Dating is such an odd pursuit these days. Lines are blurred. Are we on a date? Are we hanging out?
Here’s a weird confession for you: The text message section of my phone is an absolute mess.
A good half of it reflects normal exchanges with friends. Most of these are sheer logistics. “Sitting at the bar. Are you on your way?” Because, truth be told, we’re now incapable of physically locating each other these days without the accompaniment of a text.
The other half of my slate of messages is where things go awry. This is a series of texts with men that I’ve either met out and about, or on some type of dating application. In some cases, the messaging has lead to a date. Or two or three. In some cases the words went nowhere and they ended with question marks or periods on the screen.
I point this out not to make myself out to be some Donna Juan with a black book of gentleman callers to call on if I become bored in my apartment. This might be nice on a rainy day. It’s actually more of a revelation that I’m stockpiling numbers.
And, maybe more interestingly, they are lists of numbers sans words to describe them. Lately I’m not entering the numbers and names in my Contact List. That would be far too practical, right?
Instead, that means if someone messages me I look at the 10 numbers before me, scroll back through previous texts and, like some weird romantic Sherlock Holmes, ascertain who it is.
Why don’t I just take the 30 seconds to enter the guys into my Contacts? Afterall, I used to save the digits of someone with whom I interacted at a party. Sure, the “name” I keyed in might have been “Silver Spring Party Man” or “Goatee Guy.” But there was a label of some sort.
So why not now?
Let’s play analyst for a sec, shall we?
I think this step is becoming a new benchmark to me that somebody means something. With Tinder, Match, OkCupid, speed dating and all these means designed to meet we’re bombarded with more people than we can keep up with. Sadly, most of these pairings go nowhere.
I need some symbol, at least in my head, that something has become elevated past “going nowhere.”
Dating is such an odd pursuit these days. Lines are blurred. Are we on a date? Are we hanging out? Is he texting me to meet or just to engage in some random chit chat? What’s his intention? Will he disappear after a great evening together? (because this last one happens and baffles me to no end)
Such confusion, so many unclear factors. Couples don’t officially enter into anything. They don’t officially break up and exit out it.
Maybe at least allowing a guy to be a someone in my Contacts list and, thus, separated from the clutter of my phone, is some type of step, bumping him up in status out of faceless individual. Or maybe I’m just disorganized.