The Problem of Possible

I begin this post fittingly accompanied the by strains of the Disney classic "Someday My Prince Will Come." Tonight, however, instead of the slightly ridiculous soprano there are plaintive notes of Miles Davis's trumpet. Now the song has a sort of wistfulness, removing any remnant of the two dimensional apple-cheeked heroine.

The Davis version conjures images a woman at the mercy of his desire to contact her.
Women have been wishing and hoping since before Dusty put it into song. As America marched west there were women making innocent but incessant inquiries to the post office; their queries increasing in frequency and desperation with each passing day. Later in the century, there was many a woman spending her Saturday nights, dressed to the nines nights--expectantly staring the phone. Flash forward once more, through the feminist revolution and all it waves, there's a new breed of woman. She is empowered and intelligent,with appropriately high self-esteem. There she is... checking her e-mail to the point of compulsion. For the last week , gentle reader, I have been the third woman.

In response to my most honest Craigslist ad I received a reply from a guy who was perfect on paper-- or, more accurately, perfect in e-mail ( he shall henceforth be known as PIE). PIE says he's "a liberal, progressive Christian." PIE has favorite poets. PIE has stories to tell about his labor organizing. PIE is very cute in an indie kind of way.

I thrilled at the prospect of PIE and immediately wrote him back, then I forwarded his response to Millie for her take. Here are her words, exactly:

"Yes. yes, yes!

Smart skinny white boy -- he's perfect for you! I don't know why but I got a good feeling about this one."

Yet, my reply had no answer. After two days, I was forcing myself to give him up. My male housemates who introduced me to this world Craigslist dating said that if someone doesn't contact you after two days, they aren't likely to. I took them at their word and found myself grousing to a friend at work. She replied with a faux slap and a bit of exasperation, "He's a grad student! He teaches! He probably has no time. Wait a little longer."

Here is the problem, the internet provides numerous ways for us to contact each other. It also has many ways this communication can go wrong and thus, infinite excuses we can make for silence. This may come in handy when forgetting your friend's birthday pretending to never have received a memo but it makes the dating game that much more suck.

We get lots of rules--from friends, from our parents, from poorly written yet extremely popular books. They tell us when to call back, when to expect a call, when to kiss and they're never quite right; they exist to make us guard our hearts while still putting ourselves out there. If you read these books you'll find their advice boils down to just a few cautionary tips: hope but not too much, give but not too often and often you should and must to walk away. There are always exceptions to the rules and we hope in those exceptions because that's where the magic is, where everything we heard in all those songs is true.

Love is an unruly, unquantifiable entity; on a level, we know the rules from various sources won't get us true love--that just happens. It's the difference between God and religion. The former works in God's own time, on God's own schedule --often without our knowledge. The latter was created by man so we feel we have participated. God would not cease to exist if all the churches closed tomorrow, nor would love cease to exist if everyone gave up dating. Yet, believing by itself is hard, so we keep busy with our rituals until our faith is rewarded.

I've not heard from PIE and doubt I ever will. PIE might have gotten back together with his old girlfriend. PIE might have been hit by a bus. PIE may have had a sexual awakening and now hosts drag bingo. I'll never know but I am smart enough to write him off, finally. The romantic in me may protest a little, but she'll get over it. (Besides if he does write me back, at this point, it would be such an exception that we'd have to get married and I'm not there yet.) Regardless, I will solider on with different ads or blind dates or singles ballroom. I do believe that someday my prince will come but until he does, I'll keep busy while keeping the faith.

For Colored Girls, When the Internet Isn't Enough

I hate to say it but maybe Deborah Dickerson had a point. In the world of dating, I have to say it's hard out here for colored girls, y'all. Centuries of American history have shown that statement true in general, but the more recent realization is that the internet is not the veritable dating buffet I've been promised in all those banner ads. It has taken me a long time to reach this point.

I first tried online dating while still in college. My good friend Roz and I were commiserating about the lack of actual dating on our campus ( the other options: hooking up or a bizarre form of practical marriage that typically lasted two weeks and involved co-habitation on an extra-long twin) She told me about her success on The Onion Personals. Sincerely believing that publication could do no wrong, I set up a profile. After a lengthy period of echoing silence threatened myself-esteem I took it down. A few months later, I decided to try again with the Washington Citypaper's web personals.This time Instead of silence, I received persistent notes from a 47 year old (I was 22 at the time.) and one indecent proposal that shocked me off the site. That was all. Weren't there any decent guys my age? Because all things come in threes, a year later a good friend high school came to me singing the praises of Yahoo! Personals. Glutton for punishment that I am, I tried, failed and retreated...again.

