I truly don’t know how to date anymore. There are two dimensions to this. The first: I don’t know how to physically continue. At this stage in my single life, I recoil at the idea of showering, putting on makeup, picking out an outfit, and blow drying my hair even onemore time in order to meet up with a name in my phone. Like you could ask me to do it right now and I would literally charge a fee.
But would anybody be willing to pay? At least she can get dates. Lots of should be acceptable fellas really can’t. Making herself look good is just too much work. Men need to work hard and have something to show for it to even have a chance to get on a woman’s radar.
I’ve probably gone on a first date over a hundred times, and I don’t think I have anything left to give to that effort. I have earned my bitterness merit badge and no one will take it from me. The money I’ve spent on wines by the glass over 11 years is a down payment by now, so don’t talk to me about staying motivated to conduct two hours worth of small talk over stale Sancerre with a guy I’ll never see again. Wait, that’s not right — I’m definitely going to see him walking down Park Avenue in seven months and avoid his gaze at all costs.
She has had lots of first dates. She admits that they go south fast. There seems to be a pattern here. Perhaps it might be fruitful for her to analyze what is happening.
It’s the fact that he’s a stranger. I don’t know this person, we haven’t sparked yet, not in real life, anyway. There’s nothing really there to dive me toward excitement, and it’s that palpable lack compounded over 11 years of dating that leaves me feeling so empty. It’s not that I’ve been meeting terrible men (though…girl), it’s really more about the fact that dating for me has held such an absence of excitement, fun, and actual desire that I truly no longer see it as a valid use of my time.
Here we go. She demands excitement, fun, etc. This is almost assuredly on top of fitness, financial and otherwise. Emily Hart was like that. She ended up freezing her eggs and parading a boyfriend that met hardly anything on her checklist around.
Let’s face it; grandma didn’t have this approach. She also didn’t have this resulting problem.
And spare me about sparking online. I’ve done this dance too many times to fall for a witty text or two, I can promise you that. The girl he sits next to in his open office floor plan thinks he’s suuuuch a great guy even though she herself isn’t attracted to him and shewrote that adorable message to help him out because he has the wit of a dusty box fan. Honestly, don’t fuck with me.
It would seem that she is complaining about fellas not being sexy enough to meet the Manhattan Girl’s needs, either other women’s, or hers.
These girls seem to put a premium on witty stuff. I suppose they get what they get what they deserve.
As for the don’t fuck with me, that seems not to be a general problem in this case.
I’m apparently very old fashioned for wanting dates to look the way they did in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Now, dating is apparently a much more casual endeavor, so casual in fact I find it hard to find the line between dating and simply having a pulse. I shared a subway pole with a guy yesterday, was that a date? A woman gave me free Amaro when she brought me my check at a bar two nights ago, are we married now?
She wants it to be about her. She wants it well defined. One might suggest that as women demanded more of everything be about her, men responded by making the whole dance more undefined. Just a thought.
The end result is I really don’t date much anymore. That’s supposed to be scary, right? If I don’t participate in dating, how am I ever going to meet someone? I have to be honest and say it isn’t scary, it’s a relief. The absence of the inherent negativity involved in modern dating has left me feeling fucking fantastic.
Obviously she wants to meet that special someone, just like Emily Hart. This is a different response. Will it last? Will it make her happy long term?
I’ve been told the way I speak and write about dating comes across as if I think I’m going to be single forever, and my bad — that’s not the way I feel. I feel with 100% of myself that I will love and be loved by an actual human man one day. But I also feel that my path to meeting him has very little to do with an awkward hug hello, two glasses of wine in Williamsburg, and three repetitions of how to pronounce my name.
Perhaps she might question her approach. Just saying.
I don’t know how to date anymore, so I’ve stopped doing it. I don’t think that curses me, I think it frees me. I think I’ve cracked it. My very participation in my own singleness has morphed into something that contains much less pressure and senseless effort than it used to, and I’m into it. I don’t know how I’ll meet someone, but I know how I won’t meet someone, and opening up my view of possibility from only being able to meet via dating to meeting via literally any possibility imaginable puts the excitement of being single right back where I want it — within me.
So it comes back around to her.
Does the above look like a plan? Is it better than Emily Hart’s plan?