To Date or Not To Date?

I joined an online dating site.

Wait.

Before you start cheering and calling me to congratulate me for "moving on" and telling me that "Gareth would want you to find someone else," let me say a few things.

This is an incredibly hard step.
Not a big step.
A hard step.
There's a difference.

A big step is when you want something but you're afraid to do it. Then you move an inch towards what you want and - oh! What a big step you've taken!

A hard step is doing something you don't want to do because you know it's probably the best thing for you in the long-run.

This? A dating site? Making a profile? Any of this?
I don't want it.

Anyone reading this blog knows exactly what I want since I've written about it until we're all exhausted, and what I want is not possible. He's not coming back. Period.

And I know that.

I also know that I won't find him anywhere out there on the internet. No matter how funny, how charming, how romantic, how poetic, how adventurous, how playful someone might be, they just aren't him.

So is it fair to go out there at all?
Fair to me?
Fair to someone I may chat with?

I have no idea. And that's the truth. No one gives out a little guidebook when you're hopelessly in love with someone explaining what to do if that someone suddenly dies and you're left with their absence and a life long enough to fit someone else (several someones, even) in it.

But I can't spend all of my time knelt down in the gristly dirt, staring at that gaping hole where he once was. Please. Don't congratulate me. Don't see this as a big accomplishment.

It's hard.
That's all it is.
Hard.

Here's how hard it is:
The first few profiles I wrote for myself talked about Gareth. This loss, his absence, is such a part of my everyday-ness that not writing it felt like I was hiding something big. Or like I was trying to pass myself off as something I'm not. I was not ready to venture into this alone. I wanted Gareth to come with me. 

It's not that I thought being in love with someone else is a selling point. In fact, I was probably secretly pleased if that kept people away. And it seemed to. Everyone but "junglepenetrator" and serial killer-esque "avioknight."

Turns out I was on the wrong site. What did I know? It literally took a bus-full of 20-somethings to clue me in to the better site for dating. I deleted my profile immediately. Goodbye, junglepenetrator.

I should also mention that it's probably not a coincidence that about 2 days after I made that first profile, I went to sleep crying until my bed was filled with snot rags and my pillowcase was like a Rorschach test. I woke up like a drunk person, dazed and barely able to get myself ready for work. I taught my classes, then promptly returned home to cry in bed some more. I canceled evening dinner plans with friends. I took one up on an offer to walk my dog, since I seemed unable to get out of bed.

I.
was.
for real.
hit.
with.
some.
serious.
grief.

It's not that I'm worried Gareth is angry. It's not I'm pushing myself and not ready.

It just became so clear what I already know: that I miss him. Not companionship.
Him.

I also had this wave of feeling incredibly flawed. Who- WHO- would want to go out with someone who not only is in love with someone else, but has periods of being completely incapacitated by sadness?

"But, it's not like you're like that all the time," my dog-walking buddy told me.

And that helped.

Because the (and I can hear my own sweet mother saying the words) "ANYONE would be CRAZY not to date you! You're SMART! And BEAUTIFUL! And FUN! And CREATIVE! AND! AND! AND!" words are just not helpful to hear. They're a nice gesture, made to make me feel hopeful, but all they do is remind me that all of those flattering adjectives are being wasted on someone who can't just get out there with that fun dating energy and play the game.

The game is not fun anymore.

So, post day-long cry and deletion of my account on the wrong site, I joined another one.

I edited my profile three times.
In the first, I talked about Gareth.
In the second, I alluded to him.
In the third, he was nowhere obvious to be found. But he was everywhere, of course.

And posting my profile on this new site was like the time I paid to dip my feet in a tank of little fish in Thailand. It will be good for you, they said. You won't believe how smooth your skin will be! Yes. Because 50 fish at a time climb all over you to get a tiny piece of your skin to nom on. It's gross. It's weird. And it kind of tickles.

Internet dating is exactly the same. It's gross. It's weird. It kind of tickles.

If anything, the distraction of judging people solely based on their selected profile photos or poor grammar was, dare I say, welcomed. I found myself scrolling through my "matches" and audibly saying, "Oh, NO! You can't say that..." or "Seriously. Ew. Come on, guy!" Once I yelped in disgust so loudly that my dog jumped from the couch. Usually this is from the pictures alone.

