is! A glimmer of the left out bits. The point where I should maybe question all those ingredients that I don’t understand. The ones that may possibly affect my well being. But I’m still distracted by all the pretty packaging.

Over dinner Will and I come to realize we have many mutual friends. We chat over how we know each of them and share stories. This seems like it’s going somewhere! We have a common denominator! That’s something right?

“Let’s prank call them!! ” Will throws on the table. The secret surprise in his cereal box.

HMMMMM. I personally haven’t prank called anyone since oh I don’t know, the 90’s? 

But, of course I go with it. Will tap tap taps the numbers in his phone. Ring, Ring, Ring.  “Hello? ” emerges from the other end. Will launches into his ridiculous telephone practical joke. I’m nervously re-crossing my legs trying to stay in the moment. My head going to a million other places.

I can see he’s been doing this a while. Using their real name; creating a faux persona for himself. Accent and all. Leaving our mutual friend uncomfortable and confused, who, inevitably hangs up.

Will is cracking himself up. He’s having the time of his life. I feel weird and offer a fake laugh. He does this 4 more times. Some people pick up, other times it goes to voicemail.

I would now like to thank the people that didn’t pick up. You limited the amount of times I had to endure this behavior. I will gladly buy you a drink sometime.

What I’m doing with my life: Prank phones calls. Did I miss that in Will’s profile? Was that on his cereal box?

I’m collecting all the scraps of his profile purge now. Doesn’t drink because of head trauma, pranks people and fully enjoys it. I’ll keep em in my pocket for later, that packaging is just so damn nice.

On the walk back to our respective apartments he’s reiterating the pranking as if I wasn’t fully present in the moment. I haven’t faked it this much in a long time. The date ends with a few smooches goodbye. That reel-in that keeps me hopeful for a second date. Hey, likes to prank call wasn’t on my deal breakers…..

When I recount the date to my friends the next day. I leave this tidbit of information out. Deep down I know what my girlfriends’ responses will be. Walk. Away. Now. 

But, I haven’t had my fill of cereal. I’m wanting more. I’m hoping for that second date. When the text comes, I am positively elated. Wanna hang on my rooftop and prank call people?!  SWOON.

How are the acoustics in your apartment? He’s asking me for the sake of prank calls. I shit you not, that was the real text. And get this, I agree to the rooftop second date. Cause that seems like a grand idea. Let’s go over to someones house that I’ve spent a little over 2 hours with. SVU episodes don’t start this way, right?

Again enters one of those moments that in a real life scenario, I would would think twice on. Yet, for the sake of a date, I’ll let my guard and common sense down a bit.  I’ll also completely look past the possibility of those damn pranks calls.

Instead of the roof we end up having a nice dinner at Adelina’s in the neighborhood. God forbid we leave a 6 block radius.

Of course, we eventually end up back at his apartment. A huge loft he lives in with 5+ people. There’s so many rooms I lose count. For a 42 year old man, I was hoping he had his own place. I guess he’s the family pack deal.

There we are hanging, out in his room, my legs crossed on top of his bed. I’m silently praying he’s forgotten about the calls. Are you there God? It’s me Kate. I know I never talk to you. But, can you do me this solid? 

Maybe we can just throw some music on and talk. Oh, you silly girl. He goes for the phone. Prank calling it is! This goes on for a bit. It’s astounding the things I put up with in dating. Things that would never fly with friends in real life.

I’m feeling a little unnoticed. Maybe I should prank call him to hook him back in. His attention finally turns to me. We kiss. We kiss a bit harder. Suddenly, he’s dry humping me.

Has Will never left his teenage years?! Pranks calls and dry humps?! This is 1995 all over again. Right after prom with my Mormon boyfriend (another true story). At least Will’s a gentleman. He’s not taking it past the dry humping and trying to unzip my pants. For that I give Will some props.

If you can recall dry humping from your youth, there’s nothing enjoyable about this sport. Imagine a body rubbing up and down on yours, causing friction between different denim grades that should never be paired together. This does not feel well on the skin. I think I immediately broke out in a rash. Don’t even get me started on the damage his belt buckle caused.

I go back to my place after our intense dry hump session. Still collecting the scraps of profile purges, not ready to toss them in the trash just yet. This cereal is turning a bit stale at this point, but I just can’t throw the box away yet.

Although I wouldn’t call our third meetup a date per say. That would be a disrespect to dating. Our texts have now come to this:

Will:“Midnight. Should I come to your place?”

Me: “Yeah, I’m out and about now at a birthday party. Are you looking for a midnight make out?”

Will: “Are you?”

