Digital rejections, faux connections

Get over it; he's just not that into you!

Hi, my name is T. and I’m a cyber-stalker.

Before you get all Law and Order: SVU on me, let me plead my case.  I’m a huge geek.  Ginormous, if you will.  People who’ve just met me would never guess because I keep it cleverly hidden with sarcasm and witty repartee, deftly sidestepping social awkwardness at every turn.  But if you knew me in high school, you’d know the awful truth.  All my classes were Honors classes, and I was in a special math and science program.  I was a band geek.  I never had a lunch period because I didn’t want to walk the gauntlet of cafeteria politics to sit alone like the outcast I was.  I didn’t date, and was 17 before my first kiss with another band geek.  My mother picked me up from school every day because some girls from gym class (damn that physical fitness requirement) wanted to beat me up for no reason.  Actually, they wanted to beat me up because I talked like a White girl, but that’s a story for later.

I say this to give context for my social networking activities.  Like most people these days, I’m on Facebook, and my greatest Facebook pleasure, other than coming up with witty status updates, is following relationships.  You know exactly what I mean.  First someone has no relationship status.  Then “its complicated”.  Then they’re in a relationship.  Later, its a relationship with a named individual – also on Facebook – and there are tons of couple photos.  “Its complicated” again, until the engagement, the ceremony, the wedding photo album and the inevitable bride’s profile pic of her in a white dress.  I LOVE IT!!!   And here’s when I become the eternal geek, the online prowler.

Getting a front-row seat for the love lives of so many people is awesome.  I love getting to see my classmates’ and friends’ happiness.  Sincerely.  But as my pool of single girlfriends dwindles while I remain unattached, I get a little wistful and resolve to kick up my social life.  Let the hunting begin!

There is a pool of single males on my friend list with whom I have varying degrees of familiarity.  The guy I dated 10 years ago and the one from last year, the one I slept with a few times, the satellite friend, the online-only friend of a friend…they’re all FBF’s.  And to the perennial nerd, the awkward socialite, they all have potential.  So the (re)mating ritual commences.  I post cute pictures of myself.  I make breezy wall posts:  “Hey you!”; “What’s up, stranger?”; “I heard from so-and-so that you were sick; feel better.”  I make a few phone calls, write a few e-mails, engage in harmless flirting with lots of e-winking and LOL.   I proffer casual meetings, post events that they may or may not attend, and tag them in notes.  Then I wait for someone to take the bait.

Its the waiting that turns me into Samantha Baker, wishing Jake Ryan would notice me.  I lurk by my virtual locker, watching how many of his friends are women, when he’s online and not commenting on my latest pithy remark — which, thanks to the new Facebook, is effortlessly on his homepage — note whether he’s been on vacation or a business trip.  I make another innocent wall post, then follow The Rules: Digital Edition in which I pledge not to comment on his status updates until he comments on mine.  Then I update my settings so that I can constantly monitor my iPhone for the e-mail informing me that My Latest Online Crush commented on my wall post.  It’s kinda pathetic.

But don’t feel too sorry for me.  Eventually I’ll start dating the latest tall, dark and handsome, and you’ll see us all hugged up together in my profile picture.