Dread. That's the feeling that rises up in my throat whenever anyone asks me the totally non-condescending question of why I'm still single, which I've answered so many times in so many tones ("Just haven't met the right guy, I guess!" "I don't know. Why are you still married?"), I could teach a master class. Now imagine that feeling multiplied times a tsunami and you'll know what washed over me when Cosmopolitan.com called up to see if I would travel around the country going on dates to find out if location really matters when you're looking for love.
I've met guys in bars, at parties, while snowboarding, through friends, and online via OkCupid, Match, Tinder, Hinge, Happn, Bumble, The League, HowAboutWe, Coffee Meets Bagel, and even Nerve.com, a site for "literary smut" that hosted online personals in that early-aughts dark age before smartphones. There was the guy who kept taking calls from a number he'd labeled "Happy Happy Fun Time," which turned out to be his drug dealer. And the bassist who insisted I listen to 10 minutes of his music while he watched me react to it. And the winner who showed up in sweatpants and couldn't buy me a drink because he'd spent his last $20 on a beer and wings special for himself.
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