Photos with shirts off. No.
Photos with head on a pillow in bed. No.
Photos with camera phone reflected in mirror. No.
Photos with a face like a serial killer. No.
Photos with a face like, "Kill me now. I'm miserable." No.
Photos with flexing muscles. No.
Photos with self flanked by two ladies. No.

Then there come the messages, and there have been over 40 in less than 48 hours. These range from benign ones which garner no response from me like:

Hey.
Nope.
Hi.
Nope.
You there?
Nope.
Hi there.
Nope.
What's the weather like?
Nope.
How are you today?
Nope.
How was your weekend ?
Nope.

To too-intense ones, like: 

Meeting the person with whom you will wish to spend the rest of your life with is not so easy. And the only way to find out is to keep in touch by communication and spend time in learning more about each other. It needs to have mutual deep level attraction both physically, emotionally and intellectually. We need to feel the connection in many aspects. I know that you can't have high expectations from someone online, So, I just wait to be very pleasantly surprised by faith. I do believe everything can happen, as long as we have faith and focus our mind on things that we want to achieve.

Nope.

I have responded to very, very few. Most to say, "Sorry, I live in South Korea. Thank you for the kind words. Good luck."

I did just trade lyrics to "Good Times" back and forth with someone:

Me: Keepin' yo head above wa-taaaaaah
Him: Making a wave when you can
Me: Tem-PO-ra-RY lay offs!
Him: EASY credit RIP Offs
Me: my favorite part. gotta type it as it sounds when I sing it: skuh-ratchin' and suh-vie-vin'
Him: Lmao! You good..hangin in auh chow LINE!
Me: hahah Ain't we lucky we got 'em
Him: Good Times-eye-eye-eye imes...(deep voice) Yeaaaa!
Him: Whew!!!

and then

Him: Sexual chocolate!!

Nope.

Some messages sent to me were so off-putting that I had to make memes about them just to cope:

Then there was the moment that a co-worker popped up on there. A nice guy. But I squealed and nearly threw my laptop across the room. It was like walking around in your house with no clothes on and then looking out the window and seeing your nice but don't-want-to-do-it-with-him neighbor out there. *drop to the floor* Oh, sweet Jesus. Did he see me in here?

My other friend showed up as an 80% match. "Let's just get married and get it over with," I messaged him. I'll add that to the list of things I've said that have made him incredibly uncomfortable, no doubt.

This evening I had some very fun witty banter back and forth with a guy who is visiting Korea for a week on business. It's the kind of back-and-forth I really miss with Gareth.  This guy noted my reference of Steve Martin in "The Jerk" when I answered the prompt: list 6 things you can't do without. He was complimentary, but not creepy. And he was funny. That's enough to make me consider an evening out with someone- the humor.

I said I was not for any kind of visitor-coming-through-town hookup, and I told him about the elderly prostitutes selling vitamin drinks and carrying viagra in the park (true story). More banter and he said he'd still like to take me out because I seem like fun.

To which I reply:

I would go on a date, because I aim to try. But, I'll tell you, I am the suckiest choice possible if you want to get your doin' it groove on. Even your smoochin groove has no shot here. Hand holding is also out. Can't even brush my fingers when passing me some chopsticks. That's what I have to offer. Sound like fun?

A little more banter and then I do even more sexy talk:

I guess one could surmise that I'm not quite there yet. I'd suggest you don't test it, unless you want a show. And not a sexy sex show. The kind that makes you wish you were invisible. That said, if you want a completely sex-less in every way date, that's me. It will be like taking your mother out. 

Turns out that's not the way to accept a date offer.
Okay, you may have convinced me it's not the best idea, he wrote. Although my mom can be pretty funny, especially after a half glass of wine!

Mission accomplished? I convince someone not to take me out?
This could be how I start.
Slowly.
So, so very slowly.

And I'm sure, I'm absolutely sure of it, that Gareth is getting the biggest kick out of it all.

Aren't you, babe?