Manhunt?

I’d be lying if I said I’d never tried online dating before. I have. A couple of times actually.  Back when there was a little more of a social stigma that came with it.  Your mother asks, “Where’d you meet?”  My cover?  “A blind date.”  Not technically a lie.

This time, I’m older and wiser.  And older.  I’m single and ready to mingle!  Oh God.

But which electronic singles club do I choose?  There are so many now!  During my first foray into the world of profile pics and witty one-liners, I think there were only two:  the free one, which was, let’s face it, designed for one thing and one thing only.  And the one you had to pay for, which was, let’s face it, designed for women with weddings on the brain.

I opted for the one that took my money in my 20s, and I am returning to the same site in my 30s. 

I have to say, things have really changed during the decade since my last unsuccessful attempt at landing a husband.

For starters, the price has gone up, in more ways than one!  Thankfully, I make a little more money these days.  But how much dignity will it cost me to sift through potential suitors? 

After just a few days into the process I had some kinks to work out.  The site I chose sends me six potential matches every day.  It wasn’t like that in the early 2000s.  A girl looking for a fella could shop to her heart’s content from a seemingly endless list of bachelors.  Not anymore.  Now, she gets six a day.  These lucky lads are selected by a computer that claims to use your well-crafted answers as guides.  I’m not so sure.  I set parameters:  no dudes who live more than 30 miles away.  This was not a random number, it was offered to me by “the system”. 

As I quickly discovered, the “system” pretty much doesn’t care what I said, because the first batch of studs selected just for me all hailed from places that weren’t even in my state.  One even lived in Canada.  And while that’s just a few hours’ drive from my doorstep, I don’t think I want to meet him at a coffee shop halfway.  So this had to be fixed.  I took a second look at my filters.  “30 miles”? Check. “How important” is this limit to me?  Very. 

And then the shaming began.

I didn’t think it was possible, or ethical for that matter, for the dating site to chastise me for opting out of all the potential mates living more than 45 minutes (give or take) from my apartment.  But chastise me it did!  I now live with a little yellow triangle with an exclamation point in it at the top of my home page.  It’s a daily reminder that I’m too picky.  And if I click on the triangle, it basically tells me to lighten up, guys that live five hours away could make wonderful dates.  Thank you, site, but I think I’ll shop local.

Which brings me to my second speed bump on the freeway of love:  kids.   I set a filter stating that I would prefer gentlemen without offspring.  I know, it’s a tall order at this point in the game, but if I get to be choosy, I would prefer silence over the pitter patter of little feet.  I’ll spare you the usual clichés about the difficulty of just taking care of myself.  I will never be Marissa Tomei stomping my foot, screeching about my biological clock.  So no kids.

The second AND third batch of boys?  Fathers. Nearly every one of them.  I thought the site was kidding.  I once again clicked over to the filters to double-check myself.  Under the glow of the yellow triangle from my first go ‘round, I discovered that my filters were indeed set to my specifications.

Site 3, Meg 0.

I did a lot today...

I did a lot today.  I woke up long before the sun.  I showered and went to work.  I wrote some stories, answered some emails, attended a long meeting.  I welcomed a new coworker, laughed with friends and made decisions.  I ate two meals at my desk, returned some phone calls and set an appointment.  I understood my role in upcoming corporate happenings, expressed concern over future events and learned about a weekend requirement.

After work, I visited a friend, gave him a CD for the road and hugged him goodbye.  I zipped into the drive-thru, braved afternoon traffic and made it home.  I snapped a photo of two deer outside my apartment, posted it to Facebook and waited for people to "like" it.

I chopped some veggies, boiled some pasta and packed it all up for lunch tomorrow.  I cleaned the dishes, texted a friend and watched Rachael Ray make a delicious meal in 30 minutes.

I sat down at my desk, opened the laptop and started typing.  I sighed heavily, thought about the past and what, if any, power my words might have.

I've done a lot since 2am.

The one thing I didn't do today was forget.

A Big Role

I work in an industry that reminds me daily how big the world is, and how small it really is.  I am afforded the chance to watch major world events unfold from the cheap seats.  Rarely am I in the front row for the good stuff, but I am always up front and center, making sure someone better looking tells it like it is.  I'm the girl in the background handing off the information to someone else. 

It's the role I chose, I think it's pretty big, and I like it.  I work really hard to make sure the team is first, accurate and accountable.  I think I do it right most days.  It's kind of thankless, and no one says anything about it unless something goes wrong.

Many journalists set goals for themselves: get the big story, win an Emmy, beat the competition, make it to a bigger market.  I had never been a big believer in the latter until 2007.

That's when I met my friend D. It was my first management job in south Louisiana.  It's wasn't a large market by any stretch of the imagination.  Small by any standard, the city was no friend to me in the beginning.  D was the producer of the number one morning show, hands down.  It was informative, funny, easy to watch.  Good television.  D is really good at what he does.  He is a natural storyteller who really "gets it".  I knew we would be friends immediately.

For several years we worked side by side (it was a really small space), churning out news, feeding the beast, bringing in solid numbers.  We laughed and celebrated wins, we cursed and gnashed our teeth over losses.  D helped make my life in Louisiana more fun.

Time flies.  D found a bigger opportunity, moving on to better things.  And being a good manager (and hopefully good friend) I encouraged him.  I sent him on his way, armed with best wishes and a new pair of headphones for good measure.

Ironically, the same stars came back around a few months later, putting D and me back on the map together again.  We were a long way from Louisiana, but still a rocken' team!  What followed were three more years of good times and bad, victories and defeats... and a few lame jokes about how I followed him across the country.

Now, D is on the move again like a rock star on tour.  An even bigger city awaits and I have no doubt more success for my friend.

The good news is that, as big as the world is, it's actually smaller than ever thanks to technology.  I can see my friends near and far whenever I want with the click of a button.  Distance eliminated.  I have no doubt I will be bothering D to find out how things are going in his new home.

As our time winds down, I can't help but be proud of how far we have come.

He once told me, and I'm paraphrasing in my favor here, "You have played a big role in getting me where I am today."

Funny you should say that, D, because you played a big role in getting me where I am today too.

But I'm not following you this time, pal!  At least I don't think so...