The whole thing had me mildly perplexed. I believed (and still do) that I posses intelligence,attractiveness and a personality that should allow me to spend a lot less time dateless. My friends aforementioned friends and I were/are well matched in these qualities even and they encouraged me my online efforts; confident that my luck would eventually turn around. Still, in 19th century ball of life, their dances cards were full while I played the reluctant wallflower, forming strong opinions on the punch.

At this point I was convinced that identifying as Christian on these mostly left-leaning sites was the factor blocking me form digital love. Also, I'll allow that part of the trouble may have been my reluctance to *cough* pay for any of these dating sites. In each case I wanted to make sure that I could generate some interest before plunking down my hard earned dosh. Would my results have been different if I fully invested in these sites? Perhaps but that initial silence makes me doubt it.

Yet after more extended stretches of singleness I decided to follow my housemates into the wilds of Craigslist dating. My first survey-style ad garnered several fun to read responses. I mentioned very little about myself, hoping to develop e-mail correspondence instead. The result was one date; sparkless but, more importantly painless. My date was exactly who he said he was. he was not crazy, scary or married. We had a pleasant conversation over beverages and went our separate ways. Fearlessly, I plunged in with my next ad.

This one explicitly expressed my desire to meet a Christian or spiritual person who shared my liberal politics. Instead of a firestorm of criticism I partially expected I got almost twenty sincere responses. I replied to those who best revealed elements of their personalities in their e-mails. for these missives I summoned all my wit and thoughtfulness. Also, on the advise of my wisest friend, Millie, I sent my photo. Wow...there's that horrible silence again; I was absolutely gutted.

"Am I really that unattractive?" I wailed from the computer table. My housemate, also an African-American woman looked at my photo and after confirming my cuteness asked the question my subconscious was avoiding. "Did you mention you were black?" my mouth hung open for a moment. "I don't think so...do you think?" She just nodded and started up the stairs. I hadn't mentioned anything about my race, thinking my respondents would expect/accept anything--silly girl. European-Americans are the cultural baseline this country, even in a majority black city like Washington. Being a minority in this country means being a cultural afterthought. I am privileged enough not to be reminded of this everyday, but I didn't feel that way at the moment. Instead I sighed and signed off, vowing to not to weep into the keyboard. Somehow, I took comfort in the idea I was being rejected for my faith. Lying in my bed I felt the almost-crushing weight of this new old rejection. I sniffled a little, rolled over and forced myself to sleep. the next day I was determined to forget internet dating altogether.

It was after another conversation with Millie that I decided to conduct an experiment and confirm my suspicions. I posted the same ad on the same day of the next week,this time specifically mentioning my race. By the end of the week my number of responses had dropped by two-thirds and they were less detailed and/or well written that the first week's. The respondents generally skewed older and I got my first negative response to the ad.

Now, arguably there are mitigating factors of people seeing the same ad or in a different population do the CL personals week to week but still, the prospect of a black female made ad 66% less interesting to DC CL users.

Ow.

Well, I guess the heart just wants what it wants... everyone has their own biases...I'm generally less attracted to blondes so...

No, just ow.

I remember discussing with an Asian female frend whether it was better to fetishized or ignored. While I would never sign up to be the next Suzie Wong or Hottentot Venus, I have to say I'm awful sick of the latter. Millie encouraged me to blog on this experience because these topics aren't discussed on most dating blogs. Most are written with my previous obliviousness/forced blindness to how the national obsession plays into our romantic lives. When reading "Savage Love" or "Tell Me About It" I'll have to find that grain of salt I read Seventeen with in high school. (To the members of that editorial board: not everyone needs bronzer.) In short, I'll have to listen to my mother. She said at some point, no matter how accepted I am, black people have to work twice as hard to get what they want. Who would have thought this would apply to my dating life more than my working one. As for future romantic adventures? I haven't completely given up on CL. It's forcing me to get myself out there at the very least. Also I think I'll try speed dating, I'm really winning in person.