Me: “It’s a possibility”

Will: “12:30?”

Me: “Now you’re pushing it”

So, Will comes over. And here’s a straight up fact. I never have people over. Only one of my friends has seen my place. And that’s because she helped unpack when I moved in. So, for me to invite him over was a big deal. And at 12:30 at night? Who am I? Obviously, these were not present moment thoughts of mine. I was instead caught up in the moment. I needed a late night snack.

Why oh why do we go against what we believe just for some fleeting moments of satisfaction?

Will and I make out on my couch for a bit. Inescapably, he wants to prank call people. If I remember correctly he does it only once. Jesus. Then the dry humping begins again. Really?!

At this point: I’m ready to throw those scraps away. Discard the cereal box. Recycle that shit because this is ridiculous. There is nothing new or different that I’m learning about this person that keeps me invested else wise. I’m tired of eating the same meal. He falls asleep on my couch. I tip toe into bed. I definitely don’t want to wake him in fear of another dry humping session.

He leaves the next day and I call all my girlfriends to discuss. I’m now ready to lay it all out there. No more hiding his additives.

As I talk, it’s quite apparent that something else is not right. Something besides the obvious. My intuition is kicking: something is definitely off. I should mention that’s one of my scraps: an extreme sense of intuition. I may not always trust it, but its there. Something within me says google this guy. It’s nagging at me. So I google Will.

BOOM

The biggest scrap of all falls loud and hard directly on my plate. A whole article about whether prescription heroin is better than methadone in treatment.

I’m sitting there. Reading and re-reading the article. A fuzzy feeling in my head. My gut dropping down to its lowest point. No, no, no. It cannot be. It must be someone else with the same name. Just a generic version of a name brand.

Nope. There are undeniable facts that this article is based on the person that I have been dry humping for the past two weeks. And is in fact:

A. A recovering heroin addict and B. Has spent 15 years running with prostitutes and pimps while having said addiction.

Now, I don’t take light to addictions nor am I trying to make a mockery of what Will has been through. In fact, I don’t know even what he’s been through. It was always left out.

And now I have zero clue what to do with this information strewn in front of me. I finally recognize that the cereal I have been lightly snacking on does not fit into my diet plan. We are oil and water. In the end, we simply will not mix.

The next time I hear from Will was for another after midnight hangout. I politely inform him that I thought we were looking for a different kind of relationship. I definitely wasn’t looking for a booty call. And after 15 years of running with prostitutes, who knows where that dick has been. I definitely know one place its never gonna be.

He lashes back with: it can’t be a booty call if we’ve never had sex. A texting fight ensues. These texts are heated. Fire is in the pan. I’m furiously punching letters on my phone. Wasting precious energy reclaiming my ground to stick to my principles. Should have done that after date #1.  Intense verbal attacking is underway and then shuts down.

A few days later Will texts: I thought about what you said and kinda feel we are better as friends.

NO SHIT! I said that days ago. That’s ok Will, you take your time to get there. I’ve been waiting at the checkout all week.

So, back I go to the grocery store. Another walk down the cereal aisle. A little more weary of the things not labeled on packages. The processed parts left out that keep me coming back for more. The ensuing heartburn.

As I glance over the newest box on the shelf, I cannot remember what I liked about last weeks cereal.

Technology murdered dating, but you won’t see that in the news. No front page headline warning: BEWARE!! This guy will NOT call you back after a first date. A security camera photo of him attached.

But that would be nice.

Yelp reviews of online dates do not exist. Trust me, I have checked into this. And I wonder why…why are there zero social media sites where I can warn other women about “dressed nice, some witty banter, I went in for the hug he took out his dick and asked me to touch it. He did pay for the drinks, however. One star.”

There really should be.
And these are questions I ask myself after every failed first date.
Because everyone is doing it. Over 40% of the population are using computers and fast-swiping phone apps to meet someone.

TRY ONLINE DATING: The new recreational drug.

Ohhhhh… that first date high. I run around my tiny apartment, excitement pulsating through my veins. My confidence is bursting at the seams. My heart beats a bit faster than it would a normal night. I text friends photos of outfits to ensure I have the perfect balance of class and sass. I start envisioning our possible new life together. Maybe we’ll move in together if this goes good! How will I furnish our new place ?! What will we name the dog?! Men with cats are weird to me. So me and this new hypothetical man of mine will definitely not be owning a cat. I hope he’s ok with that. Every other dude on these sites have pictures lounging around with cats. Got it, you like pussy. Swipe left.

