Overthunk

If you would destroy the evidence, Twittercide, posthaste. Hell hath no fury like the deluded Tumblr posts of a woman being willingly lied to. That awkward moment when you post 1,000 Tumblr pics of airbrushed models doing all the sex acts you and I have done in real life, to impress someone who is too far away to touch you on a regular basis. Love? You're just an actor. He's writing the script. The paycheck? Hoping you'll provide the confidence and worth he hasn't provided for himself. For you? Pro bono, baby. Wisdom is a long time in coming (at least six months, hundreds of texts, hours on the phone and together in person). Note to self: Fun is not love. Fun is just fun, even if it is pretty intense, and repeated, and other people seem to think it is love, and you do. It is just fun, even if the other participant in the fun says, "I love you" while looking you right in the eyes, in your own bed, after hours of touching, kissing, and laughing together, ...

On the occasion of 10,000 tweets, August 8, 2011: -------------- As Vladimir said to Estragon, “Is Godot gonna show, or are we waitin’ for the bomb?” Estragon replied, “Vlad, I don’t know, didn’t the wall fall down many years ago?” “And what can we do, in this globe-warmed typhoon, To pass the time while we wait for our doom?” Vlad, thumbs a-flying on touchscreen sweet Fired up his wit and answered in tweets: “Swap hats, eat carrots, affirm through the day Anything to hold the terrible silence at bay.” “Not this evening, but surely tomorrow Prayer meetings and teabags will trouble borrow.” “From your bank accounts downturns continue to suck, Clutch your Cold War Certificate and cover and duck.” “I know as a toddler you learned to berate ‘Cause on your mama’s lap you watched Watergate.” “Against all manner of toil, death, and woe, We still keep waiting for our personal Godot!” “But Est: No matter what is comin’ to destroy ya, Let the gypsies sing out HOYA PARANO...

Alright, I know primarily entertainment-oriented, free internet dating sites don't stand alongside Harvard and Yale as strongholds of hard-hitting, accurate, valid research, but a few weeks back OkCupid, that fun repository of all sorts of personal information that I hope they aren't selling to The Man for parts, had an ad running: "Don't Date a Tweeter!" Being a member of this much-maligned collective, I found my short-lived attention piqued. Why, pray tell?  Well, as it happens, according to this article : "Just as with their 140-character musings, Twitter users seem to end up in relationships that are bite-size. 'Twitter users have shorter relationships,' says Christian Rudder, the site's cofounder and editorial director. 'How much shorter? Maybe not a lot... but the difference is measurable and consistent.' " So, let's take a quick look at this with a sampling of nice, round ages. Approximating as close to exactly as poss...

As I'm yet aboard the dating train (Weird. A snippet from Billy Joel's "Piano Man" -- "and probably will be for life" -- just came into my head. Tsk, tsk, that's not positive thinking!), I'm still conducting and being observed through a series of bizarre interviews (a.k.a. online profiles, messaging, phone conversations, and meetups). Recently, I've given some of my prospective partner candidates the address of my blog, and even, horror of horrors, my Twitta . Some seemed to enjoy it, but in some, it produced intimidation. When I whined about this to some friends, they claimed similar experiences. Do men need a woman who's not quite as smart or less independent than they are to feel good about themselves? Maybe some do. If that's so, this blog serves as a double-edged sword, slicing some out of the equation. It just underscores what I've said before: writing both validates and betrays me. It allows me to show crystalline facets of wh...