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Bird Lives!: The High Life and Hard Times of Charlie (Yardbird) Parker by Ross Russell 
 
 
 
 
 

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"Look at him, a rhinestone in the rough."
-- Dorothy Parker

There is a slow progression of degradation that goes on in the dating scene, and although there are levels much higher and much closer to the one beginning with "Internet Dating Service," that's a safe enough circle of hell to start with.

Unfortunately, belittling it seems to only result in Things Getting Worse, which means after this entry I think I won't ever get another date for the rest of my life, because really ... there's little worse than an internet dating service ....

... except when you get the goofy email solicitations
... except when you actually find one interesting enough to respond to
... except when that person then never writes you back (which indicates it must have been something you said, or maybe they deleted it, or maybe one of a thousand things)
... except when they write you back and then later send you a photo of an individual who probably isn't a serial killer, but also clearly not someone you would ever find attractive even if you were stuck in a cave on a soap opera with just an hour's left of air (because then, really, what do you do? A grown-up might write back and say thanks but no thanks, but how does that email really sound? And it's all so shallow, and you're so shallow for thinking about such true trivialities, but at the same time you can't fake it that much...)
... except when you write the person back and he writes you and you have a chat on the phone and actually make a date and then after that date (which, despite a few oddities here and there isn't too bad and you think, well, a second shot of this might be okay even if you're not head over heels it isn't an absolute no) you get an email back which begins "Thanks" and ends with "About us, I don't think there is a sustainable romantic fit possible."

Yeah, that's pretty much the pits. I suppose it's ridiculous to be absurdly wounded by a person you barely know and never had a chance to get to know beyond about an hour or two of conversation and a cheap meal at a Vietnamese restaurant, yet that is how it feels. Out of all proportion to the event itself, I am annoyed and saddened and generally all around put out. The little id in me is screaming, "Hey, that loser, his loss" and at the same time the pierced ego is going, "So what went wrong? Aren't you supposed to get to make that decision? You were charming and dressed nice and there was laughter and interesting thoughtful conversation which veered very little into pop culture which is a good sign and the food was okay and you had a nice walk afterwards, so shouldn't it be up to you to point out his various faults and annoying details which would be the reason not to go out again or at some future date? Like the way he kept rambling on and couldn't stop talking at times and instead punctuated everything with 'and uh and uh and uh'? Or the way the place was little more than a take-out joint yet he insisted on it and didn't finish his meal and said 'Oh, I wasn't very hungry,' when you'd essentially said you should just get a drink first and a meal wasn't necessary? Or how he shook your hand at the conclusion of the date and said he'd love to do it again and then somehow between that moment and the next day decided to forget it, no way, there's no 'sustainable romantic fit' possible? What kind of jerk is that, and hey, where did you go wrong, you loser?"

I'm not really sure why I bother, to be honest. The truth is, I have a great time by myself, I entertain myself, I have great friends and a good life and I don't know why every so often I feel a need to put myself through this kind of bullshit, but I do. Oh, wait, here's the reason: You're supposed to. That's what most people do, and if they don't they're supposed to be strangling with lonliness. And maybe I'm strangling, too, but I'm in such denial that I don't feel the rope on my neck, so I guess I better get out there and do what everyone else does because if you don't, you lose the knack if you ever had it in the first place, and then you stand out as an anomaly and a freak and people know you're not One Of Them. Which I think may have already happened. I had a friend once – a friend who was a guy, but we never dated and really were just friends but then he stopped talking to me for reasons I can't totally fathom, and years later we ran into each other on the subway and arranged to have a meal and I finally asked, "So how come you just disappeared on me?" And he went into this whole long thing about how I didn't seem to "need" him. And if we'd been lovers or dating or something I suppose I could see some of that, but I'm not sure how need is supposed to be demonatrated in a friendship. If I call, I need you. If I email, I need you. If we talk on the phone or go out or in some way we let each other into our lives and share, we need one another. Maybe I'm need-retarded, but that's how I've always understood it. In any case, I have to wonder if this supposed lack of neediness translates in dating situations. Perhaps what telegraphs – without my meaning to, and certainly it isn't something I could turn off even if I knew how – is that I'm really only there because I think I'm supposed to be. I don't need it, not really. 

Of course, the even scarier part is that I really do need it (because everyone else does) and I'm just afraid to go out and sincerely look for it, because that would mean admitting, that, wow, I do need something I can't personally provide. 

And yet, having typed that out, that feels like a nice little psychological bow that gets tacked on to Dr. Phil sessions on Oprah, or the end of so-called literary short stories, and doesn't ring true. Admittedly, tell yourself something enough and you'll believe it, but I fail to see how a boyfriend really would enhance my life. I have never really seen it, which is why I haven't had a lot of long-term relationships. I see it with others – that is, I see how the one person is enhanced or improved or somehow made more whole with another person there – and that's great. I'd like to skip right to that. But the in-between stuff is not only hard, most of the time it's really repulsive. 

Like now.