2 Busy 4U

Last week I caught up with a good friend over dinner. She filled me in on her goings-on, including some dating adventures, and then asked me about my love life.

"Nothing to report," I said, "but it's kind of liberating to know my phone isn't going to ring."

Not that people actually call each other anymore.  Now that instant, silent modes of communication abound, starting a conversation with someone new without actually speaking is quick and nearly effortless, like opening a can of soda.  Those first few sips-- mutual friend-ing on Facebook, texting with adolescent ardor --are all fun and fizzy.

But heaven forbid one person decides she's not thirsty anymore, or she wants to switch to tea.
A decade ago, she could just leave the can on the counter and let its contents quietly go flat. The can got to keep a little dignity, too.  It was free to invent reasons for a crush's abrupt disappearance with very little worry that anyone would disprove them, no matter how implausible (lost in Area 54) or uncharitable (lost in Area 54 and then set upon by a starving bear moments after opening a jumbo bag of Doritos).

These days, if you leave the opened can alone for more than an evening, it's going to want to know where you went.  (And the very demanding ones will expect to be recycled after they get dumped.)  Even if it doesn't ask, it'll find out as soon as it goes on Facebook, and it will have a hard time convincing itself that you died but somehow found a way to continue updating your status posthumously.

Modern daters should be ready for this situation, yet recent conversations with two of my single friends have convinced me they're not.  I listened as they traded lame excuses they'd been given by someone who disappeared.  One friend --a generous soul--emailed the object of her affection after he went dark, expressing concern for his wellbeing. He responded via text two days later. "Crazy busy - working like a dog." On his Facebook page, she assumed, because he had managed to relay to the world the important news that he likes Target and to check in at various bars and restaurants on FourSquare.

My guy friend countered with an entry from a former love interest who went from texting him with restraining order frequency to near-total silence.  She ended a week of non-contact with the following heartfelt missive: "'Sup?"

Before we knew it, these two entries had started a competition--a blowoff-off, if you will. And you are hereby invited to join in the game.  Send your nominations for the best modern day blowoff to  splatospheric@gmail.com.  (Names and other identifying information can be changed as needed to protect the guilty, or the merely embarrassed.) Let the lames, er, games, begin!