Dating

I could write a god damn book after these past two years, and maybe someday I will. But for today I’m going to try and condense this into something digestible and try not to lose my shit in the process.

                                  Oh...uh oh there it goes. The shit has been officially lost.

                                  Oh...uh oh there it goes. The shit has been officially lost.

Fuck the world of Dating.

And after you’re done, drop a Cleveland Steamer* on its chest and make your momma proud. Mark your territory, brave lad.

I haven’t gotten too much into my past on here yet, but if you’ve been following along you’ll know that I’m divorced. You’ll also know that I’m single due to my ex-wife flowering from her rainbow cocoon into a full-on, super lesbian. One day she was mildly happy with my dick, the next she was face deep in someone else’s rainbow cocoon.

But good for her.

We were together for almost ten years, dating all the way back to 2005. To put that into perspective, Gold Digger by Kanye was a chart topper, MILF porn wasn’t really that hot of a commodity, and Pontiac Sunfires were still on the road.

On a side note: If you still sport a Pontiac Sunfire as your whip, I advise you to find the nearest cliff and drive off of it. If you escape the wreckage alive, make sure the car is impossible to identify. Your next step should be to remove all of its teeth, ensure there’s nothing indicating you were there, and then call –

Oh shit. That was a write-up for a different blog. You saw nothing.

All I’m getting at is 2005 was a LONG time ago technologically speaking, and the dating world has changed completely.

To sum it up? It fucking sucks.

Back in 2005, I met my ex at a bar, through a friend of a friend. There’s a bit of a story there that I won’t get into, but it’ll suffice to say that I didn’t meet her and then immediately go home to creep her Facebook, follow her Instagram, or jerk off to her Snapchats. Nope, I just got her number.

And did I enter it into my phone?

Nope, I didn’t even have a time-consuming, soul-eating cell phone. Her number was on a piece of paper that I carefully folded three times and slipped into my pocket.

As I sit here and write this blog, I remember what it used to be like checking my jeans every five minutes to make sure a girl’s digits were still there. I remember unfolding the paper and being unsure whether the 7 in her phone number was in fact a 2 because my sweaty palms always managed to smudge the black ink. Sometimes as a backup I’d write the phone number on my hand. Then, as soon as I got home, I’d write the number down on the whiteboard in my room, stare at it like a slack-jawed idiot for days and then finally gather the courage to call her. That’s right, you heard me: CALL HER.

After my ex and I went on a few dates, she got to know my schedule. She did this so she knew when to call my home phone, and we would have to wait for each other to get off work or finish our classes just to talk or interact in any way. Sometimes, after she stayed the night, she’d leave me notes the next morning that were there for me for when I got home from work in the evening. They were thoughtful, creative notes that I valued, and I even kept them all those years until finally throwing them out after our separation twenty-two months ago.

So why do I tell you this?

A few things. To say that the dating world has changed for the worse is a complete understatement.

When I came out of my relationship in 2015, mostly whiskey-drunk and looking to put my dick into anything that didn’t resemble a cheese-grater, I was thrust into a dating scene full of people who have no idea what they want, who they want, or whether one or more dicks and/or vaginas are enough to satiate their need for love and attention. There are just so many options out there, and everyone is confused and disheartened by this paradox of choice. Another date is literally at your fingertips with apps like Tinder and Bumble.

One thing that I noticed immediately is that most people aren’t straight up anymore. You have to play this complicated game of back and forth, and as soon as you give her (or him) the real deal, people retreat back into their shells and start swiping again. There are exceptions to this, however.

People are usually honest if they just want to fuck. If you’re just looking to put on X-Men: Origins on Netflix and fuck like Wolverine and Jean, then that can happen for you any night of the week (before Jean became Phoenix of course. That would get hot and awfully messy).

                            And it's a good thing it is, Hugh. 

                            And it's a good thing it is, Hugh. 

Yup, the only time single people are straight up with their intentions is when we want to touch vaginas to dicks, but when it comes to relationships or creating something meaningful, it’s all one big frustrating game that no one really wants to play. And so a lot of people don’t and retreat into their lonely shell of Facebook, Netflix and swiping right on people that they never intend on meeting.

Another huge change I’ve seen since 2005 is an obvious one: we predominantly communicate through text messages.

DERP. No shit. But it’s still an important advancement that has changed the dating landscape forever.

With most people I’ve encountered in the dating world, texting is this weird back and forth game. There are these unspoken rules that apply to most interactions, because let’s face it – power dynamics are EVERYTHING.

Should they be? Probably not. But here are some of the rules I’ve picked up on that you need to follow if you’re to survive in the modern dating world:

*Firmly places tongue in cheek*

1) Don’t you dare double text. It’s invasive and looks desperate. Quit being such a pathetic loser and say everything you have to say in a few short lines. Brevity is everything, even if you have to use acronyms that you just made up on the spot.

 

2) Don’t you even think about texting her back right away. I don’t care if the phone is in your hand and you know exactly what you want to say. She’ll think you’re a murderer or, even worse: clingy.

