Her ex has moved on, so she’s moved online
Not so long ago, jilted lovers who wanted to spy on their exes had to resort to driving by the loved one’s house in search of unfamiliar cars in the driveway, casing favorite haunts for evidence of post-coital brunches and romantic dinners, or the classic late-night drink-and-dial. When my last boyfriend unexpectedly pulled the plug on our relationship, I fumed for a couple of weeks. Then, armed only with his age and his ZIP Code, I went looking for him online.
“Carlos” and I hadn’t met online. We had reconnected more than a dozen years after we’d worked together in our college cafeteria. However, having recently returned to L.A. after a sojourn on the East Coast, Carlos seemed a likely user of an Internet dating service.
It took me only a few seconds of navigating a popular site -- not an edgy one that asks singles to name their favorite cinematic sex scenes or preferred make-out music -- to find him under the headline, “Back on the Market.”
Electronically tracking the real-time progress of your ex’s reentry into the dating game is fascinating, but it’s also painful. The profile indicated that Carlos had moved on, while I was still nursing my wounds, spending my weekends watching “Prime Suspect” on DVD, guzzling tequila and waiting for that contrite phone call in which he admitted he’d made a mistake.
Under cover of anonymity, I revisited his profile compulsively. If it said “active within 24 hours,” I gloated over the fact that he hadn’t managed to replace me. When he hadn’t checked in for a week or two, I tortured myself imagining that he had hit pay dirt.
Carlos’ profile reminded me of the ways -- to paraphrase the must-read relationship book du jour -- “he just wasn’t into me.” His list of preferred qualities seemed an itemization of my flaws.
When he said he was looking for “someone who gives back to the community,” I wondered if I could have saved the relationship by volunteering to read newspapers to the blind one afternoon a week.
And I couldn’t help but notice that in the space where he had to specify the religious beliefs of his future date, he had listed almost every faith except my own. Had I unintentionally tarred my co-religionists with the crazy brush? I had been imagining a multicultural wedding with mariachis playing “Hava Nagilah” when all along he’d been planning his exit.
A pity the site lacked a forum for disgruntled exes to weigh in with their two cents. “Of course, I am not perfect.” No kidding! “We are all human and susceptible to occasional lapses in judgment.” I’ll say! You hit on my best friend!
I derived some comfort from putting myself in Carlos’ shoes and doing a search for the women he was likely to meet online. Scanning the hopeful profiles of dental hygienists from Alhambra and elementary schoolteachers from Sherman Oaks, I was reminded that finding a potential mate is more complicated than looking for an apartment on WestsideRentals.com. Internet dating may have a place in our increasingly isolated lifestyles, but there’s no room in these bracingly positive profiles for our flaws, our “dings,” and our blind spots, the very things that make us unique and, I would argue, interesting human beings.
Several months have passed since my cyber-stalking began. I’ve weaned myself from the hourly checks to see if he’s been active lately. Time, not tequila, has proven the best healer.
I’m even thinking about taking a page from Carlos’ playbook. To that end, I’ve been compiling a mental list of the songs or albums that put me “in the mood.” I figure Roxy Music’s “Avalon” is a classic, right?
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Alison Manheim can be reached at weekend@latimes.com.