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And the also-very-young hero who swooped in to rescue me when a woman was rude to me and held my hand as we ran through the streets to the next stop.And then there was Peter, who I met that night in a bar set in the basement of a haunted mansion.The next night, we had another terrific date wandering around New Bern and going on a ghost tour (half the town is haunted, apparently).Still, I both got annoyed waiting for him to come to me, and felt guilty over his two-hour commute.We had a great night hopping from a seafood restaurant, to a cocktail lounge, to making out at a bar on a dock so close to the water you could dip your feet in.Then I practically fell asleep at the wheel coming home.To be in constant chase is exhausting, and to repeat it, at ’s behest, every 48 to 72 hours in six very different U. I’d estimate that 85 percent of the profiles I saw, with my radius set at 30 miles around New Bern, featured guns, military uniforms (there are two bases nearby), Confederate flags, mentions of God, or all of the above.“I definitely assume everyone is a Republican,” Becky, a 26-year-old elementary school teacher and Democrat who dates all political persuasions, told me.

I’ve done enough self-reflection (read: therapy) to realize that I’m often the problem, the one who’s foregone intimacy for shinier and shinier objects. But now that I feel like I’m ready for something real, it seems like the only guys left in this town are perma-noncommittal, seriously disturbed, or so young they treat a visit to my apartment like an anthropological field trip into the lair of an older woman. So I accepted the assignment and decided I would try Tinder, Bumble, real-life pickups — anything in search of a good date.. No offense, men of Eastern North Carolina, but dating is scary enough without the possibility of being alone with a guy who shoots two rifles off his hips at the same time.Language variation and change; morphosyntax; deixis, discourse and social hierarchies; linguistic anthropology, Christian registers in indigenous languages, Mayan languages, Nahuatl, Quechua. 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! 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.I’ve changed all the guys' names.)The bar scene, on the other hand, was a blast, at least as the new girl in town.I went out by myself and by the end of Saturday night was rolling with a new friend group 10 people deep.

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