fine. i did it. i freakin’ created an online dating profile. i am not going to find a new romance walking around my house in my pajamas, and the men who flit around the edges of my life aren’t taking any action, so fuck it. let’s do this thing.
it’s mostly gross. men tell me the vulgar things they want to do to assorted parts of my body. they invite me to sext. it’s way beyond my comfort zone to be on the damn site to begin with, nevermind the inbox full of lewd comments.
there’s one with intriguing potential, and so far, only one…but will an online rapport translate into a real life connection? clearly it’s easier to be who you want to be online–so sayeth the one writing this post and blogging for over a decade, yo. we can be anyone online, but then in real life, we are our awkward fumbling selves without a backspace button to undo our dorky mistakes.
i want mutual smittenosity. i am confident that “smittenosity” is a word, and i want it. i want someone to look forward to hanging out with me. i want the giddy eager good stuff: the easy laughter, the crazy kisses, the “cmon, please stay” persuasion.
those are all wants. i don’t believe i “need” anyone to complete me. i’m not desperate, but there are beautiful moonlit nights that i wish i had someone around to smooch under the stars.