I Like You, But I Love Me – I

It’s supposed to be, “I love you, but I love me more,” but we weren’t there. We weren’t “In love.”

Hell, we weren’t even “in like.”

We were in the “you seem normal and nice and special and maybe I would ‘like” to hang out with you if we’re both free….let’s say on Tuesday?”

We were in that place that supposed to be the honeymoon of dating where you temporarily weeded out the losers and you found yourself knowing, actually knowing someone just enough to assume that he’ll call you again without the pressure of actually “being” something to him. How do you know he’ll call? In some weird way, you think (or know) he’s going to call, because the whole situation is so infrequently casual that you assume he’ll have time to date you in between whatever else or whomever else he’s “doing.”

He was nice in the boy next door kind of way (instead of the emotionally complicated that I frequently find myself overanalyzing with friends when they stop calling). Instead, he was simple and unambiguously kind – the type of guy who could be found fishing on a lake instead of going to some overpriced, bottomless mimosas kind of thing on a Sunday, as so many of us youthful, urban / suburban types “do.”

He didn’t pressure me to hang, he didn’t text me everyday, he simply popped his head up once in awhile when he thought he (or I) could use a break from the mundane to hang out for an hour or two.

Yet me, the non-committal, non-dating kind had a problem with that too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two Girls, Two Coasts = The Same Conversation of “How Did Dating Get Like This?”

One of my favorite things to do is to eavesdrop.

I don’t mean to and I never mean it to be cruel, but no matter how much I try to stop, I can’t!

Why do I do it?

I guess you can say that the real reason is because I love people. I love hearing their stories, how they feel, what they are saying and how they are saying it.

What have they been through? What are their thoughts about the world around them?

I love hearing their words when they don’t know that somebody else is listening. The unpolished, unfiltered stories that come out when they aren’t performing in front of a judgemental stranger. The unfilter-ness that only comes when they are talking to a person that they KNOW.

So I was doing it, this eavesdropping thing in the size 7 shoe aisle at a TJ Maxx back east where I’m visiting for the holidays. Out of LA, out of the superficiality, out of the perpetual youths and back where “real people” are in the cold and snow of Pennsylvania. I say “real people,” because while there are “real people” in Los Angeles, during most days I feel that is not the case, myself included with my stylish threads, LIGHTLY Botoxed mug and “glamourously” labeled, but not so glamorous job in a “glamourously” labeled, but not so glamourous industry. Yes, I’m “real,” but I’ve also had my days where I look in the mirror thinking, “Who is this poser anyway?”

So even I, the seemingly down to the earth small town girl who just HAPPENS to live in Los Angeles, would look and SEEM different on the outside than my northeastern PA counterparts. All those big city versus small city stereotypes that are pathetic truths in some respects despite our fights to not be THOSE girls.

Nobody wants to be the small town girl and nobody wants to be the big city girl, Do they?

So here I was, in the aisle of TJ Maxx where I heard two “small town” girls, slightly older than myself talking.

“I would love to meet someone, but there’s just so many…..so many THINGS to contend with. You don’t know…you don’t know anything when you meet these people. It’s not how it’s supposed to be now. Dating isn’t supposed to be this way.”

From the big city west coast to the small town east coast, the same conversation of “How did dating get like this?”

Turns out, we’re not that much different, are we?