Warning: the following is a rather ineloquent rant on men, dating and love in general.
I am so sick of men. And dating. And love.
Online dating is a constant battle of bizarre encounters, disgusting propositions and poor grammar. Honestly, if I get one more “Your gorgeous” I’m going to stab my own eye out.
(Speaking of eyes, yes, mine are blue. I was born with them. I get that you’d absolutely looooove to wake up with those eyes next to you. If you like them that much I will provide you with the one that I stabbed out. You can keep it. It might start to smell after awhile.)
And, men, if you could figure out what the fuck it is that you want, that’d also be great. It isn’t that hard. Just fucking make a decision. Early in the game, please. If you just want to fuck me, fine. Tell me. I’ll be into it (or not!) and we can all move the fuck on. There is nothing wrong with not wanting a serious relationship or marriage or babies. Just fucking know what the fuck you want. And be fucking up front about it.
(Sorry for all the swearing Mom. See warning above.)
And, love. Yes love. It is such bullshit. Such. Bullshit. You see: you will fall in love. And it will shatter you. And then you’ll be left picking up the pieces while… (Okay. I’m not going to finish that sentence because I was going somewhere really unkind.)
Seriously though. Love is bullshit. It’s a bunch of chemicals released by your brain because of orgasms, or the imminent possibility of orgasms. It’s not real people.
(Except Love is real and it soaks through you and leaves you completely bereft.)
Dating is a constant cycle of rejection and second guessing oneself. You need nerves of steel because that new message could be sweet… But it could just as easily be “Your lips are great… They’d look great wrapped around my…”.
(By the way: he did finish that sentence and he is the reason for this rant.)
So what I am saying is simple: Dating is awful. Men are horrible. Love is a fucked up sham.
And I’m going to keep trying.
Because I look around me and I constantly see these couples who finish each other’s sentences and hold hands in the grocery store and have each other’s back. And I deserve that. I deserve someone who is going to fight for me, who is going to stick around when things get tough, who is going to have my back as much as I have his.
And I know that he’s out there and he probably just left a horrible date with a woman who ordered champagne and lobster and talked about her Pilates routine for 3 hours without pause and he’s flicking on Netflix wishing that women weren’t so awful.
I’ve been married. I know how hard it is. And I’m not trying to minimize that. But here’s what I’d like you to do, right now. Step over the shoes, or socks, or underwear that your partner hasn’t put away properly (yet again). Walk across the room, the house, the yard until you are standing in front of them. Tell that that you love them. That you appreciate that they have your back, remind them that you have theirs. Give them a kiss.
I’m happier single than I ever was married. But I want to try again. I want to get the chance to sit on a porch swing watching grand kids run around the front yard holding the same hand I’ve held for 40 years. And that’s cliche and that’s not guaranteed. But I want the chance.
So, no. My lips WOULDN’T look great wrapped around your… In fact I hope it rots off.
And to my Netflix boy. I hope that it doesn’t take too long to connect.