Enter the date. That first encounter.
On the walk over, I’m high with the excitement of what’s to come. But reality sets in from the first hi. The fantasy of the future starts fading. I feel nothing towards this person in front of me. But wait! There was so much chemistry in our words! Why is his real-person personality not matching his technology personality? AAAHHH!

I try hopelessly to get that initial high back. Maybe if I just get to know him chemistry will follow. I go to the bathroom and stare in the mirror wondering out loud “It’s ok, there’s only 5 of my 15 deal breakers on the table. And what’s with that lazy eye?”. The date ends with a friendly hug. Non-verbal communication that we were better online.

I still wait for a text. Hoping for a “Had a great time. We should do it again!” But it never comes. The radio silence comedown. The confidence break. Anxiety over everything I should have done on the date. Moments of self-deprecation over something I wasn’t even into after a single drink.

Gotta get the next fix. Swipe right. Swipe right.

Let me stop you here though. Because all that stuff I continuously bitch about? I’ve done every single one of those things to the men I’ve dated. But, god forbid they do it to me.

HYPOCRICY: the basic means of O.D. survival.
And I will continue to go back for more with the hope that maybe this one is THE ONE. Because, ultimately we all want to find that person that gets us. We want that real life rom-com, to be swept off our feet, you know, that love at first site story.
So this is how that story starts?! OOOOOHHHHHH, he saw Birdman! …he’s taller than 5’9″! …the most private thing he’s willing to admit about himself:  he cries at Hallmark commercials …yep…soul mates. The whole concept is based on fake chemistry built on superficiality before even meeting someone.

By now the addiction has set in. Waiting for the “GOOD MORNING! winky face” texts before even sharing a single word. Getting your daily dose.

I started talking to this guy, lets call him Ben, via OK Cupid in 2010. I was living in Los Angeles at the time. Which (after living in both NY and LA) might possibly be the worst place to meet someone. Conversation can switch off in a moment should you not share a passion for the “industry“. I have met dudes that completely look past me, eyes darting over my shoulder, searching for a Set Director or a naive PA. They’re not just looking for a lay; they’re looking for a ladder to climb. My rungs got them nowhere.

Back to Ben.
It was late November when we “met”. We admired each others profiles enough to launch the texting song and dance.

Here’s a first lesson I learned: trying to plan a date during holiday season does not pan out well.

First of all; I’m perpetually O.D.ing because I am busiest person in the WORLD!!!!!! I have such an active work and social life (but have yet to meet someone out) and it will already take weeks to meet me! Let’s ice that cake with family obligations, holiday parties with friends, and end of the year self-hatred. Throw in 2 months.. it’s probably the worst tasting cake ever. Let’s put on Counting Crows “Long December” and cry over it a bit. But I digress..

After a week, Ben and I have mastered the art of tell-all texts: the art of getting to know you. Textversation, lets call it. I’m feeling comfortable, flirty, and flattered. So, when he asks to be my friend on Facebook, I think: why not? We CLEARLY have a connection; our apartment will have 7 plants and our first dog will be named Biscuit.

Ben and I try to set dates, but our schedules just don’t match up. I have a white elephant party. He has a tree trimming. It’s the New Year. So many first world holiday problems get in our way. Those two months coast by.

January 2011, Ben and I finally get to meet in person. And I’m on that high. A real face to face date!!! A safe weekday date at Verdugo Bar in Eagle Rock. He drops into textversation that his band rehearses close to there. I give two shits about that, he’s just spreading his tail feathers.

He’s sitting in his Honda Civic when I walk up to the bar.

My first impression: Why is he waiting in his car? How long has he been here? Does he live in his car? Is he napping? Hindsight: smoking weed before the date. Ok, thats cute he was nervous. I shrug it off and hug Ben hello. But seriously; is he living in his car? The glazed over look in his eye indicates this.

We grab a couple of beers and head to a back booth. Ben slides in next to me rather than take the seat across from me. Inherently our bodies now have to turn into each other. Well played Ben, well played. Within 2 minutes he is doing the whole arm-over-the-back-of-the-booth. I keep a reasonable distance and steer clear of the arm bend. The chitchat begins. It’s quite a letdown from our textversations. SHOCKER. I realize that although he’s looking at me, I don’t think Ben is actually listening to me.

Yes, men, we notice.

I get very uncomfortable and self conscious when conversation doesn’t flow back and forth naturally. The way I deal with this: talk more. The more I talk, the more Ben has this staring-into-a-black-hole face on. By now I can’t even keep up with my own words.