3) Oh boy, you stupid asshole. You just texted her and asked about her personal life, didn’t you? Not only are you an over-eager idiot trying to make a connection, you’re also about to get ghosted*. Keep all conversation to things like movies, TV, pop culture and, of course, whether or not she likes butt play.

4) See that symbol that resembles an old-fashioned phone receiver on your cell? Only ever press that to call your mother. That is unless, God forbid, your mother has learned how to text.

       No one could have anticipated this madness... God help us all. 

       No one could have anticipated this madness... God help us all. 

But don’t even fucking think about calling that girl that just gave you her number on Tinder. You’ll just end up in Lonelyville with all of the other dummies, you big dummy.

5) Don’t even mention the word “relationship”, especially over text. Even though you’ve been chatting and seeing her for three months, you never want to imply or even hint at the fact that she really means something to you. Let her be the one to show affection first, and if she doesn’t, just keep on waiting until you either just stop talking to each other or you both wither up and die.

Sounds fun, doesn’t it?

Yeah it’s about as fun as tying one end of a rope to Usain Bolt and the other end to your cock, lifting the starting gun in the air and then pulling the trigger.

If I sound jaded, well . . . you’re probably right.

What’s pissed me off the most is this aversion to commitment that we have in the modern dating world. People want their options open. They want a back-up plan. If you and the other person don’t end up working, well they still want someone there to tell them they look good, someone that wants their attention, someone to say “Good morning” and someone to say “Good night”.

The worst part?

I have become one of those people.

I didn’t re-enter the dating world hoping to become this attention-needing dipshit. I was indoctrinated.

In my first three months of being single, I found out a girl I had been seeing was also dating another guy and sleeping with him. I was understandably pissed, and she told me that we weren’t committed to each other, and she dates more than one man at a time. This was a new concept to me.

"Since when did this become okay?" I asked myself. And after I concluded that I was ten years out of the dating scene and completely ignorant of the single way of life, I considered that maybe I was wrong after all. Maybe it was okay to date more than one woman at a time.

The next girl? Well we went on six or seven dates and I hadn't yet tried dating more than one woman at a time. It was going really well on many accounts. Sex was great, chemistry was there, conversation flowed. And so I asked her if she wanted to commit. If she wanted to be exclusive.

Well that was the wrong thing to say. The look of shock on her face was the same look she had when I accidentally put it in the wrong hole those five times. I had to look behind her just to make sure there wasn’t some dude back there fucking her. She got flustered, didn’t know what to say and I stood there like a dumbass, wondering what I did wrong. A week later and it was over: all because I essentially told her I didn’t want to fuck anyone else but her.

So, as I reflect, I realize that I’m the sum of my post-divorce experiences. As a society we’ve somehow made these stupid rules and norms around dating that has made what I think should be an exciting experience into a depressing and confusing one for so many people. And, trust me, I’m not the only one that feels this way. I hear it all the time from friends of mine and the people I date.

Mind you, not everyone is like this. I mean of course not everyone is like this, it's just that the majority seem to be.

So if you’re reading this, you’re single, and you don’t fit into these columns, then for the love of God fuck me, marry me or just send me an e-mail so I know that you do exist. Well if you’re a dude, please don’t fuck me. Nothing against it, I just really can’t bear any more sexual confusion in my life.

So what’s my plan going forward? Or, even better: What should your plan be going forward.

Here’s the game you SHOULD be playing:

1) Be honest. C'mon man, its not that hard. Just be fucking HONEST with people.

2) If you’re interested in them, tell them you’re interested in them. It's as simple as that.

3) If you’re just looking for sex, then just say so. Don’t pretend you don’t know what you want. You damn well know exactly what you want, you cheeky son of a bitch. It’s not WRONG to want sex without the strings. It’s wrong to say otherwise when all you want is an assisted boner and something to put it into that isn’t your cat.

4) Don’t worry about texting people back too soon, or seeming desperate in any way. If you’ve established you’re interested and the other person is receptive to that, then just be you. Send him/her paragraphs of text if you have an awesome story to share. Or even better yet, call her and tell her. If they ask you to back off a tad, then do it. That’s what we call communication.

5) Focus on one woman or man at a time. You will never be able to invest your full attention and care into anyone if you are juggling the needs of two or more people. I tried this once, and my dick almost fell off. You’ve been warned.

These five things I will do going forward, and I invite you to do the same. Quit with the games, people. The world is lonely enough without you out there fucking it up for the rest of us. There needs to be a revolution in dating, and my own personal revolution starts right now.

 

                                                     Here I come bitches!

                                                     Here I come bitches!

*Ghosting - When things are seemingly going well whilst texting/Tindering and the other person just disappears off the face of the Earth. Applies to in-person dates as well. The culprit typically has the mental fortitude of a six-year old boy, and more than likely walks around with a butt-plug firmly planted in their anus to combat their feelings of loneliness.

* Cleveland Steamer - Just...Urban Dictionary that shit. Some things even I can't bring myself to type.


For my blog post on the shit-storm that is Tinder Addiction, click here. 

For hilariously depressing Tinder stories, check out:

Tales of Tinder: The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing 

Tales of Tinder: The Sweaty Iceberg