On Dating/Relationships/et al

Consider this a shout into the void. This is not serious.

I don’t know if I want to get married, but I know I carry too much lip gloss in my purse to foot a bill. I spend the majority of my week saying words like charger, coupe, photographer, designer. Words that remain in the realm of wedding type nuptial parties. I have attended some weddings in my time and 50% of my siblings are now married. Maybe it is vanity or maybe it is cynicism, but more correctly it is probably the immaturity of mine that leads me to be unconvinced on marriage for myself. 

I feel unconvinced on feeling fluttery towards someone again because I was only 20 once and those sorts of feelings tend seem unrealistic in my current state of affairs nearing 25. This idea has caused me to carry a weird guilt about not wanting that again. Being “in love” seems childish and embarrassing and distracting from the real issues at hand, like remembering to move my car for street sweeping. Everytime I see white dresses made for a singular occasion and see strangers holding hands I simply do not care for that for myself and fear that makes me a less than good person. I think it is because I get off on being unattainable and never want a rug pulled out from under me again. I already had a boyfriend and had to say I love you in the long term relationship setting. It is all been there, done that for me, so why live redundantly?

I find it easy to say the right things to men on dates. My mental rolodex of “Things men like to hear” is in a greatest hits top 40 status. In my experience of telling a man you are busy they tend to pursue you a bit more. If you are too available and salivating for a text, consider your Friday night full of twiddling thumbs and disappointed microwave popcorn. It follows the same logic that once you wash your car it will rain, that is how the world works. Meeting 25 year old bankers, 39 year old financiers, hopeful olympians, people who know how to play guitar and have salaries or people who know how to play guitar and paint houses, introductions are easy. It is easy to act like the person you want to be perceived as because these strangers don’t know how organized or not your linen closet is. The process of first meeting someone is intoxicating, even if it ends up being boring. You figure out how they pronounce the word ‘data’ or ‘aunt’ and if they eat red meat or not. You see how their jeans fit them and if they carry cash regularly or have a credit card with an annual fee. After the first date there are these well wishing texts that feel choreographed. I am convinced these men do not care if I had a good day or not, they care about spending the polite bare minimum time between not having sex and having sex. So really what is the point? How many messages that should end in periods not question marks do I need to be bothered to respond to? How many until it is over? Is it bad that I do not care?

I want to have to reference a dictionary if you talk to me and I want to have to think about what I say. I want to go on a date with a man who knows his dry cleaner and gets his shoes polished. It sounds like my supposed dream man is probably seventy, but he has first edition books and a couple flats in Europe so this imaginary generational age gap will be worth it. 

The last date I went on was with a 34 year old who wore a collared shirt and loafers. His favorite drink is a negroni, and he said postmodern society a lot, but it was endearing in the way that we do in fact live in a postmodern society. 

I refuse to date in the way of our postmodern world: via apps with stupid names like Hinge, Bumble, Tinder–they sound like conditions and I know some who are afflicted. The afflicted conflate all dating app attention to their actual physical worth. It is so bizarre to me that a stranger, who could very well be a creep, says you have pretty eyes and that makes you think they are a good guy? These apps commodify compliments and flirtatious exchanges creating what I believe to be false senses of intimacy by finding out first date information before a first date (ie hometown, hobbies, job titles). You can even hear what these people’s voices sound like, this going against the grain. Dating apps are a three minute action movie trailer that gives everything away. I will happily ride in a driverless car, but I refuse to advertise myself for a date–that is SO embarrassing and medieval. Although, in the spirit of being honest these are my viewpoints as they apply to me. I know plenty of people who ‘dating app’ regularly and it is fine. It is just that I like to think things happen to me because they do. Apple and Google can innovate as much as they please, but they cannot take fate away from me. My dating philosophy is that statistically if you stand in a forest long enough you will hear the tree fall. So trees will fall because dating is a numbers game like bingo and poker. 

I think the internet and accessible information into people’s lives is annoyingly invasive and utterly unavoidable. I know that my high school chemistry lab partner now has 2 children and she is enrolled at the Paul Mitchell hair school. I do not know the last time I saw her, so why do I even know about this? Another piece of insight I have now gathered is that my ex boyfriend now has a new girlfriend and my roommate hates her clothes (we should not live in a world where my roommate can imagine a stranger’s closet, but we do). There are avenues to not know this, but in the social currency of social media interactions any drawing of a fence line is met with negative assumptions. Although in this particular example of discovering an ex with someone new there are certain positives that come out of it. One of which is that the opposing force (your ex) already did the thing (get a girlfriend/boyfriend) and it causes a wave of relief. Relief being confidence in decision making and reflecting back on the why of the split and seeing that this proved to be true. I know this piece of information has nothing to do with me and everything to do with him and this girl with clothes my roommate does not like. The weird thing about late phases of break ups is when the separation gets set in stone. It feels like there is a lack of credit. It is as though you take someone to this great restaurant. You tell them to order this life changing dish. You order it for yourself, they order something that is just good, but not what you suggested. You exchange bites and it is overall pleasant. But then time goes by, they take someone else to this amazing restaurant you showed them. They recommend to their guest the life changing dish you recommended that they themselves initially disregarded. This new pair both order the life changing dish all thanks to you, unbeknownst to them. 

I must reiterate that all these supposed feelings and ideas regarding romance are perhaps a byproduct of my age and current status. I am 24 and I am busy. That being said I really enjoy people and love the theatrics of getting ready for dates. You put on your hot pants and pick a perfume for the occasion. It is so on the nose feminine that it just feels good. Sure there have been men I have swooned over, but I think about things too much because The Way We Were got it right. It is easy to pop the balloon or feel fluttery for the people you have no chance in hell with. So, I am skeptical about marriage, but it is not that I side with those who stand against it because of its patriarchal roots. Plainly, I cannot fathom myself feeling convinced in someone enough because I am not convinced in myself enough and I am prone to losing my sunglasses? I am a loyal person and have been told I am too nice. Qualities of mine that will not change, but are they even important qualities? Are pleasantries and table manners still of value? Am I just making pointless gestures in the name of “I am too good for any man” or is this just veiled insecurity? I can look in the mirror and see barely there blemishes, but I cannot see myself escorted down an aisle to some guy who hits the mark because I could have left the keys in the ignition. 

However, there does remain this thing that those who are sometimes older, but most definitely wiser, tell me to be patient. It is not that I am impatient for this imaginary person with the titular role of “the one”, it is non existent currently. I am not chomping at the bit to find the dreamboat. I am at odds with the idea that it is a motivating factor as a young woman. There is just so much to do and so much I feel like I need to do by myself before this supposed one potentially shows up. I have so many more trips to Europe to take with friends. I have to go to that culinary program on a farm with Marley before she starts law school. I have to change light bulbs on my own and hopefully have business trips to New York. I need to acquire way more blazers and find my signature haircut. I need to gain the title of Aunt by the time I am the only name on a lease. There are much more important things to be done than worry about going on a final first date.