So I pause from my enlightening story of a near mishap in the shower earlier that day to take a fourth sip of my beer. As I’m setting it back on the table…

BOOM…

Ben goes in for a full on make out session. We are a quarter of a drink in!!! And he’s going for it. There is no stopping Ben on his make out mission with my mouth. His tongue is everywhere. His hands grabbing the back of my head. This is a 5 drink in, end of the date kind of make out. It’s 7pm and we haven’t even finished drink one.

DAMN. Confidence? NO! Cockiness? YES!
I’m speechless. Maybe he just wanted me to shut up?!? “Well, I guess we got that out of the way.” Ben was good kisser I will not deny him that fact. Timing however. The first ten minutes?! Put it back in your pants, Ben.

All Ben wants to do now: make out. What I wanna do: get to know him more. I want to get to the heart of Ben. I want to know his stories. I want to know who Ben is. I’m on this date because I legitimately want to find someone. All he wants to do is kiss. I guess you can say we came to some compromise. I ask Ben questions while his lips are on permanently on mine. Our teeth bump together. So do you have any siblings? What did you go to school for? The only time his lips are on something else is when he sips on some beer.

I am not enjoying this. It’s uncomfortable and bizarre.

When you O.D., things that might not make sense 30 minutes before, all of a sudden seem normal.

So Ben and I continue doing this new found form of communication: the kiss talk. He actually pulls away for a moment to ask how my holidays were. I start in on my story of a 20 hour experience. Lightning storms, emergency landing to refuel, missed connections. Ben cuts me off while I’m in the second layover part of my story: the part with my new found and likely lifelong airline friend to say: (insert aggressive tone here) “OH, is that the guy who’s been posting all that shit on your FB page?” And quotes the comments, WORD FOR WORD.

Great meeting you on the flight!! So. Much. Fun!  Always remember: Sky Mall Sperm Shoes.

GIIIIIRRRLLLL… miss ya. Saw this and thought of you! Come back East soon.

It’s been 3 weeks since those posts. Clearly, this has been scripted into his head.
He’s been cyber stalking me.

Lesson Two: never add someone on social media before meeting them in person. Though pre-screen stalking is perfectly ok.

I realized at that moment the reason why Ben’s eyes read distant. He thought he knew me. He thought he knew everything about my life because of what he read on a social media platform. He probably spent hours combing through all my photos and timeline posts creating an even more fictitious version of me than what we had started in textversation.  I also think Ben thought we had taken the fast track to relationshipville and I had to answer to him. But these comments from my new friend weren’t anything would warrant me having to explain what they meant and who they were from.

Ben had shifted his body, leaning back and away from me. His eyes a bit wild, still wanting an answer. I’m thinking: what the fuck just happened. Is this guy bi polar?!

“Oh, Roberto?! We read sky mall together and laughed over graphics that looked like sperm on sneakers. He’s gay.”

I’m the girl paddling her way back to the shore on which Ben stands. I’m feeling like I have to account for the moments I shared with my new best friend. Ben is threatened by my interactions with other men via web postings. How would this ever play out in real life?! I introduce Ben to a male friend of mine, he punches them in the face?

Men do not want to hear you talk about other men. But if the man you are talking about is gay, their shoulders relax. And Roberto was gay, so at least I had my dignity that I wasn’t lying. Ben settled back down after that.

And that’s the side effects. Holding onto the last shred of self worth rounding out a first date. The moment you realize: maybe this wasn’t the best decision I made this week. But at least I put myself out there. Trying to find some validity to the past hour I will never get back.

I took myself home. Alone.

Ben texted me the next day for a second date. I think he forgot how to speak to me without his lips all over my face. Or possibly he reread more Facebook feeds. “That was fun! Let’s do it again soon”. Being the O.D. hypocrite that I am, I never responded.

My phone exploded with 3 angry texts.

1.Really? You’re not gonna respond? 2. Oh, you’re gonna be a bitch and ignore me? 3. Good luck out there you’re gonna need it. Bitch.

I take full accountability that I should have simply texted Ben back. It’s what I would want someone to do to me. Honesty. But that’s like finding a unicorn in O.D.ing. “Thanks for the date, but I’m just not feeling it” was all I needed to say. Instead, I blocked Ben from every form of technological interaction I could possibly have with this man. Why keep holes in the lid on that jar of fireflies when you just want them to die. Let me just add this one to the shelf and reach for an empty one.

I’m addicted to that first date high. The compulsive engagement of staring at a computer screen in search of THE ONE. I ignore everything else to read through countless profiles of faces and names to find my fix. My hands sweat as my fingers hit the keys. Swipe Right. Swipe Left. Left. Left. Right.

There he is, my next firefly: let’s call him Collin.