Lesbian Dancing After The Show: An Improviser's Non Improvised Life

The Foxworthy Crowd.

I had the fortune of dating before the internet was created. The complete fortune of being in a relationship for a very long time before the internet was the new form of dating.

When Facebook became the rage and people were forgetting their abandoned MySpace and Friendster Pages, there were applications that you could use to supposedly interact with new people.

Being amazingly ignorant to current day Meeting People as Friends instead of Fuck Buddies, I accidentally put in the Facebook application "Meet New People", my first few months on Facebook.

The worst decision for an application I had made up to that point.

From what I gathered from the promotion for this application, you could meet "Like Minded People." As someone who is on Facebook to meet improvisers and other theater and comedy minded individuals, I thought this would be a great tool along with long forgotten "I-Promote".

Oh god, no. I was inundated with "Someone is FLIRTING with you" emails.

I never considered myself an attractive woman. When I tell people this, they laugh and say, Oh, you know you're good-looking, Shaun - at least, a lot of white guys do in my lifetime. To them, I'm "Exotic." I'm "Big Boned." They love the "High Cheek Bones." You look like you should be drawn on the Good Times Picture.

And, it seems this is the same sort of person who wishes to "Flirt with me" online.

My real-life relationships before The Internet Dance seemed to surprisingly coincide with my Then Brand New Facebook Online Life. Every single person who has "Flirted with me" is white. They are generally short. They are generally dark-haired and mustached.

Nine out of ten times they are wearing a beater shirt. They all seem to reside either in the south or the more "eccentric" parts of the country. There are a lot of cowboy hats. You can almost smell the German Shepherd.

They are paunchy. Sickly. Budweiser flu. Jack Daniels Cancer. I don't get the guy from Yale. Or even the brother from Brown University. I don't get Obama. It seems the ones who are attracted to me the most took two years at DeVry before they started to work at the dog food factory, and have a restraining order against them.

They wish for me to bake pie. Grits preferred. They can't get Iman. They can't get Halle Berry. I'm your substitute.

I should have deleted this application about a month into having it. But out of all the sheep throwing, and vampire biting, and RSS feeds on what other people are doing that pops into my email, there is something strange and satisfying about seeing "Someone is FLIRTING with you."

And to confirm over and over again who is interested in me. I still got it with The Foxworthy Crowd.

Some guy actually wrote in his flirt to me "You are the person I would not mind showering with gifts."

The picture showed him in a dingy apartment with a filthy looking couch, that I am almost certain my theater company used as a prop in 1988.

Maybe he just wanted to re-unite me with the couch. Figuratively and literally.

It was like a train wreck in my email: I couldn't turn away. Before I realized I could opt out of emails and then eventually remove the app.

Of late I find myself waxing reminiscent of those annoying Facebook notices and the men who through my life always took a shine to me until I met my husband.

I wax nostalgic while I block requests from friends to play Candy Crush.

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